Cami props her bare feet on the coffee table. Her toenails are painted purple. “Stop it. It was horrible. There were tons of bees in there.”
“Was I a good kisser back then already?”
“Shut up.”
I stare at her toes for a minute, and then I look over at her face. “Aren’t your feet freezing?”
She shrugs. “Sort of.”
I get off the couch, move her legs, and slide under them so I’m sitting on the coffee table and her feet are in my lap. I wrap my arms around them, hold them to my chest. And then I give her my most innocent smile.
She raises her eyebrow suspiciously but lets me stay like that, and we talk about all kinds of things. Like what happened at dinner tonight with Blake, and which Barbie doll was my favorite, and what might happen when I finally make my way home.
One kiss was definitely not enough.
After a while, Cami’s mom yells down the stairs. “Ethan, are you still here?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say. Cami’s toes are toasty warm now.
“Your mother’s on the phone wondering if you’re here, and she wants you to come home now.”
I roll my eyes and Cami cringes in sympathy. “Thanks,” I call out. “Tell her I’ll be home in a few minutes.”
I stand up and set Cami’s feet gently on the floor, and then I offer her a hand and pull her out of the chair. “Thanks for forgiving me,” I say.
She gives me a hug. “How could I not forgive my long-lost BFF?”
It’s not where I want it to be. But I’ll take it. For now.
The wind has stopped and the snowplows are
out, throwing the snow impossibly high along the sides of the roads. It feels like I’m in a tunnel, walking down the street. Mama said earlier that if the plow trucks make it to the neighborhoods, school will be open tomorrow. And my mind turns back to that old worry. I squinch my eyes shut. My eyeballs feel frozen.
When I get home, I find my parents in the living room, pretending like crazy that they aren’t worried, like they have it all together, but the curtains are still open wide, even though it’s long after dark.
Blake is nowhere to be found, and Gracie’s probably asleep in bed already. I sit down in the chair across from the couch, where Mama sits.
“Hey,” I say. I’m so uncertain. Are they mad at me about dinner? Do they think I’m just a troublemaker, like Blake does? And are they really going to ground me for not coming home right away? I think about making a joke, but then think better of it and just keep my mouth shut.
They’re quiet, just sitting there, looking at me, and it worries me. It does. It’s probably some parenting technique or something. Whatever it is, it’s working. I shift in my chair and clasp my hands to keep from fidgeting.
Finally, Dad speaks. “We’re really upset with you for running off.”
Mama says, “It’s not safe out there. You wandering around in the dark—I was very worried.”
I close my eyes and count to five so I don’t mess this up.
But they aren’t done.
“And what you did to Blake is unacceptable,” Dad says. “I know you’ve had some rough times, and I know you probably learned how to fight on the street, but in this house you are with family and we don’t act that way.”
Ugh. I can’t believe this. “Blake punched me first,” I say as quietly as I can.
“Don’t worry about Blake. We’ve taken care of him. That’s not your job,” Mama says.
I can feel it coming. This is such bullshit. And I know I’ve lost my chance at getting out of school. There’s no way Mama will talk Dad into anything now.
“I’m sorry,” I say. Seething inside.
Mama stays on point. “If it happens again, Ethan, well . . . I’m not sure what we’re going to do, but violence in our home is not acceptable, and whatever punishment we decide, it’ll be harsh. So just don’t. Clear?”
“Yes.”
“Now, about school tomorrow,” Dad says.
My heart sinks.
“You’re going.”
Fuck. I lean forward in my chair, put my elbows on my knees. Bury my face in my hands so they don’t see my reaction. So they don’t see me shaking. So they don’t see the stupid, hot tears.
In the morning, I get up from my makeshift bed in the basement, put on my clothes, eat breakfast, and get on the bus, ignoring the looks. And ignoring Blake. It’s easy—he ignores me, too. I sit with Cami, but for the life of me, I can’t focus on our conversation. My chest is so tight, it makes my breath raspy. I just stare at the seatback in front of me.
Once we’re at school, I get off the bus.
And I start walking. Away.
