Break (14 page)

“Sorry,” she says. “Do you want to be alone?”

She’s dressed like someone from the real world, and I realize it’s Mackenzie, the volunteer from the front desk.

I scoot into the open air. “No, come in.”

She waves a blood-pressure cuff. “Just here for your vitals. They like to know what you’re at when you come in.”

“Okay.”

She wraps the cuff around my good arm and starts to pump it up. “How you feeling today?”

“Okay.”

“Homesick at all? Do you need anything?”

“I’ll be all right. My family’s coming to see me tomorrow.”

She nods. “Your parents looked nice.”

“They are.” Nice isn’t the problem.

“Siblings?”

“Two little brothers.”

“I’m an only child. Always wanted siblings. Are they a handful?”

I smile. “Mine are.”

She stops talking and deflates the cuff, counting seconds on her watch.

“Eighty-two over fifty. You’re really not stressing, are you?”

“I’m not the stress type.”

She studies me, head tilted to the side. “How many broken bones do you have? If you don’t mind my asking . . .”

“Eighteen, right now, if you count toes.”

“Man. How’d that happen?”

I wonder what it’d be like to explain this all to someone who’s never met Jesse.

She keeps her eyes on me, but I just smile and say, “It’s kind of a long story.”

She smiles back. “Well, maybe you’ll tell me someday. You’ve got arts and crafts at three thirty, okay? Downstairs, off the lobby to the left. Don’t be late.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Mackenzie pauses at my door. “Let me know if you need anything.”

I fall asleep on my bed and dream about Charlotte. She’s telling me something, but I can’t hear over the damn baby.

TYLER POUNDS HIS PILE OF PLAY-DOH INTO
submission. “I hate arts and crafts,” he mumbles, shaking the table with his smacks. “Arts and crafts is bullshit.”

Annie, next to me, doodles thousands of cottages with smoke uncurling from the chimneys.

Leah’s wrist is about as big around as her paintbrush. “You’re just pissed Mariah’s gone.”

“No, I’m not.” Tyler carves the Play-Doh with his fingernail. “I’m just pissed.”

“You loved her.”

The art room is wicked bright and smells like clay. A sink runs continuously by the window. The kiln sits open, a fake-me-out suicide oven. “I know you wouldn’t, and what’s cool is you couldn’t fit in there anyway,” Stephen mumbled to me when we came in, and it scares me how well he gets me.

Tyler says, “I didn’t love her. I don’t like girls. I told you.”

“Rrrright.”

“I don’t.”

Stephen comes over and observes our progress. “Very good,” he says, like he’s our teacher. “Now, Jonah, why aren’t you arting and crafting?”

“I don’t know what to do.”

He throws me a mound of clay.

Our real teacher is a big woman with wiry hair who reads a romance novel in the corner. Every once in a while she shouts out something inspirational. “You kids are doing great!” and “Keep it up.” “Feel the healing.” This place is such a joke.

I wonder what healing really feels like.

The walls are covered in dirty blue wallpaper that’s probably supposed to make me feel calm. It works.

I start shaping the clay into a tree. “This is kind of hard one-handed.”

“So what happened to you?” Stephen says. “Were you in some kind of accident?”

I shake my head.

“I bet he did it himself.” Tyler nudges Amy. “You did it yourself, didn’t you, Jonah?”

The brunette, Belle, says, “You don’t have to sound so fucking enthusiastic.”

“It’s hard-core. I’m appreciative of his hard-coreness.” Tyler raises his eyebrows at me. “So you did do it yourself, right?”

Ah, what the hell. “Yeah.”

“Intense.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Man, I know.” Tyler slaps my good shoulder. “It’s never like that.”

“No, I mean, it’s not a suicide-type thing. It’s not even a self-injury thing. It’s not like that. I’m not depressed.” I stand up my tree trunk and start adding branches.

“I’m manic-depressive,” Tyler says.

Leah says, “It’s ‘bipolar,’ now, Ty.”

“Fuck that. I like manic-depressive. Belle’s depressed, unlike you. Leah’s obviously anorexic.”

She smiles at me.

“Stephen’s a burner, and Annie doesn’t talk.”

“I talk,” she whispers.

Tyler looks at me, his voice gently urgent. “And you’re what, then?”

“I’m . . . an obsessive self-improver.” I make leaves.

“Looks more like self-destruction to me.”

I shrug at Belle. “They’re similar.”

