EMILY DICKINSON
We wait near the double doors for the hall to clear. As we rush to Ms. Younghouse in the clinic, Hitch barely favors his left leg. It seems like he just needed a few minutes to recover from the panic caused by my fall and the shock of me almost ripping his leg out of its socket.
Nurse Younghouse clucks like a mother hen when she sees our wet clothes and forces us into spare PE uniforms she keeps for dress-code violations and emergencies. While our things tumble in a dryer in the back room, she swaddles us together in a cotton blanket. We’re two shivering caterpillars crammed in one cocoon, and I must admit it’s pretty cozy.
Ms. Younghouse rubs Hitch with a thick white towel, paying special attention to his ears and tail. Just to be safe, she tapes a couple of ice-filled sandwich bags around his leg. “How long were you under?”
“It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds.” I concentrate on her eyes, willing myself not to blink. “I promise.”
“She was above water when I came in.” Chatham crosses his heart with his finger. “Scout’s honor.”
“Okay, Emilie. But I still have to call your mom.” She reaches for the cordless phone on the desk behind her.
Chatham squeezes my shoulder while I fiddle with the charm bracelet dangling from my wrist. Ms. Younghouse delivers a quick recap of what happened, reassures Mom I’m in good condition, then hands me the phone.
“Are you okay?” Mom asks, her voice squeaking on the last word.
“I’m fine, Mom,” I promise. And I am.
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” Her voice is muffled like she’s holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder and digging in her pocketbook. Keys jingle in the background.
“No, really, I want to stay.”
Ms. Younghouse and Chatham watch my face expectantly.
“Okay . . .” Mom doesn’t sound confident. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” I glance down at the lighthouse charm hanging from my wrist. “And Mom—”
“Yes?” she answers before I finish.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.” The smile in her voice reminds me of that Dickinson quote Chatham and I annotated what feels like ages ago—the one about not living in vain if you can stop one heart from breaking. It feels good to be mending Mom’s heart for once instead of breaking it.
I agree to meet her in the pickup line after school and hang up.
Ms. Younghouse leaves to collect our clothes. Hitch pads along behind her, completely recovered from our ordeal. Chatham rests his head on top of mine.
“I thought you weren’t coming this morning.” I break the silence.
“I waited.” He pulls the blanket tighter around my waist. “You didn’t show and Coach Carnes wanted to see me.”
I deflate a little, my shoulders hunching. “Are you in trouble with the team because of Thursday?”
He waits several seconds before responding. “I’m not on the team.”
What? How? “This is my fault.”
“No.” He hooks my chin with his finger, turning my face toward his. “I told Coach I was finished.”
“You can’t quit. Your dad will flip.”
“I’m not a quitter.” A two-dimple, full-on smile lights his face. “I made a choice. I chose to focus on what I want: to focus on swimming.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “My dad can deal with it. Besides, this way we might actually get to see each other once in a while.”
The hummingbirds are back, swarming in my belly. “But you said everything between us was built on lies.” My voice catches.
“You wouldn’t answer my calls or texts.” His smile falters. “I was mad. And confused.”
“What about my seizures?” I whisper, unable to meet his eyes, picking at a loose thread on the blanket.
“Let’s focus on what we can control and worry about the other stuff later.” He squeezes my hand.
“You’re right.” I rest my head in the hollow beneath his chin and close my eyes.
Ms. Younghouse breezes in with our clothes. “Okay, lovebirds. It’s time to get y’all to your next class. The bell’s going to ring in ten minutes.”
She releases us and we head toward Ms. Ringgold’s class. The room looks empty, but the lights are on. It’s her planning period. Chatham knocks.
“Come in,” Ms. Ringgold calls.
Chatham eases open the door. She’s at the back of the room, rotating potted plants near the window. As soon as she spots us, she rushes over, dropping to the floor in front of Hitch, scratching him under the chin.
“Well, aren’t you handsome?” She makes kissy faces at him. Hitch eats it up, smiling from ear to ear. “Hi, to you too, Emilie.” She pushes herself off the floor and hugs me. “Welcome back.”
“I’m glad to be back.” I lean into her hug. “Is it okay if we hang out in here till the bell rings?”
“Absolutely. I’m just debudding the violets.” She points to a ceramic pot at the end of the row. I’m pretty sure it’s the plant I noticed drooping a week ago. She pinches a purple bloom near the green leaves, snips it off in one quick motion, then tosses it into an empty coffee cup. “So, Chatham, your grades have improved recently,” she says, beaming and plucking another bloom from the plant.
“Thanks to my new tutor.” He drapes an arm across my shoulders. It feels natural, like the indentation under his arm was carved out and custom sized to fit me. My spine straightens.
Ms. Ringgold nods, shifting plump leaves out of the way to reach another bloom. She glances up and catches me staring.
I point to the flower. “You’re ripping off the blooms.”
She smiles, her eyes twinkling. “No. I’m pruning back old growth to make room for the new. It’ll come back even healthier with more blooms in a couple of weeks. Watch and see.”
The bell rings. Maddie and a few chatty girls stumble into the room. When they see us, their voices drop several notches. My stomach drops even further.
“Y’all see me after school if you need me. Okay?” Ms. Ringgold says, heading to her desk, ready to start class.
Chatham and I slip into our seats in the back. A few people glance at me and Hitch but look away. Their eyes dart around the room, looking at the floor, the whiteboard, out the window—anywhere but at us. No one acknowledges me until Ayla walks in. She sees me and stops, her face expressionless. I smile and wave, praying she doesn’t pretend I’m invisible like the rest of the class.
She hesitates. For a second, I think she’s going to ignore me, and I wouldn’t blame her. Then she blinks and smiles. I can’t explain it, but I just know things are going to be okay with us.
She hurries over. “I’ve been trying to call you.” She bends down to hug me and Hitch.
“I know. I’m sorry . . .” What can I say that won’t sound like an excuse? “There’s been a lot going on.”
Ms. Ringgold claps her hands and clears her throat. “It’s going to be a great day, guys. We have a new student.” She smiles at Hitch. He beams, his tail thumping the tile floor.
Derek laughs and tilts his chin at me and Hitch in greeting. Nobody else moves or makes a sound.
“I’ll save you a seat at lunch,” Ayla whispers, turning toward her desk.
Chatham tugs on her paint-splattered sleeve. “Save two.”
Ayla steals a glance at me. I nod.
“Okay.” She smiles, then heads to her desk. “See y’all at lunch.”
Ms. Ringgold points at the board. Wild red hair bounces around her face. “We’re going to try to get through a few more American-author presentations today.” She surveys the room. “Any volunteers?”
No one breathes. There’s enough nervous energy in the room to ignite an electrical storm.
I peek over at Chatham. He raises an eyebrow. A mischievous smirk dances at the corners of his mouth as I raise my hand.