He had to go and ask that question, in that way.
“What do you mean, them?” Leila asked, even though she knew fully well who he meant. He was officially prying. It was them that everyone always asked about. She knew what them implied. Every adopted kid or foster kid knew exactly what that meant. She didn’t need an explanation.
But she wanted to hear him say it.
“You know, your, like, real parents or whatever,” Shawn said, starting to look noticeably uncomfortable.
Leila smiled.
He was uncomfortable.
Good.
“First of all,” she started, leaning on the picnic table, the splintering, old wood pushing into her arms, “don’t say that. Don’t say ‘real parents.’ That implies my current parents aren’t real.”
“Oh God, Leila, well no, obviously that’s not what—”
“I’m sorry, was I finished?” Leila asked, holding a hand up. “It implies my current parents aren’t real. If you were raised by someone else in your family, a grandmother or a close uncle or aunt, would you ever use the phrase ‘real parents’ around family that’s taken care of you your whole life? Don’t you think that would devastate the person you’re calling unreal?”
“Well, yeah. Okay, I see your point.”
“You can’t quantify real or not-real in relationships, particularly family, Shawn. This isn’t The Hunger Games.”
Shawn stared at her.
“Never mind. It’s a book.” She swiped a piece of cheese off the picnic table and flicked it into her mouth. She nibbled away in silence as Shawn sat there awkwardly. Suddenly, this wasn’t going as well as she had hoped. Thanks to Shawn’s insensitive prying, the day was taking an epic downward spiral. The swoon-filled moment of meeting him in the café, the way he stared at her during the first meeting of B.E.A.C., all of those feelings that had swirled around inside her chest were quickly dissipating, replaced by the same disappointment she’d felt from every other boy she’d met. And not just every boy, but most people.
“I know The Hunger Games,” Shawn said, his tone upset. “Look, I’m sorry if I don’t understand your . . .” he motioned around with his hands, looking frustrated. “I don’t know your world, or whatever, but I’m asking questions, aren’t I? To get to know it? I’m trying, is that so terribly wrong?”
“It’s the way you’re asking,” Leila said glancing over at her bike. “Look, maybe we should—”
“It’s cute when you’re all worked up, you know,” Shawn said with a sudden grin. He put his head in his hands, his elbows up on the table, and peered at her like he was trying to be cute.
Leila scowled at him, and he smiled more.
“See?” He grinned. “That little patch of skin over there, on your cheek, changes color a little, gets all red. What is that, anyway? Is there a story? Is it a scar? Have you ever thought about maybe putting some makeup over that?” He reached out to touch her cheek and she smacked his hand away.
“I’m going home,” Leila said, standing up and walking away from the picnic table, picking up Marigold.
“Wait, what?” Shawn said, walking towards her. “Why? What did I—”
“Take. Me. Home.” Leila stressed. “Oh, fuck it, fuck this, fuck you, I’ll just find my way. The road is closed off, right?” She swung her leg over the bike and unclipped her helmet from the frame, fastening it on her head and pressing it down on her hair. The road from the bridge continued forward a bit, and then curled off onto what looked like a main street.
“Yeah, sure, but, come on, Leila,” Shawn pleaded. He grabbed his bike and hustled over towards her as she began to pedal away.
“Wait!” he shouted as he biked behind her. She pressed down on her pedals, hard, standing up, getting faster and faster. The street was clear of cars, entirely closed off, and just a few other cyclists joined them on the road, including a couple riding a tandem bicycle that wobbled precariously despite their beaming smiles.
She glared at them, and then tore her gaze away from the happy couple to focus on the trees around her, the bright colors and summer smells. She pushed away the shouts from Shawn and blinked at the angry tears that kept threatening to stream out as the wind buffeted her face and her bike. Shawn pedaled behind her, pleading for her to slow down, to stop, to listen to him.
She’d listened enough, heard his inappropriate questions and horrible suggestions. A few small buildings started to pop up in the middle of the trees. She recognized a handful as park cafés and facilities, the old stone structures more like cottages than anything else, and she squinted, trying to make them out as she rode by.
“Wait, is that . . .” she murmured, staring hard at a small, gray building with a number of old-looking wooden structures dotted around it.
She slowed down.
A young man stood near the wooden boxes and was reaching inside with a gloved arm. He pulled his arm out of the box, and a small owl sat on it.
Leila gasped as the man tossed something up in the air, and the owl took off, or at least attempted to. It shot up into the air awkwardly, one of its wings a different color and shape than the other, and fell back to the ground. The man rushed to where the owl fell and scooped it up, holding it tenderly, muttering something she couldn’t hear as he cradled the creature in his arms.
The wind picked up, hard and fast. Leaves rustled by, tickling her ears and neck. She swayed on her bicycle.
He’s the one.
The whispers. They were loud. Clear. And they were speaking to her about something.
He can help.
She could hear entire sentences, each word clear, as if someone was speaking right next to her, whispering in her ear.
Go. Speak to him.
She couldn’t close her eyes, not while she was riding. She slowed down a little, taking in deep breaths. She whispered to herself.
“Bike. Park. Trees. Street.”
The voices pressed, and she looked back towards the man with the owl. He looked up abruptly, right at her, and she gasped as he made eye contact.
She reflexively squeezed the brakes on her bicycle. Hard.
Too hard.
She lurched forward, the back wheel rising up and sending Leila hurtling over the handlebars and onto the black asphalt. She held out her hands and arms as she made impact, skidding across the pavement, and her head hit the hard ground and rattled around inside her helmet.
She pushed herself onto her back and looked up at the summer sky. The cool wind circled around her, as if trying to wrap her into a hug. Bike tires screeched against the road, pebbles kicked up and smattered against her, and she heard the sound of feet hitting the ground. A few faces peered over her, blocking her view of the tree canopy that hung over the road and the clouds above them. Their voices blended together with the whispering on the wind.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Go to him.
“Someone call somebody, who has a cell phone?”
He’ll know. He cares.
“What’s your name?”
He can help save us. All of us. All of you.
“It doesn’t look like she’s bleeding or anything.”
He wears the chosen colors of the caretakers.
“Oh my God, Leila!” Shawn’s face appeared over the skidding of his bicycle. He loomed over her, as strange and unfamiliar as the rest of them. He was sweating profusely, to the point that droplets of sweat trickled off his face and dripped onto her. She tried to move her head away, but the pain thundered in her skull.
I’ve been here, all this time.
“Say something, please?” Shawn pleaded. He started fumbling with his jacket and pulled out a phone.
And now, at last, you’ve returned.
Leila felt tired, dizzy. She felt like she was struggling to keep her eyes open.
I’ll be waiting.
“Leila? Leila!” Shawn shouted. She felt someone grab her shoulders. “No, no, don’t close your eyes, don’t go to sleep. Yes? Hello? There’s been an accident. Kelly Drive. Bicycle. I don’t know just, send someone, anyone—”
You’re so close, so very close.
Leila closed her eyes, and let the world go dark.
See you soon.
THREAD: Get Well Soon WithouttheY!
FORUM: GENERAL