Stephen smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, they are.”

“You get hurt, you grow back stronger,” I say.

“Yeah.” Stephen nods, his grin widening. “Yeah. Yeah, you do.”

I feel all warm and soft inside despite the air conditioning and the lemon pledge. It’s this comfort of being understood.

“You’re doing great, kids,” the teacher says, and we all turn back to our art projects. Even Tyler. A slow smile spreads across his face.

THAT NIGHT, I TRY TO SLEEP.

“It’s going to be hard,” Tyler warned me earlier. “You’ll have a really rough time with it the first night.”

I thought he was crazy. I never have a hard time sleeping. If I can sleep through the baby noise, I can sleep through anything, right?

Right?

I’ve got a blanket of Will’s and a picture of Mom and Dad and one of Jesse’s hockey pucks. I’ve spread them out on my dresser, like a shrine to my misery.

I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, my arms around my stomach, wondering if I’m going to throw up. Or if my appendix is about to burst or something.

In true melodramatic fashion, there’s a storm outside. I don’t mind the thunder, but the quiet moments in between drill into my skull. If silence could break bones, I would shatter right now, into pieces of stomachache and blueprints and desperation.

I pull on some socks and pad down the hall. The nausea fades the farther I get from my bed. I tap on Tyler’s door and call his name, softly.

He opens up, his hands over his lips like he’s about to yawn, or cough. But he doesn’t do either.

I shake and stamp my feet against the ground to remind me where I am. My toes hate this.

“You’ve gotta stop,” Tyler says. “One of the nurses will come. They’ll hear you up.”

I’m so, so cold.

“Just tell me everything’s okay,” I say.

“Everything’s okay, Jonah.”

“You’re okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“And everything’s okay?”

“Yeah. I promise.”

Tyler guides me back to my room. My stomachache is starting to ebb, and I feel content in this quiet way.

Maybe because it’s so. Quiet.

No coughing and snoring and wheezing from stuffed-up Jesse. No parents screaming at each other, or baby screaming back.

Just me.

Here.

Dark room.

Cold mattress.

Cold Jonah.

I sing just to make noise until I finally fall asleep.

AND MY BOY HIMSELF STICKS HIS HEAD THROUGH
my door at about four the next afternoon, two days before Halloween. “Knock knock,” he says, like a little geek.

“Jesse!” I drop my book and leap on him. “You’re not supposed to be up here!”

“I snuck up. There’s crappy security in this place, you know that? You could totally just come home if you wanted.” He disentangles himself from my hug and holds me at arm’s length. “How the hell are you, brother?”

“I’m okay. You look . . . fuck, you look fantastic.”

He smiles. “I’m pretty good.”

He has color and clear eyes and no hives. He’s got a sad mouth but his lips aren’t swollen. So he looks incredible.

“Have you been living at home?”

He laughs. “Yeah. It’s just been a good day.”

“You’re eating,” I say.

“Yeah, I’m eating.”

“That’s good, man.” I slap him on the back. “Glad to hear it.”

“I knew you would be.”

On the way to the elevator, we run into Tyler and Stephen. “Guys,” I say. “This is my brother.”

Tyler says, “What’s up, man?” Neither he nor Stephen is a hand-shaking kind of guy, which saves Jesse his usual awkward I-can’t-touch-you explanation.

Jess smiles as we head toward the elevator. He has his hands in his pockets and kicks the linoleum. He’s nervous, but more politely than Mom and Dad were. “This isn’t so bad.”

“Nah, it isn’t. I should kidnap you for the weekend and you can crash with me. My room’s big enough.”

“Yeah, hopefully you won’t be here long enough to consider that.”

I hit the down button. “So how’s shit at home?”

He shrugs. “Not awful, actually. Naomi’s over all the time. She misses you. I think Will does too. He’s even louder than usual. Mom and Dad both came, you know. Got a sitter. I wanted to bring him, but Mom and Dad still don’t want him outside.”

“Heard from Charlotte?”

He makes his I’m-sorry face and shakes his head.

“She’ll come around,” I say.

“Of course she will.” He squeezes my shoulder. “No doubt, man.”

Leah gets onto the elevator with us just before the doors close. Anyone thicker than her probably would have gotten stuck. “Who’s this?” she says.

“This is Jesse. My little brother.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says.

He’s so cute around pretty girls. “Nice to meet
you
.” He points at the buttons, his cheeks getting pink like he’s a cartoon. “What’s on the third floor?”

