You'd Be Home Now (22)

    Gage turns around and gives me the thumbs-up. At first, I’m hopeful he’ll say, “Come in and play with us, Em,” but he doesn’t.

Instead, he turns his head ever so slightly to the pool house and mouths, Later.





13


THERE’S A TEAR IN the shoulder of her blouse, like someone yanked it suddenly. Or took it between their fingers and she pulled away quickly, the thread separating the fabric. Her eyeliner is smudged. The strobe lights in the basement flash across her face redblueredblueredblue. Is she crying? I don’t want to be at this party, either, but my mother told Joey he had to take me if he wanted to go. She thought it would keep him from getting high. You need to take care of your sister. That was actually code to me for You need to watch Joey. So we got in his Toyota, Nana’s old car. The seat belts in the back didn’t work. She gave it to him when she gave up driving. Now she takes the bus everywhere. There are too many kids in this basement and it’s too hot. I don’t know where Joey went. Not knowing where Joey went is bad because it means I haven’t done my job. Now the girl is crying. Her name comes slowly, like a drop of water down window glass. That’s right. Candy. From dance team freshman year. I don’t like any of this music. Or maybe I would if I was like other kids. I text Joey. The girl has her head in her hands. I text Joey again. I want to leave. The girl’s eyes meet mine. I slide in and out of kids dancing. Candy, are you okay? Can she even hear me? Her eyes drift away from mine, to a boy in the corner. He’s staring at us. I don’t like his eyes. Do you have a car? I just want to go home. Please take me home. I have a really bad headache and that guy grabbed me.

    And then her mouth opens, and blood drains out. I catch it in my hands.



* * *



—

I wake up slicked with sweat, my heart racing.

Why am I dreaming about Candy MontClair? I don’t want to dream about her. I have her, in my head, when I’m awake. I don’t want her when I sleep.

Fuzzy shifts her tiny body at the end of my bed, lets out a sigh. I rub my feet against her. I have to go back to sleep. Tomorrow is the first day of school. The first day of everything. I don’t want to be tired like I was last year, because I was up late waiting for Joey or helping him with homework. Sometimes I’d start to fall asleep in class and catch myself at the last minute, before my head hit the desk.

I walk down the hall to Joey’s new room. Peer around the doorway. He’s splayed across the bed, in the pink-and-yellow glow of Maddie’s unicorn night-light. I climb into her hanging hammock. Maybe the swaying will make me sleepy.

Joey stirs. “Em?”

“Sorry,” I say. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He leans on an elbow. “You can come in, if you want.”

He scoots over in the bed. I slide in.

“Joey?”

“Mmm.”

I have to tread carefully. I don’t want to upset him.

“Do you ever think about her?”

“Who?”

I hesitate. “Candy.” Her name feels off in my mouth, like the first bite of a food gone sour.

    A rustling on his side of the bed. “Sometimes. It’s sad.”

“I had a dream about her. A bad one.”

“Emmy,” he says, looping his arm around me. “It’s probably because of school tomorrow. You’re worried about seeing everyone. Having them see you. Us.”

“I can’t believe Tasha dropped me,” I say.

He sighs. “I guess we’ll be friendless together then, huh?”

“I guess so,” I say.

“Well, at least we have each other, right?” he says.

Before I can answer I hear soft snores.

When I was little and had nightmares, my dad would always come for me. He was usually up, because of his late shifts. He’d climb into bed with me, tuck me against him.

I didn’t even know what song he was singing to me for the longest time, until I was older and heard it over the loudspeaker once at the Mill Haven county fair. I thought maybe he’d made it up, this song about a guy who wanted to give a girl numbers, like actual numbers: a giant three, a giant nine. Maybe he took them and wanted to give them back. My mom used to make fun of my dad for singing that song.

Jenny I got your number

8675309

Maybe it was his soft voice back then that lulled me to sleep. Maybe it was the cadence of the song. But I try it now anyway. Murmur it over and over to wash away Candy MontClair and the dream blood pooling in my hands, Candy MontClair and her ripped blouse and her simple headache that changed everything.

Jenny I got your number. 8675309. 8675309.

86753098675309…





Mis_Educated


Hey, hey, Heywood High!

Here we are again

Are you ready

For another year

Of useless tests

Books by dead white men

Trigonometry triggers me

How about you?

Let’s see who’ll be back this year Who got sent away for being

Sad, mad, drunk, gay, drugged out, just Being a problem Mom and Dad can’t handle?

What MEDS are you on this year Besides the fun ones

I hear you can get some good ones At the house where the shoe