August 2002
“Finish your juice,” my mother commands.
I spin on my heel and jerk up the glass, downing it in one gulp. “Done,” I say, slamming the glass on the table in my anxiousness to get to school.
With a skip to the hall, I pull my backpack from the coat hook and open the door. I’m halfway down the front porch steps, feet stomping against the brick, when the front door opens behind me.
“Brooks?” my mother says, surprise thick in her voice. “I thought I’d drive you.”
I turn when I hit the last step, and meet her eyes. “Uh … Mom, I’m not a baby. It’s just around the corner.”
Her lips purse together, her Adam’s apple moving in a slow bob as she shrugs. “Okay. Just … be careful, okay? And remember what we talked about.”
I smile at her and dart for the sidewalk, running the full length to school. I’m so nervous, my body is shaking. I’ve waited forever for this, and barely slept last night.
My feet skid into the hall of the school. It’s empty, because I’m late. I rush to the office, sign in, and get my printed schedule. Once I find the door to my second period class, which has already been in session for twelve minutes, I take in a huge breath and blow it out. My head shakes at how crazy I’m acting. Why am I so nervous? What’s the big deal? I punch myself in the arm, then ease open the door.
The teacher stands from her desk after I poke my head in. She takes the schedule from me, introduces herself as Mrs. Blake, and directs me to an empty seat in the second row. While I cross the room to the desk, it’s hard to ignore all the whispering. I recognize most of these kids. Some say my name and wave excitedly when I look at them, and I wave back. But I don’t see the person I’m looking for.
After I settle into my chair, I tap the girl next to me on the arm. “Hey, do you, uh … know a girl named Ivy?”
Her eyes narrow as she contemplates my question. “Um, yeah. Why?”
“Is she here today?”
“Yeah. I had first period with her. Why do you care?”
I don’t remember this chick from fifth grade, so I decide it isn’t worth my time to explain. “Oh, nothing. I owe her five bucks. I’m Brooks, by the way.”
The girl’s face relaxes into a cautious smile as she smooths her hair behind her ears. “I’m Kate.”
Kate must have been talking about another Ivy. I haven’t seen her all day. She hasn’t been in any of my classes, and I scoured the cafeteria for her. But I didn’t ask anyone else if they’d seen her. I want her to be completely surprised when we see each other again. I just hope she still goes here and that she hasn’t forgotten about me.
Other than not seeing Ivy, I’m happy to be back. It’s been cool catching up with some of my buddies from fifth grade. It’s kind of like I never even left. Everyone seems to remember me. I’m at my locker talking to some guys about football tryouts when one of them elbows me and jerks his head to the left. My eyes flash to a girl standing alone, staring at me. She looks confused or mad or some other emotion I can’t read. I don’t want to embarrass her by staring back, so I quickly turn my eyes back to the guys and keep talking until that chick from class walks up.
“Hey, Brooks,” Kate says.
“Uh, hey. What’s up?”
Logan gives me a thumbs-up behind her, and I cringe inwardly. This girl is really pretty, but I saw tons of cute girls in France before we moved from Paris to the country. And anyway, I want to see Ivy.
She flips her hair again, her brown eyes dark and mysterious, contrasting with her honey-blonde hair. “Some friends and I are starting a study group for chemistry. I was wondering if you’d be interested. We plan to meet at the Starbucks every Wednesday.”
My eyes drag toward the girl again, but she’s gone. Whew. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“Starbucks. Wednesdays. Study group. You in?”
I laugh. I don’t want to get tangled up with this girl yet. I want to talk to Ivy first. “Can I let you know another day?”
Her shoulders slump, but her eyes gleam—a mix of disappointment and hope. “Yeah. Of course.”
Logan pulls me along, but I look back at Kate. “But no Starbucks if I decide to join. You know who my parents are, right?”
She narrows her eyes at me, but I’m around the corner before she can respond.
World History drags slowly, and English drags even slower. When the bell finally rings for release, a sense of dread climbs my throat. I pee, and then head for the front of the school, hoping I find Ivy outside somewhere, but losing faith that I will. I wonder if her dad is the janitor in this building? Maybe he isn’t. He was working the elementary building before, and maybe if he didn’t move to this building, she couldn’t go to the high school.
When I come around the corner, I see a girl push another girl’s head into the water fountain.
“Hey!” I shout.
The perp spins around, her eyes widening. I know her. Eliza. She was never nice, so it’s no surprise she’s gone rogue. “Oh! You’re finally back. Did you bring me any souvenirs?”
I rush to her victim, placing my hand on her arm and pulling her up, my eyes still on who did this to her. “You’re such a bitch, Eliza.”
“Lighten up, Brookster. She was thirsty.”
Laughter echoes through the halls as the girl runs her hands over her eyes and twists her hair to get the water out. It’s the girl who was staring at me in the hall this morning. As her eyes open, the dread I felt moments ago nearly lurches from my stomach, but for a different reason.
“Ivy?” I whisper, my mouth wide open. All I can do is stare. It has to be her. Yes, yes it’s her! It’s … Ivy. But she looks so different. She’s damaged. Not the same. Not just physically, but emotionally. What’s happened to her? Who did this?
Kate walks up, staring at all of us, before Ivy breaks through the crowd and bursts through the doors.
“Ivy!” I try to scream, but it leaves in a whisper. I start to go after her, but someone grabs me.
“Don’t,” Kate says.
I spin around. “Was … was that...?”
