Chapter One CHAPTER ONE My brother''s room is a time capsule. The bed is made, smoothed down perfectly. The top of the nightstand is bare. The curtains are half-open, half-closed, making some type of daytime purgatory. Everything is exactly as he left it six weeks ago, before police-car lights strobed catastrophe through our life. I grip Julian''s slim reporter''s notebook in my left hand. White cover, hard cardboard backing, spiral-bound at the narrow top edge. The first third of the pages are covered in my brother''s careful, upright cursive--notes for stories he wrote, the name of a song, a phone number.
They stop abruptly. That''s where I took over. Where I wrote those three questions the night Julian died. The questions I haven''t been able to look at since then, and don''t need to--they''re burned into my mind harder than they''re scrawled onto the page. Questions that follow me everywhere, demanding I find answers. Isn''t that why I''m here, in his room? To find out why he isn''t? I pull open the nightstand''s top drawer. His phone--police already looked through that, said there was nothing on there of interest, gave it back. The charging cord is curled around itself like a snake eating its own tail.
Other stuff that doesn''t mean much now: the passport he''ll never use, his driver''s license and student ID. I push it shut and ease open the bottom drawer. Unfolded papers almost pop out. A bumper sticker shaped like a marijuana leaf, an empty windowed envelope, a cologne sample, the tip of one of his skateboarding magazines. I glance over my shoulder. What am I doing? Julian''s not gonna come in and find me here. If he could, it''d be worth the epic fight we''d get into over me going through his stuff. I hear my mother sigh from all the way downstairs, deep and sad for seven a.
m. I don''t have much time. I flip through the papers. One catches my eye: it has the Commonwealth University letterhead. I grab that. Dear Julian Wallace, We regret to inform you that you have been placed on academic probation. "Karmen?" My mother''s tired voice drags its way up from the kitchen. I never knew, before, that a person could stay in bed almost all day and still seem so exhausted.
Correction: I never knew she could. "Hey--you ready?" Daddy calls from the bottom of the stairs. I dart out, snatch Julian''s backpack from just inside my room, cram the letter into the notebook, and then shove it into the bag. Something soft catches on my finger--unfinished knitting. Why''d I even pack that? I haven''t felt like knitting since. I cram down the pumpkin-orange yarn almost as hard as I push away the memory. My room glows, guilty with sunlight that pours through opened curtains and spills into the hallway. If I look back down the corridor, I''ll see nothing but dark.
Shadows. Just like when my brother was still alive. My heart races like I''ve run down the road and back, full speed. I wipe my damp hands on my skirt and close the backpack. As I let go of the zipper pull, my hand brushes against the embroidery on the front. The tiny silhouetted skateboarder is frozen mid-leap, knees bent, feet on the board like magic, arms outstretched. He''s soaring. "Karmen, time to go!" My father''s annoyed now.
I pick up the bag and run down the stairs. He''s waiting. The day''s waiting. And it all feels heavier than I want it to. ". think it''s good for her?" Mummy''s words float up to me. I take two steps lightly and listen. "I don''t see the sense in just laying around the house.
" Dad''s voice is louder. "You gonna make a dig at me?" Her voice raises now too. "You don''t see I''m up?" "I''m not talking about you. I''m saying she''s been through a lot, and it might be good for her to get in some type of good routine." I swallow and go down the stairs, letting my feet fall heavier so they hear me. So they stop. "Morning, Karmen." Mummy switches to false cheer.
"Ready to conquer grade twelve?" "Morning." The air is still prickly from my parents'' words. Mummy attempts a smile that comes out all wrong--gritted teeth and grimacing. She''s in the blue bathrobe, of course, with the dingy sleeve edges and the broken belt loop. I extract a granola bar from the box on the counter. Uncomfortable silence. So much for us running late. Daddy leans forward and drops a kiss on my cheek.
"Last year of high school. You ready to knock ''em." He falters a moment. "Knock ''em out?" I force a smile back to distract from what he almost said. Dead. "Not really." "She''s not a fighter--right, Karmen?" Mummy pulls me in for a hug. She tries, but her arms are still limp.
