Wrecked (12 page)

“No!” Miranda said, more sharply than she meant to. “I’m fine. Seriously. And I’m not going to get any better if everyone does everything for me.”

“You are one bullheaded girl, you know that?” Louisa shook her head. “I made pancakes. They’re your favorite.”

“Thanks.” Miranda smiled tightly. Ever since the accident, everyone thought that she needed reminders of what she liked or what she thought. Since when did she need someone to tell her that pancakes were her favorite food? It was as if everyone assumed that, along with the use of her leg, she’d lost the use of her brain. The four get well cards she’d received—two from Calhoun Academy, one from her dentist, and one from her grandmother’s accountant—were all written with extra-large lettering. She hadn’t received any assignments from school. Even though Calhoun’s entire mission was academic excellence, Dr. Carlson, the guidance counselor, had written a P.S. in her get well card, telling Miranda not to hurry back anytime soon and to simply focus on getting well.

When she read that, she knew what Dr. Carlson was trying to say. At Calhoun, suggesting that a student not worry
about schoolwork was code for
please don’t come back.
After all, Calhoun wasn’t a school that used illness or personal tragedy as an excuse to slack on work. Miranda remembered a few years ago, when Genevieve had woken up from an emergency appendectomy to a thick stack of textbooks and an e-mail inbox of MP3s of lectures from class. Last year, when Fletch’s grandfather in Wyoming had passed away, Fletch had spent the hours before the service cramming for a chem midterm. So the fact that the guidance office wouldn’t let her do any work made Miranda realize how damaged they must think she was. And they were probably correct.

“You need to eat. And don’t be giving me that look!” Louisa admonished, as if Miranda were a three-year-old who hadn’t eaten all her vegetables. “It’s a big day.”

“I know,” Miranda said, wondering why she had agreed with Eleanor to head back to Calhoun. After all, it wasn’t like she was going back to school after something slightly embarrassing, like being busted for pot or getting kicked out of an academic enrichment program for cheating, which was usually why a Calhoun student would miss a month of school. And it wasn’t like she was going back after something tragic, but entirely out of her control, like cancer treatment or the death of a parent. What she’d done was unprecedented. Everyone thought she was responsible for the deaths of four prominent members of the Calhoun Academy senior class. She’d have to see their empty memorial parking spaces and pass their lockers and try
to remember not to save them seats in the back row of Chapel. She’d never, ever be able to forget that they weren’t there.

It would be a thousand times worse than it was now, and it was already pretty bad. It would hit her at the most random moments. She’d be watching TV when all of a sudden, she realized that she’d never get a text from Gen. Or she’d brush her teeth while it occurred to her that Lydia and Darcy would never stop by, just because, and she’d never hear the play-by-play of all the dates Lydia planned to go on this year, just to get back at her ex. She’d never hear Darcy’s Southern accent as she tried to talk the group out of doing something, whether it was playing “Never Have I Ever” around the bonfire or heading to a neighboring island to try and sneak into one of its bars.

Up until last week, she’d still call Gen’s number whenever she thought of something that she wanted to tell her. She’d wait for the click and the moment where Gen’s digitally recorded voice would begin to speak.
I’m out being interesting. Leave a message and I’ll consider calling you back.
Except one time, the phone hadn’t automatically clicked to voice mail. Mrs. Clarke had picked up.

“Stop calling, Miranda. For all our sakes,” she’d said, her voice breaking on the last word before Miranda heard a firm click.

She had stared at her phone and then had hurled it, as hard as she could, against the wall. The phone hadn’t even broken, even though she’d wanted it to. She wanted to see its electronic
guts puddled on the floor. Instead, the phone had harmlessly bounced two times before landing face up on the pink rug.

“No!”
Miranda said aloud, willing herself to stop thinking.

“Come downstairs in five minutes,” Louisa ordered, pulling Miranda out of her reverie.

