Everything, Everything (19 page)

IT’S A STRANGE
thing to realize that you’re willing to die. It doesn’t come in a flash, a sudden epiphany. It happens slowly, a balloon leak in reverse.

The sight of Olly crying alone on his porch will not leave me.

I pore over the pictures that he sent from school. I make myself a place in every single one. Maddy in the library. Maddy standing next to Olly’s locker waiting to go to class. Maddy as Girl Most Likely To.

I memorize every inch of my family photo, trying to divine its secrets. I marvel at the not-sick Maddy, baby Maddy, her life stretching before her with endless possibility.

Ever since Olly came into my life there’ve been two Maddys: the one who lives through books and doesn’t want to die, and the one who
lives
and suspects that death will be small price to pay for it. The first Maddy is surprised at the direction of her thoughts. The second Maddy, the one from the Hawaii photograph? She’s like a god—impervious to cold, famine, disease, natural and man-made disasters. She’s impervious to heartbreak.

The second Maddy knows that this pale half-life is not really living.

GOOD-BYE

Dear Mom,

The first thing is that I love you. You already know that, but I may not get the chance to tell you again.

So. I love you. I love you. I love you.

You are smart and strong and kind and selfless. I couldn’t have wished for a better mom.

You’re not going to understand what I’m going to say. I don’t know if I understand it myself.

Because of you I’m alive, Mom, and I’m so, so grateful for that. Because of you I’ve survived this long and gotten a chance to know my small part of the world. But it’s not enough. It’s not your fault. It’s this impossible life.

I’m not doing this just because of Olly. Or maybe I am. I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s Olly and it’s not-Olly at the same time. It’s like I can’t look at the world in the old way anymore. I found this new part of myself when I met him and the new part doesn’t know how to stay quiet and still and just observe.

Do you remember when we read
The Little Prince
together for the first time? I was so upset that he died in the end. I didn’t understand how he could choose death just so he could get back to his rose.

I think I understand it now. He wasn’t choosing to die. His rose was his whole life. Without her, he wasn’t really alive.

I don’t know, Mom. I don’t know what I’m doing only that I have to. Sometimes I wish I could go back to the way I was before, before I knew anything. But I can’t.

I’m sorry. Forgive me. I love you.

- Maddy

THE FIVE SENSES

HEARING

The alarm’s keypad tries to announce my escape by emitting a loud
BEEP
each time I press a number. I can only hope that the sound is too unexpected and my mom’s room too far away from the door for her to hear it.

The door unseals with a sigh.

I’m Outside.

The world is so quiet it roars.

TOUCH

The front-door handle is metal-cool and smooth, almost slippery. It’s easy to let go of it, and I do.

SIGHT

It’s 4
A.M.
and too dark for detail. My eyes take in only the general shape of things, fuzzy silhouettes against the night sky. Large tree, smaller tree, steps, garden, stone path leading to a gate with a picket fence on either side. Gate, gate, gate.

SMELL

I’m in Olly’s garden. The air is full, ripe with scent—flowers, earth, my expanding fear. I store it away in my lungs. I toss pebbles at his window, willing him to come out.

TASTE

Olly’s in front of me, stunned. I don’t say anything. I press my lips to his. At first he’s frozen, uncertain and unyielding, but then he’s not. All at once, he pulls me tight against him. One of his hands is in my hair and the other one is gripping my waist.

He tastes just like I remember.

OTHER WORLDS

WE COME TO
our senses.

Well, Olly comes to his. He pulls away, grips my shoulders with both hands. “What are you doing out here? Are you all right? Is something wrong? Is your mom OK?”

I’m all bravado. “I’m fine. She’s fine. I’m running away.”

The light from his room above casts just enough light so I can see confusion across the planes of his face.

“I don’t understand,” he says.

I take a deep breath, but freeze midway.

The night air is cold and moist and heavy and completely unlike any air I’ve ever breathed.

I try to
un
breathe it, to expel it from my lungs. My lips tingle and I’m light-headed. Is that just fear, or is it something else?

“Maddy, Maddy,” he whispers against my ear. “What have you done?”

I can’t answer. My throat is blocked like I’ve swallowed a stone.

“Try not to breathe,” he says, and starts guiding me back to my house.

I let him pull me for a second, maybe two, but then I stop moving.

“What is it? Can you walk? Do you need me to carry you?”

I shake my head and pull my hand from his.

I take a sip of night air. “I said I’m running away.”

He makes a sound like a growl. “What are you talking about? Do you have a death wish?”

“Opposite,” I say. “Will you help me?”

“With what?”

