Hold Still (15 page)

I move the flashlight closer, and study my eight-year-old face again. I change my mind. I was such a quiet kid, so shy and calm and in my own head. Of course I knew about being sad. Maybe that’s the reason I saved all the things I thought were pretty.

After I’ve put up two more braces, I realize I’m stuck. There’s no way for me to attach the sixth brace to the sixth beam; the branches around it are either all too high or too low. It’s more than I can do tonight. Soon I’ll climb farther up and secure a rope to a high branch. I’ll make a swing so I can reach the places I can’t reach yet.

11

I know I should eat something, but my stomach is still messed up over what happened with Taylor last night. I fill a spoon with cereal, then lower it back into the bowl. My parents are reading the paper at the table in the kitchen, and when my dad gets up to get his briefcase from the other room, my mom clears her throat and turns to me.

“Caitlin,” she says in her school-principal voice, “I’m glad to see that you’re spending some time with new people. It’s important for you to make new friends. I do want to ask, though—and this isn’t a big deal, it’s just something your dad and I decided—that I’d like you to keep your door open when you have Taylor over. Or any boy. It doesn’t have to be wide open, just open a little.”

I stare at my cranberry-almond crunch getting soggy in the milk.

“Why?”

My mom’s newspaper rustles. “It’s just the appropriate thing to do. We trust you, we just also know what it’s like to be your age. It’s fine for you and Taylor to enjoy each other’s company.” She pauses. “It’s even fine to kiss, or
make out,
or whatever you want to call it. Just as long as you keep the door open to keep you from getting carried away.”

I feel this pinch in my gut and, for a brief moment, I want to tell my mom what I did, but the feeling leaves immediately.

Instead I say, “My friend Dylan’s a lesbian, so do I have to leave the door open when she’s over, too?” It comes out all snappy, and I feel kind of bad, because my mom’s obviously trying to be nice about this.

She sighs. “Well, honey, are
you
a lesbian?”

“No.”

“Well, then I think you can leave the door closed.”

“Okay,” I say, trying to sound kinder. “Sounds fair.”

12

I can’t go to precalc. I’ve tried all morning to gather the courage, but there is no possible way I can face Taylor right now.

When second period ends I go up to my locker. A few minutes pass and then the bell for third period rings and everyone disappears from the hallways. I swing my locker door back and forth. I stare at Ingrid’s picture and wonder if I could find that hill again. I head down to the bathroom.

I push open the door and walk in, expecting it to be empty as usual. But it’s not. Dylan’s in there, standing right in front of me with her back turned, washing her hands at the sink. She startles when I walk in, and I feel like I’m seeing a ghost. The fluorescent lights on the ceiling make everything blue.

“What are you doing here?” I ask her.

There’s something about seeing her so unexpectedly that makes me look closer. Still standing behind her, by the door, I look into the mirror at the sharp line of her jaw, the way her collarbone juts out over her chest, a tiny scar on her forehead that I never noticed before.

She looks at my reflection, says, “I wasn’t aware that you owned the bathroom.”

In this light, her skin looks so pale against all her black clothes. The water rushes in the sink then stops. Dylan rips a paper towel off the roll. She turns, stuffs the towel in the trash, and thumps past me out the door. Even after she’s left, I don’t move. The school year is almost half over. I wonder if there is any way I can get her to forgive me.

That night, before I go to sleep, I open my window and lean with my camera into the night sky. I set the shutter speed fast so if there’s any trace of light the camera won’t see it. I snap the picture.

Our next assignment is about contrast. I will be turning in a perfectly black photograph.

13

On Saturday morning, I wake up remembering how Ingrid and I used to spend the weekends taking pictures. We’d go to all the same places, hardly talking, in search of perfect shots. Then we’d sneak into the darkroom together and develop everything.

There our day would be: my version drying on one line, Ingrid’s drying across the room. I’d look at all her images from my day and I wouldn’t recognize them. The mall lobby: I saw a meager bunch of balloons in the entrance of a new store; she saw an empty stroller. My room: I saw a pile of magazines on the carpet; she saw a note from my mom that said,
Remember laundry
. A park in San Francisco: me, seagulls in flight; her, a hill with grass and wildflowers.

