Where Silence Gathers (Some Quiet Place #2)(29)
For once, though, I close my eyes and let myself enjoy her warmth. “I’ll try not to,” I whisper, tightening my hold on her wrists.
“It was strange.” She frowns. “When I got home, I was going to straighten the trash cans. But there was a dog at the bottom of the stairs, and it wouldn’t stop barking until I went up. Maybe someone is watching out for you, huh?” Without waiting for a response, Missy gives me one last troubled smile. Then she pulls free to lumber down the hallway into their room. The door shuts.
The moment I hear the click, I go to the kitchen and rummage around in the fridge. There isn’t much here; we survive mostly on cereal and microwave dinners. But I find something that will work. Something that will give me a semblance of control, that makes me feel the tiniest bit powerful and able to make a difference in this place of so much sameness.
Something that will express my gratitude.
Bowl in hand, I slip back outside and down the stairs, around the corner to where the garbage cans are lined up. I leave the cold broth on the ground and wait for a minute, hoping to see the creature who’s just as damaged as I am. The shadows stay empty. After another minute, I give up and go back up the stairs.
In the morning, the bowl is licked clean.
A fly buzzes past my ear.
Around me, everyone’s clay has become something. While I’ve been away confronting the past, my peers have moved forward. Georgie is making an ashtray. Briana’s bird has spread its wings, straining to break free of the base its feet are molded to. As always, she aims for perfection; while others are just creating basic shapes, Briana is using a sharp tool to create tiny feathers. I sneak glances at her, thinking about how she won’t be in Franklin much longer. She’ll move on to bigger and better things, like college, and it makes me happy. It does. Once I find the strength to face Nate Foster, at least I’ll know that my friend will be living enough for the both of us.
It’s impossible to concentrate; dreams assaulted me throughout the night. I tossed and turned and the blankets tangled around my torso, trapping me like a seat belt. There was the sprinkle of broken glass. Pain. Silence. The wail of distant sirens. A limp hand. A river of blood. Someone sobbing. When the alarm clock went off, I floundered in disorientation. Surrounded by rain, glass, metal. It still feels like I haven’t woken up completely.
In a vain attempt to appear like I’m doing something, too, I keep flattening and twisting my own block until it looks like some kind of lagoon monster. Mr. Kim already expressed the need for productivity, since I’m so behind. I can feel him keeping track of my progress. No one at the table speaks; it’s been this way since I first found Briana and Georgie by the lockers. They’re angry. Understandably so; I’d be irritated with me, too. Vague excuses and hollow apologies aren’t enough. But they’re better than the truth, and they’re better than any of the lies, so now I just accept the silence and wait.
Finally, Georgie can’t hold her curiosity back any longer. “What did they call you to the office for?” she mutters, pinching the edges of her ashtray.
This morning, just after first hour, Principal Bracken hunted me down and gave me one of the severest lectures I’ve ever gotten in my life. And that’s saying something. I sum it up for her: “I’ve been informed that if I miss any more school, I won’t be able to graduate.” I keep my attention on my clay, but I sense Briana stiffening.
Georgie, on the other hand, just snorts. “No surprise there.”
Any other day, I might snap back, but my head aches too much. I forgot to take a pill this morning. Missy did her best to convince me to stay home—ironic, her actually encouraging me to skip school—but the idea of lying in bed with nothing to distract me from my thoughts wasn’t exactly appealing, so here I am. What’s bothering me most, though, isn’t what happened with the intruder, or with Andrew, or the fact that the flash drive is still locked. Or even that my friends are beginning to see my holes and shortcomings. No, what’s uppermost in my thoughts is that I haven’t seen Revenge yet today.
Ever since we met, that afternoon in my living room when I was twelve, he’s been a constant presence. Waiting at the kitchen table in the morning, sitting beside me on the way to school, offering commentary on every little thing throughout my day. My best friend. Of course, his nature pulled him away sometimes, but never for more than a few hours. This is different, now. Somehow I know that he’s avoiding me, and it’s even stranger considering this is the time he should want to be near me most.
Something about last night unsettled him. He’d been so quiet. I wish he would appear so I could demand answers. Or at least tell him to get over it.
That fly darts by again, and my gaze follows it around the light on the ceiling.
Briana leans toward me. “Alex? Are you feeling okay?” She touches one of my ragged nails. The touch is so gentle, so concerned, that I want to run.
I study our hands and try not to think of my mother, how she used to squeeze my fingers and tell me I was going to change the world. “Just tired is all,” I say, trying to sound dismissive. “Think I’ll go to the bathroom and splash some water on my face.” Before she or Georgie can respond, I slide off my stool and leave the room. Mr. Kim doesn’t notice.
The bathroom is empty. I head straight for the last stall and shut the door. Pressing my back to the opposite wall, I search for the words that always bring me here. There it is, among all the others. FOR A GOOD TIME, CALL ANDREA. PENELOPE IS A SLUT. TRACEY LOVES WILL. I touch the letters of her name, picturing her in this same spot, carving the truth of what she felt. “Mom,” I whisper, desperately wishing she could answer.