I can’t do it. I can’t go in there, face all those people. Be laughed at, humiliated. Sent to all those freshman classes when I should be a junior. Look J-Dog in the eye, or see Cami with him, or get one single pity glance or one inkling of a mention of pissing my pants—I swear I’ll punch anybody who does that.
And, I’ve been told, that is unacceptable.
So that leaves me with no choice.
I quit.
I spend the day wandering, and by afternoon,
I’m cold and starving. I stare at the mom-and-pop diner a couple of blocks from school, smelling the grease, and my mouth waters. But I don’t have any money. I walk farther and stop when I see a Burger King bag on the side of the road. It’s not moving in the breeze. I think about seeing what’s in it. I do. But I fucking can’t do that again. I turn down a residential street and keep walking. Kick the crap out of a trash can instead. The lid rolls out into the street and a car has to go around it. I walk to the end of the block, and then jog back to get it. Put it back on the can.
Wandering around all day, I’ve got to keep moving or I freeze. I walk a bunch of miles, all in squares so I don’t get lost. Nobody notices, nobody stops me or asks what I’m doing. I’m just invisible.
When my phone starts vibrating in my pocket, I ignore it along with the fear in my gut, and I just head back to school to catch the bus home. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I really don’t.
I hop on the bus before the last bell rings, before everybody else boards, and sit by the window watching the floodgates open. Cami and J-Dog come walking out together, holding hands, and I want to kill him. I shrink down in my seat and pull my hat down so he doesn’t see me. Cami’s on her cell phone, distracted, and she glances up at me, squinting. Then she gives J-Dog a quick peck on the cheek and waves good-bye. He doesn’t look very satisfied with that, but he turns and walks back into the school. Basketball practice, probably.
Cami hops up the bus steps and sees me, and then she talks on the phone a second more and hangs up. She flops in the seat and says to me, really loud, “Will you please start answering your stupid phone? Your mother called my mother and my mother called me to see if I knew where you were. Somebody marked you down as an unexcused absence from school today and the office called home to find out where you were. Your parents are freaked.”
“Shit,” I say. They know. Of course they know. The school would call them. I should have known that. It’s been a while since I’ve had to cut school, and Ellen never really cared.
“What?” Cami’s voice is sharp. She folds a piece of gum into her mouth and chews, hard.
“Did you tell your mother I was on the bus?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” I say, thinking fast. “Yeah, that’s good.”
“Why?”
“I cut school,” I say. “I’m not going back. I’m quitting.”
“Oh, great.” Cami sinks back in the seat. “Ethan, why?”
“I’m sixteen, I can quit if I want.”
“Are you sure about that? I bet you have to have your parents’ permission.”
I stare at her. “How would you know?” But I’m scared she’s right.
She just sighs and pulls out her iPod and I feel like a loser. But I’m still not going back there.
We pick up the middle school kids and Blake has his phone out. He gives me a huge smirk when he says, “Bye, Dad,” and I know he knows I’m busted. I scrunch down in the seat and just try to breathe all the way home. Try to pretend I’m cool about all of this.
But I am so not.
I go inside, into the kitchen, and Gracie’s eyes are huge, like she’s trying to warn me. Blake shoves past and goes to his room. Mama comes around the corner, sees me, and stops. She looks so disappointed.
“Mama,” I say. “Can we please talk about this?”
“You had me worried sick. Where were you all day?”
“Just wandering around. I’m sorry. I couldn’t do it—”
“Ethan, I want you to promise me you’ll go to your classes tomorrow.”
“But I have some ideas.”
“Like what?” She doesn’t look very open to them.
“Like, you could homeschool me. Or maybe I could get a tutor.”
She shakes her head and sighs. “I’m not cut out for homeschooling, and we just can’t afford a tutor right now.”
“I could get a job. I could help pay.” I plead with my eyes.
“No. You need to focus on studying and catching up in school. Believe me, Ethan, I’ve tried convincing your father, okay? It’s not going to happen.”
“Then I’ll quit school.”
“You can’t,” Mama says. “Besides, you’re smart. You’re just overreacting to one event that everyone’s forgotten about already. And you don’t even know yet if you’ll be in freshman classes. Just take a deep breath and handle it, Ethan! You know you can do it.”
I stare at her. Not really sure what to say.
