I’m relieved when my phone vibrates in my hand again, saving me from saying something I shouldn’t. But it’s not Cassie. It’s my dad: Be home in ten minutes.
Shit. The time for stalling is over. We have got to get going. And I have to get myself out the door.
Any sign of Cassie at her house? I write back.
Not yet. But I’m sure she’s fine. Don’t worry.
Am I really going to do this? Not tell him or Karen that I’ve heard from her? I don’t want to keep it from them, but I don’t feel like I know enough to overrule Cassie. At least not yet. Besides, it’s not like we can’t change our minds. We’ll wait for more details. Once we know exactly what kind of mess Cassie’s in and how deep it goes, then we’ll decide who needs to know.
“Listen, we have to go. My dad will be home soon.” I grab my small duffel bag and start tossing things inside: a change of clothes, sweatpants, one of my bandannas. The bandanna reminds me of my hacked hair that Jasper has still been doing a decent job of pretending not to notice.
“Does your dad or brother maybe have a sweatshirt or something I could borrow? I ran out to come here when I got Cassie’s text.” Jasper looks down at his short sleeves. “If we stop back at my place, my brother will never let me leave again with his car.”
“Sure, yeah,” I say, feeling a little guilty that I’d assumed he was showing off his bare arms on purpose. “I’ll see what I can find.”
My mom’s Doc Marten boots are still sitting in the middle of my parents’ carpet. I stand in front of them for a minute, staring down. Finally, I push my feet in and jerk the laces tight—they’re a size too big, but not terrible. I also grab my mom’s favorite sweatshirt off the back of the door. It’s not an accident that it’s been hanging there for the last four months, right where she left it. But right now, I need it more than my dad does. Besides, he was the one who didn’t care about her shoes.
The last thing I take is from my mom’s nightstand. Her Swiss army knife. A gift from my grandfather when she was sixteen, it has her initials on it. Good for everything, she always said. I turn it in my fingers, feeling its weight in my palm.
When my hands start to tremble, I jam it deep in my front pocket.
Back in my room, Jasper is walking around looking at my photographs. Black and white, they’re hanging from a string that runs around the edge of my room. It’s been so long since I’ve even noticed them, probably since the day of the accident. Once upon a time I lived with my fancy, birthday-gift digital camera in my hands, seeing more of the world through that lens than with my own eyes. My mom always said I had this way of capturing the real person hidden inside, the mark of a true photographer, she assured me. Now, I can’t imagine taking a picture of anyone ever again.
“They’re kind of—” Jasper searches for a word, his eyes on a photo of an old woman sitting on a park bench near Copley Square with a big plaid bag next to her. She’s staring straight up at the camera, not smiling, a pile of crushed saltines between her feet. “Depressing.”
I hate how naked I feel. Because they are depressing. I’m depressing. But Jasper didn’t actually have to say that to me, either. I wonder if that was him being clueless or if he was trying to be rude. With him, it’s kind of hard to tell. But either way, I want him to stop looking at my pictures. I want him out of my room.
“Come on.” I shove a long-sleeved shirt and a fleece of my dad’s at him. “We need to go.”
Amazing how confident I sound. Like this outside thing is a real, legitimate possibility. Like it hasn’t been three weeks since I’ve stepped out the door. Sure. Right. No problem.
Once we’re downstairs, I try to stay in the moment like Dr. Shepard has taught me. Not to get ahead of myself to where the dread lies. I feel the scratch of the fabric as I pull the heavy coats from the closet, the cool metal of the doorknob. Those things are real. Everything else is in my head. But the panic monster—Outside! Outside! Outside!—is still screaming. And my heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s going to explode.
“Here, take this.” I shove my dad’s parka at Jasper.
Already, he’s studying the side of my face as I turn toward the garage. Jasper has noticed there’s something wrong with me, of course he has. He’d have to be a total idiot not to. For all I know, Cassie’s told him all about my “issues” anyway. And they’ve gotten way worse than even she knows.
I suck in a mouthful of air as I pull open the door to the garage. As I step out, the air is so thin and sharp. Like we just entered outer space. And that’s with the door to the outside still closed. I put one hand on a nearby shelf for balance and catch sight of my mom’s camping gear. The stuff I will never let anyone ever give away. I’ll take some of that gear too. I need to suddenly. I grab one of the compact tents, a plastic tarp, a sleeping bag, some flares, a compass, the water purifier. I stack half on the floor; the rest I clutch against me.