Stronger than You Know (3 page)

FOUR

Still don't work right

“You made it.”

I lift my eyes from the floor to see Justin at his desk.

He sits
next
to me in U.S. Government? How did I not notice?

“Yeah.” My gaze falls back to the floor. Much safer.

“Got your inhaler?”

“What?” Oh. Right. So I can either say something and let him in on more than I've even told my cousins or go for the lie. “Yep. My inhaler.”

I'm
totally
off the hook for talking to a student.

His eyes rest on me for too long. I may be looking down, but I'm good at still seeing what's going on. I run my hand through my hair and rest it behind my ear so I can see Justin more clearly without looking at him directly.

I open my book to where my assignment is tucked away from yesterday.

Justin shifts the books on his desk. He doesn't even have an inkling of my past—my crazy mom in jail, the men she brought home. None of it. All he knows is that I live with my cousins and go to this school. Maybe I could tell him one real thing. Maybe.

His fingers tap his forehead in concentration as he frantically finishes his assignment before our teacher asks for them. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out and nothing comes to mind. Well, maybe I could tell him one real thing later.

I feel bad for lying to him about having asthma, so I hand him my assignment so he can get the last answers down. Our teacher still has his nose in attendance.

“Thanks. I'm almost toast in this class.” His eyes hit mine again, and there's a warm, fuzzy sort of feeling in my chest and buzzing around my insides. How can something as simple as a look make me feel so much?

I tuck my hair behind my ear again as I watch him copy the answers. My stomach and chest and everything else feel all funny so I stare at my desk.

Then I let my eyes float around the room because maybe always staring at my desk is strange.

There are so many people. A sea of school uniforms. Why does the number of people in a room lock my ribs together and make them shrink? Yeah, not ready for that. My focus goes back to my desk. It's easier to deal with. The fake wood grain seems like such a waste of … something.

“So I know our school can be a little crazy. How are things?” Tara spins around to face me from the passenger's seat. She and Trent share this car. I have no idea why we needed a ride this morning but have a car this afternoon. I'm sort of on the periphery, hovering around the family—I only sort of know what's going on.

“Okay.” I know my answer is the same answer I always give her, but she doesn't seem to mind.

“You have Mr. Witten for math, right?” she asks.

I nod.

“Yeah, I had him last year. He always put me to sleep.” She smirks.

I'd be sunk if I didn't know how to teach myself.

“Trent has basketball season coming up. You totally need to come to some of the games. I mean, I know you missed out on all that because your mom used to home-school you. He's really good.” Tara's voice has a perpetual edge of suspense to it. Instead of making me nervous, I find her interesting to listen to.

Trent chuckles in the driver's seat. “I'm in the starting line-up this year.”

He's the teen version of his dad. Light brown hair, blue-gray eyes. But he's still gangly while his dad is broader. Funny that I can ride in a car with Trent, but not his dad. Or maybe the idea that Trent is less scary is just ridiculous. It should probably go on my list of crazy.

“As you should be. Our senior year.” Tara gives her brother a friendly slug on the shoulder. Their family is like
The
Brady Bunch
. Mom used to watch TV all the time—loved the really old shows from the fifties, sixties, seventies. She always told me how fake they were. I believed her until I moved in with the Mooresons.

Now Tara and Trent are chatting about things I don't understand and people I don't know. I'm sure Aunt Nicole and Uncle Rob have talked to them about me, my past, or whatever, but I doubt my cousins know much. It makes me wonder what they tell their friends at school. Did Lydia give them a line? Or did she pull them aside, like she did with me, so they could come up with their own lie.

Mom home-schooled me.
That's what Tara says. The thought is actually a little funny. I home-schooled myself. I talked to Aunt Nicole when I was about eight and had never gone to school. Aunt Nicole said school was a big deal and that I should talk to my mom about it.

Mom was dating a decent guy at the time. One who left me alone. He took Mom to the school district to sign me up for home school. Once I was signed up for one year, registering for the next year was a lot easier. I filled out the forms every fall and kept myself in school. Without the movie
Matilda
, I wonder if I would have ever attempted to learn or study anything. The number of times I tried to make things happen using my mind so I could be more like her …

Sadness sweeps over me. It never worked—moving things with my mind. No matter how hard I concentrated. I was never able to keep Mom from drinking. I wasn't able to keep the people out of our house that she'd invite over. I wasn't able to keep myself from getting hurt. Over and over.