“Fine!” Miranda said in exasperation. Then, once Miranda heard the click of the door, she crossed the room to the walk-in closet. Already, she was adept at avoiding any glance toward the freestanding antique mirror in the corner, or the mirror above the vanity table, or the mirrors in the closet. She’d seen bits and pieces when she accidentally caught sight of herself in the glass sliding door downstairs, or reflected when standing above the pool. It wasn’t pretty: From her tangled, overgrown bangs that now hung down past her chin, to her pasty white skin, to the bags that were always under her eyes even though all she felt she did was sleep, it all added up to the fact that she’d never be anything close to her old self again.

Miranda pulled open the door of her closet, then yanked on a pair of shapeless flannel pants and Fletch’s oversize hoodie, which she’d barely taken off in the past month. It wasn’t exactly the uniform of Calhoun Academy: a knee-length blue skirt and a white Oxford, but she doubted anyone would say anything. Besides, if she wore a skirt, people would see the ugly, mottled scar that began below her knee and wound around her thigh. Grabbing the crutches, Miranda swung her way into the marble hallway. The reflective floors were now covered by
the ugly anti-slip blue carpeting that was similar to what they used in front of school on a rainstorm. She savagely pressed the button for the elevator. Her grandmother had installed it when Miranda and Teddy had moved in, because Teddy was still in a stroller and Eleanor was nervous about two children running around the winding staircase. The elevator led directly to the wing that Miranda and Teddy shared, and growing up, it had seemed like the coolest thing ever to have their own side of the house, especially since they came from an apartment in New York.

Miranda stepped into the elevator, not surprised to see Eleanor as the elevator doors opened on the ground floor. Eleanor wrinkled her nose. “You’re wearing that?” She asked, her gold Rolex slipping around her skinny wrist.

“My scar,” Miranda mumbled, casting her eyes down.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone knows you were in the accident,” Eleanor clucked. “Now, I just want you to know, I know this is difficult, but remember, you’re made up of good stock. Our family keeps our chins up, no matter what happens. And my dear, I’m proud of you.”

“You shouldn’t be proud of me,” Miranda said. She wished that her grandmother could yell at her, could voice all the worries and doubts she no doubt felt. Instead, Eleanor was continuing to pretend that nothing had happened. It was driving Miranda crazy.

Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. “I’m trying, and I think you need
to do your part. The longer you stay cooped up here . . . well, you know how people talk . . .” Eleanor trailed off, the subtext of her silence clear. The reason Miranda was being pushed so hard to go back to school wasn’t
just
for her well-being, it was to ensure that their family wouldn’t be whispered about in services at the Cavalry Church or during board meetings for the Whym Island historical society.

“Besides, Dr. Dorn and I think you need to see your classmates. They all know it was an accident. It
was
an accident, darling,” Eleanor continued. Eleanor, too, wondered if it was possible that it happened on purpose. And if Eleanor thought that, that meant that everyone on Whym Island wondered why Miranda O’Rourke, the one who’d been driving the boat, had been one of the few to escape with only one injury. Of course, at the hospital, they’d done blood tests and had determined there had been no alcohol and no drugs in her system. That hadn’t stopped reporters from setting up camp outside the hospital, and outside the house when she’d come home. Roger had waved them away, but Miranda had heard the shouted questions:
How does it feel to lose your friends? How’s your boyfriend? What do you remember about your rescue?
The answers only led to more questions.

“Don’t you think it would be better if you dressed up a little? Maybe put on some blush or some gloss? Lipstick always makes me feel better,” Eleanor fretted.

“Hey!” Teddy emerged from the elevator, his lacrosse stick
over his shoulder and a Clemson hat backward on his head. He smiled a gap-toothed smile. “I like your look,” he said, taking in Miranda’s haphazard outfit.

“Thanks,” Miranda mumbled, turning away from Eleanor and heading toward the kitchen, her rust-colored school satchel banging against her bad leg. It felt right somehow, to wear sweats to school. Everyone was going to be staring at her anyway, so why try to look like it was just another day? Maybe she’d show up looking so pathetic, that they’d send her home. She could hope, at least.

“I’ve got it,” Teddy said as he grabbed the bag from her and slung it over his shoulder.

