Put Me Back Together(104)

My phone rings as I’m walking to the kitchen to wash my hands, and I glance at the clock on the microwave.

Shit.

I answer the phone without checking to see who it is, sticking it awkwardly between my shoulder and ear as I soap my hands.

“Where are you?” Mariella says. I can hear a hubbub of noise in the background. “Tell me you already left the house.”

“Of course I did,” I lie, jogging into my room to find a top that isn’t paint-spattered. It’s harder than it sounds. “I’m almost there. It didn’t start yet, did it?”

“No, but it’s about to,” she answers. I wiggle out of my cut-off shorts and into a pink cotton dress I bought last week. I throw the shorts on top of Turner, who is splayed out on my bed. He meows plaintively. “They just came out, and damn your boy is looking fine today. Was he always this fine? Because my oh my—”

“Keep it in your pants,” I interrupt. “Besides, I thought you swore off all white boys.” I check my face in the mirror beside the front door, scratching at a patch of black paint on my chin before grabbing my bag and locking the door behind me.

“I’m an addict, what can I say?” Mariella answers, and I chuckle as I walk through the lobby. “Just hurry up, okay?”

“I’ll see you in five minutes,” I say, and hang up the phone just as I reach the front door of the building. I take a deep breath before I open the door and scan the street to the left and right, but there’s no one there. I grin at the sun-dappled sidewalk as I half-walk, half-run down the block.

It’s been a solid month since the flurry of renewed interest in me due to Brandon’s plea of not guilty at his arraignment. For a while the reporters were camping out on the front stoop again, just like they were in April, and Lucas and I woke up every morning to the sound of Mariella’s curses as she shoved her way to the sidewalk. Luckily they quickly lost interest in my boring existence of summer classes and trips to the recreation centre, even if my basketball coach boyfriend was a total dreamboat. My story wasn’t particularly riveting. I wasn’t suicidal or popping pills or on my way to the nuthouse. I was just a student trying to get on with her life. So, after a while, they seemed to decide as a group to leave me alone, though I’m still a little surprised not to find one or two of them tailing me everywhere I go.

It’s a little strange, not having to look over my shoulder all the time, but I’m getting used to it.

As the park comes into view I feel my bag vibrating, letting me know I just got a text. I plunge my hand in, feeling around for my cell. It feels a little strange in my hand as I pick it up, but I don’t think much of it as I turn the phone over and see who messaged me. I beam.



Em: Ugh. Did I mention I hate flying?

Me: Repeatedly.

Em: I still don’t get why you couldn’t fly home just to fly back to Kingston with me.

Me: Maybe because that’s insane?

Em: Sanity is overrated. Bring on the madness, I say!

Me: Are we still on for tonight? Chinese?

Em: I want to immerse myself in General Tso’s chicken. Only breaded chicken can save this awful day of cross-country travel.

Me: I’m glad you’re back, Em.

Em: Me, too.



I heave a sigh of both relief and happiness as I stare down at the screen, falling still for a second. Things between my sister and I have been a lot better lately. I don’t think we’ll ever be the same as we were, but I’m also always reminding myself that I don’t want us to be. I’m completely honest with her now, and she is with me, too. At the beginning of the summer every conversation we had was just one long fight as she dug up every lie I’d ever told her and threw it in my face, and I struggled not to scream at her for being so oblivious to my pain. Eventually we started talking about everything I’d never told her, how I’d felt then and how I felt now and how she felt about everything. There were a lot of feelings flying around for a while there. Slowly she started trusting me again, and as August approached she took back her threat to transfer to another school and booked her flight to Kingston. When she told me I cried, because I knew then that I hadn’t lost my sister after all.

Starting up the path through the trees, I turn the phone over and my heart skips a beat as I see the sticky note on the back of it. I let my eyes run over the words written on it, then stuff it back in my bag and charge the rest of the way to the court at the center of the park.

The grass slopes upward away from the cement and there are people sitting in clumps on all sides. I spot Mariella right away, sitting with Sally and Anita. I’m guessing Melissa is running late again, which is sort of gratifying. I can always count on Melissa to be later than me.

“Finally!” Mariella exclaims as I join them on the grass.

“I just got a text from Em,” I announce as I dump my bag on the ground next to them. “Her plane just landed.”

“Yay!” Anita says, clapping her hands, but Sally is too busy craning her neck to check out the group of boys sitting to our left.

“Look at that one,” she says. Following her gaze, I notice the boys are all wearing bright red camp t-shirts, which means they’re definitely too young for Sally. They look to be about fifteen, if that.

“Ew, Sally,” I say. “Can you say jailbait?” She gives me a confused look.