Beatless (14 page)

“Screw you, Tucker,” I whispered, not meeting his eyes.

He tipped his face forward, his smell invading my space, making me dizzy. Just next to my ear, he whispered, “Have you forgotten, Mal? You already did.” He backed up and smiled, but it wasn’t real. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.
It’ll be our little secret
.”

He left me standing in the hallway, staring at his retreating form, and wishing we lived in a state that was prone to earthquakes.

Because I needed a hole to fall into.

***

Even though no one had reacted to my audition, once I was cast as the lead, people came up to me at school between classes to tell me how awesome they’d thought it was. I just smiled and nodded, and thanked them, fighting the blush that I couldn’t control. Too much attention. Too fast.

I told Sam about getting the lead, and her eyes held a bit of their old sparkle.

“I’m definitely going to be in the audience for that. I’ll bring you carnations beforehand. And I won’t even tempt fate by saying the name of the play that cannot be named.”

“There’s a play about Voldemort?” I teased.

She rolled her eyes and glared. “Youths.”

I studied for my finals in the library. And I avoided the Resources section like it was the pit of Hell. I focused on doing my very best, because I had a goal: To leave. I gave up all of the things I’d been worried about, like embers lifting from a fire into the night sky. Like I could feel every single one of them escaping my body when I let them go.

I didn’t care if my mom came back or not.

I didn’t wonder about Lassiter anymore, because she wasn't worth it.

I didn’t dwell on whether or not I would ever come back to this place once I received my grants, because I would get them. I would take the first one they offered me.

I walled up my heart and the way it ached for Tucker. Eventually, it only felt bruised.

Waking up on Christmas morning didn’t mean anything. Sam slept late. There were no presents under the tree. No traditional Christmas pancakes. No music playing in the background as we eventually celebrated.

I sat next to the tree and stared up at the star on top, finally understanding exactly how little I had left. Cupping my hands around a mug full of hot apple cider, I gazed at the white lights until they became unfocused, causing them to eventually take on the appearance of constellations in a clear night sky.

Mom called Christmas night, and as much as I didn’t want to take the call, I did.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come home.”

She didn’t even acknowledge that she would miss my birthday, as well. I fought back the urge to cry. “Sure. Are you having fun with your new boyfriend?” I’d grown bold. “What’s his name, anyway? Is he coming back with you?”

She was quiet for some time before she explained that his name was Randall, and he was
not
the reason she wasn’t home for the holidays. Also, she wasn’t sure what was going to happen when her assignment was up, but that I would be the first to know.

I doubted that was true. I wasn’t even the first to know about Randall.

It took a few more minutes of talking before I got up from my bed and closed the bedroom door. I didn’t want to whisper, but I spoke quietly, unsure if Sam could hear me from wherever she was in the house.

“Mom? I know you keep saying you can’t leave Texas. But I think something’s going on with Sam. She looks like she’s sick and she keeps saying she thinks she’s coming down with a cold, but I’m not sure. She’s acting weird, too . . .”

“Don’t worry so much. You know my sister has always been . . . a little different. She operates in her own hemisphere. I’m sure it’s just the divorce. People react in different ways. And, you know, she got laid off. So she doesn’t have anything to do all day. Usually, if someone experiences more than a couple life changing events, it can lead to being a little depressed. But I think you being there with her keeps her spirits up, you know? It’s good that you’ve had this time together.”

Whatever made her feel better about the situation.

After we hung up, I stood in the middle of my room, slowly turning in a circle to get a good look at everything that surrounded me.

And with one final decision, I walked over to my closet door and took every single picture down.

It was time to suck it up.

Holding my head high, I threw all of them in the bathroom trash can. I ended up taking down my little tree and placed Tucker’s present back in my closet. It was becoming clear I would probably never have the opportunity to give it to him. And it was just as well. The personalized sheet music was for the person I once knew. Not the one he’d become.

 Afterwards, I turned off the light, and went downstairs to find my aunt.