“Finally, you came down for breakfast like a good girl!” Louisa exclaimed, beaming from behind the four-range stove in the center of the kitchen.

“I don’t need breakfast,” Miranda snapped. She felt out of shape and skinny, all at the same time. Eating required energy, and everything sat like a lump in her stomach.

She’d lost over fifteen pounds in the past month and she knew her collarbones and ribs stuck out in a way that made her look sick. But she didn’t care. It seemed like she
shouldn’t
want to eat, or sleep, or do anything besides think of the accident. When she did, she felt pangs of guilt throughout her entire body. She liked feeling hungry, and tired, and aching. She
should
feel bad. “And I’m fine, Grandma. I just need to do this my way.”

“Do you need me to come?” Eleanor asked, frowning. “I spoke to Headmistress Wyar and she knows to expect you, but if you think it’d be easier if I accompanied you . . .”

Miranda shook her head. “I can do it,” she said firmly.

“I’ll drive,” Teddy offered as he opened up the Sub-Zero freezer and pulled out an entire box of frozen toaster tarts.

“I don’t care,” Miranda shrugged.

He tore open the package with his teeth and ran out of the house. Miranda gave Louisa a
what can you do?
shrug and followed Teddy to the garage, where his forest green BMW, a gift for his sixteenth birthday, was parked. Teddy’s sixteenth birthday had been two weeks ago, just days after Miranda had been discharged from the hospital and the day after Genevieve’s funeral. Teddy had told Eleanor again and again that he didn’t want anything, but Eleanor had insisted. The three of them had had a nearly silent dinner at the long oak table in the dining room, and Miranda couldn’t help but wish she was at Genevieve’s memorial—anything would be better than sitting here, pretending nothing was wrong. Then, after the Bavarian chocolate cake had been cut, Eleanor had wordlessly passed Teddy a beautifully wrapped box. Teddy opened it, smiling as he found a heavy, gold watch, far too large and ostentatious for any high schooler. It was a typical Eleanor present. She always bought Teddy and Miranda lavish gifts, which only felt to Miranda like consolation prizes for the fact their parents were gone.

“Thanks,” Teddy had said, slipping it on his skinny wrist. It
looked absurd with his T-shirt and backward baseball cap, like a little kid playing dress up. Miranda looked away. If this was any other year, Teddy and Miranda would privately make fun of Eleanor’s cluelessness.

“There’s something else. It’s in the garage,” Eleanor had continued as Miranda’s stomach had clenched. Would Eleanor be so tactless to get him a boat, as she had done for Miranda? With Eleanor, nothing was outside the realm of possibility, and she just might be clueless enough to think that—despite the accident, despite everything—Teddy should get a bow runner.

But Eleanor hadn’t. Miranda had been simultaneously relieved and annoyed. Why hadn’t
she
gotten a watch she’d never wear for her birthday, instead of a boat she hadn’t even wanted?

“Ready?” Teddy asked skeptically, pulling Miranda out of her thoughts.

“Yup,” Miranda grunted as she jammed her crutches into the backseat of Teddy’s car.

Teddy made a point of looking away as he slid into the driver’s seat, a smile of contentment on his face as he chewed the still-frozen toaster tart, then reached for another one, before dropping the cardboard box in Miranda’s lap.

“You need to eat,” he said, as he turned the key in the ignition and backed out of the four-car garage.

Miranda shook her head even as her stomach growled involuntarily.

“I’m not a trained seal. I’ll eat when I’m hungry. Besides, the preservatives in those things will kill you,” Miranda said, noticing the way Teddy winced when she said the word
kill.
But before she could call him out on it, Teddy smiled.

“That’s only if you eat a bunch of them. Which is why you’re totally doing me a favor if you eat one. Because if you don’t, I’ll just eat yours. You know I will,” Teddy said, making a grab for the box he’d left on her lap.

“Keep your hands on the wheel!” Miranda hissed involuntarily. Memories crashed back: The second the boat’s wheel had slipped from her hands, turning back and forth of its own accord. Fletch’s shouting, the cold water against her skin, suddenly being unable to kick to the surface.