The Words We Keep: Chapter 15

At school, Micah’s been claimed.

He no longer walks the halls alone. He’s been interviewed and accepted by a clan—the Artists. The girls wear shorts and black pantyhose and an obscene amount of black eyeliner. The guys have wannabe dreads and share Micah’s air of indifference about the names that Damon and his ilk shout at them in the parking lot. A few of them even wear socks like Micah’s.

When I pass him at school, we smile, but we orbit in different circles. At night, though, when my house is dark and I’m willing myself to sleep, we meet in the 100-acre-wood.

In the ethereal space of the internet, we talk every night. He asks about LogoLily’s Word of the Day. I tell him that I make up words to make sense of the world.

Tuesday, 11:15 pm

LogoLily: It’s like we have these 26 letters. That’s it. 26. But you can arrange them a million different ways to mean a million different things. They become yours.

LogoLily: Does that make me a total weirdo?

100-acre-wood: Yes.

100-acre-wood: But the world could use more weirdos.

He talks about the drawings he’s working on, and how his dad was an artist before he passed away. He talks about how drawing helps him feel like his dad’s not really gone. He tells me he has to—has to—draw to keep everything from festering on the inside. Art saves him, keeps him in the here and now.

Wednesday, 10:23 pm

LogoLily: So art is like your medicine?

100-acre-wood: No, Zoloft is my medicine. Art is my high.

LogoLily: How do you just put it out there like that for everyone to see?

100-acre-wood: Have to. Have to get it out. Get it into the light. Feels less dark that way.

LogoLily: Aren’t you scared what people will think?

100-acre-wood: It’s not brave if you’re not scared.

In the quiet of my room, with nothing but the sound of Alice breathing from seven feet and a lifetime away, I tell him things, too. That I’m trying to qualify for state in the 400 meter. How my mom died when I was six because her heart only had enough strength left to bring baby Margot into the world before it gave out. How it’s UC Berkeley or bust.

Thursday, 1:15 am

100-acre-wood: Why Berkeley?

LogoLily: It’s the best. And it’s always been the plan.

100-acre-wood: Should have known there was a plan involved.

LogoLily: So if we win, you’d turn it down?

100-acre-wood: I would.

LogoLily: No way.

LogoLily: Is that what the 100-acre-wood is all about? Boys who never want to grow up?

100-acre-wood: Could not be more wrong. And also, that’s Neverland. College just doesn’t fit into my plan.

LogoLily: Which is?

100-acre-wood: Don’t make too many plans.

Some things, though, I don’t tell him. Like about the episodes that send my brain into overdrive and my fingertips searching for skin to pick. Or about the night I found Alice. Or how I have to bring her (and me) back to save this family.

I know Micah has secrets, too. Like what happened at his old school. The way Damon shoves him in the hallway or the posts about him on the Underground. The semicolon tattoo on his wrist.

I don’t ask about the words he keeps, and I don’t tell him mine.

Some things are just better left unsaid.

Each night, I find myself waiting for that little Ding! And despite my best efforts, I find myself wondering about him. It’s stupid, really, how much I think about him. About which rumors are true. About how this boy with his bright socks and big ideas doesn’t seem at all like a Boy on the Verge. About how his art is dark but his smile is light.

Like I told Sam, my brain has no room for boys. It’s just nice to have someone to talk to in the darkness. It’s also a nice distraction from the Alice of it all.

Since the Night of the Missed Curfew, she’s stopped going to her weekly therapy and started sneaking out in the middle of the night. I pretend to be asleep while she stealths out of the house. I lie in the dark, my mind spinning, fingers picking, until she comes back. Most of the time I don’t even know I’ve started scratching at my skin. All I know is, it helps me focus on the pain instead of the panic of where she’s gone, what she’s doing.

This is what Micah doesn’t understand. Alice does not want to talk with me about anything.

Mostly, we all try to stay out of her way. I bury myself in homework while also trying to come up with whatever it is I’m supposed to do for my next muse-discovery meeting with Micah. Margot’s lost in Harry Potter, and Dad’s still trying to convince everyone that things are back to normal, except he’s taken on extra evening classes just to escape. And Staci? She’s appointed herself the captain of the Alice Pep Squad, constantly trying to yank Alice out of her post-Fairview funk.

Alice, come do yoga!

Go for a walk!

Find a hobby!

Figure out what the hell you want to do with your life before you drive us all crazy, too!

So far, she’s helped Alice sign up for online classes and convinced her to join her daily yoga sessions, which is more progress than I’ve made on my help-Alice-be-Alice-again plan. Every online search I do ends up with the same answer: Give your loved one time. Be there. Give them space.

So I give her space. So much space I can barely see her anymore.

And the only progress I’ve made on my own brain is that I’ve clipped my fingernails so short that I can’t scratch holes into my stomach.

In the evenings, we sit down to vegan/organic spreads created by Staci because pleasant family mealtimes is one of the top Fairview tips.

So, we sit, doing our darnedest to obey the rules, around a dining table with inedible food, trying so hard I fear one of us might burst into flames. I watch from outside my body, like we’re on a sitcom. Tonight’s episode: “Family Pretends Everything Is Fine!”