A Year Without Autumn (18 page)

“We’re just taking our friend out for a walk.”

“Taking her for a walk? She’s not a dog, you know!” I say, for the first time seeing the pair of us united against everyone else. A couple of puppies bouncing around just needing love and understanding. I will Autumn to look at me so we can grin at each other, knowing that we’ve had the same thought, as we always do.

She doesn’t look at me. It hurts so much, I almost cry out.

“Her brother’s in a coma,” Christine says solemnly to the boys. She sounds proud of herself, as though she’s showing them a medal on her collar. “We’re making sure she’s OK.”

Autumn’s face reddens, but she doesn’t say anything.

The taller boy nods approvingly. “Good for you,” he says. Then he looks at Autumn for the first time. He gives her a kind of sympathetic look. “Lucky you’ve got them, huh?”

“Yeah,” Autumn says without conviction.

The boys move on. “See you later, girls.”

Christine and Sally giggle and talk in squeaky voices all the rest of the way to the bridge. I want to say something to Autumn, but I don’t know what or how. Does she
really
not mind being talked about like that? As though she’s some kind of charity case that makes others look good just for spending time with her? Where has all her fight gone, all her life?

When we get to our place by the river, Christine and Sally plonk themselves down on the grass, and Autumn awkwardly sits down with them. I hover, standing on the outside of the little circle. “So, which one do you want?” Christine asks, with a girlie giggle.

“Darren!” Sally says right away.

“Good! I like Paul! We could go out as a foursome.”

They break into huge giggles, and I try to catch Autumn’s gaze so I can roll my eyes at her and so she can make a face at me and make me laugh. Once more, she doesn’t even look my way.

“What about Autumn?” I ask. “Which one’s she having?”

The Barbies both look at me as though I’m a fleck of dirt on a brand-new designer outfit and move on to the next subject. “Who do you think’s going to win
Pop Star Sensations
?” Sally asks.

“I love that Gary — he’s got the cutest butt,” Christine replies. Then, as an afterthought, she turns to Autumn. “Don’t you think?”

Autumn swallows before replying. “Yeah, really cute,” she says with a smile. But it’s not the kind of smile I’m used to seeing from Autumn. It’s false and forced. Two things Autumn doesn’t do.

I don’t even hear their reply. I tune out and stare at the river. All I can think is,
What on earth is she doing with these airheads?

Sally looks around and yawns. “I have to say, I’m not sure what’s so great about it here. It’s boring!” she says. “Let’s go to the game room and see if any of the boys are in there!”

Boys again! Is that
all
she thinks about?

“We could skip some stones,” I say.

Christine looks at me with such a horrified expression on her face that for a moment I wonder if I’ve actually said,
Hey, I know — let’s run around with nothing on and see if we can spot an alien.

“I’ll pass, thanks,” she says, waving a hand dismissively at me.

“Me too,” Sally adds.

“Autumn?” I ask. She looks at me.
“Please,”
I say, holding my breath as I silently beg her to leave this awful pair behind and join me by the river.

Autumn looks at the Barbies and then at me. Then she drags herself up. “OK,” she says heavily. “Might as well.” I only just manage to stop myself from grabbing her in a tight hug.

We head over to the water’s edge and pick up a few stones. I throw one across the water, and it plops in after one bounce. Autumn throws hers in, and it skips across the surface beautifully, bouncing on the river six times before slicing into the water.

“Haven’t lost your touch, I see,” I say, attempting a smile.

Autumn picks up another stone and doesn’t reply.

“How can you do this?” I ask.

“Do what?”

“Hang out with
them
?”

Autumn shrugs. “They take my mind off things,” she says. “It’s better than hanging out on my own.”

I want to tell her she doesn’t ever need to be on her own — she’s got me! But after last time, I know better than to come out with statements that probably don’t match her reality, even if they’re the bedrock of mine.

And I want to tell her about all the snide looks I’ve noticed Christine and Sally passing. I’m sure they’re whispering about us now, in fact. But I don’t want to do anything to give Autumn an excuse to go off on me.

“I still don’t get how you can you bear to be with them,” I say in the end. “They’re so superficial; they’re like plastic dolls! They don’t care about you.”

