The Way I Used to Be (5 page)

“Wanna come over?” she asks. “My mom won't be home until later.”

I nod my head yes and we start walking toward her street.

“Okay, so I won't dye my hair blue”—she grins—“but I am getting contacts. I already guilted my dad into it. We're going to the eye doctor next weekend.”

“Sweet,” I tell her as I push my own glasses back up over the bridge of my nose.

We have no choice but to walk past his house to get to Mara's. Kevin's house. It hardly matters that he's not there. I can feel my legs weakening the closer we get. I suddenly hate this neighborhood, loathe it, despise the way we're all so close that we can't get untangled from each other's lives.

I already see Amanda in the front yard as we approach their house. His sister. She always seemed so much younger than me—I always thought of her as this little kid, but as I'm looking at her right now she doesn't seem so little. She's only one year behind us in school. We used to play together a lot when we were little, before Mara moved here in the sixth grade and took her place as my best friend. Their youngest sister is with her, along with another little kid—probably a neighbor—bundled up in layers, playing in the snow. It looks like they're trying to assemble a snowman, but it's really just a big blob of cold white. Amanda stands next to it, winding a scarf around and around the place where the top blob and the middle blob meet, while the two little kids scream and throw snowballs at each other.

The kids are oblivious to us, but Amanda sees us coming. She ties the scarf in a final knot and then places her mittened hands in her coat pockets; she stands there watching us. She doesn't say anything, which is strange. Even though we weren't technically friends, not like we used to be, we still talked, still got along at the occasional family get-together.

When I don't say anything either, Mara fills in the blanks: “Hey, Mandy!”

Mandy. It's what we all called her after they first moved here. It didn't stick. I remember that's how they introduced her the first time we met. It was at my eighth birthday party, back when our two families started celebrating everything as one, because Kevin and Caelin were inseparable from the very beginning. Kevin was always included, and his family by extension. But I guess that was a million years ago.

“Hi, Amanda,” I offer, trying to smile.

She crosses her arms and stands up a little straighter. “Hey,” she finally replies, monotone.

“So, did you have a nice Christmas?” I try, anyway, to act like things are normal, but all I can think of is Kevin.

She shrugs slightly, staring at me. The seconds drag by.

The thing about the Armstrongs—the thing I never really gave much thought until now—is that when they came here, they weren't just moving here. They were leaving something else. Something bad had happened wherever they were before. I'd overheard Mrs. Armstrong telling Mom about it. She was crying. And then later I was eavesdropping while Mom told Dad about it. I didn't get most of it, other than it involved Kevin, and Mr. Armstrong's brother, Kevin's uncle.

“Actually”—I turn to Mara—“I think I am gonna go home instead. I'm not feeling great, honestly.”

“Really, what's wrong?” Mara asks, her voice genuinely concerned.

“Nothing, I just—” But I don't finish, because I'm literally backing away from them. I turn to look only once, and they both stand there watching me.

Mara raises her arm to wave, and yells, “I'll call you!”

I start running after I round the corner, my head pounding harder and faster with each footfall, my whole body in this cold sweat. By the time I make it home I'm so nauseous I'm actually crying. I run into the bathroom and am instantly on the floor kneeling in front of the toilet, gasping for air.

I lie down on the couch after, not even bothering to take my coat off.

I close my eyes.

The next thing I know, my mom is leaning over me, touching my forehead with the back of her hand. “She sick?” I hear Dad ask as he tosses his keys down on the kitchen table.

“Edy?” Mom puts her freezing hands on my cheeks—it feels so good. “What's the matter? Are you sick?”

“I guess so,” I mumble.

“Well, let's get your coat off, here.” She puts her arm around my back to help me up. And I wish more than anything that she would just hug me right now. But she pulls my arms out of my coat instead.

“I threw up,” I tell her.

“Did you eat something weird today?” she asks.

“No.” In fact, I didn't eat anything today. I was too busy trying to figure out that Cameron guy during lunch break to actually eat the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that I packed for myself.

“Oh, honey, I'm sorry.” She stands and looks down at me like she really is. “Why don't you go get in your pajamas, and I'll make you some soup, okay?”

“Okay,” I answer.

I go into my room to get changed, careful not to stare too hard at the fading gray bruises that still line my thighs. Careful not to dwell too long on the bruises on my hip bones and ribs. They'll be gone soon, anyway. I pull on my pajama bottoms and button the matching flannel shirt all the way up to my neck to hide the remnants of bruises still on my collarbone.

“Chicken noodle?” Mom calls out from the kitchen as I take my seat at the table.

Before I can answer, she sets a cup of steaming tea down in front of me.

I don't actually feel like soup at all, chicken noodle or any other kind. But she has this big smile on her face, like the kind she would always get running around after Caelin. I think she must like having someone to take care of, something concrete to do for me.

“Yeah, chicken noodle,” I agree, in spite of my churning stomach.

“Okay. You drink that,” she tells me, pointing at the tea.

I nod.

Dad sits down at the table across from me. Making his hands a tent, he says, “Yep. Some kinda bug going around, I guess.”

If only I were sick all the time, things might feel a little more normal around here.

THE NEXT WEEK WE
sit with our brown-bagged lunches at the table I reserved in the back of the library. Mara takes the seat directly next to Cameron, instead of me. His arm accidentally brushes against hers, and I watch as she turns slightly toward him. I can tell from here he's not actually into her. And that makes me feel too good.

