Stronger than You Know (2 page)

THREE

Keeping track

Every time I do something that puts me out of my comfort zone, I write it down. This way when I see Lydia, I can hand her my notebook and she can see how well I'm doing. Also, if I don't do my writing assignment, I at least have something to show her. The problem is that my lists always look the same. Almost every week. The same, simple things still put me on edge.

• Went to school.
  
• Ate in the cafeteria.
  
• Answered a teacher's question.
  
• Ate a few bites of dinner with the family in the dining room.
  

I hardly eat anything in the cafeteria, but I don't write that.

Today, I'm wearing a white short-sleeved button-up shirt with my tan uniform pants. I think some of the cigarette burn marks might even show. They're just white spots now, but it should still count. I add it to the list.

• Wore short-sleeved shirt to school.
  

I feel like if I do this, maybe Lydia won't be too upset with me for not talking to someone at school or to my uncle. I don't plan on doing either.

“Morning.” Aunt Nicole smiles from the kitchen as I step downstairs. Her brown hair flies around her as she spins in the massive kitchen.

I give her a small wave.

“You look pretty today.” She bounces from the fridge to the toaster to the cupboards as she gets breakfast ready.

My aunt and her family are such a normal all-American family that it's not normal at all. Even the families on TV aren't like them. I'm guessing they have their minor problems like everyone, but I've never seen any arguments. It's rare that we don't have dinner as a family. Or that
they
don't have dinner as a family. I sneak down when everyone's in bed to eat.

Aunt Nicole stays home, supports her husband, and attends every school function. The house is always in some state of clean. Everything about her and their three-story home in this picture-perfect neighborhood is so different from the trailer I grew up in. Even after three months, I'm not used to it.

“I have an appointment downtown. Rob's going to drive you guys today,” Aunt Nicole says. “Because we need to get the oil changed in Trent and Tara's car, and …”

I don't hear what else she says. Uncle Rob. That won't work. My heart's already frantic at the thought of being with him in a small space. I can't do it. No way. I don't care if saying something to him is one of my goals this week. If I find it within myself to be able to speak to him, it isn't going to be within the confines of a car.

I turn to the door. “I planned on walking, but thanks.” My backpack is already over my shoulder, and my shoes are already on. My heart's beating hard, and my ribs are too tight to take a deep breath.

Aunt Nicole stands in silence, watching me from the kitchen. I can hear Uncle Rob's deep, low, voice with his two kids in the dining room. That's close enough. All I want is to get to school. Alone.

“Joy?” Aunt Nicole walks up behind me.

I open the door before I decide that I really need to turn around and face her. “It's a nice day. I'll walk.” My heart's thrumming, faster, more frantic. Space, I just need a little space. And more air. Why does air get harder to breathe when all I want is a deep breath?

“But, breakfast.” Aunt Nicole looks almost just like my mom—same build, same brown eyes and hair—but her kindness makes her look so much softer.

How do I tell her that the simple idea of riding in a car with her husband has ruined my appetite? My day's barely begun, and already I have tears threatening the edges of my eyes.

“Take this.” She holds out a piece of toast. “And I can drive you right now. I don't mind.”

“I'd rather walk.” I reach for the toast, even though I'm not sure I'll eat it. “Thanks for breakfast.”

The day is warm. It's fall in Seattle, which I'm learning comes with a lot of rain. But not today. Today is beautiful.

Even though I'm halfway down the driveway, I can hear Aunt Nicole sigh behind me. Really it just adds to my guilt. I've taken over their extra bedroom and just added worry to their perfectly normal life. I take two bites of toast and drop the rest in a bush. A squirrel will probably eat it within the hour. My heart's back to normal and my lungs are working the way they should. The walk was a good idea.

“You really shouldn't waste food like that,” says a guy behind me.

My heart immediately takes off. I don't turn—just keep walking. Maybe if I don't say anything else, he'll go away.

“Joy, right?”