I miss that feeling of dropping the exposed paper into the chemical bath, holding my breath for a moment, then seeing the image take shape. The dark parts darkening. Thinking,
I
made
this.

I have a black photo to develop, but I also want that feeling back. I want to make something to hang on my wall after it dries. I dig through my drawer to find the roll of film I shot the night before junior year started. I don’t expect that the moon photographs will come out, but the one of my house might.

I hoist myself through the photo-lab window and head straight into the darkroom. As soon as I round the corner to where the sinks are, I can feel that something is different: I am not alone.

I wait for my eyes to adjust.

At first I don’t recognize her. She’s in jeans and a hoodie, her hair swept back in a ponytail. She stands with her back to me, hanging a photograph.

“Hello, Caitlin,” Ms. Delani says.

“Hey,” I mutter, and brace myself to be thrown out.

But she doesn’t lecture me on breaking and entering or threaten to call my parents. Instead, she says, “The enlarger in the corner is free.”

“Okay.”

Hesitantly, I feel my way to the enlarger. Her safety light is on, though, so I can’t pop open my film canister yet. Even the dimmest light could expose it too soon. I don’t want to ask her to turn off her light for me, but it would seem rude if I just left after she told me I could stay. I wait, motionless, trying to figure out what to do.

“Are you developing?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say.

She flips off her light.

“Thanks.”

I hurry to loop my film around the reel and twist on the top so no light will seep through.

“Finished,” I say, and her light clicks back on. I try to catch a glimpse of her developed photographs, soaking in water. They are all of motels illuminated by “Vacancy” signs.

For a little while it’s like nothing is wrong between us. We work in silence, side by side. I’m testing my exposure on a contact sheet; she’s making print after print, so confidently.

When she packs up to go, I assume I won’t be able to stay here without her. I gather my negatives. I haven’t even gotten to see what my house photograph will look like.

But then she says, “Shut the window tightly when you leave. It’s supposed to rain tonight.”

14

Sunday, 8 A.M.

I wake up, stomach sinking. Still half asleep, I reach under my bed for Ingrid’s journal. I put it next to me on the pillow, rest my hand on the smooth, cool cover, and fall back to sleep.

8:27.

I open my eyes and open to the first page. Ingrid’s drawing of herself stares up at me. I fall into a silent dream of her swinging in the park, head thrown back in laughter. What was it we were laughing about?

9 A.M.

I pull back the covers and get out of bed.

At ten, I get out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel. After rummaging through my desk drawer, I finally find my school directory. I find Jayson’s number, pick up the phone, and dial.

My heart feels like a hummingbird.

“ ’ Lo?” says a guy’s voice.

“Hi, is this Jayson?”

“Yeah, who’s this?”

“This is Caitlin,” I say. I consider saying my last name, since I’m not exactly the first person Jayson would expect to call him at ten-fifteen on a weekend morning.

But before I can decide, he says, “Hey, Caitlin. What’s up?” He says it nicely, like it’s a surprise that I’m calling, but not an unpleasant one.

“I’m wondering if you might want to grab a cup of coffee,” I say.

“Sure,” he says. “When?”

“Like, in an hour?”

“An hour?”

“Is that too soon?”

He pauses. “No,” he says. “I could probably swing that.”

I get dressed and brush my teeth and leave a note for my parents, who are nowhere to be seen. I find my mom’s bike in the garage and hop on it; I put on her helmet even though it looks nerdy. I am not the most confident rider.

The streets are quiet this morning. I ride past the park and the fire station. When I turn the corner, I see Jayson leaning against the front of the café. He lifts a hand in my direction. I ride up to him and climb off the bike.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey,” he says.

We smile.

“You want coffee?” I ask.

“Coffee stunts your growth.”

“You should tell Dylan that.” I laugh.

“She’s seriously addicted, isn’t she? I mean, I don’t really know her, but it’s like she has a coffee cup permanently attached to her hand.”

