All The Shadows We Made

Chapter 29 - April - Kat

April

Kat

Nothing has gotten better since my birthday. Maggie has stopped glaring at me, but she's never detached herself from Jenny's entourage long enough to say hi. Jamie looks better, from the few glances I catch in the halls, but he's still avoiding eye contact. Obviously, I haven't seen Mickey at all.

Home is somehow even worse than before. I'm used to Duane being, well, Duane. But now Charlotte isn't speaking to me either, and even though a few months ago I would have been ecstatic if she'd left me alone all the time, now it's just adding to my new conviction that I've become straight up invisible.

I guess it's not true that nothing has gotten better. I've gotten better. Better at not caring. Better at pretending nothing matters. Better at not feeling a single, solitary emotion when Jenny does the "slut" cough in the hall or Derek throws wadded up paper balls at my head on the bus or the little freshmen girls at the park talk about me like I'm not standing less than ten feet away. "Don't bring Jeremy to the park," a little blond one warned an emo-wannabe with bright blue braces last week. "You wouldn't want that boyfriend-stealer getting ideas." A couple of months ago, I would have laughed as loudly as I could. I might even have gone out of my way to give Blue Braces' new boyfriend a come-hither look, just for the fun of it. This time I just kept staring at the grass.

I've gotten so good at not caring that when Charlotte comes into my room tonight before leaving for dinner with Duane and throws a UW-Oshkosh packet on my bed, I don't even flinch.

"The website for the application is on the first page," she tells me. "Have it done by the end of the week. I'll be checking."

Normal Kat would have tried to explain that UW-Oshkosh doesn't have a choir. Normal Kat might have asked Charlotte exactly what she's supposed to study at UW-Oshkosh, since they don't have a major she's interested in. Normal Kat might at least have crossed her arms and huffed and rolled her eyes once Charlotte's back was turned. The Kat I've become does exactly none of those things. Instead, I nod and dutifully open the packet to page one.

Charlotte looks pleased. "Good. Duane and I are going out."

I nod again and wait until the roar of the van's engine and the crunch of gravel fades before heading downstairs. I've become an expert in bad television lately. I can tell you what the Kardashians are up to and who got kicked off Hell's Kitchen and how long it takes the average idiot woman to pick out new wallpaper for her remodeled home. This is what I do now when Mom and Duane are gone. I put on the most inane thing I can find, and I try not to think about how before everything went down, I would have spent my time talking to Maggie or Jamie and never wasted a second on any of this crap.

I'm halfway through an episode of something, I have no idea what, when my cell rings. I roll over and grab it off the end table, more out of habit than anything else, and the iron band around my chest tightens up so fast I couldn't draw a breath if I tried. Staring up at me are a number and a picture I was sure I'd never see again. Ever. It's the number of the boy who broke my heart. Twice.

I stare at the vibrating rectangle in my hand. What do I do? What is there even left to say? Maybe I'll just let it go to voicemail.

But what if something happened? What if Mickey did something to himself again and it's Maggie calling instead? Wouldn't I want to know?

I bite my bottom lip as hard as I can and thumb over the answer key right before the phone stops ringing. Deep breath, Kat. You can do this. "Hello?"

"Hey," a male voice says. A deep, nervous, oh-so-familiar male voice. "Kat?"