She was sitting in the kitchen, still in her pajamas, a cookbook open in front of her as she looked down at it, with glassy, unfocused eyes.

“Hey. Do you want me to cook something?” I slid the book my way, checking out the picture she was staring at. ]

She shook her head a little and focused on my face before giving me a smile. “No, kiddo. I’ve got it.” A look of confusion marred her features. “I’m just trying to remember what that thing is called. You know. It’s glass and has the red marks on the side? I need it to add milk to the soup.”

“A measuring cup?”

She snapped her fingers. “Yes. That’s what it’s called. Where do you keep it, Myra?”

I snorted because
clearly
she was inferring that I sounded like my mother. “Who’s being the smartass now?”

She frowned and leaned over the counter top. “Watch your mouth, young lady.”

“Okaaaay.” I retrieved the cup and slid it slowly to her.

Sam took it in her hands and went to the fridge, only to stand and space out in front of it.

“Seriously. Go lay down. I can do this.” I gently pulled her away from the refrigerator and pointed her in the direction of the couch.

Sam dropped heavily on the cushions and after a second she looked at me and smiled like she just realized I was there. “Hey. I was going to make some soup. Do you want some?”

“I said I would make it.”

“When?”

“Just now, Aunt Sam. Are you messing with me?”

Recognition lit up her eyes and she chuckled lightly. “Of course I am.” She smoothed her hair from her face and grabbed the remote from the table. “I feel like I haven’t slept in a week.”

“I don’t think you have.” I could hear her moving through the house at all hours of the night. It was one of the reasons that I ran my bathroom fan while I slept: to drown out her noises.

“I’ll get some sleeping pills from the store,” she said, zoning out in front of a television show, leaving me to finish what she’d started.

***

My birthday came and went, and as I suspected, my father didn’t even call. Mom did and she said when she got home she would take me shopping or something, but I didn’t even care. Sam, as usual, was the only person I could rely on but the sad looking cupcake with the slightly bent yellow candle on top did nothing to lighten my mood. So I went to bed early and became a zombie in front of my television until I fell into a dreamless sleep.

I spent New Year’s Eve with Sam, watching the ball drop in a city I’d never been to before. I made a mental note to add it to the list I’d started making of all of the things I wanted to do after I left.
Visit New York City for New Year’s Eve
was suddenly at the top of my list.

She held my head in her lap and played with my hair until about eleven thirty. Then she nudged my shoulder and when I turned to glance at her, she was smiling. It had been like that for a while. She’d be sullen and snappy and then a few minutes later would be back to some semblance of the Sam I’d always known.

“I got us a couple surprises and completely forgot about them until just now. We don’t have much time. Come on.”

I followed her to the garage and she rummaged in the trunk of her car, appearing again with a couple flat rectangles. “Lanterns,” she said excitedly. “We write the stuff we’re letting go from this year on the inside and then at midnight, we’ll release them into the night sky.”

I looked at her sideways. “Seriously?”

“What? Is this an old people thing?”

I shrugged.

“I . . . don’t care. You’re doing this with me. Let’s get rid of some baggage.”

In the kitchen she handed me a marker and I thought long and hard about all of the things I needed to be free of. I began with the names of my friends. Each one was written inside on the fragile paper. I then moved on to the shit my parents had left me with. I started to puff out the paper when Sam stopped me.

“You have to add one wish to the outside.”

“Are you making this up as you go?”

“Maybe. So . . . do it.”

I glanced at Sam’s lantern and could only make out one word on the inside. Her handwriting was erratic across the front, and I leaned in to see what she’d written. She pulled it back with a playful look on her face. “You know better than to look at someone’s wishes.”

I contemplated what my heart wanted the most, and it was so obvious that I felt foolish even writing it down. But it couldn’t hurt to send a wish to the heavens. Especially if it made Sam happy.

At eleven fifty eight we walked out into the bitter cold, and I stared up at the moon, slightly hidden behind tissue paper clouds. The gray eclipsed the brightness a little, and I hugged my arms around my chest, honing in on the one star I could see. I squeezed my eyes shut and repeated my wish, just in case once wasn’t enough.