I lay my head back against the headrest and I stare at the ceiling of the car, letting my tears pool up on the edges of my eyes. Hopefully they'll soak back in before we stop. Leaning forward right now would make them spill over. I don't want to cry in front of my cousins. I don't want to cry in front of anyone. Actually, while I'm wishing, I don't want to cry at all.

“Dinner!” Aunt Nicole calls.

I'm already in the dining room. Like maybe if I'm still enough or quiet enough, no one will notice me. I'm hungry today and dying for dinner, which is why I'm here. Uncle Rob cracks open a beer. My spine freezes. Trent grabs a sip when his dad sets it down and gets a dirty look for it.

The smell hits my nose. That's it. My stomach clenches up, and it takes everything I have to not fall into a panic attack right at the table. Beer and cigarette smoke. Nothing takes me back to that horrible place like the smell.

The Mooresons' house disappears. The dining room turns into dingy white walls, thick cigarette smoke, and the stale beer breath of the last man who lived with us. He was by far the worst of them.

“Joy?” Aunt Nicole asks. “Are you okay?”

But their house and my old house all swim together in a mess I can't sort out.

I stand up and run out of the dining room before the picture of
him
takes over my mind, and then, because I'm crazy, takes over my body. Guilt runs through me, on top of feeling stupid. I know Aunt Nicole worked on dinner for a long time. I run up the stairs to the room, closing the door behind me.

I shove the man's face from my memory. I don't want him there. One day we'll have the technology to erase memories, and he's where I'll start.

After a few minutes in the quiet, my heart slows. There's nothing in here from my old life. Louisa, the social worker from Bakersfield, California, thought I might want something from the trailer Mom and I had called home, but I didn't. I even threw away the clothes I wore the day I left.

The new room I stay in is clean. The walls are a soft green. The trim and shelves are white. The bed is white. The comforter is white. Aunt Nicole offered to change it for me, but I declined. It feels sterile, safe. I sit on the beige carpet, my legs crossed in front of me.

Footsteps on the stairs about ten minutes later, and I'm sure it's Aunt Nicole coming to check on me.

“Joy? It's Tara.”

Not Aunt Nicole. How do I feel about this? I'm not sure. Tara's okay. She's been really nice, but I don't know if it's because she actually likes me or if she's just nice to everyone, like her mom is.

“I'm not going to come in and I don't want to bother you, but I know Mom's scared. Are you okay?”

I picture her leaning against the doorframe, her face close to the crack. If I was nicer, I'd let her in, but overreacting makes me feel stupid, and I'd rather not face that stupidity any more than I have to.

My mouth opens three times before anything comes out. “Okay.”

“And …” She sounds so hesitant. “I'm sorry for even asking this … Crap. So, um, you're not going to hurt yourself, are you?”

Her words hit hard, making me cringe in embarrassment. This is something I'm asked once in a while. Kids who have gone through similar stuff as I did have a much higher rate of suicide than normal. There were a few times when I didn't care as much if I lived or died. But that's different than wanting to do it to yourself. Isn't it?

“Joy?”

“Just want to be alone. It's the smell.” This probably kicks me up another notch on the scale of crazy—kind of sucks to be on the scale at all. My chest feels heavy and I'm embarrassed again.

“The smell?”

“The beer.”

“Oh.” There's a pause. “Sorry.”

I let myself lie back on the floor. This is okay. I can be in here and be okay. The embarrassment and fear are starting to disappear into the floor.

“I'll see you in the morning for school,” she says.

Talking through the door seems sort of silly, juvenile in some way. I don't answer.

The floor is scratchy, but the carpet is thick. I pull my knees up, resting my hands on my stomach and breathe. The slow breaths that Lydia makes me practice to keep away panic attacks. It doesn't really work, but it does help calm me when I'm not on the verge of panic, and it passes the time.

I listen to all of the talking and shuffling that happens around bedtime. The house is quiet except for my stomach, which rumbles from neglect.