“Maybe superficial is exactly what I want right now,” Autumn says lifelessly. “If you don’t talk about anything that matters, no one can say anything that’ll hurt you — and you don’t have to talk about the things that are eating away at you from the inside.”

I decide not to push it.

“And, anyway, who says they don’t care about me?” Autumn goes on. “Why would they hang out with me if they didn’t care?”

I shrug, thinking back to the incident with the two boys. “Maybe they want to look good or something. Show off to boys about how sensitive and thoughtful they are.”

Autumn turns to me. “Are you trying to make me feel better?” she asks. “Because if you are, you’re not doing a very good job.”

“I’m sorry. I just don’t trust them, and I don’t like them,” I say. “And I thought you felt the same way.”

Autumn talks to the ground. “Yeah, well, my choices got a bit more limited.”

I don’t know how to reply. I don’t know how we got to this point. All I know is we had an awful argument — a year ago. Is that the last time we spoke?

“Autumn, how did we get to this?” I ask carefully.

“Get to what?”

“This. Not being friends. You’re my best friend, the best friend anyone could want in the whole world. I’m sorry about what I said before.”

“Before?”

“I mean — last year,” I correct myself, feeling ridiculous referring to something that’s only just happened as last year. “Is that what this is about?”

Autumn breathes out heavily. “What else is it going to be about?” she asks.

“So that’s the last time we spoke?” I hold my breath while I wait for her to answer.

“You’ve lost your memory now?” she says. “Or perhaps you’ve just lost another year and gone forward in time again!” She stares at me with a challenge in her eyes. For the first time, there’s a hint of life on her face. Is she asking me to tell her the truth or warning me not to even try it? I don’t dare risk it again — not when we’re actually communicating. I look down and don’t say anything.

“Anyway, you know we’ve talked since then,” Autumn goes on. “But it’s always ended up the same way, so I’m glad we gave up trying. It was too painful.”

“I don’t want us to fight,” I say. “I never wanted that.”

“Too late, Jen. Already happened.”

“You seem to hate me,” I say. “I don’t understand why.”

“I don’t hate you at all,” Autumn says. “I just can’t be around you. Being with Sally and Christine takes me away from it all. Being with you just reminds me how much it all hurts.”

“And that’s why you’ve pushed me away for the last year.”

Autumn shrugs.

As we sit in silence, I try to get my head around what’s happening. Try to believe it could really be true. Two days ago we’d both just arrived at Riverside Village. We hugged each other as soon as we met up in the parking lot; we gossiped right here by the river; we wanted to spend every minute together. She was smiling. Always smiling. This isn’t Autumn. Something has gone horribly, horribly wrong.

“I wish it wasn’t like this,” I say eventually.

“Yeah. Me too,” Autumn replies wistfully. “But it is. I can’t change what happened. No one can. And you know the worst thing?”

“What?”

Autumn pauses for ages. Then almost in a whisper, she says, “I haven’t got anyone to talk to about . . .” She stops, swallows hard, then shakes her head. “Forget it,” she says.

“About what?”

She turns away and swipes her palm across her eyes. “Nothing.”

“Look, I know how hard it’s all been for you. I understand —”

“You
don’t
know, Jen! You
don’t
understand!” Autumn bursts out. “That’s just it.
No one
understands. You don’t get it at
all.
”

“What don’t I get?”

“How I feel. What it’s like to be me, to have lived my life for the last three years. Was it
you
who sat by your little brother’s side, holding his hand so long you couldn’t feel your fingers anymore, too scared to let go or fall asleep in case he wasn’t there when you woke up? Was it
you
who sat there while a surgeon walked into the room and calmly told your parents that your brother had an internal bleed in his head that had spread too far for them to fix because he wasn’t brought to the hospital in time? Was it you who had to hear the words that would break your family into pieces — that your little brother had slipped into a coma and would almost certainly never come out of it?”

I stare at Autumn. I want to hug her, but the person in front of me looks so brittle that if I did, I feel as if it might break her in half. Not that she’d even let me, anyway.

“Three years ago.” She looks at her watch. “A couple of hours from now, when the surgeon told us about Mikey. Two p.m. on the dot. Exactly a day after the accident, my family’s world fell apart. You gained a little sister on the same day as I lost my little brother.”

