Love, Hate & Other Filters(60)

“That’s doubtful.”

“I can’t get the image of him trying to hurt you out of my mind.”

“That makes two of us.”

Phil clears his throat and wipes his eyes. “I’m sorry, Maya.”

We’re quiet for a while. I’m wrapped in Phil’s arms. I feel like I have so much to say and also nothing to say. Like I’m full and sort of hollow at the same time. Endings. Beginnings.

Phil kisses me on the forehead. A tear rolls down my cheek and onto his arm. He rubs the tear trail on my face with the back of his index finger. He kisses my neck. I move closer to Phil, and he gently pulls me on top of him. My hair falls across his face. He sweeps it to the side and traces his fingers over my lips. Phil kisses me, his lips hesitant. I kiss him back, deeply and softly.

I’m not sure what is real anymore.

I want the world to fall away so I can live in this exquisite moment. Where I don’t have to think or hurt—where I can simply feel the heat of our bodies and breathe in the sweet smell of his cologne until I pass out and wake in the fairy tale where reality bends to me and where this is our happily ever after.

Ethan Branson races home from school on a sunny spring afternoon clutching a story he’s written for seventh-grade English class. He runs, panting, into the kitchen and hands the paper to his mother. A gold star decorates the top right next to a large “A.” Stapled to the page is a note to the boy’s parents: Ethan’s story is wonderful. His best work this year by far. His creative writing shows tremendous potential.

Ethan’s mother hugs him and strokes his wavy black hair. For a moment he is her little boy again. She puts the paper up on the fridge with a magnet. She blinks back tears as she reads the note from the teacher over and over.

Ethan is in his room when his father comes home. He hears his parents talk. His mother shows the paper and the note to his father. His raised voice and slurred words tell Ethan what will come next. Potential? Potential for what? That kid is going to amount to nothing and no good. Biggest regret of my life.

Ethan opens his bedroom window and slips out as he hears his father’s footsteps approach.





An impressive number of emergency vehicles surround my house; red-and-blue lights splash across the lawn and down the street. It’s nearly midnight. My parents’ humiliation at this very public display must be gnawing at them like a vulture picking flesh off bone. As Phil pulls up to the driveway, the cadre of cops parts, letting us through. My mom bursts out of the house, running at full speed toward us, her unbraided hair wild in the breeze. I’ve barely stepped out of the car when my mother throws her arms around me, crushing me against her chest.

“Thank God. Thank God,” she repeats, tears running down her cheeks.

“Mom … my arm … remember?”

She steps back, blinking, and then a blast of words explodes from her lips at full volume. “What were you thinking? How could you? We were worried sick. We thought … we thought you were dead.”

“Mom … I’m sorry, please … I’m sorry. I know you were worried.”

She walks away, fuming. I edge my way to the front of the car, closer to my father and Chief Wickham—and Phil, who is explaining where he found me. The censored version.

I get the death stare from my dad. He doesn’t make a single gesture toward me. I was prepared for his wrath, but the cold shoulder stings more.

“Maya,” he begins in a formal tone, “why would you run away? You nearly killed your mother with worry, and half the police department was searching for you. You owe the chief an explanation and an apology after everything they’ve done for us.”

I look up at their inquisitive faces. “I’m sorry. It was wrong of me … I know I caused a lot of trouble. It’s that … I was scared.” The excuse slips off my tongue almost before I’m aware of it. Obviously, I can’t tell the whole truth, so I go with it. “I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid that Brian was going to try and hurt me again. Or would do something to you guys.”

My dad’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. No idea if he is buying this explanation, but the chief nods along. And in a way, what I’m saying is true. Sort of.

“Did any of those boys threaten you again?”

“No, Chief. It wasn’t that … I basically wigged out. I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you tell me or your mother that you were scared? Your mom wanted to stay home with you.”

I wanted to tell you. But I was afraid. You and mom were too blinded by your own fear to see me standing in front of you, almost broken. That’s what I want to say. That’s what I should say. But I don’t.

“You’re right, Dad. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t smart of me. It all feels so … hazy.”

Chief Wickham nods like he understands me, but Dad just gives me a slow, judgmental shake of the head. He turns away to escort the chief back to his patrol car, no doubt apologizing for the public spectacle I’ve caused.

I only now notice that Hina is here. She helps my mom back into the house. I wave at my aunt; she gives me an encouraging smile.

“Are you going to be okay?” Phil asks.

Suddenly we’re alone in the center of the driveway.

“They’ll probably want to send me to a boarding school in India, but I’ll manage.” I want to kiss him. I inch closer, and Phil raises his hands to grasp my arms and then pulls them away. I smile again, for real. “Thanks again for talking to my dad.”