My body aches when I stand from being on the floor for so long. I'm grateful that everyone in this house has to be up early. It means that the late nights are dark, quiet, and peaceful. I walk softly down the carpeted stairs and into the kitchen. It's all dark. I don't mind being in the dark. There's safety in the darkness—I can disappear. In two minutes I have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I grab an apple and take my dinner into the dining room. Maybe if I practice sitting in here with no family, it'll be easier when they're all here.

“Joy?” Uncle Rob's voice is a whisper.

A small sound escapes my throat and fear weakens me. I'm frozen—arms tensed against my sides, and legs stuck to the floor.

“I just wanted you to know I was in here.” His voice drops even softer. “Sorry. I was just thinking. I can do that anywhere. I'm leaving.” He stands up at the opposite end of the room and starts to move.

My breathing slows down. Slowly. “You shouldn't have to leave for me. It's your house.”

I just
spoke
to him.

“It's your house too.” He stands silent in the other doorway. “I'm going up to bed. I'm … um … night.”

“Night.”

I said something else
. My heart's hitting hard, and my breathing definitely doesn't fall on the normal scale, but I talked to my uncle. Three months. It took me three months to talk to my own uncle. Guess he shouldn't feel
too
left out. It took me a month before I really spoke with anyone aside from Aunt Nicole.

He stands and watches me for another moment. His face looks … heavy or something. He opens his mouth like he's going to talk, but he backs away and leaves the room.

Relief weakens my knees now that he's gone. I sit in the room by myself, but my heart still won't slow and I'm not sure what to do. As hungry as I was when I got here, my appetite sort of left with Uncle Rob. For a few more minutes, I sit at the table and then get up to throw my sandwich in the trash before going back to my room.

People are coming over. I'm hiding. Maybe she won't notice I'm gone. Maybe she's had just enough to drink to not know I went away. I'm eleven. I'm shaking as the voices get louder. Almost everyone who knows Mom thinks I only visit her sometimes. Do their kids stay inside their houses like me? This can't be normal. None of the kids in the books I read have burns across their backs and have to hide in their rooms. What's wrong with me?

“Joy!” Mom's screech. “Joy!” Mom's screech again. My fists clench the sleeping bag. My eyes squeeze tight. My heart bangs in my ears. No breathing, that'll make it quiet. That'll make this disappear. “JOY!”

I sit bold upright in bed. Another dream. Will they ever stop?

A soft knock on my door. “Joy?” Aunt Nicole's quiet voice. “It's time for school.”

I'm finally able to take a deep breath. “Thanks.” Now I get to spend another day half-hiding and half-pretending I'm not as crazy as I am.

FIVE

On assignment

Lydia thinks or “feels” that I'm not aware of my forward progress. So I'm writing again. Homework for her on top of homework from school.

I resist the urge to stick out my tongue even though I'm alone because I'm feeling petulant. But once I start writing, I'm pulled directly back into that day.

My first day at school felt like swimming through a crowded fish tank. I remember so clearly how I tried to keep my hands tucked into my sides. My books clutched in front of me. Over and over, I questioned whether or not I should have come. It's that I already knew I didn't act like Tara and Trent, so anything I could do to fit in I wanted to try.

I hated that I'd wanted this. As I sat through class after class, wishing to pay attention but mostly wanting to disappear. I wondered about my sanity. The only reason school felt okay was that I wasn't being singled out. I'd been with the Mooresons for two months. I should have known how to be normal at school.

I should know
now
how to be normal at school. Though, it's better. Way better. I sketch in the margins. I used to have notebooks filled with sketches—one of the few things that used to keep me busy during my days at Mom's. I stop as another flood of memories of that home tries to find its way in, and I start writing about school again.

School is easier now, I guess. Nibbling on one small piece of lunch is enough to get me through the rest of the day. Not being able to eat in front of people is something I can't explain so I try not to think about it too much. Tara feels comfortable to be around and always finds me for lunchtime. I can breathe in my classes and I can listen to the teacher enough to sort of know what's happening. The building doesn't feel foreign anymore. I don't love how many people there are. I don't love how enormous the spaces are. I'm grateful every day that I don't have PE.

I know it's easier than my first day. That makes me feel like in another month it'll be even better. I hope.