Underwater(58)

And I want to yell, Stop! Get off the stage!

But I can’t move. I can’t make a scene. Because it’s fine. It’s probably fine.

What if it’s not fine?

I walk back through the door, down the aisle, and right up to the boy and his backpack. I tap him on the shoulder and attempt to grab his bag at the same time.

“I need to check this,” I say louder than I should, like I’m important enough to have that right. He tries to pull it away from me.

“Morgan! Sit down!” my mom hisses.

Evan looks back and forth from me to the guy like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on. Really, everyone is looking at me. And I know what they’re thinking. Who is this crazy girl with the nerve to cause such a disruption at an adorable kindergarten play? Why don’t they realize I might be saving all of them?

It gets even worse when the kindergarten forest animals stop in the middle of their performance to watch. I can see Ben squinting at me through the rainbow-colored stage lights. And I know it’s time to take my meltdown right on out of this auditorium. I give the backpack one final tug until I have it, and when I start walking back up the aisle with it, the guy has no other choice but to follow me.

“What’re you doing? Who are you?” he asks, trying to pull his bag from me when we reach the lobby. I yank it back and unzip it.

“I just need to check this,” I say.

When I look inside, I see two binders, a book, and an aluminum water bottle—that must be what made the clanging sound—staring back at me. I unzip the smaller pocket in front to dig around through pens, pencils, and pennies. And I know how crazy I really seem. Once I’m satisfied, I hand his backpack over to him.

“Thanks,” I say. “All good.”

“Seriously? You’re weird,” he grumbles, zipping the backpack up. “If my sister’s scene wasn’t coming up, I’d report you to security or something.”

And then he’s gone. And I’m left standing here in front of a bunch of sweet-looking moms acting like they’re too busy loading plastic plates with cookies and cupcakes for intermission to pay attention to what just happened. Except for one of them. One of them watches me, frozen, with a fluffy pink cupcake in her hand. When Evan shows up, I pull past him and through the front doors of the auditorium into the cool air and dusky twilight. I leave the warm lights of the theater lobby behind me and run to find a place to hide. I finally settle on the wall around the corner. I slide down it. It’s smooth, like marble, so it doesn’t hurt my back or catch my shirt. I sit on my butt, holding my thighs tight to my chest. I rest my forehead against my knees and try to breathe.

“Morgan?” Evan whispers from around the corner, as if we’re still inside and he doesn’t want to interrupt the performance.

I rock back and forth, back and forth.

“Morgan,” he tries again.

“I’m over here,” I say. “Lurking in the shadows. Like a vampire.”

He chuckles as he rounds the corner and slides down next to me. He knocks his knee against mine. “You okay? Was it too dark, maybe?”

“I don’t think my problem was the lights being out.”

“I meant the play. That was some pretty dark shit for a bunch of kindergartners. All those forest animals trying to find their way across the river before dinnertime? Mind blown.” He unfolds his fingers on each side of his head to indicate explosions.

I smile at him through the evening light.

“I freaked out when I saw the backpack,” I say.

“I know.” I like that he knows. I like that I don’t have to explain more than that.

We sit quietly for many minutes, just breathing in the salty smell of the summer air while Evan traces circles in the palm of my hand with his fingertip. Around and around he goes until at least ten minutes pass, which feels like a lot when your brother is the star of the play.

“I made a scene.” I sigh.

“Honestly, I don’t think anyone really even understood what was going on. The play’s just that good.” I actually giggle. “It’s okay. We’ll just sit here until you’re ready to go back in.”

“Ben saw me leave. He knows I’m gone.”

“Then don’t be gone.”

“I’ve missed so much already.”

“Don’t miss any more.”

He stands up.

He reaches for my hand.

I take it.





chapter forty

“I freaked out at Ben’s play,” I tell Brenda the next Tuesday as I sip a Slurpee on the hood of my car in a 7-Eleven parking lot a few blocks from my house. Brenda has an iced coffee, which I’ve come to realize is her drink of choice. It’s the last week of school for Evan, Ben, and me. I have final projects and an appointment with a testing proctor to freak out over, but instead of working on them, I’m spending the afternoon doing driving lessons with Brenda. They’re nothing like the lessons I took with my high school’s PE teacher when I was fifteen and got my learner’s permit. Instead, Brenda’s teaching me tricks to what she’s dubbed “maintaining the brain” in my car.

“I missed practically the whole first half of the performance,” I say, remembering how disappointed Ben looked when I hugged him into my arms in the lobby. “He asked me where I went during ‘the best scene of the whole thing.’ I felt awful.”