My body jumps again. What do I do? My fingertips feel numb and suddenly I suck in another breath. Was I holding my breath?

“Hey, I'm Justin. We're in government together.” His voice is relaxed and friendly. This should be like talking to Trent, right? I've said a few words to my cousin before.

“Right.”

I said something. It came out in a rush of breath, but I talked. I wonder if this gets me off the hook with Lydia.

“I didn't know you walked.” He keeps pace with me. “To school, I mean. I walk every day. I just got my license, but my dad won't relinquish his car to me.” He chuckles. It's like he doesn't care that I'm not really talking back. Or looking at him.

I wrap my arms tightly around my front, as if it will somehow protect me from someone I probably don't need protection from.
Probably
. Now I can't take a deep breath. I need a bench or something before I pass out.

There's a city bus stop just ahead. My chest begs for more air that I'm not sure I can give it.
I can make it. I can make it. Just a few more steps to the bench.
I suck in a breath, but it doesn't come in as far as I need and sounds all funny, wheezy. This is not good. Why am I being followed today? I don't want an audience. Not for this.

“Are you okay?” Justin leans forward.

Brown hair falls over his dark eyes.

My legs almost knock on the wood as I sit and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

“Joy, you're kind of scaring me here.” He sits, but keeps his distance. He still feels too close. At least he didn't try to touch me or anything. “Maybe you're sick or something. Can I walk you home?” His voice is nice. Not deep, but definitely guy. He sounds so worried. That's the number one emotion I seem to pull from people.

“I'm …” I suck in a breath. “I sometimes have a hard time breathing.”

“Like asthma or something?”

Wow. That's perfect. I nod. Asthma is a lot less insane than panic attacks.

“Don't you have an inhaler?” He's leaning forward trying to see my face again. “I'm starting to freak out a little.”

I shake my head. My long hair hangs between us. I can just see his shape through the brown.

“Why don't I walk with you back home, okay?”

My breathing does sound terrible. If I saw someone hunched over her lap on a bench, I'd probably freak out too.

I stand slowly and start to walk. At this point, home sounds like my best option. Why do I keep insisting I'm ready for school?

“Can I get your bag for you?” A hand touches my shoulder.

My heart jumps with my body. “I'm okay.” But my eyes catch his dark ones again. There's nothing but worry there. So now I know I'm overreacting to everything, but I don't know how to
stop
overreacting. Instead I keep walking. I'm next to guys at school all day and I can deal with it. They just never
talk
to me.

“I was just going to offer to take your bag, that's all. To help you breathe.” His hand is still outstretched.

“Okay, just don't … touch me.” That would make things worse.

He shrugs like it's a totally normal request. “Okay.”

I slide the backpack off my shoulder and he catches it as we walk. “Thanks.” That was just me, saying something totally voluntary to a guy. I sort of want to
call
Lydia. Does it count if I'm having a small version of a panic attack while doing talking to someone? Maybe that'll get her off my back in the stretching-boundaries department. This whole humiliating experience could work to my advantage.

Aunt Nicole's small white car pulls over. I'm saved. Completely and totally
saved
. The window rolls down. “You okay, Joy?”

“Her asthma was acting up,” Justin offers.

“Oh,” she says. We both know I don't have asthma.

“Here's your bag. Maybe I'll see you later.” He stands there for another moment before walking away. He's not a big guy, only a couple inches taller than me. It makes him less … scary.

“Thank you!” Aunt Nicole calls out.

“Justin,” I whisper.

“Justin!”

I let myself look up to see him wave before he walks around the corner, a piece of his dark hair falling over one eye. He's cute. Really cute. Even though I hope he never talks to me again, I can appreciate that about him.

“Climb in,” she says through the window.

I open the door and sit in the familiar smell of her car. Just Aunt Nicole and me—this I can do. My body begins to relax. First my chest and shoulders, then the cage around my lungs.

Aunt Nicole digs in her purse. “I have your Xanax in here, but if you want to go to school, it might not be the best idea to take one now …” She stops digging and her eyes meet mine. “I'm going to let you decide this time. Do you want one of your pills to help you calm down?”

