Outside, our neighbor Mr. Edwards waves at me from the lawn mower, but I can’t deal with him right now, so I break into a jog for the five blocks to Em’s house, even though I hate running as much as I hate yoga, and it’s already too hot, and I forgot to put on deodorant. But after a few minutes, my feet start catching up with my heart—propelling me forward, outside of myself.
I round the corner to Em’s and then stop, bending over and placing my hands on my knees, a knife in my gut, and try to slow down my heaving breaths, as big and deep as the time Charlie accidentally kicked a soccer ball into my stomach, knocking the air right out of me.
When I straighten, I see Em and Matty loading their backpacks into the car. He says something I can’t hear, and she starts laughing, doubling over into one of her laugh-snorts—the only thing about Em that isn’t obviously lovely—and Matty guffaws loudly in response.
I hear Charlie’s words again: Sometimes I wish you were dead too.
At that second, I’m so envious of my best friend and her cousin, of how close they are, I’m pretty sure if a fairy-tale witch offered me the chance to steal all their happiness for me and Charlie, I would seize it without giving either of them a second thought.
What is wrong with me?
I back up slowly, then faster, then turn and start to run again until I’m sure they can’t see me.
As my shoes slap the sidewalk, I try not to obsess about last night, what Matty said about Charlie.
About Charlie soaring across that river.
I massage the crick in my neck from watching him sleep, and the morning’s sadness and anxiety start to morph into something else, something that makes me feel ugly on the inside, something that makes me run even faster.
What if Charlie hadn’t come back up from the water last night?
What if he had thrown up last night and choked on it in his sleep?
I get angrier and angrier, and my shins burn.
Charlie’s so close to getting everything back.
And he’s messing it all up.
He’s so selfish about his health, I want to shake him by the shoulders or kick him in the shins, something to get his attention, something to hurt him into taking care of himself.
He was awful to Matty and Em last night, and even though Erin and Charlie broke up, I’m sure Erin would be devastated if she found out he’d been cheating on her.
I shake my head, flex my fingers.
Not to mention Mom and Dad. If they lose him now, thanks to something reckless and preventable? They don’t deserve that.
(And behind all of that, his words. Sometimes I wish you were dead too.)
I shake my head.
No.
When I get home, I find our parents at the kitchen table eating eggs and toast.
“Hey,” I say, resting my hands on my hips, trying to catch my breath.
“You’re out and about pretty early,” Mom says. “Charlie’s still sound asleep.”
Of course he is.
“She’s getting ready for those doctor hours,” Dad says to Mom.
“I need to talk with you guys about something,” I say.
Mom looks at me more carefully. “Everything okay?”
I shake my head. “Charlie was drinking last night.”
“What?” Dad asks, putting his fork down.
“I’m sure he was just celebrating a little bit with everyone else, right?” Mom offers.
“More than that. He drank so much he could hardly stand. He was messing around at the river on this vine, and for a second we were all worried he drowned. And it’s not just last night. Matty said he’s been smoking pot and trying other stuff too. He’s not taking care of himself.”
Dad’s palm slams down on the table. “For chrissakes. What’s he thinking?”
Mom looks like someone’s punched her in the gut, and I feel a twinge of guilt when I see her eyes glistening.
“I’m sorry, but I thought you should know,” I say. “He needs help.”
As the words leave my lips, I know I’m not wrong. Charlie’s messed up in a way that goes deeper than the cancer in his blood. He needs help.
But the absolute certainty I felt in telling is short-lived when Dad stands up, hollering, “Charlie!” He goes to the bottom of the steps, yells louder. “Charlie!”
I hear a distant sleepy “What?”
“We need you downstairs. Now!”
“Just a minute.”
Mom leans over, squeezing my shoulder gently, and I take that as my sign to leave.
When I get upstairs, Charlie’s emerging from his room, rubbing his eyes. He smells sour, like beer and river, and I can tell from the expression on his face he’s hungover.
“Jesus, what’s up with Dad?” he asks in a half yawn.
I shrug, unable to look at him.
He immediately notices and steps forward, his face getting serious. “Parker, about last night. The stuff I said . . . you know I was just drunk, right?”
“Charlie!” Dad yells again from downstairs, and Charlie winces, looking over to me, confused.
“Why is he so mad . . . ?” He freezes, understanding dawning on his face. “You told them.”
“It’s for your own good,” I insist.
“So you just went straight to Mom and Dad? You didn’t even try to talk to me first?”
“Like you’d listen,” I say, but my resolve fades further as his expression sharpens, turning dangerous.
“God, you are unbelievable. Remember this moment, little sister. Because someday you’re going to mess up too, and let me tell you: I’m going to enjoy every single fucking second of it.”
I try not to flinch, but his words are so horrible that I immediately have to head into my room and slam the door behind me before Charlie can see the way my hands are shaking.
? ? ?
The sound of Taylor Swift singing her heart out in my earphones is covering up most of the yelling currently happening downstairs.
In fact, I could almost pretend it’s not happening, if it weren’t for Mustard sitting next to me, perched at the edge of the bed, wary, his ears pushed back at attention.
I’m petting his soft orange head, trying to calm both of us down, when my phone buzzes.
Em.
On our way to airport but wanted to say hello. Missed you last night! How are things now?
I don’t want Em to worry, so I weigh my words carefully before I reply.
C’s hungover, but everything else is OK. Miss you already. oxo
Her response is immediate.
Serves him right.
Then she texts me our favorite emoji, the one of two girls with rabbit ears dancing together.
I respond with the cat with heart eyes, and then put my phone on the table and scoop my arm around my cat, humming along softly with the music.
I must fall asleep somewhere in the middle of that, because when I wake up, it’s five fifteen, which means I’ve just slept for the past six-plus hours.
I could sleep for another six, another sixteen.
I take out my earbuds.
From the open window, I hear the sounds of Dad clanging around on the back deck, the smell of the grill wafting through the room.
I wonder what happened with Charlie and our parents but not enough to venture out of my room yet, that’s for sure.
Mustard has relocated to the windowsill, watching me with interest. He meows, and I lean over and offer him a head rub, then press my palm against my sternum, breathe in deep, then stand, heading to my laptop.
When I log in, I have two new e-mails, both from “collier5.”
Ruby.
I click on the first one, dated only a few hours after I sent my message to her.
Dear Parker,
It was so good meeting you yesterday too! Thanks for writing me! If I didn’t make it clear already, your kind of who I want to be when I “grow up” (haha). Did you apply to Harvard early acceptance? What were your SATs? (You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want!) Did you have good recommendation letters? When did you decide you wanted to be a doctor?
I would write more now, but I’m on my phone at work and Finn Casper is being a total garbage monster and so I need to go.
Thank you in advance for all your help!
Your (hopefully) friend,
Ruby
For a second, I think about the logistics of trying to talk to her about Harvard, of pretending I’m as excited as I should be, about how things are so messed up right now, I don’t know if I can be a role model, let alone a friend, to anyone.
And then I click to the next one, dated today.
Dear Parker,