The Truth About Fragile Things (26 page)

My hair was still wet from my shower, my clothes still pulsing in the washing machine when my family got home. I surprised myself by how fast I ran to Lauren, how hard I grabbed her and pushed her head against me. We had two seconds before my mother came through the door and Lauren gave me a cockeyed smile. “Good, you’re still alive.”

“Megan!” My mother burst in with luggage and squeezed me, inhaling the fresh scent of coconut shampoo. “House looks great. Like I was worried. Did you have a good weekend?”

“Make any trouble?” my dad asked, closing the door behind him.

“Nary a bit,” I promised.

“Well, better luck next time.” He winked at me and I had a fleeting impulse to shock them all.
I spent all weekend in the woods with Charlotte and Phillip. And there was skinny dipping
. It burned on my tongue, but I quenched it with silence.

“Come help me put my stuff away,” Lauren commanded. Before I obeyed I asked my parents if they had fun.

“It wasn’t the same without you. Could you please cryofreeze yourself and never go to college?” Mom asked while she smoothed my dripping hair.

“I’ll work on it.” I had other questions, but Lauren yelled for me in her most imperious voice. “The dictator calleth,” I murmured. She waited at the top of the stairs, impatience curling her fingers almost into fists. “I’m coming,” I told her. And then whispered, “Don’t be obvious.” We shut her door behind us and spoke in low voices. “If you act this anxious to talk, Mom is going to listen at the door when she comes upstairs.”

“She’d listen at the door if we were talking about broccoli. She can’t hear anything if we’re quiet enough.” She tugged me to the far side of her room and pulled me to the floor using the bed as a barricade between us and the door.

“Very discreet. Do you keep food supplies in this fort?” I peeked under her bed skirt but only found a broken speaker, a dusty stack of books, and a couple socks. “You actually have dirty socks under your bed. Isn’t that a little cliché?”

“Shut up and start talking,” she demanded.

That made me laugh so hard the sound actually came out. Usually I am a silent laugher—a smile and an extra breath kind of a girl. But this time I chuckled and Lauren forgot to scowl because she was so proud of earning a laugh.

“Please,” she begged.

“We did four things on the list. I wish you could have seen it.”

“I could have if you let me.”

“Don’t pout. I climbed boulders. And I saw shooting stars. Tons of them.”

I was telling her about our first night on the mountain when Mom quietly turned the handle and eased open the door. Our two heads rose over the bed until our eyes were visible above the blue comforter.

“What’s the secret?” Mom asked.

“Just sister stuff,” Lauren told her.

“Can it be mom stuff? I need some good dish.” She dropped down cross-legged next to us, her expression anxious.

“Some good
what
?” Lauren asked.

“Dish. Some gossip. A story. You know.” Mom smiled, still convinced this was going to work.

“Mommy, I love you and I’ve been giving you
dish
all weekend. Megan’s turn.” Lauren gave her a conciliatory pat on her shoulder.

“You don’t
give
dish. You dish. It’s a verb, not a noun,” Mom explained.

Lauren made the sound of a sharp buzzer. “No grammar lessons. No dishes. Nobody born in the nineteen hundreds.” Instead of a pat she gave a playful shove.

“I was born in the nineteen hundreds,” I reminded her.

She found that inexplicably funny. “That makes you sound so old,” she squealed. “Now you please go!” she told my mother who laughed with her. Only when the door was closed, the lock clicked into place did she pull her pillow onto the floor and settle in to hear the rest. I was debating whether to tell her about the skinny dipping when she interrupted me. “Megan, did this trip make you like Phillip more?”

I pictured his back shaking with laughter while Charlotte stripped down behind him. “Oh, he’s just the same old Phillip.”

“I really want you to fall in love with him. He freaking sings at meteor showers. You are a stupid, stupid girl!”

“How would my falling in love with him help you?”

“I would just live vicariously and stuff.”

“That is fifty shades of gross,” I berated her. “I am your sister. You would daydream about my boyfriend? You should be glad I would never fall for him in case you grow up, lose your brain, and want to date him.”

“Good point,” she conceded with a sigh. “But I just wonder…is he perfect for you and you don’t see it?”

I settled my head next to her, my damp hair leaving a spot on her pillow. “That would be so easy. Solve all kinds of problems.”

“Like what?” she reached for a strand of my hair and started twisting it the same way I played with Charlotte’s.

“Like figuring out where I fit. That would be one more cubby hole—Phillip’s girlfriend. People would expect that. They would feel more comfortable with me.”

“But…”

I turned, which pulled my hair from her fingers; they held the empty air, waiting for something profound. “Exactly.” I scanned the popcorn ceiling, imagining each bump a star in the sky. “I don’t trust the easy answer,” I told her. “I think it’s usually the wrong one.”

“Why make it easy when it can be so much harder?” she mumbled.

It was my second real laugh of the day. “Something like that.”

“What’s on your mind?”
Schatz asked me as soon as I opened her door with my lunch in hand.

“Why do you ask?” I pushed aside some scattered scripts to make room for food.

“I saw you this morning. You were alone.” She lifted her salad from her desk and joined me at the table.

“When? Before school? I was with some of the stage crew.”

“You were with people, but you were alone.” Schatz had a gift of slightly closing one eye while widening the other. It has a very delving effect, as if she were burrowing right into your head. Maybe even your soul.

I opened my container of hummus to buy time. “Aren’t I always?”

“To some extent. Why is that?”