Sam lit the small cotton ball beneath her lantern and held it above her head as the heat made it swell and begin to lift from her fingertips. And then she turned to me to do the same. We watched as they began to rise into the sky, the red of hers and blue of mine glowing bright as they lifted towards the trees.

And about seven feet in the air . . . they caught on fire.

“There go our dreams,” she noted with wide eyes. “Up in flames. Seems fitting. I just hope they don’t get caught in any trees.”

She shuffled back into the house and I was left alone to watch the flaming paper drop back to Earth.

***

Returning to school wasn’t as tough as I thought it would be. Meeting everyone for our first rehearsal on the other hand . . .The day we got our scripts, I sat off to the side and opened the pages, my eyes scanning how large of a part I would have. I kept my face down and didn’t look at the front of the theater where Mr. Hanks was sitting with Tucker.

I read through some of the lines and frowned, then raised my hand and Mr. Hanks pointed my way.

“Yes, Miss Durham?”

I held up the script with the pages splayed open. “Umm . . . Is this right?”

“What?” He leaned forward, crossing one arm over his chest and tapping his chin.

“My character dies by throwing herself into a live volcano?”

His eyes went wide and I saw Tucker’s shoulders bounce a little. When the older man looked at him for an answer, he appeared remorseful.

“I apologize, Mallory. You must have received an original copy of the script. I’ll get you a new one.” Tucker reached into his back pocket and held out a rolled up copy. I stood and confidently marched to where he was leaning against the piano. My name was already printed on the script and I glared at him with every ounce of hate I had in my body.

“You suck,” I muttered.

He laughed darkly. “Come on, now, Mallory. Don’t make my comebacks so easy.”

***

Sam sat across from me at the dining room table, her chin resting on her hand. I’d made a copy of the script for her to read so that I could start practicing my lines immediately. There was a lot riding on this and I wanted to prove every single person who had ever doubted me wrong.

She read through the script once. Then twice. “This is pretty good.”

“Yeah. As much as I hate to say it, you’re right.” A little part of me had hoped it was shitty, but it
was
really good. And we hadn’t even started the music portion. Knowing that Tucker had written the score would only ensure that it was amazing.

“So . . . the story is about a couple kids who were close when they were younger - but one moved away and they wrote letters to each other for a while and lost touch. Then they meet up as teenagers and fall in love, only to break up over something stupid. Which ends up with them reconnecting as adults and finally figuring their shit out?”

“Yeah, I think that’s the gist of it.”

She nodded and flipped the pages open. “Pretty heavy stuff.” Her eyes flicked up from the page to mine. “The plot sounds a little familiar. Talk about a grand gesture.” She waved the script my way.

“Whatever. It’s not exact.” I didn’t mention that Tucker had told me that they revised it after what happened between the two of us. And I had wondered when Tucker had time to help write this thing, and my powers of deduction brought me to the conclusion that he had been doing this on his off days when I had assumed he’d been studying for his classes. Instead, he was writing a play with Bastian. Bastian who wanted to be a screenwriter, but was a bit obsessed with Broadway productions. This musical was something he was going to put on his resume.

I ignored her description of the two main characters finding their happy ending later in their adult years.

It felt too much like hope.

After running through the first act, Sam was yawning and I told her try to get some sleep while she could. She shrugged and said something about a short nap, but she never came back.

Up in my room, I checked my email, which was pretty much empty. Then, against my better judgment, I logged onto Instagram. My initial instinct was to look in the same places I always had. I hadn’t deleted anyone, even after everything that went down before Thanksgiving. But I ignored the people that I didn’t want to see.

Except him.

It didn’t surprise me one bit when I logged in and searched his name that it didn’t show up. When I did a wider search, his account was locked and a new picture appeared as his avatar. From that small box, his face peered back at me, smiling like he always had. And in the other half, a girl with crystal blue eyes looked up at him adoringly.