Underwater(7)

“I don’t get out much. But thanks for the soup. I’m sure it’ll taste really good.”

Before he can say anything, I shut the door and leave him behind it.





chapter three

Ben loves pancakes. It’s our Friday morning ritual, and I wake him up fifteen minutes early to make sure it happens. Today, he climbs onto a stool at the counter and I let him pour the milk and crack an egg into the batter. He stirs and talks. He tells me about kids at school and the words he’s learning to spell. He talks about the library and how the section about science is his favorite.

“There’s a book about electricity,” he says. “And another one about rocks. Rocks are cool. Did you know diamonds can cut glass?”

Pancake mornings with Ben are the best. We eat breakfast and chat until my mom hustles him out the door to drop him off at his before-school program. She runs around the apartment and talks at the same time.

“Don’t forget we’ll be late tonight. I’m taking Ben to a birthday party.” She stops. She stands. She puts her hands on her hips and looks up and down and all around. “Ben, where’s the gift?”

“I dunno. You wrapped it.”

She runs off to find it. I hand Ben his lunch and ruffle the top of his just-combed hair. “Hey, sneak me a piece of cake if you can. Especially if it’s chocolate.”

I bend down to zip up his sweatshirt and he plants a wet kiss on my cheek. He grabs me around the neck and holds on tight. “Rawwwwwr. I’m a dinosaur. I’ve got you. Rawwwwwr. You can’t get away.”

I stand up, pretending to struggle under his grasp. He stays put, dangling from my neck like a mess of fat gold chains on a rap star. I swing him around the living room and he laughs. Then I bend down and plant a bunch of kisses on top of his head, tickling him until he loosens his grip and I can slide him back down to the floor. He struggles to stand straight, winded from laughing.

“Have a good day,” I tell him. “Don’t spend the whole time reading about rocks. Listen to your teacher. Be nice.”

“I am nice.”

My mom hands Ben the gift so he can carry it to the car, then does one final tug on the bun on top of her head.

“Do something,” she tells me. “Even something small.”

And they’re out the door. And the house is empty. And quiet. I can breathe.

*

I take a shower. I comb my hair and part it. I put on clean pajama pants and a soft T-shirt from a concert I went to once.

It was at an arena downtown. My boyfriend, Alexios, and I stood in a general admission pit instead of sitting in the assigned seats of the sections above us. Alexios had surprised me with tickets for my sixteenth birthday. It was my favorite band, so I wanted to be in front where I could reach out and touch the stage. Being in front meant people crowded around me, pressing in. Hip to hip. Shoulder to shoulder. Elbow to elbow. Like we were all part of one huge mass. Back then, I didn’t mind the crowds. Or the noise. Or the way the ground vibrated underneath me. I wasn’t afraid. But Alexios stood behind me anyway. Protective. He was a senior, but he didn’t seem too old or too hard to talk to like some senior boys can be. He was my first real boyfriend. And at the concert, his arms were wrapped around my waist. His mouth was behind my ear. He was so much taller than me that nobody dared invade our space. He pushed them off with a simple twist of his shoulder.

Onstage, there was a guy with a bass and a girl on the drums and another girl with a guitar and a microphone. I shouted out all the words because I knew them by heart. I bounced when the songs got faster, and Alexios bounced behind me, still holding on tight.

By the end of the night, we were hot and sweaty and almost in love. We were in love enough that when he told me his parents were out of town for the weekend, I texted my mom to say I was spending the night at Sage’s house. But I went home with him instead. We left our jeans and Tshirts in a tangled pile on the floor and climbed into his bed, where he gently pulled me to his mouth by my cheekbones.

We stayed together for six months.

We stayed together until we decided we liked other people. The breakup wasn’t ugly or tear-filled. It was simply how it was. It was high school. Alexios was my boyfriend for six months, and then he wasn’t.

And now he’s in college and I’m in an apartment.

*

I spend the rest of the morning watching video lectures for English and calculus, then e-mail in an assignment for US history. After that, I focus on small things. I make my bed and move to the other side of the room to make Ben’s bed. We share a room because we have to. We’ve always had to because we’ve lived in Paradise Manor since he was born. Ben’s bed is to the left of mine. If it weren’t, I’d never sleep. I clean the toilet and the mirrors in the bathroom. I pace. I watch. I sit and listen.

My mom and Ben are more than halfway through their days. Evan is, too. I don’t know why I think of him, but I do.

I listen to the silence. Then I turn on the TV.

There are news people reporting live from my old high school. I feel my stomach cramp. I might have instant diarrhea.

A pretty news reporter wears a flippy dress and stands by the front office where big chunky metal letters spell out PACIFIC PALMS HIGH SCHOOL on the wall behind her. The reporter talks into a microphone as her hair blows around her face and gets stuck in the hot-pink lipstick on her mouth. She explains that my school is still closed but determined to reopen in the fall. I can hear the wind swish through the microphone. She pulls her hair back and talks about the new language arts building going up on campus. It will be called Finnegan Hall after my English teacher who died there. The building will go where the old one used to be. In between the math building and the auditorium. And the courtyard where Brianna, Chelsea, Sage, and I used to eat lunch will still be right in the middle. The reporter talks about the memorial wall that will be there, too. I fumble for the remote.