Wrecked (9 page)

“Yeah.” I sniffed.

He watched me finish sniffing. “Maybe you’ll end up with special powers.”

“You mean like a superhero?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He walked to the space underneath the deck, where there was more height. “Like that. See if you can fly.”

“I can’t fly.” I followed him.

“Just see.” He made a scoop out of his hands, lacing them
together, palms up, and locking them. “I’ll give you a boost.” So I backed up to him and stepped my right foot into his scoop.

“One,” Jack said. “Two. Three!” He threw me upward, and I leaped and fell right back to the ground.

“Nope,” I said.

“Nope,” he said back. “It’s still cool.”

“Do you think I’m okay?”

“Yeah. You’re fine.”

“What’s Andalusian?” I asked him. He thought about it.

“I forget,” he said. “Either that, or I never looked it up in the first place.”

After they leave, and it’s dark in my room again, and I’m sipping from the water Jack brought, I think about all that. I don’t know why exactly. But I remember how it felt like I’d been hit by a truck, and I remember how scared I was when my parents didn’t get it. And how Jack didn’t mind that I cried, and then made that step for me out of his hands to see if I could fly, even though we were both too old to really believe I would. I don’t know exactly why I’m thinking about all this, except it has something to do with how Jack brought me the water just now. He filled it three-quarters full so it would be enough, but not so much that I’d spill, and he waited to let go of his grip on the glass until he was sure I had it firm in my shaking hands. He was the one in the nightmare trying to stop something terrible from happening, and he was the one in real life double-checking that my hand wasn’t blackened, burned to a crisp, and letting me feel scared without minding.

JASON AND SETH HND LISA AND I TAKE TURNS MAKING SURE
Ellen gets to and from classes okay. She’ll be in her chair for at least another two weeks, and she moves really, really slow. When we’re just sitting around, Jason massages Ellen’s earlobes.

“That feels so completely amazing,” Ellen goes every time he starts. You can see just how amazing in her face, and I don’t think it’s only because she has such a thing for him. Her eyes and her cheeks and her whole face and neck relax.

Sometimes, out of the blue, she’ll wince, as if someone’s hit her, and then she’ll hold really still for a few seconds.

“It’s not my leg so much as the ribs,” she tells me the third time it happens. “And especially by my boob, where that goddamn chest tube went in.”

Technically I’m supposed to be wearing my strainer in
school, but I’m not following that particular rule anymore. Yesterday at Dr. Pluto’s I had a gonioscopy. He put some sort of special contact lens in my eye and then vised my face and used the slit lamp to look at things. The blood was totally gone, he told me, and the tear was tiny and basically healed. I have to take atropine—that’s the drops to keep my eyes dilated—for a few more days, and then I’m done.

“I’ll see you in a week,” Dr. Pluto said, palming my head.

Now Ellen and I are making our pathetic way through the humanities hallway. The only problem is, the armful of helium balloons Lisa tied to Ellen’s chair keep popping and startling us, which is a pain in the ass, plus if Ellen jumps, her face grits itself in pain and she has to hold still for a while before she can move or talk or not look like she’s dying.

“Lisa’s not around, right?” Ellen asks.

I take a quick glance up and down the hallway, which is pretty crowded. “Yeah,” I say. “I think she turned left for Spanish.”

“Okay, stop,” Ellen says. We stop. “Let’s just pop the rest of these.” There’s three left. She pulls at one of the strings so she can reach a balloon. I pull at the other two.

“Got a pen?” she asks. I hand her a pencil. She stabs a few times, but the pencil is dull, the latex is tough, and Ellen’s stabs are weak, I guess because of her ribs.

“What about a nail file?” I dig one out of my backpack side pocket. “Here.” I stab at a red one, and it pops. A couple of kids jump.

“Excellent,” Ellen goes. “I mean, no offense to Lisa. But do another one.” So I pop another one. Some other kids yelp. Ellen starts gnawing on the strings.

“Wait, wait,” I go. “Let me untie them.” So she lets them go, and I start to untie. I’m good at that, actually. Any time somebody’s chain gets knotted, they ask me for help.

“It’s freezing,” Ellen says.

“You’re always cold,” I tell her.

She yawns this huge, loud yawn and then winces. “Ow.”

“You okay?” I ask.

“I’m just really tired. And then it hurts to yawn.”