I sawed through my bagel with a flimsy, plastic knife. “Is it open season on Megan? You are the fourth person to comment on the way I live when I’m exactly the same as I’ve always been. So why does everyone suddenly want to analyze me or push me out of my comfort zone? Newsflash: I don’t even have a comfort zone.”

Schatz gave a low whistle and smiled so wide I thought she wanted to applaud. “So Megan, tell me what you really think.”

I gave her a small laugh and attempted to change the subject. It didn’t work.

“Who’s been analyzing you?”

“The people who have no reason to because they know me the best.”

“How well does anyone know you? The people who know you the best know very little more than the people who don’t know you at all. Ever think of that? Or are you hyperaware of that?” She rubbed one hand inside the other, eerily close to a plotting, mad scientist.

My eyebrow lifted, my food halfway to my mouth. “So you think I’m closed? That I’m doing it on purpose?”

Schatz grinned, a mysterious bend to her mouth.

 “I am not trying to confuse people. I just don’t like everyone to know what I’m thinking. Who would?” I pushed my hair behind my ear, let it linger there, resting against my neck.

“Most people. You cannot pay most people to stop telling you what they are thinking.” Her strong fingernails drummed the tabletop.

“That is so sad and so true,” I conceded. “But once people know, they always know. I feel like every word I speak is something I lose that I can’t get back.”

Her eyes softened with surprise at my words. Before she could speak her door opened. Schatz smiled and held her arms out in a grand greeting to Braden. “Another one of my favorite people. How is my soundboard?”

He gave me a shy wave before he answered. “I’m still getting feedback on the bass speaker. I’m going to try one more thing after school and then we might need to call someone.” His eyes met mine, the red of his ruddy cheeks deepening. “Hi, Megan.”

“Come join us,” I told him, glad for the diversion. Braden was a quiet person, but comfortable. He didn’t wait to be invited twice. He sat across from me with a protein bar. His cheeks were bright red and freckled, the exact opposite of my complexion. It made it difficult not to stare at him, so I tried to glance away as often as courtesy demanded.

“Phil said you went camping this weekend,” he mentioned casually.

I choked on my bite, coughing before I could cover my mouth. My eyes grew slick as I made a small gasp and Schatz hit my back.

“Ow,” I managed to wheeze.

“You went camping?” Schatz exclaimed.

“I can’t…” A tear slipped down my face and I stood and turned, trying to stop the coughing.

“Can you breathe?” Braden rose up, his hands extended to help.

I held up an arm to keep him back. It wasn’t just the air I needed. I needed the words. I had no idea what to say even if I could say something. “Phil told you
what
?”

Braden seemed to sense he had started a small crisis and shrunk back, waffling in his answer. “He just mentioned…”

“What exactly did he say and who did he say it to?” I demanded.

“Just me when we were carrying the furniture onto the stage this morning. He said to ask you about your camping trip this weekend and the…” He ducked his eyes, refused to finish the sentence.

“Braden, I will never forgive you if you do not tell me exactly—”

“Skinny dipping,” he spat out in low rush.

Schatz’s face dawned with wonder and glee. “Megan!”

“I did no such thing. No. Such. Thing.” I held up my hand like an eraser to wipe the shock from her eyes. “I would
never
.”

“I figured it was a joke,” Braden said gently. “It was Phil.”

“That is why I don’t talk,” I spun toward Mrs. Schatz. “When you talk people twist it into…”

“I was about to celebrate. I thought this was a quite a breakthrough for you,” Schatz said, my sincerity spoiling her moment of triumph.

The agitation inside my limbs made it impossible to compose myself. I had no idea who else Phillip was sharing secrets with. “Excuse me,” I said, wadding up my trash.

“It was just a joke,” Braden called after me. “I’m sorry.”

“Uh oh,” Schatz said before the door closed and left me in the empty hallway. It was a matter of pride, trying to keep my footsteps slow enough not to draw attention as I mounted the stairs. After a few steps I attempted to relax my lips out of the grim line pressed across my face. I found him in the lunchroom, his booming voice carried over the sound of the people around him. And there at his side, sitting closer than necessary, Charlotte. I smiled for the onlookers and tapped him on the shoulder. He and Charlotte both turned to me.

“A word, please,” I said softly, knowing the request alone drew too much attention. He was already almost done with his food. The bell would ring any minute. He picked up his tray, Charlotte followed close behind.

“That’s fine,” I told her, as if she were waiting for my permission. “This concerns you, too.” I led them to the library and the bell screamed just as we made it to the quiet table in the back corner. I looked at the clock. Seven minutes to make him beg for mercy and then get to class.

“You told Braden about our trip? About skinny dipping?” My face lost its calm facade as I spoke.

“He actually asked you about it?” Phillip reveled in a deep laugh. “I seriously never thought he would.” He stopped when he saw my expression. “I was joking. I didn’t tell him anything. It’s Braden. He wouldn’t tell anyone. I wanted to give him a heart attack because he thinks you are Venus and Aphrodite all rolled into one.”

“You idiot,” I inserted as much force into the word as a whisper can have. “Venus and Aphrodite are the same person.”

“Excuse me. Are you here to fight about goddesses?” he asked, amused.

“You had no right. No right at all. What was I supposed to say?”

“What
did
you say?” Charlotte’s face was aglow with curiosity.

“Oh, you two are just made for each other.” I pointed a sharp finger at Phillip’s chin. “Don’t drag me down into your stupidity. Not a word. There are millions of things in this world for your big mouth to talk about. Don’t talk about me.”