Letters to Nowhere(14)

Olivia’s little eyes fluttered shut and I couldn’t stand it a second longer. I had to get out of here or I’d fall apart in front of everyone.

My eyes stayed on the banana in my hand. “Actually, I’m not feeling well. I just puked in the bathroom. I thought it would go away, but I’m still really nauseous.”

“Stomach flu,” Stacey said, nodding. “We better get you out of here before it spreads like wildfire. I can’t have all my gymnasts coming down with the runs, can I?”

I shook my head and left to retrieve my stuff. This was only the second time in my life I’d missed practice due to illness, and the first time in my life that I’d faked it. When I returned from the locker room a few minutes later, Stacey had already arranged for one of the other coaches to drop me off on her way home.





CHAPTER FIVE





Tonight, I opted to ring the doorbell, not wanting a recurrence of last night, since Jordan’s car was parked out front. He opened the door, giving me a bewildered look, but I just strode past him and headed upstairs to retrieve some laundry.

It wasn’t that the washer was all that complicated, but standing in the laundry room with a stained leotard that happened to be the last thing my mom had ever given me, plus the majority of my underwear and sports bras that badly needed washing, I couldn’t help but feel like I was on another planet.

Stay–at–home moms washed their kids’ clothes. Laundry was something I’d do when I got to college.

When I returned to the laundry room later, to switch the load, I realized my mistake right away.

“Oh no! Damn it.” Tears sprung to my eyes. The beautiful jeweled light pink leotard had turned a weird grayish purple, but splotchy. I yanked out my brand new navy sweat pants and tossed them onto the floor before holding my ruined outfit up to the light, examining the damage with shaking hands.

“My guess is that was hand–wash only?” Jordan poked his head into the room, probably after hearing my cry of distress.

His joke hit me a little too hard and I couldn’t control my emotions this time. I tried to wipe away the tears faster than they fell, but failed completely. Jordan stood there in silence, not moving a muscle. He looked like he wanted to say something but either couldn’t or didn’t know what to say. I decided to let him off the hook.

“Just don’t tell your dad,” I pleaded with him, wiping my nose on my sleeve.

“Don’t tell him that your pink leotard is now purple?” he asked tentatively. “Or that your balance beam routine would score higher than your laundry skills?”

I balled the leotard up in one hand and wiped the tears from my cheeks with the back of my other hand. “Don’t tell him I cried about something stupid. Or anything for that matter. The last thing he needs is some emotionally distressed teenage girl to deal with twenty–four–seven.”

Oh God, did I just say that out loud?

Jordan stared at me for a long moment and then flipped an empty bucket over, sitting on it and blocking the door. “You can say it, you know? It won’t freak me out.”

Now it was my turn to be utterly confused. “Say what?”

His eyes locked with mine and I could feel the tension building. “Your parents are dead.”

I held my breath for a few seconds, waiting to feel that awful punch in the gut I’d anticipated. But it wasn’t quite as bad as I thought it’d be. “My parents are dead.”

He nodded. “That sucks.”

I felt a few more tears trickle out, but I was too distracted by the conversation to wipe them away. “Yeah, it totally sucks. Today, even more so than other days.”

Jordan tugged at the leotard in my hand, freeing it from my grip and holding it up like a question.

“My mom got it for me for my birthday.”

“Before she died,” he finished.

“Before she died,” I repeated and then said the worst part over again, “because my parents are dead.”

“Say it one more time,” Jordan said. “It will get a little easier tomorrow and then we don’t have to tap–dance around the great big elephant in the room.”

“My parents are dead,” I said again and for some reason I started laughing. More like crying and laughing at the same time.

Jordan stood up again and let me exit the laundry room, following me. “So, I’m guessing you’re not really sick? My dad called and said to check on you. See if you needed me to clean up vomit.”

“That was nice of him. He gives you all the best chores.”

“No kidding,” Jordan grumbled. “You aren’t going to barf, are you?”

“Between you and me—no. But—”

“If my dad asks, it was coming out of every opening possible,” Jordan finished.

I wrinkled my nose. “Eh, thanks?”


Mom,




I just said it out loud. I can’t believe how real it felt. And now my leotard is ruined because I have no clue how to do laundry. Well, I must have some clue because it didn’t take long to figure out that I probably should have separated the light and the dark clothes. Why didn’t you teach me any of this stuff? Did you anticipate being around all the time? Are you invincible? Obviously not. Don’t you think it might have been a good idea to teach me certain important life skills like laundry? If you had, I wouldn’t have ruined my birthday present. I wouldn’t have had to stand in Coach Bentley’s laundry room crying. What if Jordan tells his dad and then Bentley decides that he can’t handle me and sends me to Grandma’s?