“It’s your first day back,” I remind her.

“I know,” she says. “I just didn’t think I’d be so tired.”

She doesn’t sound good. “Do you want to go home?” I ask. It’s not like anybody’s going to stop her. The teachers are being pretty nice to both of us. I can’t remember the last homework I completed. And I’ve failed two tests and a quiz already—that biology quiz, actually—and everybody’s let me take them over.

“Mostly it’s that I keep thinking about Cameron,” Ellen tells me. “You know?”

“Yeah,” I answer. Only, I can’t stand to think about it, so I say, “Can I pop the last balloon?”

“Go ahead.”

I pop the last balloon. A few kids jump, and this one girl screams a very loud, very long scream, and the second she stops, I make this gasping sound, and then I think I’m going to vomit, only I don’t, and I’m shaking so hard I drop my backpack, and Ellen’s asking what’s the matter, and I can’t get my mouth to work, and Ellen’s grabbing my hand and asking why it’s all sweaty, and my heart is pounding and I think,
Oh, my God, I’m having a heart attack, but sixteen-year-olds don’t have heart attacks,
and Ellen’s telling me to stand up already, just stand up, and our
biology teacher walks by and she’s going, “Girls? Are you all right? Girls?” and she stays with us while I get my breath back and get my heart to slow and while Ellen sinks lower and lower into her chair with her eyes closed and these tears just sliding out of the corners and down her cheeks, and then Ms. Riffing checks with the junior-class vice principal and then calls Ellen’s mom, who says we’re like soldiers battling shell shock and we should both go right to bed, and drives me home.

Instead of getting into bed, I’m sitting at my desk, staring at the cover of my history book. I hear Jack’s step, walking into the kitchen from the mudroom and then on the stairs, and he stops at my door. He takes the earphones out of his ears. I can hear squawking coming from them. I swear he’s going to be deaf before he’s twenty-one.

“Your friend Jason told me you and Ellen freaked out in the hall today before sixth period,” he says. He needs a haircut, and he has this line between his eyes I’ve never noticed before, and the whites are sort of bloodshot.

“Did people see?” I ask. But I don’t really care.

“I guess,” he says. “Jason seemed pretty worried. That guy Seth was with him. They both went out of their way to find me.”

“Oh,” I say.

“They seem pretty cool, those two,” Jack tells me.

“Oh,” I say again.

“Do you want to go to Top Hats?”

“With you?” The idea of going anywhere with Jack is so strange I can hardly picture it.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m sick of being cooped up in this house.” Even though he just got home.

“How would we get there?” I ask.

“I heard Mom drive in when I was walking upstairs,” he says. We still have only one car. The Audi. “We could tell her we’ll pick up Dad from work.” They’re going to buy another Honda. They’re not sure if insurance will cover it, and my dad’s been yelling at a bunch of people over the phone about it.

“I’m really behind on my homework,” I tell Jack.

“Bring it,” he says. “I’ll bring my laptop. We can hang out there until dinner.”

In the garage he hesitates on the third step from the mudroom. “Who’s driving?” he asks.

‘You,” I tell him.

Dr. Pluto warned me that outside during the day without the shield my eye may be sensitive to the sun. This is the first time I’m trying it, and he’s right. As soon as we’re out of the garage, I have to cover the eye with my hand. I haven’t dug up my sunglasses yet. So I have to keep my hand there until we’re inside the diner.

I order onion rings and a Coke. Jack orders fish sticks and a Diet Coke.

“Gross,” I say about the Diet Coke. It’s not like he’s got a weight problem. “How can you drink that?”

He shrugs. “I like the taste.”

The waitress comes over to refill our water glasses, even though they’re still about half full. “Where’s your friend?” She remembers Ellen and me from when we used to come here all the time.

“She broke her leg,” I say.

“Same time you broke your eye?” the waitress asks.

“Yeah,” I say, and I guess something about my face makes her stop asking me about it. Instead she goes, “This your boyfriend?” Jack snorts Diet Coke out his nose. Nice.

“My brother,” I say. Jack’s wiping himself off.

“Should have guessed,” the waitress says as she walks away. “You two look alike.”

It reminds me of when Cameron said that, and I wonder if it reminds Jack, too, when he sticks his earphones back into his ears and taps his iPod and won’t look at me. Which makes me start to shake again. My wrists mostly, stuttering on the edge of the table.