“Very true. But she’s tall enough already,” I say, relieved that we’re having a conversation instead of an awkward silence while he wonders why he’s here. “Hot chocolate?” I try.

He makes a face. “I’ll find something.”

I lock my bike to a parking meter and we walk through the café door. It chimes as we go in. I order a mocha with whipped cream and Jayson ends up getting green tea.

“For here or to go?” the woman at the cash register asks.

Jayson looks at me for the answer.

“To go,” I say.

When we get back outside, Jayson finally asks what this is about. “Not to be rude,” he says. “I’m just curious.”

“Today is Ingrid’s birthday.” I stop breathing for a moment, fully aware that this is the first time that we’ve ever talked about Ingrid as being something between us. “I needed someone to celebrate with, and I don’t know if you knew or not, but she was pretty in love with you.”

His smile vanishes, and without thinking at all, I reach out and put my finger on the line that forms between his eyebrows.

He doesn’t flinch when I touch him, but the line stays there even after I take my hand away. Finally, he says, “I kept waiting for something to happen with us. It was just weird, you know, ’cause she wasn’t in my group of friends or anything. And things were kind of going on with another girl who liked me, and everyone knew and expected me to like her, too. So I was just kind of . . . I was just waiting for things to figure themselves out, you know? And then Ingrid was just gone one day. I mean, it was horrible, everyone thought it was horrible, but for me it was like . . .”

I wait for him to finish, but he just shakes his head back and forth.

“Let’s go,” I say. And I have him hold my mocha in one hand and his tea in the other as I walk my mom’s bike toward the theater. As we’re walking, Jayson keeps trying to explain.

He says, “Everyone was really shocked. Well, you know they were shocked.”

“No,” I say. “I don’t know how anyone felt. After the morning it happened, I never went back to school. I missed finals week, and by the time this year started, hardly anyone said anything about it.”

“Oh,” he says. “Well, they were. Everyone was sitting around wondering what happened, saying how they never would have expected it, how she was so talented, and they wished they knew her better. Stuff like that.”

I think about this. I try to picture it. I want to ask Jayson,
Who? Who was saying that?
I want him to give me names, because it’s so hard for me to imagine. It’s not that Ingrid was unpopular, it’s just that we mostly kept to ourselves.

We keep walking and soon the street turns to gravel and the cars stop passing, and it’s just Jayson and me by the theater.

He turns to me and says, “I listened to everyone else talking, and I kept thinking that it was different for me. I mean, I felt like we were gonna have something . . . something was gonna happen for us one of those days. I thought about her all the time. I mean,
all the time
. She was just adorable. I
knew
that we were gonna be a thing one day. I was just waiting for things with Anna to blow over and then Ingrid
died
. And everyone was talking about her and I felt like telling everyone that it was different for me, but I knew that was stupid. I didn’t deserve it.”

I know that if I could think of the right thing to say, I could make him feel so much better. I try to think of myself, of all the things I need to hear, and then I think of how it used to be when I talked to Dylan. Maybe there is no right thing to say. Maybe the right thing is just a myth, not really out there at all.

I lean my bike against the ticket booth and head around the corner, Jayson’s footsteps behind me. When I get to the back, I try to open the door, but, as always, the old brass doorknob won’t turn. I try the single skinny window. Sealed shut.

I look at the ground and find a rock the size of my fist.

“What are you doing?” Jayson asks.

What
am
I doing?

I look at him and shrug.

Then I smash in the window. The glass shatters and I get a shard stuck in my fingertip.

“Shit!” I say, pulling it out. It starts to bleed and I stick it in my mouth.

Jayson stands a few feet away from me, staring like I’m crazy.

“Hold on,” I say. I kick the rest of the glass in and push the drape aside. Then, careful to avoid the remaining glass, I step in.

Inside is cool and dark. It smells musty and familiar, like the science hall, like my grandparents’ garage. I stand for a moment and let my eyes adjust to the dark. When I can see well enough, I try to open the door, but it must have been locked from the inside with a key. I go back to the window.