Thirty-Two
I CAN’T BRING MYSELF to get in touch with David—?until he confirms the worst, I can still hold on to some hope that maybe his father and stepmother have changed their minds.
But I’m pretty sure that if there were good news, he’d text me . . . and I don’t get a text.
The next day, I see him in the hallway at school. He keeps moving past me, until I grab at his sleeve to stop him. “Hold on—?what happened after we left?”
“What do you think?” He jerks his arm away.
“Oh, shit,” I say. “They didn’t change their minds.”
“Big surprise.” He keeps going.
I want to yell after him that he’s not being fair, that he has no right to treat me like I’m one of the villains here, that I’m in pain too, that he hasn’t even acknowledged that my entire family trooped over to his house last night to try to help.
But we’re in a crowded hallway and he’s moving fast, so I just let him walk away without saying any of that.
At lunch, Sarah and James are already sitting together with a couple of other kids when I enter the cafeteria. Sarah catches my eye and pats the seat next to her. I take it, and she starts telling me about how she and James are making plans to see a movie, and do I want to go with them on Saturday?
I feel like I’m underwater and she’s talking to me from up above, her face flattening and widening and receding, her voice faint and distant. I can barely process what she’s saying.
She’s waiting for a response, so I say, “Yeah, maybe. I’m not sure.”
“Was that a yes or a no?”
“Sorry. I just haven’t thought about the weekend. There’s so much to deal with right now . . .”
“I know,” she says generously. “I have, like, three tests tomorrow, which isn’t even supposed to be legal.”
“History’s the one that worries me,” James says.
“Want to study after school?” Sarah asks him.
“I have practice, but after that?”
She turns to me. “How about you, Chloe?”
“I’d like to, but I think Mom wanted me available to pick up Ivy today.” Not entirely true, but sometimes she does ask at the last minute, so it’s not a total lie either.
“No worries,” Sarah says, and James echoes her.
I really do appreciate how nice they’re both being. James could have turned into a dick when we broke up. I haven’t been talking as much to Sarah lately, and she could hold that against me. But instead they’re both working hard to keep our friendship intact. It’s not their fault that all I can think about is what’s going to happen to Ethan and that right now I can’t even remember what it’s like to care about a history test.
Maybe they’re a little relieved I said no. Certainly they don’t seem to mind. They start talking about what might be on the test, and I eat bits of my bagel and sort of listen and sort of let my mind wander.
David doesn’t ever show up in the cafeteria. I know because I’m watching for him.
I’m sitting in my room that evening, listening to Adele, trying to do homework, and wishing Ivy would go to another room if she’s going to keep walking in circles. She’s driving me crazy, not because she’s doing anything wrong or unusual, just because I’m one big exposed nerve and everything she says or does is like a guitar pick twanging it.
I get a text and check it. It’s from David.
I’m in front of your house
I’m stunned. He’s never just shown up before.
My fingers fly as I text back.
be right out
I jump out of bed and shove my feet into flip-flops. I’m wearing cropped sweats and a T-shirt—?my pajamas. I look sloppy, but I’m not indecent.
“Where are you going?” Ivy asks, pausing in the middle of a circuit.
“To see a friend.” I’m out the door and down the stairs before she can ask me anything else. I’m relieved that Mom and Ron are in their room with the door closed and the TV way up high, so I’m spared from having to answer any of their questions.
David’s car is pulled up to the curb. I open the passenger door and peer inside.
“Get in,” he says.
I slide in and close the door. “What’s up?”
He’s gripping the top of the steering wheel tightly with both hands and staring at his knuckles. “They took him away today. While I was in school.”
“That’s awful.”
I can’t tell if he’s even heard me or not. He keeps pressing his lips together and swallowing, and I know that trick—?it’s to keep yourself from crying. I’ve used it plenty of times myself.
“I didn’t even get to say goodbye to him. They told me they weren’t leaving until tomorrow and then I got home and they were gone and he was gone and I tried calling him and she answered his phone and said, ‘You’ve been so negative about this whole thing that we decided it would be easier for Ethan if you two didn’t have a big goodbye.’”
“That’s so wrong.”
“She won’t even let me talk to him. Not even talk to him.”
“What about visiting? Can you visit him? Where is it?”
“A couple hours north on the 101.”
“That’s drivable,” I say. “We could go. We could go and bring him back.”
He shakes his head. “They have security at this place—?my stepmother kept talking about that, about how protected he’d be there, how he wouldn’t be able to run away. Even if they let me in, they won’t let me take him away from there—?not without my parents’ permission.”
“We should visit anyway—?at least he’ll know you wanted to say goodbye, and we can see how bad it is.”