“Jack,” I say.

He picks up a fish stick, dips it in ketchup, and then puts it back on his plate.

“I just wanted to tell you that—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts.

“But I never really—”

“Don’t, Anna!” he goes again, and he thumbs his iPod, scrolling up the volume.

I reach over and try to pull an earphone out of his ear. “After the accident I thought you—”

“Stop it!” He whips his head up and away from my hand. His face is thin. Like Ellen’s. It’s filled with that disgusted look, that one that tells me how unbelievably small I am.

“Okay.” My chest is filled with ink. “Let’s just go home.”

I’ve barely even started my onion rings, but I put a twenty on the table, grab my backpack, and walk out. Jack’s right behind
me. He slides into the driver’s side as I’m snapping on my seat belt one-handed so that the other can cover my right eye. Jack starts the car and smacks the CD player on, turning up the volume on some band he must love. After two seconds of driving I turn the volume way down. He turns it back up. It’s a good ten minutes before I notice we’re not going anywhere I recognize.

“Where are you going?” I ask. We should be home by now.

“Nowhere,” he says.

“Why are you so mad?” I ask him.

“Why are you such a bitch?”

It digs this big black hole right into my gut, and there’s nothing to say back. I just sit here, feeling inky and heavy and horrible, while Jack keeps driving.

“Do you even know where we are?” I ask.

“No,” he says. Great. He takes an exit, and we start passing gas stations and fast-food restaurants.

“What music is this?” I ask.

“Spoonerism,” he tells me.

“Spooner what?”

“Spoonerism.”

We sit here and listen.

“Did Cameron like this song?”

“Yes. Shut up. I’m not talking about her with you.”

“I wasn’t trying to get you to.”

“Yes, you were.” He pulls into a gas station.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You’re full of shit,” he tells me, easing the car up next to a pump.

“And you’re being an asshole.”

“I’m fucking
sad
!” he explodes at me. “Do you understand?” And he leaps out of the car and starts walking. Just walking. He’s headed for the road. The gas station guy is pumping gas. I don’t know what to do. I have only five more dollars on me and no credit card. My parents don’t give us our own. And Jack’s walking—more like slamming—away down this street, and it doesn’t look like he’s turning around anytime soon.

“Stop,” I tell the attendant. He’s pumped three dollars. He stops. I get out of the car and pay him. I have to take my hand away from my eye. I try to close just the right lid against the light. It’s hard to close just one lid. I end up sort of squinting both eyes instead. The attendant gives me the change. And then I run after Jack. It takes me a good few minutes to catch up to him. For one, it’s hard to run with a hand over your eye. But also, I’m wearing these slip-on shoes with no back, plus I’m not exactly an athlete.

“Stop,” I huff at him when I finally catch up.

He keeps walking. I’m out of breath and wiped out. I have to half jog to stay near him. I drop my hand and go back to squinting.

“Jack.”

“What?” he says. I’m right on his heels, like a dog being walked. I reach out to grab his arm.

“Come on,” I say.

He stops, curses, kicks the ground, and turns around. His face is like a mask. Like one of those painted demon masks you see from Africa. All big, wild eyes and stretched-out, gaping mouth and insanity. I take a big step backward, away from him, and cover my right eye with my palm again. We stand here staring at each other.

“Somebody’s going to steal the car,” I tell him finally. It’s still there, with the key in the ignition, by the pump. “We’ve got to pick up Dad.”

Jack must hear something in what I’ve said that makes his mask shift a little. He bends down and grabs a handful of thistle and pebbles and dirt, and he hurls it. He grabs another handful and throws that, and then another one. He’s crouching, and cars are driving by, and I still don’t know what to do. After a few more grabs and throws Jack stops but stays crouched. He puts his head in his hands, and I don’t think he’s crying, but I kind of wish he were, because somehow that would be easier than this.

“I don’t want to deal with Dad,” Jack says. “I do not want to deal with Dad.”

He wipes his face with his hands.

“You’ve got dirt on your face,” I tell him.

He stands and starts walking toward the car. Then he stops again, and I nearly run him over, I’m so close behind. I could have damaged my eye all over again.

“I can’t stand this,” Jack tells me. “Seriously, Anna.” He nods, as if I’ve said something to agree with him somehow, and then he starts walking again.