The crowd clears, and students head for the parking lot now that the show is over. “Yes,” Kate says. “That was Ivy.”
“Ivy Hobbs, right?” I don’t know why I ask. I know it was her.
“Yeah. She was in some of my classes last year, too.”
“Why … why didn’t you—”
“What? Why didn’t she tell you she got her face broken?” Kate’s friend asks.
“Well, yeah … I … I wasn’t expecting...” I sink against the wall, squatting down on my legs, running my hands through my hair.
“Honestly, it doesn’t matter. Sorry, bro. Ivy doesn’t want anything to do with you, anyway.”
My head jerks up, and Kate and her friend are exchanging looks. I don’t know what they mean, but I get the feeling Kate doesn’t want her friend to keep talking, which makes me want to keep asking questions. “What do you mean she doesn’t want anything to do with me?”
“What Daphne is trying to say,” Kate says, “is that Ivy isn’t interested in you anymore.”
I stand, not believing their words. I shake my head, but Daphne moves closer to me.
“Look,” Daphne whispers. “There was an accident just after you left. Eliza accidentally hit her with a bat during practice, and … well, that’s what happened. It was awful, and she’s obviously gained weight since then, too. She doesn’t talk anymore. To anyone. But I heard she saw you today and told someone she wanted you to stay away from her. They said she blames you for what happened—that if you hadn’t abandoned her, she wouldn’t have had to play softball, and she’d still look normal.”
“What?! Who told you that bullshit? Are you making this up, because it sure sounds like it.”
“She isn’t making it up,” Kate chimes in. “Eliza told everybody at lunch that Ivy said that stuff a long time ago, right after she got hurt, and after she saw you today, she said it again.”
I narrow my eyes at them. “I still don’t believe it. You really believe anything Eliza says? Does anyone believe that bitch? Look what she did to her just now. Why would she do that to someone she already destroyed? How can you trust anything she says? Is it normal to wreck someone’s face by accident, and then shove their face into a fountain for no reason?”
“I heard it with my own ears this morning in first period. I’m sorry. Someone told her you were back, and she confided in Daphne. I know that’s probably hard to hear because you used to have a thing, but it’s the truth. And Eliza is just … well, she’s Eliza. She’s kind of bitter about Ivy not forgiving her for the accident. It kind of ate at her, and I think they mutually hate each other now.”
“Wait, Ivy told you that herself?” I cut my eyes to Daphne.
She stares down at her shoes before looking up and saying, “I’m sorry.”
My bedroom door cracks open before my mom squeezes her head through. “Knock knock,” she says, her tone hesitant. “Can I come in?”
“You didn’t knock,” I say, my words dead and rotted in my throat.
“Brooks, your brother is here. We expect you for dinner in five.” But her clipped tone and hasty exit have me down in three.
I linger in the entrance to the dining room, my breath catching when my brother looks up from the table. He stands, and it’s a slow walk to each other until we embrace, our fists pounding each other’s backs too briefly—like it’s only been a few months instead of a few years. My parents saw Charles at least every six months, meeting him for mini vacations in London. But they’d always leave me behind with our housekeeper, Marie, and our groundskeeper, because they didn’t want me to miss school.
Conversation at dinner is staler and quieter than you’d expect when a family is reunited. I should be making more of an effort to talk to Charles—ask him how college is going or something. I’m just not in the mood, and no internal pep talk or guilt trip is changing that.
“Brooks,” my mother hisses, my head snapping up to meet her stern eyes. “Would you please stop dragging your fork across your plate and eat something?”
I drop the fork, opting to repeatedly bite the inside of my cheek instead, and staying quiet while they discuss Charles’s flavor of the month.
My father’s fist slams on the table, the clang of expensive china unsettling. “Dammit, Brooks. What’s the matter?”
I rub the back of my neck, and decide the truth is a bad idea. “I’m sorry,” I mumble. “Can I be excused?”
My mother stands rapidly, her chair screeching across the wood floor, her hands resting on the table’s edge as she leans in to me. “No one is getting excused from this table today,” she says through gritted teeth. “Now you tell me right now what your problem is, young man. You were perfectly fine yesterday, but if I’m being candid, you’re being an asshole to everyone in this room, especially your brother.”
Marie appears from the hall, scampering to my mother’s side and clutching her by the arm. She encourages my mother in French to sit down and calm down until my mother’s eyes throw fire at her, and she retreats into the hall again.
“Is this about that girl?” my mother finally asks.
Our eyes meet, and I want to say no, but the lie hangs in my throat. “Not really … I mean sort of … I guess. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”
She shakes her head, and my father tells her to relax, but she continues. “I told you, Brooks. I told you when we left that the way you two acted with each other was trouble. And who had to hear about her the entire time we were gone? Now you’re showing tremendous disregard for all of us by caring about whatever happened between you and that girl today more than seeing your own brother.”
“Mom,” Charles says. “It’s okay. He doesn’t have to—”
“It’s certainly not okay, and I won’t hear about this girl again. This is trouble. Whatever she’s done to you all this time, this … this hold she has on you, it’s trouble. Do I need to ensure her father finds another job?”
My eyes widen as far as they can open, my voice cracking as I say, “What? Mom, no! She hasn’t done anything! Please don’t...”
My mother smooths her shirt, takes a deep breath, and places her hand on my cheek. “Good. Since she hasn’t done anything, we would love your attention while we enjoy this delicious meal Marie has prepared for us.”