I'm taking the bus home from school today because my father is working and my mother has friends over. Being on the bus is basically as annoying as I remembered it, but since I'm a senior that nobody really knows, I'm pretty much left alone.
The last time I was on a bus, I was with Thomas. Obviously that day sucked, but I do treasure that memory. Everything Thomas-related from that day, actually. He saved me from that car, and now I'm really glad he did. A year ago, I'm not sure I would have said the same.
It hits me that if I keep up with my recovery, I might actually be able to drive eventually. I haven't even been able to consider that until now. At this point, pretty much everyone in my grade has their license. It'd be nice to join the club and put even less on my parents.
When I get home, there are cars in the driveway that don't belong to us. I notice that one of them is in my father's usual spot, and it makes me nervous. If he gets home before they leave, we'll be hearing about that. But at least it's not something I did this time. Our relationship has improved, I think. Enough that I no longer believe he hates me.
I walk in, trying to survey how I'm feeling. It's Friday, so I have three days until I see Dr. Rachel again, and she asked me to keep track of everything I feel over the week on the new medication. Quite honestly, aside from one or two side effects, I'm doing well. The thing I've noticed a lot is a decrease in paranoia, and it's making it easier not to do my tens. It's like I'm finally realizing that they won't actually do anything for me.
My mother and her friends are sitting at the table, all with cups in their hands and talking. They turn to look at me, and I just look back awkwardly. The medication hasn't magically made me good at socializing, unfortunately.
"Newt, come sit down for a minute," Mom says. "I'll get you your medication."
I can't use the "I have homework" excuse seeing as it's now the weekend, plus I really do need to take my medication. So I just resign to the fact that there's no getting out of this. Maybe I can just sit there for a minute, then pretend I need to make a call or take a nap or something else parents would find acceptable.
There are four other ladies, including Teresa's mother. I sit at the head of the table after putting my backpack on the couch and pretend to be extremely interested in watching my mother get my medication.
"How was school, Newt?" Teresa's mom asks.
I force a smile. "It was fine."
"We're so glad to hear that," another woman—whose name has completely escaped me by now—chimes in.
"Thanks," I say. It's nice that this practical stranger was concerned about my wellbeing. My mom is filling a cup with water now, and I'm relieved to see it.
"We were just talking about you and what a good kid you are." I think this other woman's name is Carol or something.
"Such a good kid," Teresa's mother speaks up again. My face is red already. I've never liked attention.
Carol or something continues. "I think you and my daughter would get along great," she starts. I almost laugh until I hear the rest of her sentence. "She's a bit younger—she turned sixteen last month—but she just came out to me as bi. I was just telling your mother about it."
My mom walks in now and puts my medication down in front of me on the table. I just look up at her, not moving. She told Teresa's mother; fine. I wasn't thrilled, but I haven't said anything. But now she's making me a group topic and I'm being recommended friends based off the fact that we both are attracted to the same sex? Seriously?
I feel my eyes burning and my chest begin to tighten. The others begin talking to each other now, but my mother is now furrowing her eyebrows at me in confusion. Did she not just hear what they said?
"You told them?" I say it so low it's practically a whisper.
"Told them what?" Mom asks, leaning down.
"About me," I say. There's more hurt than anger in my voice.
"Oh, Newt, it's just my friends," Mom says, waving it off. She says it as if she's relieved that this was my question. Like this is something ridiculous to even think about.
"Why would you do that?" I ask. Even with the medication, I can feel my anxiety.
"Please don't be mad, I didn't know it would upset you like this," my mother says. Except she still says it as if it's not a big deal.
I consider telling her I'm not mad. I consider brushing it off. I consider apologizing for asking.
"It's not yours to talk about," I say. Now, I realize that the table is listening in.
"I'm sorry, just take your medication and we'll talk about it later," Mom says, but I know she doesn't mean it. She still thinks I don't have the right to be annoyed.
I shakily pick up my medication to start taking it, only wanting to distract from myself as my mother's friends look at me.
"Don't worry, Newt, we just tell each other everything. We're all fine with it! It's okay," Carol or something says.
I didn't ask if you were fine with it. My eyes squeeze shut for a moment as I drink my water to down the pills, getting them all down at once and thanking TIMI for forcing me to learn how. When I open my eyes again, it's a war with myself to not let any tears spill. Once again, all I can think about is how they must be looking at me now. How exposed I feel.
"Are you okay?" Mom asks, sitting back down in her seat.
Why would she think that this is okay? Does she know me at all? I don't even know these people, and now they know something about me that I struggled with and fought for years. The thing that took me ages to admit to myself, and then all of my strength to tell my parents. After all of that, it's just something my mother casually tells anyone listening.
I can't speak. If I do, I'll start crying.
"It's not a big deal, it's alright," Carol or something is back with her handy comforting words.
"Does your daughter not think of outing her as bi to people before she can and casually talking about her personal business as a big deal?" The words are out before I can control them, and then everyone falls silent, mortified by my sudden harshness. Carol looks shocked. I meant it, but it wasn't supposed to come out like that. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"Newt, I think that's enough from you," Mom snaps, before turning to Carol or something. "Cara, he didn't mean that. He just gets over dramatic sometimes—it's a pill side effect. I'm so sorry."
"Over dramatic?" I say. She's the one that did something wrong, and that makes me over dramatic now.
My mother gives me a warning look. "I think you should go to your room, Newt."
