Back in the air. This time it’s Chicago that slips away, gets smaller and smaller, until I can’t see the city at all, my home vanished just like that, and now there are only big swaths of green and brown, a patchwork quilt of earth. Again, my PSAT book sits on my lap, opened but not read, and I stare out the window, trying to decide which way I’d rather be flying: east, back to Scar, who has her own life now and less room for me, or west, back to Rachel’s house and my distracted dad, where scary things await. Facing Liam, and, if he doesn’t back out, SN. As for my father, I’ve ignored his calls and texts for the past week. Our silence is getting too loud, my sulk having crossed over into something tangible and hard and malignant.
I wait until the fasten seat belt light goes off to take out the envelope Scar slipped to me just as I was leaving. A parting gift, she said. I flip it around in my hand, nervous to open it. I hope there are words of wisdom here, the sort of prescient advice Scar has always been able to freely share. When my mom died, Scar and I sat on my bed, and before she started the full-time job of distracting me from the pain—which she performed admirably and with such skill I never even noticed how much work she must have put into it—she said the only thing that made sense at the time, maybe the only thing that has made any sense since: Just so you know, I realize that what happened is not in any way okay, but I think we’re going to have to pretend like it is.
Because it wasn’t okay and never will be. We will power through it; I will continue to power through it—all the stagnant, soul-crushing grief—but it will never be okay that my mom is not here. That she will not be at my high school graduation; that she will never give me the lecture, and I won’t be able to play along and pretend to be embarrassed and say, Come on, Mom; that she will not be there when I open my college acceptance letters (or rejections); that she will never see who I grow up to be—that great mystery of who I am and who I am meant to be—finally asked and answered. I will march forth into the great unknown alone.
I open the envelope and out slips a new laptop tattoo, bigger than the other ones Scar’s made for me. This image in black-and-white. A ninja wielding a samurai sword, his eyes wide and blank and fierce. Attached is a small note: I wanted you to see yourself the way I see you: as a fighter. Strong and stealthy. Totally kick-ass. Completely and utterly your mother’s daughter. Love you, Scar.
I hug the sticker to my chest, take it as an omen, the only way forward. I will stop being afraid of everything. Of hurt and rejection. Of my father’s ambivalence about me. Of hurting Dri’s feelings. Of facing Liam and Gem too. Of meeting SN in person, face to face. Of venturing forth, day by day, naked and unprotected into the bright, bright sun.
CHAPTER 31
Theo is wearing a charcoal-gray pin-striped blazer with matching shorts and a chauffeur’s cap, and is holding up a handwritten sign with my name on it. Not for the first time, I wonder how he has a costume for every occasion. Was he able to pull this together from the vast selection in his closet, or did he shop for the perfect pick-Jessie-up-from-the-airport outfit? Either way, I love the effort, even if he didn’t do it for my benefit.
“Hello, my lady. Your chariot awaits,” Theo says, and grabs my duffel bag and throws it over his shoulder. “This is all you brought? What about shoes?”
I point to the Vans on my feet.
“You’re a lost cause,” he says, and leads me out of the air-conditioned terminal into the soft, warm Los Angeles evening. “So I only offered to do this because I thought you were going to spill. So…spill it.”
“Ah, so you offered? I thought you said my dad made you.”
“Whatever. Sometimes I’m nice. Don’t tell anyone. Now spill.”
“Spill what? I’ve got nothing,” I say, and avoid his eyes, even though it’s the truth. Liam breaking up with Gem to be with me is just rumor. Liam has not called or texted or asked me out. I have never given him any reason to think we should be together, and I intend to keep it that way. The whys of their breakup are as much a mystery to me as whatever brought them together in the first place. And it’s not like Liam and I even have a relationship outside of work. Unless he’s SN. Which he’s not, regardless of Scar’s big theory.
“Okay, then I’ll tell you what I know. Apparently, Mr. Liam has it bad for you. Like a serious case of the hots. Apparently, he thinks you are ‘a very good listener,’?” Theo says, using air quotes, and leads me across the congested median into the parking lot, even putting his arm out to protect me from the traffic. I’ll give him this: Theo is gallant.