Keep Holding On (23 page)

There’s rarely a big, explosive scene in the hall around here. So it’s not surprising that everyone is staring at us. I even see Matt pushing up from the back of the crowd. The whole school will probably be talking about this by eighth period.

Good. Let them talk.

Carly shoves me, forcing me to take a step back. “You need to watch it,” she warns.

I get right back up in her face. “No,
you
need to quit ruining other people’s lives. What, shoving me makes you feel good? Does it make you feel good to beat up your little brothers, too?”

“I don’t touch them! I’m the one who takes care of them! You act like you’re the only one with problems.”

“Yeah, we know you have problems, Carly,” Matt drawls. “Like how your mom is a disgusting drunk.”

Carly huffs off. I highly doubt that even having the most humiliating part of her life broadcast to the entire world will make her less obnoxious. She’s not about to change. What has to change is how I let her affect me.

I deserve to be happy. I’m sad it took me so long to get that. But I get it now.

TOP FIVE WAYS PEOPLE CAN SURPRISE YOU

I had this
realization about inertia. In physics, we learned that an object at rest remains at rest unless acted upon by an outside force. But now I realize that the force can come from inside. If you feel stuck, you have the power to unstick yourself. Although … when you think about it, the inner force I gained did come from outside forces. So I guess Newton was right after all.

The other part of Newton’s First Law says that objects in motion remain in motion unless something comes along to change that. I feel like I might actually be in motion now. The good kind of motion, where you’re moving forward. Where you refuse to let a bad day stop you. Where you’re committed to keep going no matter what.

If I can just stay in motion, I think I’ll be okay.

When I get home from school, it takes me a second to realize what’s going on.

Mother is bending over a pile of clothes in the middle of my room.

My clothes. From my closet. That are scattered on the floor with the rest of my stuff. She even dug out the stained white pants I shoved way in the back two years ago.

“What are you doing?” I panic.

I glance around for my secret box. It’s sitting right there on the floor, out in the open for anyone to see.

“You went through my
stuff
?” I yell. “Who said you could do that?”

I wait for her to say something like, “I pay the rent. I can do whatever I want.” But she doesn’t have a snarky comeback for once.

Mother goes over to my secret box. She picks it up. I hate that she’s touching it.

“What is this?” she says quietly.

“What do you think?”

She looks at me. Like,
really
looks at me. In my eyes. Which is seriously disturbing.

And then … she just bursts out crying.

I drop my bag. I don’t know what to do. In normal families, I assume people comfort other people when they cry. But we don’t know how to do that. So I kind of move a little closer to her and wait to hear why she violated The Fortress.

When mother calms down enough to talk, she says, “Mrs. Henley said you’re at risk for being suicidal.”

Mother was acting even stranger than usual last night. Clearly, Mrs. Henley freaked her out. I kept waiting for her to tell me what they talked about when I was sent out of the office. Of course mother couldn’t just come out and tell me. She’d rather empty my entire closet than initiate a difficult conversation.

“I’m not suicidal,” I say.

Mother lifts the lid off my secret box. She takes out a pack of razor blades, an X-Acto knife, and two boxes of sleeping pills.

“Then what’s all this?”

“It’s from a long time ago. I’m not going to do anything.”

“But you
were
going to?”

We never talk like this. Ever. I used to wish that mother would have real talks with me, but now that one is happening I kind of want her to go back to ignoring me.

“Not really,” I say.

She inspects a box of pills. “Where did you get these?”

“They’re really old. They’re probably expired.”

“Why do you still have this stuff if you’re not planning to use it?”

“I don’t know.” It’s hard to explain. My secret box is symbolic. It’s like I’ve been holding on to it to remind myself that things could be worse.

Mother starts crying again.

I have no idea what to do. I’ve never seen her like this. I can’t believe she’s crying because of me. But I think it’s a good thing. Because it proves that, contrary to all evidence, mother might actually care.

“Everything you said
about this place is true,” Sherae raves.

We’re at Nightfloat, that sweet coffeehouse in the city. It’s me, Julian, Sherae, and Simon. Julian drove us here to celebrate the happy fact that summer vacay starts in two days.

“It’s even better than I remembered,” I marvel.

Simon gets up from the table we finally managed to snag. “Who wants what?” he asks. “My treat.”

“Well, in
that
case …” Julian starts.

“Sherae and I want coffee cake,” I say. I look at Sherae. We crack up.

“Is coffee cake like code for something?” Simon asks.

“You had to be there,” Sherae explains.

“I wish I was,” Simon tells her. He’s all hovering by Sherae. Then he snaps out of it and goes up to the counter.

“Hey,” Julian says. “I didn’t get to order.”

“Yeah, Simon’s a little distracted at the moment.” I’ve noticed that Simon seems increasingly distracted around Sherae. Not that Sherae’s ready to notice any boy noticing her. But maybe she’ll be ready next year. How awesome would it be if Simon and Sherae started going out?