I don't need to be told twice to leave. When I get up, I almost apologize to Cara again, but I think she deserved that. I wipe at my eyes as I turn away, then grab my backpack and head up the stairs quickly, not looking back despite the fact that I know their eyes are still on me.
When I get to my room, I nearly slam my door, but I decide against it. If they hear it, they'll just make fun of me for it.
I sit down on my bed, putting my head in my hands. All this time, I was thinking my mother was cooler than that. More understanding—more supportive. I probably would have expected that from my father, but not her. All I needed was a real apology. A promise not to do it again.
Thomas would probably know the perfect thing to say. He might even have a story of his own to tell me. Nobody else would understand what it feels like. Not Alby, not Teresa, not Fry or Chuck. I don't have Dr. Rachel until Monday, so I can't even ask her if this is a valid reaction.
All I know is that I feel horrible. Whether it's due to medication side effects or if I should be this angry, I don't know, but either way, I still feel hurt. My outburst probably made it even worse.
I grab the shark toy from beside my pillow and hug it to my chest. It's not nearly as good as having Thomas beside me, but it's all I have. Suddenly, the thought of going one more day without seeing him sounds like the worst thing I could ever go through.
He's suffering inside TIMI with nobody there to help him. Me being mad at my mother has nothing on that. It's been suffocating sitting here for four weeks just imagining what Thomas is going through and dreaming about saving him. I have to do something. I need to do something.
After rubbing my eyes one more time to wipe away any remaining tears, I get my phone out of my pocket, fumbling with it until I get to the contact I was looking for.
He picks up on the second ring. "Kid, I'm really not in the mood."
"Hear me out for a minute," I say, trying to keep my voice as steady as possible. "Please."
Silence. Then, a sigh. "What?"
"You hate TIMI, right? You must right now—you know what they're doing, and you know both why they didn't want me to leave and why they must have gotten rid of you," I ramble on.
"What is this about?" Vince asks after a moment.
"They need to be stopped. I'm not asking you to do anything, but this can't go on," I say, sniffling.
"Get to the point," Vince says, his voice laced with impatience. But I can tell that I have his attention now.
I pause. This has to work. "I need some information."
Part of me was hoping she wouldn't walk in, but she does.
"What're you doing?" Mom asks as I fill up my pill container with tonight and tomorrow morning's pills.
"I'm sleeping over at Alby's place," I say, shrugging my backpack's strap back onto my shoulder as I put a bottle's cap back on. I check the time. It's five o'clock already. I've spent the last two and a half hours on calls, texting, and writing things down.
"Since when?" Mom asks.
"I thought I told you," I lie.
"Is this about what happened before?" Mom asks.
I turn to her, putting on a fake smile. I'd debated the best way to play this, and this strategy won. "No. I'm sorry about that, I think it was the medication. Tell Cara I apologize. But I was already gonna go to Alby's—I'm just really excited to have a friend again," I say.
Mom smiles back, and part of me feels like an awful person while the other part feels like I deserve some kind of award for that acting—especially while I'm as anxious as I am.
"I'll tell her. Are you sure you're okay? Do you need a ride to his house?" Mom asks.
"I'm fine now. I think I was sleep deprived before," I say. I'm putting Zart to shame. "Oh, and Alby is gonna drive me. He should be here any second, actually."
"It's so nice to see you two hanging out. I missed him," Mom says. She sounds content with my answers, which is a good sign for me.
"So did I." That one isn't a lie.
"Keep in touch, okay? Make sure you eat dinner and don't forget to take your medication at the right times," Mom says. I feel so bad that she's worrying, but I know this is something I have to do.
"I will," I say. I'll do all of those things, I'm sure.
"Good," Mom says as I check my phone again. There's a text from Alby now.
"He's here," I say, closing up my pill container before putting it in my backpack. I emptied out my school stuff, and now it's got everything I'll need.
"Are you sure you want to wear that out?" Mom asks.
I look down at Thomas' hoodie, then back up at my mother. "Positive."
She nods but still looks concerned. I know she's worried I'll freak out if anything happens to it, but this hoodie worked for me once before. I've gotta believe it'll work again.
I walk to the door feeling jittery. Anyone in my position definitely would. Mom walks with me and pulls me in for a hug before I go to walk out.
"I love you, sweetie," she says into my shoulder.
"I love you too," I say quietly, before hugging her tighter. I take a deep breath. This isn't escaping. No, I'm done with that at this point. Everything up until now has been about escape. Escaping who I am, escaping my parents, escaping Alby, escaping TIMI. That part of my life is over.
When I leave my house and walk up to Alby's car in my driveway, I now have a strange sense of calm. But that might just be me confusing calmness with sureness. I've got a purpose now. I've got a plan.
I get in the passenger seat, then put my backpack on the floor by my feet, buckling myself in.
"She's good? She believed you?" Alby asks as a form of greeting. He sounds nervous.
"She's fine," I say, nodding. My hand is steady while I put the address in the GPS.
Alby exhales, shaking his head before backing out of my driveway. "Are you good? I mean, this is really last minute. I'm not even sure you've adjusted to your meds yet. Are you sure about this? It can wait another week."
"I'm sure. Trust me," I say. "And no, it can't wait another week. I can't wait another week."
"You really are crazy, man," Alby says through a nerve induced laugh.
"Maybe," I say. "But I know that this is something I have to do. I have to finish what Thomas and I started."
For the first time, I'm not escaping. I'm running towards something. It's not about control, either. It's about justice. A new life for me, and a new life for them.
I'm going back to TIMI.