My breathing already feels better so I shake my head.

“Okay.” She drops her purse on the floor. “I can take you home, but Rob's there today, and I know he makes you uncomfortable.”

I put my hands on my cheeks as they heat up. I hate that she knows this. We drive in silence for a few minutes that feel more like an hour.

“Joy, you know Rob would never hurt you, right?”

I nod and focus on the smoothness of the gray dashboard. “That's why I feel so stupid about being … afraid.”

“Oh, honey … don't. Don't feel like that.” Her voice is always so friendly. No matter what crazy thing I've done, or how her schedule is arranged or rearranged for me, she maintains her friendly voice. I sometimes wonder if it's a struggle or if she's naturally this nice. How did she and my mom turn out so different?

And how can I not feel stupid when logic tells me one thing, but every other part of my body tells me something different?

I'm totally interrupting her morning over nothing. “I'm sorry about this. I just …”

“It's kind of a big deal that you let that boy walk with you.” Her voice is so encouraging—especially for something as simple as walking with someone.

“Except he's the one that brought on the panic attack.” That means our exchange probably doesn't even count as me moving forward. He does totally count as talking to someone at school, though.

“Well, you said a few things, right?”

“Yeah … A few …” I'm just not sure where exactly a panic attack because of a few words exchanged falls on the crazy scale of one to ten. A five? An eight? Maybe it depends on how insane a full ten really is.

“Why don't we find somewhere to get breakfast? My appointment shouldn't take long, and then you can decide if you're ready to go to school.” Her voice is so calm, relaxed. As if I freak out on the way to school every day, and I'm just one more thing on her list of things to do. No big deal.

Make breakfast.

Check.

Pick up Joy hyperventilating on the sidewalk with a stranger.

Check.

Offer to get Joy breakfast on the way to school to ease anxiety.

Check.

“No breakfast, and I'm so sorry.” The words come out in a mumble. “It's like I've completely disrupted … everything here.”

Aunt Nicole reaches out to touch me, but stops. And it sucks because I actually wouldn't mind. Though I really don't need to be thinking about wanting things that are out of my reach.

“Joy, don't ever think that. I already can't imagine you not in our house. It's like we didn't even know you were missing until you got here.”

I shake my head. She's way too nice. Aunt Nicole is just really good at knowing what to say.

“It's up to you whether you believe me or not, but it's how I feel. I love you. I missed way too much of your life. It feels good to have you around.” No matter how nice and soft and
understanding
she seems, I'm still afraid to trust her words. No one would think taking me in is no big deal.

I pull my legs onto the seat, completely overwhelmed. She's said things like this before, but it feels like it means even more on a morning when I've completely disrupted her routine.

“So, do you want to hang out with me today? Or are you ready to face school?” Aunt Nicole asks.

“I can go.” As much as I'd love to spend the day with her, I know she's busy. She's just being nice again.

We drive in silence for a few minutes.

“Did we push you too hard to be in school this fall?”

“No,” I answer immediately.

“It just seems like …”

“I feel insane enough already. Keeping me home from school would just make it worse.” I can't believe I just admitted that.

“You're not …” But she doesn't finish. Right. She knows it as well as I do. “Here we are.” She stops in front of the main doors.

I climb out of the car, but hold the door open. My chest is a little heavy from her near admission of my mental state.

“Do you need a note?” she asks.

“I'm a pink-slip kid, remember?” My pink slip is my reward for being a mental case.

“Right.”

Pink-slip kids have a free pass to get out of class and go to the counselor. If I'm late or if I need to leave early, I can do that too. The catch is that the office immediately calls my aunt and uncle every time I use it. Then there are questions from my aunt and uncle about why I left last period early or if I'm okay or do I need to schedule an appointment with Lydia. Even when the questions are unspoken, they rattle through my head. Aunt Nicole's eyes seem to hold an endless list of things she might like to know.