“Don’t know,” I say. “We never go up there.”

Leah says, “I have it on good authority that’s where they do the electroshock therapy.”

I elbow her. “Don’t scare him.”

He scoffs. “I’m not scared.” As we walk off the elevator and part ways with Leah, he mumbles, “She seems nice.”

“You could get with her, no problem. She’s nice and clean. Doesn’t eat.”

“I don’t want her. She’s way too skinny.”

Mom and Dad sit in armchairs by the doors, like they’re afraid to venture too far inside. They’ve dressed up. I appreciate Jesse extra hard, in his dirty jeans and T-shirt.

“Hey,” I say, and hug them.

“How was your first night?” Mom won’t stop touching me—my arm, my face, my hair, like she hasn’t seen me since I was a kid.

“It was fine. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m really fine here.” I smile at Belle as she walks through the lobby, cuddling some tiny stuffed bear into her chest.

“Do you know her?” Dad asks, and he says it more gently than I expect.

“There’re only, like, six other kids here. I sort of know everyone.”

“What are they like?” Mom asks.

“They’re fine. Really. Everything’s fine.”

“When can you come home?” Jess says.

My tongue expands with pity and fills my whole mouth, and I can’t talk.

Dad examines my pajama pants and ratty T-shirt. “Do you need more clothes?”

I manage to swallow. “No, no, I’m fine.”

“How’s the doctor?”

“He’s all right. We had our first session this afternoon. Doesn’t talk about much. He mostly just makes me put together puzzles and watches me and stuff. It’s like ADD testing.”

Jesse sneezes a few times and I look at him sideways.

“Everything’s okay,” I say. “We have art every day. And we play basketball outside.”

Jesse’s red ears twitch up. “Basketball?”

“Uh-huh. I mean, I’m mostly just limping around, but . . . it’s cool. And I’ve got lots of books. How’s school?”

Jesse smiles. “Mr. Roskull got a toupee.”

“You’re kidding.”

“It’s
disgusting
.”

“The counselor spoke with Jesse,” Mom says. “Wanted to know how you’re doing.”

Jess swipes his nose. “And I told her you were fine. Which he is. I saw his room. He hasn’t torn up the walls or bled everywhere. Look at him.” He waves his hand from the top of my head to my shoes. “No new broken bones. He’s fine. Bring him home.”

Dad looks at the floor. “Jonah, you understand—”

“Yeah, I do. Stop, Jess.”

He’s tearing up, and I can’t tell if he’s crying or it’s allergies. “I don’t believe this.”

“Calm down.”

Mom and Dad just sit there, bouncing their eyes between Jesse and me.

He starts coughing.

“Look, take him home,” I say, my stomach hurting. “They air-freshen like crazy here. It isn’t good for him. He shouldn’t be here.”

Jess clears his throat. “I’m okay.”

Yeah, he was okay before he got here. But now . . . it’s not like I think he’s on the brink of death, but his voice is stuffed up and his eyes are getting red and those throat-clearing noises are just too hard to listen to. He can’t belong here. He can’t belong at home, and he can’t belong here. He can’t belong anywhere I am.

“Look at him,” I say. “He needs to get out of here.”

Mom and Dad gather their coats, and I pull Jesse to the side to say good-bye. “Come home,” he says.

“I will. Look,” I say, and my voice goes all on its own. “Come visit on your own, okay? So we won’t have to deal with them. And we’ll stay outside.” I fish a tissue out of my pocket and hand it to him. “More fresh air, less air freshener.”

He laughs, and his throat sounds wet. “Okay. Look . . . please get home ASAP. We need you, all right?”

“You’re doing great. Look at you.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t care. Come home.”

Yeah, but I care, you idiot.
Someone
has to look out for you.

They all trample out, Jesse behind with his hands in his pockets, and I collapse into one of the armchairs. Mackenzie watches me from the desk.

Tyler perches on a chair beside me. “Was that your brother?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.” He stretches his legs out. “He didn’t look sick.”

“Yeah, I know.” I nod. “He might be better without me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Trust me.” I push my hair back. “I don’t want to.” But I’m running out of other options.

STEPHEN SAYS, “COME ON OUT. WE’RE HAVING A
crazy-kid party.” He clings to my door like it’s all that’s keeping him standing.

“Mmmm.” I put my hands in my hair. “I don’t really feel like it.”