I force myself to sit up next to Leo, and this time, I’m the one who makes sure there’s distance between us. Leo’s still stewing, but then he brightens as if he found the answer to our problem. Unless he’s figured out how to wrangle a miracle, there’s no solution.
“In a few weeks, you, Jesse and Nazareth should visit me. I’ll want everyone to meet my best friends.”
Best friends is all I can ask for from him, and that hurts. “That’d be great.”
“It will be epic.”
But I’m not holding on to the epic visit as a friend. I’m holding desperately on to his faint promises of maybe.
I’m starting to drink milk again, because I lost this week. That will never do.
Wrote to Maidy today. Hope somebody hurries up and writes to me. I’d like to get some mail.
Had cocoa this afternoon, but ate a big supper anyway.
Frank came over tonight, and played cards with Sadie, Carolyn and myself. I s’pose he’ll ask me to sit with him at the movies. I wish he wouldn’t, then maybe I’d get a chance to sit with Mr. K. Wish I could.
Reading comes slow for me so I don’t read unless forced, but something about this diary has drawn me in. Each entry is short, simple, but says so much. What Evelyn often wished for and her reality were two different things.
That I get.
So much was happening to her—sixteen, diagnosed with TB, sent to live in a sanatarium to “cure,” which meant lying outside in a bed for hours. She tried to create a life there—friends, boyfriends, jobs … But I can’t help but wonder, did she feel trapped?
I do.
Often.
Most of the time, my life makes me feel as if I’m trapped inside a nailed-shut coffin that’s already been buried six feet deep, and I’m running out of air. I’m not trapped in the ground, but I am in the school library with my headphones in so I can block out the world. Though I shouldn’t feel like I’m suffocating, when I suck in a deep breath, my lungs don’t inflate all the way.
Today is the first day of school, and after picking up my schedule, I discovered I’m in AP English. I can’t read worth a damn, and I’m in AP English. When I tried talking to my counselor, she told me to talk to my mom. That answer was the equivalent of someone taking a chainsaw to my leg.
Mom is like a snowball that’s thrown at a mountain teetering on an avalanche. She tries to “fix” my life, without my consent, and ends up burying me in more problems. I’m terrified to ask her what she’s done now. My fingers tap against the table, my knee starts to bounce. The muscles in my neck tighten, and I’m swamped with the need to jump.
My cell pings and Coach’s words are read to me through the text-to-talk app: Great job at practice yesterday! Keep up the good work! Make school a priority this year. Remember the state title is the goal!
Since breaking my arm, I had been doing physical therapy to keep in shape. Yesterday was my first day in the pool. I didn’t clock my best time, but I did beat some guys on my team. Swimming is natural for me, just like breathing and jumping off cliffs.
Another ping. Mom: Are you sure our landlord is okay with the bounced check? People usually aren’t that nice.
Yeah, I agree, but the girl who thinks I’m trash is that nice. Me: AP English?
Mom: Sylvia and Miguel agreed to work together so you can join their group. This way you’ll get a good grade in the class.
Agreed … so you can join … like I’m a charity case. I roll my neck to help ease the tension, but it doesn’t work. The same thought circles my brain—jump, jump, jump, jump, jump.
But I don’t want to jump. I promised myself I wouldn’t do it again. Not after this weekend. But then the idea of feeling that rush again …
God, I’ve got to stop. But how do I?
A slamming of a hand on the table, and I flinch. My right earbud falls out of my ear, and I press pause on the music I had been trying to lose myself in.
“I saw your schedule and you and I are in the same English class. Because of that, you’re going to be my partner