“So, Lunch-Break Book Club is a democracy,” Miss Sullivan begins as she wheels a book cart over to the table. “I pulled a number of books that we have at least six copies of in the library. I think the way to start is for each of us to pick a book that we'd like to read and then we can put it to a vote. Sound good?”

We all nod and begin combing through the rows of books. We finally make our way back to our seats with our books.

Cameron looks across the table at my selection. “Anne Frank? Excellent choice.”

“I know, I picked it.”

I look at his:
Brave New World
.

“My favorite,” he explains.

“I've never read that,” Mara tells him.

“Oh, it's really good. It's about this guy . . . ,” he begins, moving in closer to her. Everyone starts listening to him, but all I want to do is pick the book up and hit him over the head with it. Why does he keep trying to take over my book club?

“Well, then, we might as well start there,” Miss Sullivan says. “All those in favor of
Brave New World
,
show of hands?”

I refuse to raise my hand. But all the others shoot up. They wait for me to join, looking at me like maybe I just didn't get how cool it was when Cameron was talking about it.

“Veto.” I have to restrain myself from shouting it at him.

“Why?” Cameron asks, a hint of a laugh in his voice.

I feel my face flush. I open my mouth, not knowing what I'm going to say next. “Because.” I pause. “Because everyone knows we're all going to have to read that in English when we're seniors.”

“Oh yeah, that's true,” Stephen agrees quietly, withdrawing his arm. I want to high-five him, but I just smile. He smiles back shyly, before he looks down at his famous bologna sandwich, dog-earing a corner of his napkin.

“So what? Wasn't Anne Frank summer reading?” Mara asks. I can hardly believe it—she's taking his side.

“Yeah, what's the difference?” Cameron asks, the two of them against me.

“It was summer reading,” I start, trying to come up with any reason other than I hate you and I can't let you win. “But the difference is we never got to actually discuss it in class or anything. And we should've.”

“But we haven't read
Brave New World
yet,” Hair Chewer adds. “This way, we'll be prepared when we do have to read it senior year.”

“That's true,” Catholic Schoolgirl agrees.

“Well, I think that's idiotic.” The words just roll off my tongue like the most natural thing in the world. I shut my mouth quickly, but it's too late.

Mara lets her mouth drop open like she can't believe I just said that. And then her face gets all scrunched up in that way that makes her look exactly like her mother. I honestly can't believe I just said that either.

“All right, guys, it's not that serious,” Miss Sullivan intercedes. “Majority rules. So, we'll start with Mr. Huxley's
Brave New World
.” Then she squeezes my shoulder gently and whispers, “I promise you'll enjoy it, Eden.”

Everyone looks at me like I'm the biggest jerk in the world.

Mara takes a deep breath as we leave the library.

I look at her face, studying me.

“I know, I know—I don't know what happened, Mara,” I admit. “Was that really bad?” I whisper.

“Kind of.” She winces. “Are you okay?”

I nod.

“Are you sure you're not still sick from last week? 'Cause you're acting really weird.”

“I guess not.”

It's unnervingly quiet between us as we make our way to our lockers.

“Hey, can we do something this weekend?” I finally ask her. “Just us?” I clarify, thinking I really need to just tell her what happened with Kevin. Need to tell someone. And soon. Before I explode.

“I can't. I'm with my dad this weekend. Remember, we're going to get my contacts?”

So, it will have to wait.

AFTER SCHOOL THE NEXT
day the halls are flooded with people trying to get the hell out. I was on my way to band practice, Mara walking alongside me, talking enough for the both of us—filling in the spaces I was leaving empty. I feel like I've gone off somewhere else, like I've just sort of slipped into this other realm. A world that's a lot like the real world, except slightly slower. This alternate reality where I'm not quite in my body, not quite in my mind, either—it's this place where all I do is think about one thing and one thing only.

“Black,” Mara declares with finality. “No, red. I don't know. What do you think?” she asks, holding a strand of brunette hair up in front of her face. “I think black. Definitely,” she answers. “I know my mom will flip out,” she says, as if I had brought it up. “Well, I don't care. I just need a change.”

“Another change?” I ask, but she doesn't hear me over the lockers clanging and the voices shouting, or maybe it's just that I'm not talking loud enough.

“Oh—did I tell you my dad wants me to meet his new girlfriend this weekend?” She says it as if she just remembered, as if she hadn't told me twenty times already. “Can you believe that?” She says “girlfriend” like it's this impossibility, like a unicorn or a dragon or something.

I know she's been having a hard time with it all—her parents getting divorced, her dad moving out, her mom getting crazier, and now this alleged girlfriend. I know I need to at least make an attempt to be the best friend I was only a month ago. I shake my head in what I hope looks like disbelief.

“Edy,” she says. “You can come over after school today, if you want.”

I manage a smile. But that's about all I can manage.

“You can help me pick a color. We could do your hair too!” she shouts.

I shrug. I try to stay close to the wall as we walk. Lately it feels like my skin, just like my mind, has been turned inside out. Like I'm raw and exposed, and it almost hurts to even be brushed up against. I hug my clarinet case to my chest to make myself smaller, to be my armor.

That's when I see him, this guy running down the hall, toward us. Number 12, it says on his stupid, pretentious varsity jacket. I have a distinct sinking feeling in my stomach as I watch him gaining speed, weaving between bodies like he's on the basketball court and not in the hallway. I hear someone shout his name and something about being late and how the coach will make him do laps. He turns his head and looks behind him, laughing as he starts to yell something back. I see that he's not looking ahead, that he's about to collide into me. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.