There isn’t much excitement in this area. I see headlines like
There’s no time to keep delving through the year—the bell rings overhead. My next class is U.S. History. I make sure to put away the mess; Mrs. Marble is known to hunt kids down and stand over them as they clean up their clutter in her library.
Joshua is waiting for me when I enter the classroom. Holding my book to my chest, I make my way to a desk in the back, as usual. At the sight of me Joshua pastes that same lazy grin on his face. I can’t tell what he’s really thinking—his eyes are hidden by his long hair. I smile in greeting, appearing friendly. He pulls himself clumsily to his feet and approaches. He reminds me of a newborn colt, but he’s doing better at concealing his anxiety and excitement.
“So about the project,” he begins without preamble, sitting on the edge of my desk. I’ve never noticed what he’s wearing before, but now I do glance at the ripped and worn jeans, stained white T-shirt, and scuffed boots. Working on a farm all of his life has benefited Joshua; his arms aren’t scrawny as I’d first assumed, but sinewy. His body isn’t gangly, just lean.
“ … okay with it, right?”
I blink at Joshua. “Excuse me?”
He frowns, his expression becoming worried. The Emotion manifests next to him, touches him briefly before vanishing again. “Do you have a problem with it? Because I can talk to Mrs. Farmer if you want. I thought—”
Oh. The assigned partners. “It’s fine,” I say to Joshua, cutting his anxious tirade short. “I’m sorry; I was thinking about something.”
“Oh yeah?” Joshua raises his brows at me. “Care to share?”
“People, people, find your seats and zip your lips, please. Get your pencils and notebooks out and prepare yourselves—lots of notes today. Your wrists are going to love you by the time we get out!” Collective groans as Mr. Anderson strides to his desk followed by the bouncy figure of Excitement, a female Emotion with spiky hair and a slight frame. Mr. Anderson really does love teaching us. Joshua grins at me, shrugging, and goes back to his own desk.
Sophia is gone for once, and I know that if I had the ability, I would be grateful. I settle on the hard desk seat and put the whole of my concentration into taking notes.
Joshua tries not to look at me for the rest of the class period, yet the boy can’t help glancing back at me under his lashes. I can practically hear the thoughts buzzing around the inside of his busy brain. It serves to be a little distracting.
But not nearly as distracting as my own thoughts.
Two days pass without event. Dad keeps me busy on the farm, and he’s pleased with the progress we’ve made on the harvest. His good mood affects Mom; she treats me less as a frightening stranger at supper and more like a distant relative coming to stay for a while. “Pass the peas, please, Elizabeth?” she asks politely.
Charles, of course, pretends everything is good and happy. He has a new plan to get out of Edson: drag racing. He’s bought an old run-down car from the junkyard. Old Tom gave him a deal. Every night while I paint, Charles is in the garage, tinkering away at the thing. He’s also been going to a small track in Chippewa Falls. “To check out the competition,” he tells me. “I think once I get my baby all fixed up, I can take ’em.” I agree, because it’s what he wants.
By Thursday, my bruises are faded enough to be covered by makeup. The result is adequate, and I make arrangements to see Maggie. It’s been too long since my last visit—over two weeks—and I feel the insistent nudge to maintain appearances. Charles agrees to cover the milking and make an excuse if Dad notices I’m gone.
After school I get into my truck with my plan in place. The parking lot thrives with the sound of engines coming to life and kids shouting “Bye!” and “See you tomorrow!” Just as I jam the keys into the ignition, though, something caught in the windshield wiper catches my eye. I open the door and pull the object free. A piece of paper. Blue ink. There’s the curve of a
The handwriting is neat, elegant curves and loops. Frowning in thought, I hold it to my nose and inhale. The smell of something fresh, dark, and cold clings to the paper. Odd. It’s either a prank or something else, and I have no idea what that could be. Best to dwell on it later. Pocketing the piece of paper, I start the engine and head to Eau Claire, about a forty-minute drive.
The trip offers the same scenery: the rolling hills of Wisconsin all around. The minutes and miles pass by in a blur. I find myself thinking yet again about the dreams.
Finally the silver arches of the hospital appear on my left, a huge building jutting up in front of the horizon. I find a parking space, reading the words over the doorway:
Maggie is asleep when I walk through the door, the tiles squeaking beneath my shoes. I stop, standing in a shaft of sunlight that slips in through the window. Her parents aren’t here, and I don’t know how long she’ll sleep. Every second that passes is a second that Tim will notice my absence, so I move to leave again.
“You aren’t even going to leave a note?” she whispers. I turn around and watch her eyes flutter open. She’s weakened considerably since the last time I saw her. Her face is almost as pale as the pillow she’s leaning against. She’s not wearing a wig today—wisps of hair stick up in forlorn tufts—and someone must have made her remove the lip ring. But in typical Maggie fashion, she’s rebelled by wearing a necklace with a skull pendant and painting her fingernails black. I approach once more, sitting down in the uncomfortable pink chair by her bedside. Maggie watches me, smiling sleepily.
“I was dreaming about the ocean,” she tells me. “Did you know I’ve never been to the ocean?”
“Yes, you’ve told me.”
Maggie tosses her head restlessly, a thin hand going up to touch the remaining strands of her once-shining red hair. “Just once, I’d like to put my feet in,” she says. “See those colorful fish I’ve heard about, take pictures of the coral reefs.”
“I know,” I reply softly. “And you will one day.”
“No, I won’t. And we both know it.” Maggie faces me, forcing herself to smile again. It looks unnatural, as if that smile wants to shrivel and crawl away to a dark corner to weep. Out of the corner of my eye I notice that an Emotion now accompanies us—Sorrow, who huddles near Maggie with a glistening tear on his cheek. His dark hair hides the rest of his face. I act as if he isn’t there and lean toward Maggie. Even though she contradicts me, I know she wants more lies. So I give them to her.
“We’ll put on skimpy bathing suits and run down the beach,” I tell her, touching her hand. She clings to my fingers and my hold tightens automatically. “Boys will look at you and want you. Girls will be so jealous of you. We’ll have our cameras, and we’ll take thousands of pictures. We’ll buy corn dogs from the beach vendors, we’ll wear those ridiculous big hats you see in the magazines”—Maggie snorts here—“and maybe we’ll even swim with some dolphins. What the hell.”
My friend sighs, her smile bittersweet now, but real. “I don’t know if it’s these meds they have me on, but you look so strange in the sunlight. Beautiful, really. As if you’re absorbing all the light and it’s shining from you instead of the sky.”
“Could be the meds, or maybe it’s just you,” I tease.
Suddenly Maggie doesn’t want any more jokes. Her mood swings in another direction—the doctors once said her medications would make this happen—and she makes a sound of impatience. “Forget all of this. Fuck it. I’m tired of talking about me. I’m sick of listening to the doctors and the nurses and my parents. Distract me, Liz. Give me all the dirty gossip from school. Or better yet, let’s blow this Popsicle stand! You drove here—let’s go find a party!” Her eyes glitter, and Sorrow fades, swiftly replaced by Desperation. So many Emotions. It’s almost dizzying.
