No question people are watching me, whispering, but nobody approaches. The bubble created by Liv’s death has widened, like I’m walking in a sphere of mortality.
“Can’t believe she came back,” someone says, loud enough for me to hear.
“I missed you.” Oscar strides toward me, completely magnificent in black. His hair is coifed to perfection, and he’s proving that he doesn’t give a shit about the rumors. When he gets close, he gives me an actual hug, which is awesome since he’s not like that.
But this is theater; he’s proving a point.
Soon I’m surrounded by the rest of the group: Emma, Tish, Sarah, Ben, and Eric. They all hug me and form a perimeter. And we’re not friends because I have a huge house. That was unfair, and I was an asshole for thinking it. As we get closer to the school, I can hardly speak for the gratitude choking me. None of them asks any awkward questions, though I’ll talk later, as much as I can.
It seems like the worst is over, when reporters surge at us. A man’s holding a video camera and a woman shoves a microphone at me. But before she can get going, more people appear, women who wouldn’t be out of place at a church social. They’re holding signs in support of poor Jack Patterson and condemning my lack of Christian morals.
The oldest protester screams, “You knew he was married, you knew!” and she hauls her arm back. Eric moves faster than I’ve ever seen him, putting himself between us, and he’s the one who gets splattered with whatever she has in that bucket. It smells disgusting, like a combination of mulch and compost.
It’s true, I did know. But he knew, too.
From the commentary, I figure the camera is rolling, catching the drama, but I don’t feed it. Emma pauses long enough to say, “You people are disgusting,” and then she herds me into the school. Security has been notified and they sweep the fundamentalists and the media off the property. They might be waiting when class is over, but I already knew this wouldn’t be easy. I might not be the top Internet search anymore, but the world is full of crazy people who have nothing but time and plenty of hate.
After I apologize to Eric, he takes off to use the showers and change into sweats that he keeps for gym. Oscar is watching me like a hawk, as if he expects me to break down. But I’m stronger than that. While I might be scarred, I’m not broken. I’m not ruined. And there’s no shame in knowing I made bad choices. Everyone does. There’s no such thing as “perfect” in this world, only people who are pretending.
“I’m okay,” I tell him. And it’s mostly true.
The day isn’t easy. There are cruel words and whispers. Some people act like I have a contagious disease, and one guy calls me a slut when I refuse to acknowledge him.
On the bright side, this is the first time I’ve gotten to attend my new classes, and they’re fascinating. I’m really behind, though, thanks to my mental health break. I leave at the end of the day with a huge pile of assignments and a long reading list. I’m looking forward to the normalcy of studying, dates with my boyfriend, and having a curfew. These are small wonders that I will never take for granted again.
After school, I hunt for Isaiah Emerson and apologize for taking so long with his notes.
“It’s cool,” he says. “You were … busy.”
Understatement. I don’t ask for my bracelet back since I broke our agreement.
Oscar sends Eric out to check the parking lot and he reports that the coast is clear. I promise to invite them over soon. “But I’m at the Burnham house now, so our options are a little more limited.”
“It was never your house we liked,” Ben tells me.
“I know,” I say, smiling.
Though it’s completely unnecessary, they walk me out to Clay’s car like a guard detachment. Only once Oscar’s sure I’m safe does he jog off to catch a ride with Emma’s brother. For the small effort I’ve put in, I have better friends than I deserve. And maybe that’s all you need to go on, even when it’s tough—that for every asshole who calls you names, there’s someone willing to take a slop bucket for you.
Looking bemused, Clay kisses me. “Rough day?”
“A little. They’re protective.” I glance past him, startled to see Nathan already in the backseat. “That’s … unexpected.”
“He’s part of the surprise.”
“I’m game.” But since I didn’t mention this to Jeannie, I call after I buckle up. “Before picking up my car, I’m hanging out with Clay and Nathan. I’ll be home by dinnertime.”
“Have fun,” she says.
So normal. So awesome.
On the way to wherever we’re going, I pester the guys for hints, but neither one will tell me anything. I’m grumpy when we pull into the strip mall where Clay works. He glances back at Nathan, who’s smiling. I also notice that he’s sober, so maybe he’s finally dealing with his shit instead of acting like a toddler.
“We’re getting tattoos?” I guess, remembering what Nathan said that day in the car.
“It’ll be the first design of mine that’ll be done in ink,” Clay mumbles.
My interest sharpens. “Can I see it?”
“Let’s go inside first. Blue is expecting us.” I’d swear he’s blushing as he helps me out of the car, not that I need it. But it seems like he wants an excuse to touch me.
