The Unstill Life

CHAPTER EIGHT

I headed to the front steps after school, waiting for Hannah. Mel had practice, but today was the one day Hannah didn’t have ballet after school. I expected to see her lounging against the bricks on the second landing, but she wasn’t there. I frowned, loitering until I realized she wasn’t going to show. Where could she be? We always hung out on the days she didn’t dance. Always. Was she pissed that I went after Mel at lunch? It’s not like I was taking sides. Racking my brains, I let myself be washed down to the street by the last of the crowd.

I trailed one group of students until I reached the diner on Main. I was thirsty. A Coke would be good. I scrounged through my pockets and book bag until I came up with enough coins. Kids swarmed the low-slung building, buzzing in and out like bees in a hive. I nodded to a few I knew, but didn’t stop to talk. The air-conditioned chill sent goose bumps scattering across my bare arms. The dull roar of conversation was punctuated by the throb of the milkshake machine behind the counter. It was a dark blue sound that was occasionally shattered by the neon yellow clatter of cutlery scraping china.

Weaving through the tables, I scanned the occupants as if I were searching for a group of friends. When I saw Hannah, it was almost by accident. She was squeezed into a booth toward the back, far away from the glare of the overheads. Her back was to me, but I recognized her hair, tasted its spice even from where I stood. Her head was bowed, pressed close to someone else’s. A boy. Blond. Sam Taylor.

I froze. My eyes wouldn’t move away. Hannah shifted in her seat, tossing hair away from her face as she turned toward Sam. He laughed at something she said and slung his arm across her shoulders.

Was this the new order? Sam came first? She hadn’t even bothered to mention she was ditching me this afternoon. I realized my teeth were grinding against each other, my jaw aching with the force. I couldn’t release it though. Whirling around, I bowled through the queue at the counter and slammed out the door.

I stormed down the street wrapped in my personal black cloud. I had no right to be this angry. But today was the one day I got to see Hannah alone, without Mel, without the bickering and constant refereeing. I treasured that time. Clearly it meant little or nothing to Hannah.

I had no destination in mind, but before too long I found myself at the bus stop. Jules. I needed to talk to Jules. She’d know how to deal with this situation. When it came to boys, Jules was an expert. I just hoped Mom wouldn’t be there. I couldn’t handle her right now.

Tiptoeing up to the door of Jules’s room, I peeked inside. The chair by the bed was empty. Still cautious, I slipped into the room, eyes darting around before I allowed myself to relax and walk up to the bed.

I thought at first Jules was asleep. She lay on her side, one fragile-looking arm stretched over her head. Her face was pale, almost gray. I tried to shake the flavor of ashes from my tongue.

“Jules?” I kept my voice to a whisper, not wanting to wake her.

“Livvie?” She rolled over and sat up, the pillowcase leaving red creases in her cheek.

I nodded. “Yeah. It’s me.”

“Where have you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you in days.” Jules’s voice, usually a strong, brilliant gold-yellow, had faded to an insipid lemon shade. I could see the effort those few words took. My heart clenched, becoming a solid block in my chest. For the first time, I allowed myself to think the unthinkable: Jules might die. A door opened inside me, blackness spreading through my midsection.

I swallowed hard and pasted on a smile, banishing the darkness into a corner where it coiled and writhed. “I was here yesterday, remember?”

She frowned and rubbed her hand over her shorn head. The dark hair lay in tufts and whorls against her scalp and looked even more gnawed than it had yesterday.

I bit back a grimace at the irritating violet whine of the bed’s motor as she raised the end and settled herself more comfortably.

“What’s up? You look kind of miserable.” Jules scooted over on the bed, inviting me to sit.

I climbed up and sat, shaking my head. “It’s nothing.” My problems were so petty, so insignificant. So what if Hannah chose Sam over me? Jules had cancer.

“Is it Mom? I tried to tell her—”

“It’s not Mom. I haven’t even talked to her.” She’d already been in bed by the time I got back from Mel’s last night. And this morning, she’d ignored me.

“So, what’s so bad then? Boyfriend trouble?” She sounded eager. I guess being stuck here, any distraction was a good thing.

“No. Well, kind of.” I didn’t know how to start. Why would she care about my stupid little problems? She always had before, but her own problems were so much bigger now.

“Oooh!” Genuine excitement made her eyes shine. She even had a little color in her face now. At least my problems were good for something. “So, who is it? Let me guess… Um… Jeremy Holmes? No… Luke Passianato?”

I shook my head, unable to keep the smile off my face. Luke Passianato? As if! “No. It’s not me. It’s Hannah. And Mel.”

The disappointment that crossed her face made me want to invent a boyfriend then and there, but it was too late. “So, what’s going on?”

