A Tragic Kind of Wonderful(23)
“Can’t you hear her?!”
“Yeah, but she might want—”
“Boost me up.”
A stack of books falls over. My desk lamp clatters.
“Mel,” Connor’s voice says from the window. “Do you want us to go?”
I push my face into the pillow.
The bed sinks from added weight.
“You can talk to us,” Zumi says. She puts a gentle hand on my back. “Do you want to?”
I shake my head.
“Not now? Or … not ever?”
I nod at that, hard enough to hurt, and wrap my arms around my head.
My desk lamp rattles again. I hear books being stacked.
Zumi pulls on me, carefully. When I don’t cooperate, she lies down beside me, on her side, and rubs my back.
“Connor,” she whispers. “Sandwich.”
“You think maybe—”
“Stop thinking!”
The bed shifts again, on the other side. I feel Connor lie down on his back next to me.
“If you want to be alone,” Zumi whispers, “just say so.”
I don’t say so.
“And you’re still an only child until you tell us you’re not. We … we won’t even tell Annie. Right, Connor?”
I sob. I hope they understand it’s the closest I can come to saying thank you.
*
Zumi and Connor stayed with me for hours that day. When I finally sat up, Zumi said, “You have all the Toy Story movies, right? Let’s watch the second one. The one where Woody can’t decide whether to go away to Japan. That’s the most fun because I can’t decide which way to root for.”
After that, it was like it never happened. I saw no glimmer, no hint, not even a meaningful look when similar subjects came up. I’ve never told them how much their silence, and them climbing through my window, was exactly what I needed.
Zumi didn’t wait for me to ask her to come over. She never asked; she just did things. I text Connor again: I’m coming.
Except they could be anywhere.
Where are you guys?
Zumi’s house?
I head up the hall to retrieve my stuff and find Judith. Before I get far, my phone buzzes.
She says she wants
to be alone.
HAMSTER IS RUNNING
HUMMINGBIRD IS FLYING
HAMMERHEAD IS CRUISING
HANNIGANIMAL IS DOWN/MIXED
Monday morning, between second and third period, Declan and I walk down the hall without talking. This isn’t unusual. He says I get lost in my head and he just waits for me to find my way out again. He thinks it’s cool I can do that without having to smoke. That’s not what’s going on now, though—I’m actually feeling more jumpy than lost.
“You okay?” he asks. I guess it shows.
“Just tired.”
That’s as much as I’m willing to say. It’s true I didn’t sleep last night. Mom figured it out and tried to keep me home, but I’d miss half the school year if insomnia were a reason to skip class.
I have Chemistry with Zumi, which is where Declan and I are heading now. I hope she’s here today. I want to see that she’s okay, even if only from a distance.
Declan says, “You hear about Annie Bridger?”
“What did you hear?”
“You know Holly and I have English Lit with her, or we did. Mr. Templeton said she moved to Paris. I guess her dad’s been teaching at the Sorbonne this past year. Anyway, a week ago she took the proficiency exam to graduate early. She left on Friday.”
“I heard.” At least the last part.
“You must be glad you won’t have to see her around anymore. But if you knew she was leaving, why didn’t you say anything?”
“Nobody knew.”
“Zumi and Connor must have.”
“They didn’t find out till after she’d left.”
“No way. Even Annie … Well, I don’t know what I was going to say. Annie sure was a …”
“Go ahead,” I say. “I saw the light, remember? Bash away.”
“Still, what an unbelievably shitty thing to do. They’ve been best friends for years.”
Zumi’s at her lab table by the windows. She faces straight ahead, her backpack in front of her. All I can see from this angle is her wall of hair.
The bell rings. Mr. Gottfried turns from writing the day’s agenda on the whiteboard and sees Zumi’s backpack still on the table.
“Ms. Shimura?”
She doesn’t react.
“Izumi,” he says softly. “Please stow your backpack.”
He rarely uses anyone’s first name and he usually barks when ignored. Maybe Zumi was a topic in the staff room in addition to Annie’s early graduation. Maybe all the teachers knew for weeks and Annie asked them to keep it confidential.
Zumi sweeps her arm just enough to slide her backpack off the table. It crashes to the floor. She loops her foot around the strap and drags it out of the aisle.
“Thank you.”
Zumi doesn’t move a muscle the whole period. When we run tests with pH strips at our desks, her lab partner, Benji, does it all. She doesn’t even watch.
*
Zumi’s next class is adjacent to mine. I usually walk slowly to make sure I don’t catch up. Not today. I have to talk to her. Except she darts out quicker than I expect after her being still all period. I pack up quickly, say good-bye to Declan, and trot out into the hall. She’s maybe twenty feet ahead.