Underwater(37)

And then we cry together, letting go of everything but each other.





chapter twenty-six

A week passes and Evan doesn’t stop by. He doesn’t knock. He doesn’t call my name through the walls or the windows. He’s finally done with me. I leave his phone by his doorstep when I know he’s home. I knock and run back inside. It’s for the best.

I am me. He is Evan. We are not an us.

Brenda seems disappointed. “What happened?” she asks.

“Everything changed when he showed up with Taylor.”

“Who’s Taylor?”

“I’m assuming she’s his girlfriend. Love interest. Tandem surf buddy. Date to the prom. She’s something.”

“How do you know? Did you ask?”

“I didn’t have to.” Taylor had always been my biggest competition in the water, but now it’s the same way on land. “I just know.”

Brenda sighs. Annoyed. “Actually, you don’t. You’re making assumptions that aren’t fair.”

Is she serious right now? “Don’t tell me about fair. Life isn’t fair.”

“No! It’s not!” Brenda clenches her fists and slams them against her thighs in frustration with me. “Life’s not fair, Morgan! But you know what? You’re not being fair, either. It’s not fair to shut people out who want to help. It’s not fair to them. And it’s not fair to you! You did the same thing with Evan you did with your friends. And where did that leave you? Alone. Do you want to be alone?”

“My friends are doing fine without me.”

“How do you know? Did they tell you? Or are you assuming?” There’s a sarcastic edge to her voice.

“Well, they don’t come by to see me anymore. They’re happy going to school and dances and parties and swim meets. They’ve all moved on just great, so I must be doing it wrong.”

“They don’t come by anymore because you pushed them away. If you push hard enough, eventually people will go!” She tosses her notebook onto the chaise longue next to her, plucks her hair back, and pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger. She takes a deep breath, like she’s going through her own checklist to calm down.

“Morgan.” She sighs. “We aren’t all wired in the same way. People grieve differently. Maybe what your friends are presenting on the outside is different from how they’re feeling on the inside. Just because they seem okay doesn’t mean they’re not hurting in the same way you are.”

“They couldn’t possibly feel like I do.”

“Why not? They were there, too. Sage was in the same building as you, for god’s sake!”

“It was different for them than it was for me.”

“Why? Tell me. How was it different for you?”

The words are so close. I can feel them in my throat. “It was raining that day.”

“Yes, I know. You’ve told me that. Why is the rain so important?”

“It just is.”

“Why?” Her question comes out like a whimper. Like she’s exhausted. Like we’ve done this too many times.

“He wouldn’t have gotten to school,” I say.

“Who?”

“Him. Aaron. Him.”

She sits up then. She heard me. She heard everything and then some. But she doesn’t pick up her notebook yet. She’s too busy paying attention to the fact that I’ve said something new.

“He wouldn’t have gotten to school unless what?” she asks.

I put my face in my hands and scratch at my scalp. And then I grab chunks of my hair in my fists and pull. I think of the list taped to my wall inside. I might need it. Right now. Because I feel like I could throw up all over this chaise longue.

“Morgan.” Brenda presses her hand to my wrist, stilling me. Stalling me. “What do you mean?”

I pull free from her grasp and stand up because the energy bubbling up inside of me makes it impossible to sit down anymore.

“I gave him a ride, okay?” I don’t recognize my own voice. It’s screechy and surreal. But I keep going because I have to. I started this. I’m finishing it. “He was walking in the rain and I saw him. He would’ve been late. We were too far from school to make it by first period. So I pulled over. I gave him a ride. I let him and his guns and every messed up thing about him into my car. I drove it all to school and dropped it off. I felt bad for him!”

Brenda can’t help her reaction. “Oh, my god,” she says, and her words make me so mad.

“Oh, my god? You don’t get to say that!”

“You’re right. That was very human of me. I’m sorry.”

I look at her and I know she sees the truth of me in a way nobody else does. She understands me. That’s why we’ve gotten this far. That’s why I told her what I did. And I lose it because of her and all that she is and all that she’s been to me. I’m suddenly snot and tears and wailing into the sunshine. And Brenda does one tiny thing. She reaches her hand out and knots her fingers with mine.

“Let it go,” she says. “Just let it go.”





chapter twenty-seven

My grandpa Ben took care of his car. He saved it for me. Sometimes grandparents feel the need to do things for their grandkids that their own children can’t do. The car is basically an apology from my grandpa that my dad, his son, is the way he is. I was supposed to sell the Bel Air to help pay for college. But college isn’t as alluring now that I can barely get through high school.