“You’re coming back in August. Right?” Jada finally asks. Now, she’s starting to get it. She finally gets that I wasn’t only coming here for the summer. I gulp.
“I was never planning to go back to Idaho, Jada. I wanted to stay here. Now, I can’t stay in Nice, but if you help me, maybe somewhere else in France . . .” My words trail off.
I hear background noise again, but this time it’s not laughter. Jada is mad. Really, really mad, because she’s squealing, grunting and yelling, and her head is thrashing around like it does when she’s agitated.
“You can’t stay there!” she finally says.
“I thought there was a way I could do it, Jada! I thought that Sylvie and émile didn’t have Ansel anymore, so they had room for someone else. And I knew they would feel sorry for me . . . don’t you get it?” I say, sobbing. Saying it out loud makes a cold lump of squirming embarrassment form in my stomach, because hearing my voice say the words makes it totally obvious to me how crazy the plan was from the beginning.
“It won’t work, now, because Ansel is coming home. And I said bad things and hurt Sylvie, and I got mixed up with that old lady and took stuff from that apartment. I know it was crazy! Now I have to find another place to go! Please, help me, Jada!” I add, gulping and gasping for breath. Crazy plan or not, I’m here now, and desperate not to go home.
“I helped you lie to go to France! I helped you steal! I’m your best friend but you lied to me, too!” Jada says.
“I am your best friend, but I couldn’t tell you. I was afraid you’d think I was crazy.” I hear her grunt as she works on her response. Ten seconds go by.
“Crazy and stupid.”
My tears stop. Everything stops. No breath is in my lungs. The black sludge is still inside. I feel it spreading from somewhere around my heart to the rest of my body. My best friend, who always stands up for me when no one else does, who tells me I can do anything, who tells me to “bring it,” called me crazy. And stupid. Jada can’t even talk without a computer, or move without a wheelchair. Neither can Mitch. They think they’re getting married. And she thinks I’m crazy and stupid?
Once again, my mouth moves before I think about what to say. Maybe it’s my . . . apraxia. There. I allowed my brain to think it, the word I hate so much. Maybe it’s the sludge inside. Sounds plummet from my lips, quick and garbled, but I know Jada will understand me.
“Crazy and stupid? You know what’s crazy and stupid, Jada? That you and Mitch think you can get married! That’s a joke and you know it! Where are you going to live? At Cascade Hills, with Mitch? So the nurses can feed you and change you at the same time? That’s romantic.”
Jada squeals as I struggle for breath, feeling my heart drum with anger. Jada’s mom probably told her “yes” to get her off her case. But Jada will never live by herself. She can’t walk. She can’t talk without her computer; she can’t even eat. Someone has to feed her through a tube in her stomach. Someone has to bathe her, change her clothes and do her hair. Someone has to change her diapers.
She’s a lot like Ansel.
Ansel. The name carves itself into my mind, and once again, I see brown-black eyes that fill with pain at the sound of my words. What would I read in Jada’s eyes if I were standing before her now? How could I have spoken those cruel words? She’s my best friend. We laugh together, get crushes together, and cry together. She is the one person who always defended me and has never, ever mocked my mushy words. Why can’t she and Mitch get married? Why shouldn’t they? Why do I keep saying such awful things to everyone around me, even the people I love the most? My words were true, but they’re horrible.
“J,” I start to say, but I hear a click and my throat starts to close.
Jada hung up.
Twenty-Four
I sleep so late it’s no longer morning. Sylvie must have hit the flower markets, because the kitchen is smothered in plant life by the time I wander in, looking for food. Clouds of pink, crimson, blue, lavender, yellow, and green cover every surface. I smell roses, lilacs, carnations, and other flowers I don’t recognize. Underneath it all is the smell of roast chicken and lots of garlic.