Brooke planted in Maggie’s garden and the bills we paid right down to the details of the room I’ve been staying in when I visit. The tears spill down her cheeks, but she hasn’t even heard everything yet.
I ask her to tell me what happened between the two of them.
“Our fights were about such unimportant things, and I honestly don’t know why I let it go on so long,” she says, her whole body trembling as the tears fall even faster. “I let a few stupid disagreements keep me away from my mother and keep her from knowing my kids…” She takes a deep breath. “And she was all alone when—” She can’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t have to.
I scoot in closer and fill the gap between us. “She wasn’t alone,” I say quietly and mom looks up at me. I tell her how Brooke and I went back to the day Maggie died, and how we held her hand as we watched her slip away. Brooke called 911 and we disappeared as soon as help arrived.
She hugs me hard and I relax in her arms, relieved to finally have everything out. I try to think of a way to tell her about Anna too, because it would be nice to come clean completely, but this doesn’t feel like the right time. “Thank you,” she says as she rubs my back.
Then Mom leans back and stands up. She brushes her hands on her pants and adjusts her shirt, looking around the room like the walls are closing in and she needs to escape. She gives me a peck on the cheek, tells me she loves me, and looks me right in the eye. “Please do me a favor,” she says, her voice a bit steadier. “Don’t travel for a while. I need to think about all of this, okay? For now, I just need to know you’re here and safe. Will you do that, please?”
Without waiting for an answer, she says, “I should let you rest.” She’s about to leave when she stops and turns around. “Oh, and call Brooke, please.” She glances over at my desk, like she’s expecting to find my cell phone where it usually is. “She’s worried.” The latch clicks shut behind her.
I look at the door, thinking about my mother’s request and wishing I could respect it. I look at my bed, wishing I could lie down and sleep for the next ten hours or so. I look out the window, hoping the Jeep is still in the garage and that my phone is still in the glove compartment, and wishing I could call Brooke and tell her everything. The risks are huge. But the pull to see Anna—to tell her I’m okay and let her help me piece together what happened yesterday—is stronger than all the others.
Once my backpack is out from under the bed and in place again, I stand in the center of my room and let my eyes fall shut. I’m tempted to picture the cross-country track and arrive there again, just a minute or two after I estimate I was knocked back, but I’m still worried about wiping out the bike accident. So instead, I lock my mind on yesterday, a little before midnight. I picture Anna’s room. I visualize the clock on her nightstand. I let myself go. A few seconds later, I open them.
I’m expecting to take in her familiar shelves lined with trophies and CDs, but instead, my eyes open to a view of my boring white room. I close my eyes and try again. When I open them, I’m right where I started.
This can’t be happening.
It’s just like last time, when Anna got knocked back from my bedroom and I was stuck, unable to leave this room. Maybe my brain is simply too exhausted. Maybe it just needs some extra help. I stand in place, spinning a three-sixty, looking for anything that will help me visualize where I want to go.
The photo album is still buried deep in the bottom of the drawer, but I dig it out and flip to the very last photo—the one of Anna and me, lying on her rug in her bedroom. Her arm is extended in the air and we’re both smiling. I bring my fingertip to the plastic and close my eyes. This is where I need to be.
I close my eyes. I open them. Again and again.
After six more attempts, I slump down on the floor next to my bed, feeling sick and utterly spent. The next thing I know, I’m waking up and the morning sun is streaming in above me.
25
I have no idea what’s happening back where Anna is. All I know is what’s happening here. The days keep beginning and ending and I’ve spent four of them trying desperately to get back to the day I left Anna in the woods. I’m closing my eyes, opening them, repeating the same actions over and over again, and hoping for a different result. I think Einstein was the one who called that the definition of insanity.
It’s been three weeks and four days since Emma’s birthday party, which means that homecoming weekend has come and gone. Even worse, I’ve left Anna exactly the way I did last time: alone, without any warning. Just like I swore I wouldn’t do again.
Mom lets me skip school on Friday and again on Monday, but by Tuesday, she insists that I look just fine and completely capable of a day full of learning. So I drag myself from the parking lot and head straight for AP World Civ. I’m not the first one in the room but at least I’m not the last.
I pull my notebook and a pen from my backpack and start doodling while I wait for the bell to ring.
“Hey, stranger.” I look to my left and find Megan taking her seat. “Welcome back.”
“Thanks.” I smile at her and go back to my drawing.
A minute or so later, she leans over across the aisle. “You missed the midterm yesterday. It covered all the material so far.” I stop drawing and look over at her. “It was pretty hard, but…” She shrugs. “I think I did okay. Anyway, if you want to borrow my notes…”
Mrs. McGibney walks in, her briefcase swinging by her side, and looks right at me. “Mr. Cooper,” she says flatly. She drops the case next to her desk and it lands with a thud. She starts writing the day’s agenda on the whiteboard, but I can tell she’s still talking to me when she says, “You missed an exam yesterday. You can come in at lunch and take it.”
I sneak a peek at Megan as she grimaces.
“Today?” I ask.
“Yes, sir. Today would be perfect.” She takes her eyes off the board to look over her shoulder at me. “Don’t worry, you can bring your lunch.” She returns to writing.
“I was kind of hoping for a couple of days to brush up.”
“I announced this test last Wednesday, Mr. Cooper. According to my records, you were here last Wednesday. Judging from the scores, everyone in this class spent the last few days ‘brushing up.’ If you didn’t, that is not my problem.”
“But I was sick.”
More writing. “I’m offering the test today at lunch. Otherwise, it won’t be fair to the rest of the class.” She finishes the agenda and brings the dry-erase marker to the board, punctuating the last line with a loud period. “Sound good?” She turns around and stares at me.
It doesn’t matter. Today, next week, the grade I get on this test will likely be the same either way. I nod.
“Great. I’ll see you then.”
I spend the next forty-five minutes cramming. Every time McGibney turns her back, I thumb through my notebook, desperately trying to recall all the things I’ve learned about world civilizations since school started. The notes are fairly detailed in some places, but I honestly don’t remember writing many of them. In other places, I find page after page with nothing but doodles. Apparently, a few weeks ago, I spent an entire class trying to figure out what to name my garage.
The bell rings and everyone rises from their seats and heads for the door. As I turn into the hall toward my next class, I spot Megan leaning up against the locker bank, smiling and clearly waiting for me. “Man, that was harsh,” she says when I’m within earshot.
“Remind me not to get sick again.”
She smiles. “Here.” She reaches into her messenger bag and hands me a black-and-white composition notebook. The cover is bent and the pages are frayed, and as I turn it over in my hands I notice that it looks a lot more battered than mine does, as if she’s actually been using it to take notes in class and then refer to them later on.
“Really?”
“Sure.” She closes her bag and readjusts the strap on her shoulder. “Maybe you could skip your next three classes and go study in the library.”
