“Yes,” I said. Lewiston was known as the school where rich kids who’d messed up went. “I didn’t know they had a middle school.”
“Yeah. They do. Do you know how dumb you have to be to not get into a school where your family name is on a building? Pasker said my test scores were too low. The thing is, my parents have always known I can’t take tests. Even when I know the material, I can’t get it from my head to the paper. My brain just can’t do it. Reading gives me headaches. That’s why I listen to books. Teachers told my parents for years that I might have a learning difference, but Mom and Dad never listened. Dad always told them that I’d grow out of it, that he’d been a late bloomer, too. He doesn’t believe that, though. He thinks I’m stupid. I heard him tell my mom once that I was lacking in ‘intellectual capital’—he actually used those words.”
“I’m so sorry, Margot. That’s so not true.” How could her parents not know she was smart? Then again, they’d sent her to boarding school when she was eleven. And when she was home, Margot said, they barely spoke. They probably didn’t know her at all.
Margot shrugged. “After the whole plumbing incident, my shrink told my parents I should come here. Dad was horrified. He said he couldn’t believe I was his daughter, that a Camby doesn’t fall apart like this. It was bad enough I was seeing a therapist. But to go into residential treatment? That just isn’t done.”
I didn’t know what else to say. “So, it must be interesting being a Camby.” The auditorium in our school was called the Camby Center for the Performing Arts. They were next to royalty in Esterfall.
“Definitely not the word I’d choose.” She grabbed a tissue from the bedside table and blew her nose.
“Right. Sorry,” I said, to fill the silence. “Did you know the Harvest Concert was held at the Camby Center?”
“That figures,” she said, wiping her eyes and chuckling a little. “Of course it was.”
I took her hand, and she didn’t pull away.
20
On Wednesday, clouds rolled in after lunch and the blues came right along with them. Reliving the Harvest Concert had made me remember just how much everything would suck when I eventually went back to school, and for the past two days I’d spent a lot of time trying to come up with a way to get my parents to let me homeschool. Aside from breaking a leg, I had nothing.
I wasn’t the only one feeling down. At mail call, even Allie shrugged when she received a fluorescent-pink teddy bear with giant glitter-green eyes from Hugh. “I have the same one at home,” she sniffed, tossing it back in the box.
“What’s up with that?” I asked Willa.
“You didn’t hear?” she whispered. “Her boyfriend took another girl to her school’s fall formal and didn’t tell her. She found out from a friend.” I’d missed group on Monday thanks to my bone scan. “But she said she’s not going to break up with him because she wants him to keep sending her presents.”
Allie could say that she was in it for the gifts, but my bet was that she wanted to pretend everything was fine, that her friends and boyfriend were waiting for her, that they weren’t moving on. I knew I was doing that. I still hadn’t heard from Priya and Shay, but if they called, I knew I’d act like we’d just talked yesterday. It was easier to pretend that everything was fine.
I didn’t expect Nurse Jill to call my name, but she did, a shoe box–sized package covered with fireworks stamps in her hands. When I stood up, Coral said loud enough for all the other girls to hear, “Is that another one of your ‘secret admirer’ presents?” putting secret admirer in air quotes, like I was making the whole thing up. Girls turned in my direction. Allie perked up.
How did she know? I looked at Margot and Willa. Willa turned beet red. “Sorry,” she mouthed.
At the nurses’ station, I didn’t recognize the lady checking packages. She didn’t smile or talk to me; she just opened the package and looked inside with a frown. “We’ll allow it,” she said, like she was a judge on The People’s Court or something.
When I got to my room, I opened the box and found a jar inside, a regular jelly one with a screw top, full of sand and seashells. On the lid was a label in the same handwriting as the address—CHORUS BEACH. I thought I might cry. This was the sweetest, most romantic gift ever. Chorus Beach was our beach. It was where Charlie’s house was, where we went to be alone when his parents were home, and where we had bonfires at night. It was also where I ran, back when I could run. It was where my mind felt most clear. I’d told Charlie that once.
It had to be him. But I still didn’t get why. It made no sense. He was with Heather. And that’s when it hit me. The one person who probably had all the answers was due to show up at four o’clock sharp, Simone in tow. Curmudgeon or not, I vowed to get Tristan to tell me what Charlie was thinking.
*
Tristan was right on time. At exactly four o’clock his Jeep rumbled up the gravel drive. I stepped into the foyer just as Tristan stopped in front of the white columns marking the entrance. He turned off the engine. From where I stood, I could hear that Simone and Tristan were arguing.
It was rude to eavesdrop, but I did it anyway. Simone was pissed. “You were, weren’t you? You were listening to me in there. Who does that?”
Tristan’s voice wasn’t any cheerier. “Who does that? I’ll tell you who. Someone with a sister who has bulimia, that’s who. Besides, I wasn’t spying. I was checking to see if the bathroom was free.”
A long silence followed. Had they heard me?
“Tristan,” Simone finally said, “don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“You can’t fix me, you know.” Simone didn’t sound angry anymore. She sounded sad.
“Who said anything about fixing you? I just wanted to brush my teeth.”
“Seriously. You need to lay off.”
“Lay off brushing my teeth?”
“Don’t make this into a joke.”
“I’m not. You need to get over yourself.”
Their voices were getting louder.
“I’ll be fine. Just leave me alone, okay?”
“You aren’t fine.”
“Whatever.”
I heard footsteps then. Before I could get out of sight, Simone hustled past me, barely noticing I was there. Then Tristan stormed inside, almost smashing into me.
“Ah, excuse me,” I said, turning bright red. Busted.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, and stormed off down the hall.
When I passed by the breezeway, there he was, sitting in a rocking chair. “Hey, are you okay?” I asked.
He glanced away and shrugged, and when he did that, he looked like a little boy.
I didn’t speak. I’d learned from Mary that if you want people to talk, say nothing.
“She just pisses me off so much.” His voice was angry, but sad, too.
I lowered myself into a rocking chair.
“She knows what she needs to do to get better, but she won’t do it. And she won’t let me help her.” He put his head in his hands.