A Tragic Kind of Wonderful

“You know how nice it was. I guess they sold it without needing to put up a sign. Zumi looked in the windows long enough to see the rooms were empty. Then she went back to the car.”

“Did she cry?”

He glances at me, surprised, and then looks away again. “Zumi never cries.”

“I know, but it’s not like her to do nothing. Why isn’t she pissed off? Throwing things and pounding on doors and walls and … I’ve just never seen her … shut down.”

“You’ve never seen her humiliated.”

“Nothing embarrasses Zumi,” I say.

“Humiliated. It’s different.”

I climb up and sit on the wall beside him. He holds out his bag of corn chips. I shake my head.

“She’ll break through it,” he says. “Then she’ll get pissed off and it’ll all come out in flames. It always does.”

The bell rings. There’s more I want to talk about. No time now.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

He turns his head like he’s going to look at me, but he doesn’t quite make it. He starts packing his lunch trash.

I stand.

“Mel?”

He takes the apple core from my hand and stuffs it into his bag.

“Thanks, Connor.”

*

After school, Holly and I reach the sidewalk and Declan still hasn’t joined us. Holly sits on the curb. None of her other friends are around so I join her. Today she didn’t tie her hair back; it’s been flopping all around, having fun. I shove my hands deep in my pockets.

Connor and Zumi drive by. It doesn’t look like they’re talking.

“What’s up with them?” Holly asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Declan said you stared at Izumi all through Chem today.”

Holly always uses her full name, believing that only her friends or ex-friends call her Zumi.

“What exactly happened between you?” Holly asks. “You know, last year?”

It’s a simple question. An obvious one, too, but she’s never asked before.

“Why ask now?” My tone is sharper than I intended.

She tips her head and smiles. “You were too upset last year.”

“You know what Annie was like. Everybody did.”

“Only from the outside. Seemed like she wanted to be queen but couldn’t attract subjects. I thought Izumi and Connor stayed friends with her because none of them could do any better. Kinda sad, really.”

“I guess it took me longer than most to figure her out,” I say. “Pretty much all of freshman year. I tried to let it slide, but … one day I couldn’t take any more and called her on her bullshit. She tried to … I don’t know, pull rank, I guess. When I didn’t take it back and fall in line, we were done.”

“Whatever her deal was, it must have worked fine for Izumi and Connor. They didn’t waste any time writing you off.”

I shake my head. “Zumi hounded me for weeks. I just … I couldn’t …”

The truth is, I was the one who stopped talking. It really hurt and confused her, I know, but I was in the middle of my bipolar onset, fighting for my crumbling sanity and to keep the whole battle a secret. I also wanted to protect her from what happened with Annie. My phone still holds the history of texts from Zumi that I never answered. I don’t read them anymore, but I can’t avoid seeing the dent she made on our front door trying to find me. Aunt Joan kept telling her I wasn’t home. It was true in a way.

“It was my fault,” I say. “And I’m pretty sure Annie told stories about me.”

“They still believed her instead of you.”

“Why wouldn’t they? They were friends long before I got here. And I didn’t tell them Annie was lying.”

It was clear from Zumi’s dwindling messages that Annie was telling her I was the one who’d been lying to her, that I didn’t care about her, that I never had, and me not answering was slowly convincing her. Months later, the first time we saw each other again at school, I ducked away. It probably seemed like confirmation of every lie Annie told.

“Anyway,” I say, “this all happened when I got sick and went months without talking to anyone.”

Holly’s eyebrows go up. “Anyone?”

“Except you.” I rest my head on her shoulder. “You know, when you and Declan brought me all my homework and saved me from flunking my classes and everything. I owe you big.”

“Yes, you do. Most of my friendships are based on debt.” Holly presses her temple against my head. “You know. Rescues.”

“I’m trying to pay you back in installments,” I say. “To make it last as long as possible.”

She laughs.

I leave my head on Holly’s shoulder and she lets me.

When I was missing so much school, Holly got assigned to bring me schoolwork, but she did so much more. She became my friend and kind of saved me from drowning entirely. I’m very grateful.

Eric Lindstrom's books