Chapter Sixteen: Rewired
I try to focus my attention on retying my disobedient shoe lace, but the beat of a basketball pounds its way into my skull, and distracts me as it drums steadily against the gymnasium floor. I pull the loops through on the first knot when the beat is suddenly interrupted by a loud sneaker shriek. The high-pitched sound makes me wince, but Imogen sighs beside me seeming completely unfazed. The grunts and shouts of the boys get closer and I turn my head to the left just in time to watch Ryan Cassidy pass the ball off to another kid in my grade. After dodging a few hands, the kid swiftly arcs it into the basket.
"Gosh, Ryan is so annoying."
My head immediately snaps back over to my friend as the double knotted shoe lace falls from my hands. "What do you mean?"
"Well . . ." Imogen throws me a look before pointing her hand out towards the direction of the boys.
My gaze finds Ryan again as he pats the guy that scored the basket on the back, and in return, Ryan's shaved head gets a teasing rub.
"You know how boys are." I shrug my shoulders.
Imogen roughly pushes her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. "Yeah, but he just irks me sometimes. Like he thinks he's all that, but he's not!" She turns her head, throwing the last two words towards the direction of the basketball game, but the only people who hear her are the other people around us. "I just think he's kind of full of himself."
My mouth immediately opens, a rebuttal forming on the tip of my tongue, but I stop myself when I realize what exactly was going to tumble out of my mouth. I was going to tell her what Xavier told me that day under the bleachers. I was going to tell her the practically top-secret information that only recently faded into the back of my mind. I was going to spill the beans all over the counter and let them drip down the sides.
My jaw clenches at the thought, and I can't help but think this is what happens when you've been burned so many times. Your guard goes up, randomly, for even the most normal of things.
Even though I can't tell Imogen that specific information regardless, because it isn't mine to tell, I realize that the imaginary Iron Gate I tend to surround myself with over the years has slowly transformed into a brick wall. Each layer built up from all the lies I've been told, fake smiles I've been thrown, and the pain of the departure when that tornado of a person finally decided to walk out of my life.
I think that's the worst part. Even after all the crap they put you through it still manages to hurt—like hell.
My eyes find Ryan again as he jumps around in the pack of boys. Their basketball game in full swing even though gym class only officially started five minutes ago.
"I don't know him." Are the only four words that leave my mouth and together they form a sentence that at the end of the day is completely and totally true. Even though I know things about Ryan, and I'm starting to know Xavier, I still don't know them the same way I know Imogen. And I still don't know Imogen the same way I know my sister.
I reach up and tighten my ponytail before standing up, swiping my badminton racquet off the dusty gym floor as I go. Imogen follows suit, easily diverting us to a new topic of conversation as we position ourselves in front of a net.
All the while a voice suddenly pipes up from the furthest place in my mind. It jumps out at me and startles the rest of my common sense.
But I think I want to.
****
I slowly peel my eyelids open not wanting to rid of the heaviness in them, but before I know it I'm blinking at every dark shadow lurking around the room. After I take a second to remind myself that the shadow on my wall is just a reflection of a shirt I left stranded on the floor, and not some serial killer, I gently slide out of my bed and lightly tip toe my way out of the room.
I keep a grip on the banister as sleepiness continues to sway my body while I travel down the stairs. Once my sock covered feet hit the floor, I shuffle my way into the kitchen and grab myself a cup of water to satisfy my extremely parched throat.
I place my cup in the sink and go to head back upstairs when a dim glow catches my eye down the opposite hallway. I pad my way over to the small office my mom and dad share. The white glow illuminating throughout the small room happens to be coming from a laptop screen, and it floods into the tendrils of my mom's hair as her head remains resting on the keyboard.
I turn around and head back into the living room only to come back to the office with the corner of a cushy throw pillow clasped in one fist and a blanket clasped inside the other. I quietly make my way over to my mom, and am momentarily startled by my own shadow as it casts along the wall, but I'm quickly laughing before I can stop it.
For the two days Wren stayed home, not only did she fill the gap she left inside me, but she also filled the gap she left inside our parents. Even though we all still had work to do, we were able to squeeze in two whole nights of sundae's and movies. Not only did it put my mind back into perspective, but it also seemed to remind me of every little thing my parents do for us. Specifically, every little thing my mom does for us.
Even though my dad provides his share of comic relief and haphazard advice, my mom's always been the level-headed one. The one that doesn't just tell us what we want to hear, but rather tells us how it is and how the world works. And it's crazy to think that one day it won't just be Wren walking out that door. My turn is coming and as excited as I am, I still can't imagine what it's going to be like to officially leave the security of my parents behind.
Right now, though, I'm glad I'm here. I'm glad I'm the one who's slipping a pillow beneath my mom's head and slowly dragging the harsh light of her laptop away from her face.
I'm not sure if she's aware of this, but she's my hero. She always has been and always will be.
I mean, aside from my dad. Psh.