Tonight I stay up late studying in my room, listening to a classical music station on the radio, because Eliza says classical music helps you focus and she’s a straight-A student, so she knows what she’s talking about.
Even before the accident, I was never a straight-A student, not even a straight-B student. I’m a bit of a crooked student. I don’t mean crooked like I’m cheating, I mean crooked like my grades jump around. I get some As (math, ceramics), some Bs (English, Spanish, history), and usually a C (science). Tonight I’m studying for my history final. History is just remembering facts. I could probably get an A in it, but that’s the class I have with Heather Parker, and even though the stuff she says doesn’t bother me the way it used to, I still can’t ever fully relax when she’s nearby. So 80 percent of me can listen to our teacher, but 20 percent of me is on red alert, ready for anything. But even that has improved recently because Andy Binder just dumped Heather, and he did it in spectacular fashion, right out in the parking lot. They both yelled a lot, and he said she was a psycho, and she kinda proved him right by getting out her keys and keying his car in front of everyone, but because she’s Heather Parker nobody stopped her and she didn’t even get in trouble, and now it looks like he’s hooking up with this real pretty freshman girl named Shannon Tully, so Heather is preoccupied trying to make both their lives a living hell. And even Heather Parker can only torment so many people at once. If I were Shannon Tully, I’d probably switch schools. Or maybe join the witness protection program.
I’m almost done making my history flashcards, one side with a date or a place and the other side saying what happened and why it’s important, but I’ve got a tickle in my throat that won’t go away and it’s distracting. So I pad into the kitchen, thinking about how maybe I’ll start running at night again over winter break. I miss running at night.
My mom is standing in the corner of the kitchen, the cord of the phone wrapped around her like a snake slowly strangling her to death. Her back is to me, so she doesn’t know I’m here.
“I understand,” she says, her voice cracking like someone has taken a sledgehammer to it. “But we need to take out another loan. My son…” A sharp intake of breath. “Yes, that is my son. You know that. Just like you know that we need this loan.”
A pause. I can just barely make out the tone of the scratchy voice on the other end of the line. It isn’t a nice tone.
My mom pulls the cord tighter around her; it digs into her flesh. “No, please… How about I come in tomorrow? To talk to your manager in person? There has to be some other option. Some other way…”
I take the tiniest of steps back, begging the ancient floorboards to stay quiet, just this once. And they do. Another step, another, another, until I’m at the front door.
Her voice follows me. “There has to be something else we can do. Someone else I can speak to…”
The slamming of the receiver makes me jump, but not as much as the howl that comes after. I look over my shoulder and see my mom hunched over the table, shaking, shaking, shaking as that inhuman sound comes pouring out of her. All I want is to comfort her, but I don’t know how. I feel like I’ve just walked in on her in the shower and I should avert my eyes.
I take one more step toward the door, and this time the house isn’t quiet. The creak is loud enough that my mother’s head snaps up.
The noise she’s making cuts off. “Wing,” she says, voice not just cracked now but crushed to bits. “I … I didn’t see you there.”
She wants something from me but I don’t know what. I don’t know how to make this better. I don’t know how to fix Marcus, I don’t know how to fix my mom, I don’t know how to fix my family, I don’t know how to fix any of it.
“Are … you … are you … OK?” My words are so small, I wonder if they will even reach her.
She starts to nod; I see her cheeks try and go up in a forced smile, but it’s too much, and the nod turns into a head shake and her lips quiver and I hate myself for being afraid, for not being good enough.
I take a tentative step toward her, needing some kind of sign that I’m doing the right thing. She takes a shuddering breath and blows her nose in a paper towel.
“I’m fine,” she says, even as her chin wobbles. “Really. I don’t want you to worry. Everything is under control.”
My mother always flushes when she lies.
After I’ve gone back up to my room, I try to study some more, but the facts don’t stay in my head, the dates are confusing, and I can’t remember who fought who and when and where, and more than that, I can’t figure out why it matters.
CHAPTER 31