The shop is just as clean as it was last time. A girl working the front desk smiles a little too brightly at Clay, and I take his hand. Nathan watches this with a faint smirk, but there’s no malice in it. Maybe he’s immature and more selfish than I realized but he’s not awful at the bone.
Oblivious to this microdrama, Clay gets out his sketchbook and shows me what he’s created. I fall in love instantly, both because it’s beautiful, and because it’s a gift from him that I can emblazon on my skin. The design is fairly simple, black ink, stylized letters that read LIV(E), both my name and a reminder of how to greet each day, framed by two black lines that form half a heart around the word.
“Do you like it?” he asks.
“It’s perfect.”
Clay fills out the forms, occasionally asking a few questions about medical history and immunization. Once that’s taken care of, Nathan goes first, choosing to get the tattoo over his heart. Though we’re not together, it’s impossible to feel nothing. Once it’s done, I give him a sideways hug, so as not to irritate his chest. He pats my back.
“Don’t get mushy on me, rich girl. This is … closure. Before, I guess I just didn’t want to accept that she was gone.”
I offer a lopsided smile as Clay takes his turn. “You’re so sad. If I catch you drinking again, I’ll send your ass to rehab.”
“Yeah, yeah.” But he’s smiling.
Twenty minutes later, Clay emerges from the back room with his wrist bandaged. Though we didn’t discuss it beforehand, that’s where I’m having mine done, too. Blue beckons to me and I head back for my virgin ink. She goes over what I can expect as I relax into the chair. There are three rooms, two of which are occupied, and I can hear the gun already buzzing.
“Are you scared?” she asks.
“Not of this.”
“You have a decent pain tolerance?”
I think of dying in that field and nod. “I’d say so.”
“Okay, then this shouldn’t be a problem. Where do you want this?”
In response I offer my left wrist. She takes care of all the hygiene procedures: cleaning her hands, surgical gloves, mask, sterilizing my wrists. It’s all pretty relaxing until she actually gets to work on the design. It hurts more than I expected but with each prick of the needle, it’s like she’s perforating a boundary. Before and after—in memory of Liv.
I close my eyes and ride it out. Eventually the machine stops and I examine her handiwork. Lovely, just like what Clay showed me from his portfolio. Blue cleans the site, takes a photo, and then bandages me up.
“You handled that like a champ,” she says with a smile.
“Thanks.”
She goes over the after-care instructions and gives me an information sheet, though she must be sure Clay will keep an eye on my wrist, too. I stare at the bandage, thinking, This is the real grave marker, not the stone my parents put down, and I’ll carry it on my skin.
“He loves you a lot, you know.”
I glance up in surprise. “It’s mutual.”
“I’d take it as a personal favor if you didn’t break that boy’s heart,” she says.
“That’s the last thing in the world I’ll ever do.” It’s a promise.
I get a nod. That’s the end as far as she’s concerned. Blue starts cleaning her equipment as I head out to the waiting area. Clay is pacing, like he thought I’d pass out or something. He stills when I appear. When he wraps an arm around me, it feels possessive … but in a good way, like he’s saying, This girl is mine, to the rest of the world.
And I am his, because I choose to be.
Nathan is already gone, probably to give us some privacy. I give him full credit for knowing what’s up as I reach up to kiss Clay. He doesn’t let go of me as we stroll out to the car. It’s past five, shadows lengthening on the ground.
“I’ve been thinking…” I start.
“About what?”
He pauses beside the car, so different from the Corvair that gave him half of his wild reputation. Clay probably understands better than most how it feels to have strangers talk like they know you. In this world it’s rare to find a heart with matching wounds.
“I’m not Liv anymore, but I’m not Morgan either. And I’ve noticed you don’t know what to call me.”
“Sorry,” he mutters, like this is a fault.
“My middle name is Ellis,” I go on. “My mom’s maiden name. When I go away to school, I’ll probably ask people to call me Elle. If you want, you could start early.”
Most people don’t get to pick their names. But most aren’t reborn into someone else’s body. Elle is perfect because it belonged to Morgan but it carries two Ls at its heart to represent Liv, allowing me to be myself, a hybrid of who I am and who I’ve been. In a sense, maybe that’s true of everyone as they learn and grow and regret things they did before they knew better.
There’s a light in his eyes; he likes having a secret name for me. “Okay. Elle.”
For that bit of sweetness, I kiss him. That distracts us for ten minutes, until he’s breathing hard and I’m glowing. “I was right, wasn’t I?”
“About what?” I ask.
“Everything being okay.”
I smile. “Better than, actually.”
Life is strange, marvelous, and inexplicable. In this moment I feel brand new, like anything is possible. When Clay pulls me close, I believe that maybe—just maybe—it is.
After all, I was Liv, then Morgan, and now I’m Elle … and against the odds, I have come home.