She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Honey, sometimes you just have to suck it up, like everyone else has to.” And then she walks past me into the kitchen and starts pulling stuff out of the fridge for dinner.
I look at Gracie and she just shrugs at me. “Suck it up,” she says.
I’m hiding in the basement when Dad gets home,
but he doesn’t come after me. We don’t discuss my skip day at dinner, either, and I’m thinking maybe Mama took care of things. I’m kind of thrilled about that, but it’s freaking me out a little wondering if Dad’s going to spring something on me. The yelling is really getting old, and I think I’m going to have to try to follow the rules for a while, just to keep the peace. I can’t keep disappointing Mama when she’s sticking her neck out for me. I pick out some more picture books from a box and start reading, just to get something calm going in my brain. This angsty crap is making my chest all weird and congested.
Blake has another assignment for his science class and he makes an exaggerated effort checking my earlobes and marking everybody on the chart as either attached or detached. I kind of remember this stuff from middle school and it was sort of interesting. Maybe school won’t be so bad after all. I wonder if I really was making too big a deal out of it.
After dinner, Dad and I work on my new bedroom some more. We get the frame totally done and hang the drywall and mud it, which is cool, because he just teaches me how to do stuff and doesn’t yell. And all he says about today is, “Let’s start fresh tomorrow with school, okay?” And I’m like, “Yeah,” and I give a big sigh of relief. I’m glad, really. I am. And I’m going to give it a try. Just suck it up.
I bet Cami will like that.
After Dad goes to bed, I start going through the photos, pulling out all the ones I like. I think I’m going to make a collage for my bedroom. I lay out all the photos on the pool table and arrange them the way I want them, like they tell a story. And I see how happy we were, Mama and Dad and Blake and me, and I get this lump in my throat. Because I want that.
Ellen didn’t take many pictures. She’d get one of those disposable cameras now and then, but lots of times it would just sit there for a year or two because we didn’t have the money to go get the film developed. I wonder if she’s gotten them developed now, or if she just threw them all away. Like she threw me away.
I work until I can’t keep my eyes open anymore.
Morning comes too soon.
Cami looks glad to see me at the bus stop.
“Well?” she demands.
“Quitting is for losers.” Just saying the words makes my gut hurt.
“You’d better not wander off again like yesterday.”
I glance sidelong at her. “Maybe you should hang on to me, then. So I get inside all right.”
She blushes and lowers those long lashes. “Don’t be dumb.”
“I’m not dumb. I’m desperate.”
She laughs, like she thinks I’m joking. I like that. It makes me think that maybe I am, too. Like maybe I really can handle it.
I make it through. And it’s nowhere near as bad as I thought.
A few people ask me if I’m okay, and I search their faces, suspicious. Are they mocking me? But they seem sincere. At lunch, J-Dog apologizes and I let him. But I sit by myself. I can’t deal with him yet. Maybe not ever, who knows? All I know is that this little town of Belleville is full of some pretty decent people. Nothing like I’ve ever seen before.
After school I invite Cami to come over and see the progress of my new bedroom. She spends a long time looking at all the pictures I laid out on the pool table. Remembering things. She’s in a few of them. At least I think it’s her. We lean over and look together.
“That’s you, isn’t it?” I ask, pointing to one where I stand at the dining table working the sno-cone machine. Blake’s just a toddler, and a girl holds a cup, catching the shaved ice.
She smiles, laughs a little. “Yeah, I remember that!” And then she looks at me like she said something insensitive. “Sorry . . . Is any of it coming back?”
I ponder that question for a minute. “Sometimes I think it is.” I glance over at the orange racetrack. “It all feels sort of familiar, but nothing really stands out. Familiar, like comfortable, you know? Like it feels right, and I belong here. Most of the time, anyway.” I frown.
“You and Blake still fighting?”
“He’s not talking to me.” I look at the photos where we are playing together. Where in a family picture, I rest my hand on his shoulder like I’m protecting him. “I don’t know what to do. He’s being such a jerk.”
Cami puts a comforting arm around my waist, and I can feel the side of her boob against my arm. Jesus, doesn’t she know what she’s doing? I want her so bad. But I have to get away or I’ll fuck it all up again. I can’t do that.