A band has been setting up in the corner. Hipster boys on guitars strum chords. The badass girl drummer does a sound check. The lead singer’s shaggy brown hair falls across his eyes as he reaches down to adjust some cables. He shakes his hair back and leans into the mic.

“Hey,” he goes. “I’m Jordan. We’re Residue. Let’s rock.”

Julian slides his chair closer to mine and puts his arm around me. Our legs are touching under the table. I press my leg against his. He presses back.

I love having the whole summer ahead of me, glimmering with possibility. I already have a summer job lined up at the bookstore. Plus, I’m hoping things at home will keep improving. Mother has been acting better ever since her breakdown. She still complains, but she’s been making an effort to ask me about my life instead of just ranting about hers. She was even flexible when I talked to her about making some grocery shopping changes. I’m getting into cooking. I had no idea there were so many different kinds of salads until I started watching cooking shows. I have a special notebook where I write down recipes I want to try.

Mrs. Henley said something interesting in counseling the other day. We were talking about why fitting in is so important to me. The conversation drifted over to mother and her own issues about fitting in. I started thinking about what it must be like for mother to live in our town. Being the only poor parent in a rich area can’t be easy. She must be really embarrassed, too.

Sometimes I look at pictures from when I was little, back when mother took care of me. In this one picture, I’m sitting on the floor by the big Christmas tree we always had when we lived with Lewis, opening a present. Mother’s holding one of my pigtails and putting the elastic back on. I always looked at that picture and wondered,
Why did she stop taking care of me?
Now I think I understand.

Which doesn’t mean I forgive her for neglecting me. Not at all. I just have to understand where she’s coming from. I’m supposed to keep going to counseling all summer with a psychologist Mrs. Henley put me in touch with. She charges on a sliding scale, so I’ll be going practically for free.

Of course, the best part of this summer will be Julian. I still can’t believe I have a real boyfriend. Someone who sees the true me and likes what he sees. I love that he wants to take care of me. And now I’m ready to let him.

Julian leans in close. “I have something for you,” he whispers.

“What is it?”

“We’ll be right back,” Julian tells Sherae and Simon. They’re enraptured by Residue.

Julian takes me out into the warm almost-summer night. We
sit on a cute bench against the window. The bench sits between two trees with pink and white lights.

“I know you’ve been through a lot,” Julian says. “I wish there was some way I could save you from all the badness. I just … want you to be happy.”

“You
did
save me. And you always make me happy.”

“But I wanted to do something monumental.” Julian takes a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket. “I started this the night I got home from our first date. I was too pumped to sleep. Sorry it’s wrinkled.”

I unfold the paper. There’s some kind of floor plan sketched out. I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be.

“It’s your dream home,” Julian says. “I mean, I’m pretty sure it is. Based on everything you’ve told me. See, here’s your enormous kitchen. That’s the cooking island and here’s where your Sub-Zero goes. And this”—Julian points to a smaller room next to a space labeled
Great Room
—“is your reading room. It’s lit entirely by natural light—see the glass wall and the skylight? And it has a slanted ceiling for you to hang your mobiles.”

I’m overwhelmed. Julian did this for me? He cares enough about me to know what my dream home would look like? And then to
design
it for me? He put in all the things I love, everything I’ve talked about having one day.

“This is … amazing.” There’s no way I could ever thank him enough. No one’s ever done anything this incredible for me.

“I knew I wanted to do this when you said you couldn’t wait to have a home and fill it with pretty things. If I could build this for you right now, I would.”

Maybe Julian really will build my dream home one day. But for now, the place where I feel at home doesn’t have to be a house. It can be any place I belong. Like in this city or with my friends … or just knowing that I belong right there in the moment, wherever I am.

There’s a tap on the window behind us. Simon is waving us in.

“A toast!” Simon booms when we get back to our table.

We all hold our mugs up.

“To our zine that is yet to be named. May it help many people feel less alone. To new relationships. And to summer.”

We all tap our mugs together.

Things are finally happening. It’s time to dream even bigger.

I want our zine to unite teens all across America. I want everyone to be inspired by my words.

And this is what I’ll tell them:

For kids stuck in small towns everywhere who feel like you’ll never escape, I hear you. We are all connected. We’re all in this together. You are not alone.

No matter what happens, never
ever
give up.

Happiness is not limited. There’s enough for everyone. You can start right now, today, to move toward a happier life. Your life is shaped by your choices. Make ones that will help you get where you want to go.

Find your place to belong. It may not be a physical place. At least, not yet. Maybe your place is somewhere you let your imagination take you. Maybe it’s your vision of the way your ideal life will be.

Eventually, you’ll find a real place that feels like home. Your
whole world will open up in ways you kept believing were possible. And you’ll be so happy you held on long enough to make it there.

So let’s do this thing. Let’s own what makes us unique. Let’s refuse to allow haters to stop us from moving forward. Let’s turn our dreams into reality.