“You didn’t lose —”

“As good as,” Autumn says before I can finish my sentence.

I bite my tongue.

“And now it’s too late to do anything.”

“What do you mean it’s too late?” I ask.

Autumn shakes her head. “Forget it. Just don’t say you know how hard it’s been. OK?” She drops the stones she was holding in her hands and goes over to Christine and Sally. “Are we going back?” she says to them. “I’ve had enough of it around here.”

Sally and Christine get up. “Yeah, come on, let’s go back to my place,” Sally says. “I’ll paint your nails and do your hair, and then we can go to the game room and see who’s there.”

“Fine. Whatever. Let’s just go,” Autumn says, and walks off. Christine and Sally trail behind, giggling and gossiping all the way.

I run to catch up with Autumn. “Autumn. Come on — do your hair? Paint your nails? Going to the game room to check out the boys? That’s not the Autumn I know!”

“Look, you’re right — I don’t want to do those things. It’s not me. It’s not what I want. OK? Happy? But how can I tell them that? Jenni, don’t you see? I’m
not
the Autumn you know anymore. That’s the whole point. I hardly know
who
I am anymore. I know they treat me like an idiot most of the time, and I couldn’t care less about the silly things they talk about — but what options do I have? I just don’t have the strength to tell them to get lost.”

You’ve got me,
I want to say.
I can be strong enough for us both, if that’s what you need.
I keep my mouth shut, though. I don’t want to start another argument.

“And you know what else?” Autumn goes on. “You’re not the Jen I thought I knew anymore, either.”

I look at her for a long time. “No, I’m not,” I say eventually. “And do you know what? It’s time I proved it. It’s time someone stood up for
both
of us.”

I turn around and wait for the Barbies to catch up. “Hey, guess what,” I say. “Autumn doesn’t want to go to your place. She’s not interested in checking out boys who only talk to you because they think you’re so kind looking after your poor bereaved friend. And she doesn’t need you to do anything to her hair or her nails. She’s fine as she is. Oh, and she couldn’t give two hoots about
Pop Star Sensation
— and she doesn’t even
know
who Gary is, let alone care! So you can keep your stupid, superficial world, and you can forget the ‘Oh, we’re so kind, we look after the girl whose brother’s in a coma’ goody-goody-two-shoes act, because she’s not buying it anymore — and neither am I!”

The three of them stare at me. For a moment, I think I’ve gone too far. But Christine and Sally have turned so red, I know I’ve hit the nail on the head.

Christine flicks her head back. “Don’t you start —”

“Yes, I will start!” I cut her off. “And I’ll finish.” I glance at Autumn. She’s staring at me, mouth open, eyes wide. Should I stop? There’s something in Autumn’s eyes that I don’t recognize. Then I realize what it is: admiration, gratitude, even relief. That’s all I need to spur me on.

I turn back to Christine and Sally. “You aren’t real friends,” I say. “You don’t truly care about Autumn. You only ever wanted to be with her because she was popular and you thought it’d make you look good to be seen with her, and now you just want to seem to be caring so you can get noticed by a couple of stupid boys.”

Sally steps forward. “Now, hang on a minute —”

“No, I won’t hang on a minute!” I say, fury and loyalty pushing me on. Someone has to say this — and that someone is going to have to be me. This whole stupid, awful reality has taken so much away from me that I haven’t got anything to lose anymore, so I’m going to tell it how it is.

“Autumn’s not a badge for you to parade around with so you can pick up brownie points. She’s a person — a fantastic person. She’s the best friend anyone could want, and if you don’t realize that, then you’re both even more dumb than I thought!”

Before they have a chance to answer, I turn and stomp up to Autumn. She’s gaping at me. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t want to ruin any of your friendships, and if they truly matter to you, then I’ll apologize to them, once I’ve calmed down. But I had to do that. I’m not going to sit and watch this joke any longer. You matter too much to me for that.”

Autumn swallows, looking across at Christine and Sally. She doesn’t say anything.

“Listen. I don’t want us to fight. I
never
want us to stop being friends,” I say. “If you feel the same way, come over to my place later.”