He’s right. I know he’s right. But I don’t know how to face people when I’m like this. I tell him about Mrs. Ortiz demanding I check in with her. “She’ll probably stalk me until I talk to her. I can’t do it, Doc.”
“Have I mentioned how much I hate high school guidance counselors? I’ll take care of it. I’ll tell her that it’s interfering with my treatment plan. I’ll even make up some fake plan and you watch, she’ll pretend she’s heard of it.”
“Thanks, Doc. This is . . . You’re . . . Thanks. And I cursed Social Services when they forced me to come here.”
“So did I.” He’s grinning. “And I’m glad I’m able to help. But I think you’re wrong about only being able to talk to me. It sounds like this Jordyn could be someone to lean on when I’m not available. She kind of sounds like she might make a pretty good shrink one day.”
“I thought you hated that word,” I say.
He grins. Shrugs.
? ? ?
When I get to the studio that night, Henry shows me some of his favorite photographs and explains why he likes each of them. His very favorite is not artistic at all. It’s a shot of Jordyn and her mom playing mini golf. Jordyn’s head is thrown back and her mom is doubled over laughing. You feel like you’re part of their moment when you look at it. Like you know what they’re laughing at even though there’s no way of knowing what was so funny. They probably don’t even remember why they were laughing so hard.
“Jordyn told me about your mom,” Henry says as I study the photograph.
I’m unsure how to respond.
“Suicides are a fucked-up thing,” he says. “My brother shot himself in the face when I was fourteen.”
I don’t look up. I just study Jordyn and her mom mid-laugh. It feels like he doesn’t want me to look at him, but maybe that’s my shit.
“I found him with half his cheek smeared across my pillow. We shared a room. Wish I could tell you it gets easier, but I’m not much for lying. I don’t expect you to say anything. Just wanted you to know that I get it.”
I nod and we sit in silence for a good ten minutes.
Then the family portrait people walk in and Henry and I go about working like nothing has changed. But everything has changed.
FIFTEEN
A female cover of “Tainted Love” blares on my old alarm clock, yanking me from a dream. It had something to do with Jordyn and her mom and that photo Henry showed me of them laughing. I try to remember the details, but the harder I try, the foggier it is. But I remember how I felt. I haven’t truly felt it for so long that it takes me a second to recognize it: happiness.
By the time I see Marcus in gym, I’ve decided that I am going to go to the homecoming game after all.
“Dude! That’s . . . It means a lot to me, man,” Marcus says. Then he slams his locker shut and we head for the gym.
I hurry home after school to feed Captain and get out of the house before Dad gets home to ruin my extremely rare good spirits. I’m sure nothing would set him off more than seeing me happy. Not that I have anything to base this assumption on. It’s just a feeling. And I’m not in the mood to tempt fate.
So I’m way early for the big homecoming game. Thankfully there’s a Starbucks across the street. Our school doesn’t have a proper football field, so the games are always played at this top-of-the-line stadium that acts as home field for all the surrounding schools—all the teams we play—which means no one really has an away game. It gets confusing when it comes to trash-talking.
I sip my coffee and watch the parking lot fill up, waiting till the last minute to head in. I find a place way in the back, sneaking through the crowd with my head down.
I brace myself for that part of me that still longs to be on the field, but by the end of the first quarter, it still hasn’t presented itself. I don’t get it. I truly thought football was my thing. I look around at everyone in the crowd, cheering and jumping and chanting and laughing with their friends, and I feel nothing. I have nothing. I am nothing. So much for that good mood.
“I thought it was you,” Cara, one of Sheila’s cheerleader friends—the one I can actually stand—says, smiling down at me. “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone I saw you.” She means she didn’t tell Sheila.
“Thanks,” I say.
She shoves me so I scoot down and then sits next to me. She’s kind of hot. If I made a move on her it would definitely piss Sheila off. She’s wearing her cheer uniform, which doesn’t do much for her tits, but her legs are completely exposed. Such long, smooth, shapely legs.
She notices me looking. “I know, right?” She rubs at them, embarrassed. “Freaking goose bumps.”
“What are you doing up here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be screaming at us from down there?” I point to the edge of the field, where most of the other cheerleaders are chanting and clapping in unison.