“I don’t have a car. I don’t know how to drive. I don’t know anything about the world.”

He makes another sound halfway between a growl and a laugh. I wish I could see his eyes in the dark.

Something slams. A door? I grab his hands and pull us both flat against the side of his house. “What was that?”

“Jesus. A door. From my house.”

I press myself flatter against the wall, trying to disappear. I peek over to the path leading from my house, fully expecting to see my mother coming down it. But she’s not there.

I close my eyes. “Take me to the roof.”

“Maddy—”

“I’ll explain everything.”

My entire plan hangs on him helping me. I didn’t really consider what would happen if he refused.

We are quiet for one breath. And then two. And then three.

He takes my hand and guides me around to the side of his house furthest from mine. There’s a tall ladder leading to the roof.

“Are you afraid of heights?” he asks.

“I don’t know.” I start climbing.

I duck down as soon as we get to the roof, but Olly says there’s no need.

“Most people don’t look up anyway,” he says.

It takes a few minutes for my heart to return to normal.

Olly folds himself down with his usual unusual grace. I’m happy to watch him move.

“So, what now?” he asks after a time.

I look around. I’d always wanted to know what he did up here. The roof is gabled in parts, but we’re sitting in a flat section toward the back. I make out shapes: a small wooden table with a mug, a lamp, and some crumpled papers. Maybe he writes up here, composes bad poetry. Limericks.

“Does that lamp work?” I ask.

He wordlessly turns it on, and it casts a diffuse circle of light around us. I’m almost afraid to look at him.

The crumpled papers on the table are fast-food wrappers. Not a secret poet, then. Next to the table there’s a dusty gray tarp covering something, or somethings. The ground is littered with tools—wrenches, wire cutters in various sizes, hammers, and a few others that I don’t recognize. There’s even a blowtorch.

I finally look over at him.

His elbows are on his knees and he’s staring out at the slowly brightening sky.

“What do you
do
up here?” I ask.

“That can’t possibly matter right now.” His voice is hard and he doesn’t look at me. There’s no trace of the boy who kissed me so desperately a few minutes ago. His fear for me has crowded everything else out.

Sometimes you do things for the right reasons and sometimes for the wrong ones and sometimes it’s impossible to tell the difference.

“I have pills,” I say.

He’s barely moving as it is, but now he grows completely still. “What pills?”

“They’re experimental, not FDA-approved. I ordered them online. From Canada.” The lie is easy, effortless. “Online? How do you know they’re even safe?”

“I did a lot of research.”

“But still, you can’t be sure—“

“I’m not reckless.” I hold his eyes. These lies are for his own protection. Already he looks relieved.

I press on. “They should give me a few days outside. I didn’t tell my mom because she wouldn’t want to risk it, but I—”

“Because it’s risky. You just said they’re not FDA—”

“They’re safe enough for a few days.” My tone holds no doubt. I wait, hoping that he will swallow the lie.

“Jesus.” He drops his face into his hands and holds it there. When he looks up, it’s a less obstinate Olly staring back at me. Even his voice softens. “You could have told me this five minutes ago.”

I make my best effort to lighten the mood. “We were kissing! And then you were getting angry with me.” I’m blushing from the talk of kissing and from my easy lying. “I was going to tell you. I am telling you. I just did.”

He’s much too smart to fall for this, but he wants it to be true. He wants it to be true more than he wants the truth. The smile that breaks across his face is cautious, but so beautiful that I can’t look away. I would lie to him again for that smile.

“Now,” I say. “What’s under that thing?”

He hands me a corner of the tarp and I pull it aside.

At first I’m not sure what I’m looking at. It’s like reading a seemingly random collection of words before the sentence becomes clear.

“It’s beautiful,” I say.

“It’s called an orrery.”

“This is what you’ve been doing up here? Making universes?”

He shrugs.

A small wind blows and the planets spin slowly. We both watch their motion without speaking.

“Are you sure about this?” Doubt has crept back into his voice.

“Please help me, Olly. Please.” I point to the orrery. “I need to escape, too, just for a little while.”

He nods. “Where do you want to go?”

ALOHA MEANS HELLO
AND GOOD-BYE, PART TWO

HAPPY ALREADY

“MADS, BE SERIOUS.
We can’t go to Hawaii.”

“Why not? I got us plane tickets. I booked us a hotel.”

We’re sitting in Olly’s car in the driveway. He puts the key in the ignition, but doesn’t turn it.

“Are you kidding?” he asks, scrutinizing my face for evidence that I’m kidding. He doesn’t find any and begins shaking his head slowly. “Hawaii is three thousand miles away.”