I told her everything. I explained about Mel and her crush on Sam Taylor, how she’d had her eye on him since he’d arrived the previous winter. I told her about my phone call with Hannah, about Mel and Eddie, about chasing Mel down the track, about Hannah and Sam at the diner.

“It’s hard, I know.” Jules sighed and shifted until she was closer to me. “You guys have been friends forever, and now it feels like it’s all changing, right?”

I nodded.

“Is there someone you like?”

I shook my head. “Not really.”

“Look, in my experience, guys are real good at busting up friendships. But they don’t last.”

“What? The guys or the friendships?”

Jules laughed, and for a moment she sounded like herself. “The guys, you doofus.”

“Oh.” My face warmed. Of course.

“You’ll get a boyfriend soon, Livvie.” Jules ran her hand across my hair. “Then you won’t feel so left out.”

I shrugged. I wasn’t sure I even wanted a boyfriend. Not if it made me forget my friends. How long it would take before Mel ditched me, too?

We sat in silence for a long time. It wasn’t uncomfortable though, and that struck me as odd. Jules was never quiet, never still. She attacked the world, one experience at a time, always moving forward.

“You’re not the only one Mom’s mad at.” Jules’s words startled me away from my thoughts. Mom. I’d been trying to forget her.

“She’s mad at you?” I gave her a skeptical look when she nodded. Jules could do no wrong. Even when she did, Mom always found some way to spin it so it wasn’t so bad. I glanced at my watch. It was almost five. She’d no doubt be back soon. “I should go. Thanks, Jules.”

“I wish I had better advice, but I think you just have to wait it out. Or make some new friends. You could do that, you know. Hannah and Mel aren’t the only ones out there.”

“Yeah. I know.” But I couldn’t begin to think how to make new friends. Hannah and Mel were so much a part of me. Without them, I wasn’t sure who I was or who I could be.

The kitchen light spilled out across the driveway, cutting through the twilight shadows that crept across it. Where had the afternoon gone? I snuck in the back door, hoping to get to my room without being seen.No such luck.

Mom rose from the table. “Where have you been?”

“With Jules.” I tried to push past her.

She blocked my way. “You didn’t think to call or anything?”

I stared at her. Call her? Why would I? “What? It’s only six.”

She blocked the door. “Today. You came home at ten last night.”

I shrugged. “What’s the big deal?” She’d never cared before.

She sighed and rested herself against the doorframe. “You’re running wild. Don’t you think I have enough to worry about with Jules sick?”

“You don’t worry about me.” The words spilled out before I could catch them. I missed a word, I thought vaguely. ‘You don’t need to worry about me,’ that’s what I meant to say. Or did I?

I looked at her. It was always about Jules first. Then me, the afterthought. The damaged goods. The one whose light paled into insignificance behind Jules’s brilliant glow. The spare parts to the lovingly oiled machine.

“What?” She c****d her head to one side and studied me.

“Nothing.” I tossed my book bag on the table. I sat down, my body too weary all of a sudden to stay upright.

“No, you said something. What was it?” Mom took the seat across from me, her back straight and stiff.

“I just said you don’t need to worry about me.” My breath caught in my throat as I waited for her to say something.

“Well, that’s good then.” She fumbled with the tissue box in the center of the table, pulling one out, then trying to push it back in. “I should go. Jules will be wondering where I am.”

She stood up and pulled on the coat draped across the back of her chair, not saying a word as she plucked her car keys from the bowl by the door. She dropped them into her pocket, the clash of key against key so loud, so orange, it made me wince. The color sent a bitter flavor flooding across my tongue, like uncured olives or raw coffee beans. I made a face.

“What is it?” Mom’s eyes skewered me.

“Uh… Nothing, Mom. Just, you know. A synesthesia thing.” I dropped my eyes, ashamed of my weakness.

“That again?” She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “When are you going to outgrow that silliness?”

I bit my lip. “I don’t think it’s that kind of thing…” But I wondered. Was synesthesia something I could grow out of? The doctors I’d seen had never said anything like that, but I couldn’t help wondering how the world would look and feel without the colors and tastes. I couldn’t begin to imagine. I didn’t always like the sensory assaults, but I couldn’t picture the world without them.

“I’m going to the hospital.” Mom turned away. “I’ll stay with Julie tonight.”

“Okay.” I sighed.

“Uh, Mom?” I leaped up and scrabbled across the table for my book bag. “Before you go, can I get you to sign this?” I rummaged around until I found my crumpled test paper, the scarlet F scrawled across the top. “I failed a math test.” My hands trembled when I handed it to her. I’d tried. I really had. I just stunk at school. Too many colors and tastes competed for my attention. I waited for the barrage of words to crash down over me, the anger and disappointment to pound my skull.

She didn’t even look at it, just pulled a pen from the junk drawer under the sink and signed her name. Then, after tossing the pen back into the drawer, she left.