I should hug her back, but I don''t, and I hate myself for being grateful when she pulls back. "You''re our maker of soft things. Right?" I can''t stop myself from flinching away as she tries to pat my cheek. "I guess." I follow Daddy to the foyer. Mummy trails behind. "Sure you wanna do this?" she asks as she leans against the wall. I glance at the calendar just beside her.
It''s still stuck on July. If I flip it forward into this month, I''ll see the party hat Julian sketched on the day of his birthday, right there in the middle of September. I look away. "School''s starting, so." I have no justification for going to school beyond that, and the fact that Daddy stands by the open door expectantly. "A sense of normalcy will be good for you." Daddy jingles his keys. "It''ll be good for all of us.
" "You can let her speak," Mummy says. Her voice is low, but I hear the taut rubber band in her tone. Daddy says nothing, just breathes out extra sharp. I look away from him, and my eyes go right where I didn''t want to look--Julian''s white-and-blue sneakers on the shoe rack by the door, the left one facing straight in on the shelf, the right one leaning a little to the side, its toe resting against its sibling. "Can we just go?" My voice cracks. I clear my throat and shove my shoes on. "I''ll be in the car." I climb into the front seat, leave the door open so I can get some air.
I lean back. This is normal. This is what people do. Dress for school, ride in the car. Tote a bag full of books around all day. If I just turn my head, I''ll see Julian slouched in the back, legs stretched out so his blue-and-white sneakers stick up on the center console, in protest for losing the prime spot to his little sis. If I just look back, I can fix everything. Karmen.
Hey. Come on, Sis. Turn your head. I turn my face to the window, close my eyes. After Daddy pulls off, I head for the entrance, but when I get there, I can''t seem to go inside. Five girls from my grade bustle past, chatting, giggling. Do they know? Everyone knows, probably. Will I be answering questions all day? How was your summer? Your family take any trips? Is it true your brother died? The girls are gone, didn''t even look my way.
I don''t know which is better--for everyone to pretend they don''t know, or for them to wear their knowing like a sickly mask, those sad for you smiles, the sympathetic head tilts. For them to expect me to wear grief too. "Hey, Karmen!" I turn around to see Layla grinning at me, a new green messenger bag strapped over her chest. She stands close, and the hairs on her arm brush up against mine like tiny, gentle hooks. "Last year in bondage," she says to me. "Ready?" "Yeah." I follow my best friend''s lead, walk in time to her steps. "You all right?" I''m not, and she knows it.
"I''m okay." "I was supposed to get here earlier, but Isaiah was hogging the shower. Like an extra ten minutes preening and gelling is gonna make a difference." "Mmm." Layla''s familiar yammering pulls me along. Right now, it''s just what I need. "By the time he got out it was after seven, and I barely had time to shower and get dressed." "Julian used to do that.
Take forever tweezing his eyebrows or something." "Yeah, I. yeah." Layla''s words peter out like an abandoned path. We pass the music hall in silence and head along the walkway that loops around the high school classrooms. A couple boys walk past us, and we''re stuck behind a gaggle of seventh graders, backpacks almost bigger than they are. They cluster like grapes packed too tight for the bunch, seeking safety in each other. Someone just behind us calls out a hail; in a classroom, laughter booms.
Everything seems magnified. Layla slips her arm into mine and leads the way down the stairs to the math block. As soon as we turn, it''s quieter. Shadows cool me as we take the steps. "Give me a second." I sit in the alcove halfway up. Mom was right. I''m not ready for this.
"Should I run back and see if your dad''s still there?" Layla''s face is so close, it feels like she''s about to swallow me. I can see the fuzz that covers her face, feel her breath. "No." My voice feels far, like my cotton-stuffed ears are ten feet away. "No." Did I already say that? How can this place feel too. everything? "Stay here." Unless she''s got a portal to anywhere but here, whatever she''s planning is too much.
"I''m fine!" My voice booms. I cover my face with my hands. My palms are hot and dry. I close my eyes, count to five. When I take my hands away, at least the sounds around me seem turned down a few notches. A little closer to normal. And my best friend isn''t right in my face. "You wanna go to Ms.
Dorsett''s office? Or the nurse''s station?" I shake my head. "Can you just. sit.