“Finn.” Ever’s voice comes harsh and angry like punches. “You fool of a Took. Ask for help when you need it.”
Firmly on the ground, I open my eyes. There are manicured nails around my arms—with the symbol of Gonfalon, a stylized, golden G, delicately painted on each one. I nearly flinch. “Don’t—” Out of all my friends leaping up to help me, why was it Liva who succeeded? Pain burns in my ankle, but my anger burns hotter.
Liva lets go off me and steps back. Ever is directly behind her, glaring at me. Carter, frowning. Maddy, pale with worry.
I’m reeling with fear and fury and hurt, and it’s so much, so overwhelmingly much, I don’t know how to deal with it but to sink down and sit and ground myself. Breathe until I get my equilibrium back and my hands don’t tremble with rage anymore. Wait until the anger—at myself, at Liva, at this cursed mountain—withdraws into the usual shadows.
“I thought you were smarter than that.” Ever hands me a bottle of water out of their backpack. Underneath their words are others: I thought you were okay with this weekend.
“I am.” For them, I am. Or I thought I could be, at least.
As I catch my breath, I glance around at the group. We’re a collection of individuals, all of us broken, all of us fragile. But the thing that scares me most isn’t that I might break us apart further.
It’s that I want to.
Two
Maddy
Finn radiates pain. He’s so tense, it hurts to look at him. I wonder if he realizes it. In my experience, most people—most neurotypical people—don’t. Even if they’ll talk about nonverbal language and how important it is, they don’t realize how unconscious most reactions are and how much they’re sharing. But I do. You teach yourself how to read body language when winning a game—or navigating life—depends on it.
With Finn, his tension is in the tight set of his jaw. The way his shoulders crawl up to his ears. The fingers that twist around his crutches so hard, they’ve gone almost as white as his hair. The shadows around his eyes. Right now, he’s the type of person I’d stay away from if I met them on the street, because whatever’s beneath the pain feels dangerous.
I taught myself to be as fluent as possible in nonverbal languages because it’s the only way to understand what people aren’t saying, to carve out your space and claim it. It’s the only way I can feel like I know what’s going on.
It’s the only way to lie convincingly too.
Yes, I’m doing better since the accident, thanks for asking.
Or:
Oh, I’m absolutely looking forward to college after my senior year. It’s going to take some adjusting since I can’t count on a lacrosse scholarship, but I’ll figure it out. Now that I know how easy it is to lose something you care about, I plan to work even harder to succeed at whatever comes next. Life is short, you know? You have to make the most of it.
Casual smile. Subtle nod. Relaxed posture. Make sure to turn toward the person I’m talking with, maybe mirror their posture. (Mirroring is a bit more complicated than literally copying someone’s body language, but it does put people at ease.)
Maybe I should teach Finn some of the tricks. Because Ever’s nostrils are flaring, and they obviously don’t believe Finn’s okay.
Finn hands the bottle back to Ever and scrambles to his feet. “Let’s keep moving, Ev.”
“Fine.” They pack up and stalk toward me to offer me a hand. “C’mon, only a little bit farther.”
I steel myself before I allow them to pull me up. I don’t like it when people touch me. I don’t like it when I’m observing a conversation and it suddenly turns to me. And I don’t like the sharp stab of pain when I rest my weight on my leg again.
“We’re a bit of a mess, aren’t we?” I mutter. We all fall into formation as we keep moving down the path—Liva and Carter leading the way, Ever and me in the middle, and Finn behind us, quietly stewing.
Once we’ve settled into a rhythm again, the pain in my knee goes from stabbing to nagging.
“No more than we should’ve expected, I guess,” Ever says. They’re putting up a facade. Both Liva and Ever put a lot of work in this getaway, in different ways. “I just want this weekend to be good, you know? I want everything to go exactly right.”
“Once we’ve found our way back into the game, it’ll be better,” I say. “I don’t think this weekend will fix everything, but it’ll be good to spend time together.”
We’ve been playing this role-playing game together for three years now. We’ve overcome and adapted to Zac bowing out. We managed—sort of—without Finn. Returning to it now will be as natural as getting back on a bike. I hope.
Ever draws the straps of their backpack tighter and straightens their T-shirt. They’re nervous. “You know, Liva and Finn are going to have to talk sooner rather than later.”
“I know.” I bite my lip and glance at Liva’s proud posture as she’s leading the way. “That’d be good.” They wouldn’t even have to mend things forever—just for this weekend.
None of us know what happened with Liva when Finn got beaten up. She was there, but wasn’t part of it—she wouldn’t be part of it. But she hasn’t found a way to talk about it with any of us, even me. And none of us have figured out a way to talk about it with Finn. We just know that ever since that day, there is bad blood between them, and it’s threatening to push all of us apart.
We used to meet up every week, but since February, we’re happy if we make it once a month. And Finn hardly showed up for any of the games.
I reach up to curl my hair around my fingers before I realize the long black locks are gone. Cut off in a fit of wanting, and needing, and different. No more “Maddy, the injured lacrosse player,” no more “Maddy, who got trapped in a burning car,” no more “Did you know Maddy is actually special?” No more pain. No more uncomfortable layers and masks that I never wanted to begin with.
The corner of Ever’s mouth pulls up. “I like the hair.”
“Thanks.” I hate it.
And I’m not the only one. When Liva showed up at my house yesterday without warning—while I was trying to make cookies for the weekend—she very nearly strangled me.
“If you told me you planned to get a haircut, I could’ve changed your costume,” she snapped. “You should look like an inquisitor. You need to do the magisterium proud.”
I didn’t get a haircut per se. It wasn’t a particularly well-planned decision. It just happened. It just happened. With scissors and hair clippers in front of a bathroom mirror, in a haze.