“Seriously?” Dee asks. “That’s horrible. Poor Shareese.”
“I know, right?” Kelley shakes her head. “Perfect couples are also perfect friends, and perfect friends don’t lie and hide things.”
“In a perfect world, no they don’t,” Carly says, shooting me an unreadable look. Guilt scampers onto my shoulders. I’m still lying to her about the game, or if not exactly lying, evading. Then she surprises me by continuing, “But sometimes people can’t share everything. They just . . . can’t.”
And if the guilt doesn’t exactly go away, it shrinks to a more manageable weight.
My shoes are pink with green laces. They look nothing like my sneakers, nothing like any shoes I would ever own, but I know they’re mine. Just like I know they have to be tied exactly right before I can take a single step. I stare at the shoes and tip my head. It’s the pink-and-green combo that makes me think I’m dreaming, one of those dreams where you know it’s a dream but don’t try to wake up, just go along for the ride to see where it leads.
I do up the laces, undo them, try again and again and again until finally the bows are perfectly even, the knot dead center, the feel just right. It matters that everything be just right, lined up and perfect and . . . just right.
I straighten and bounce on the balls of my feet. The ground feels spongy, like I’m standing on memory foam. Each bounce pushes me deeper, until I can’t see my feet anymore. I’m sinking, the ground swallowing me, confining me. I shift and sway, certain that if I move just right, I’ll get myself free.
But I only make it worse. I lose my ankles, my shins, my knees, parts of me disappearing. How long until there’s nothing left?
My grandfather reaches down and takes my hand. That’s another clue that this is a dream, because Sofu’s dead. Gone. He can’t be here.
“Do you miss them?” I ask, touching the yellowed picture of my grandfather’s parents in its simple wooden frame. My fingers are small, my hand plump, my voice that of a little girl.
Sofu smiles down at me, his hair more black than gray, his face less lined than I remember. “I miss them, but their spirit is never far from me. They watch over me.” He touches the tip of my nose. “And you.”
His hand grows cold in mine. His features fade and begin to disappear.
“Sofu!”
“I am here, Miki. Right here. Always here.”
Icy fingers touch my skin. Gray. Gray. Gray. Then Sofu’s hand is back in mine, warm and comforting and familiar, like he never left at all.
“Hey,” Jackson says.
I look up to see him standing at the edge of my driveway wearing black-on-black shades and black running gear that hugs the long lines of his muscles. I don’t know why, but I toss my head back and twirl in circles, laughing and laughing until I collapse on the ground.
But I’m not on the ground. I’m running, the air bright and cold, the sky blue and clear, and Jackson’s running beside me. He turns his head. He smiles. Not just with his mouth, his beautiful mouth, but with his eyes. His mercury eyes.
They change, growing darker, brighter, grass and leaves and Mom’s little emerald earrings.
Not Jackson’s eyes.
Lizzie green, like they’ve always been.
“Run,” he says. “Faster. You can get there. You can find it. Faster, Miki. Come on.” But it isn’t Jackson’s voice. And it isn’t Jackson running beside me. It’s a girl, her honey-brown hair streaming out behind her.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Running.”
Typical Jackson answer. I roll my eyes at him.
No, not him. Her. I recognize her face and her smile, just like in the pictures. “I’m trying to help,” Lizzie says, looking sad.
“I know.” I do. I feel it inside. She wants me to know something. “Are you dead?” I swallow. “Is my mom there with you? She left me.”
“She didn’t. She’ll never leave you.”
I shake my head. “Can you find her? Can you tell her to come home?”
“We aren’t in the same place.”
“What does that mean?”
She doesn’t answer. I’m alone, running and running, my legs pumping, but I’m going nowhere. If I could just run faster, harder, I’d get there. I’d see what I need to see. Find it. Fix it.
I run until I hit the wall, the point of exhaustion, the point of I-can’t-take-another-step.
I push through.
“I’m here for you, Miki,” Jackson says. “To help you figure things out.” Jackson who isn’t Jackson. Jackson who is Lizzie. “It’s important. You need to understand. They’re watching. You have to hurry.”
Marcy tosses her hair and laughs, her mouth growing bigger and bigger, the sound growing louder until it’s all I can hear. Beside her Kathy shrinks to the size of a thimble. It’s funny, but Kathy, tiny Kathy, is the one I watch even though Marcy swells to fill my field of vision.
“You don’t get it!” Lizzie says, looking at me, wanting me to get it. But I don’t. I don’t get it. I run faster, harder. I need to make it to the end.
I’m not running for the run.
I’m running for the finish line. And that’s so unlike me that I stop. Just stop.
“Don’t trust them. They’re poison. Do you understand?”
The world tips and tilts. Time slows. I can hear the rush of my blood in my ears, drawn out so it takes a thousand years for a single beat of my heart.
“I know, right?” Kelley shakes her head. “Perfect couples are also perfect friends, and perfect friends don’t lie and hide things.”
“In a perfect world, no they don’t,” Carly says, shooting me an unreadable look. Guilt scampers onto my shoulders. I’m still lying to her about the game, or if not exactly lying, evading. Then she surprises me by continuing, “But sometimes people can’t share everything. They just . . . can’t.”
And if the guilt doesn’t exactly go away, it shrinks to a more manageable weight.
My shoes are pink with green laces. They look nothing like my sneakers, nothing like any shoes I would ever own, but I know they’re mine. Just like I know they have to be tied exactly right before I can take a single step. I stare at the shoes and tip my head. It’s the pink-and-green combo that makes me think I’m dreaming, one of those dreams where you know it’s a dream but don’t try to wake up, just go along for the ride to see where it leads.
I do up the laces, undo them, try again and again and again until finally the bows are perfectly even, the knot dead center, the feel just right. It matters that everything be just right, lined up and perfect and . . . just right.
I straighten and bounce on the balls of my feet. The ground feels spongy, like I’m standing on memory foam. Each bounce pushes me deeper, until I can’t see my feet anymore. I’m sinking, the ground swallowing me, confining me. I shift and sway, certain that if I move just right, I’ll get myself free.
But I only make it worse. I lose my ankles, my shins, my knees, parts of me disappearing. How long until there’s nothing left?
My grandfather reaches down and takes my hand. That’s another clue that this is a dream, because Sofu’s dead. Gone. He can’t be here.
“Do you miss them?” I ask, touching the yellowed picture of my grandfather’s parents in its simple wooden frame. My fingers are small, my hand plump, my voice that of a little girl.
Sofu smiles down at me, his hair more black than gray, his face less lined than I remember. “I miss them, but their spirit is never far from me. They watch over me.” He touches the tip of my nose. “And you.”
His hand grows cold in mine. His features fade and begin to disappear.
“Sofu!”
“I am here, Miki. Right here. Always here.”
Icy fingers touch my skin. Gray. Gray. Gray. Then Sofu’s hand is back in mine, warm and comforting and familiar, like he never left at all.
“Hey,” Jackson says.
I look up to see him standing at the edge of my driveway wearing black-on-black shades and black running gear that hugs the long lines of his muscles. I don’t know why, but I toss my head back and twirl in circles, laughing and laughing until I collapse on the ground.
But I’m not on the ground. I’m running, the air bright and cold, the sky blue and clear, and Jackson’s running beside me. He turns his head. He smiles. Not just with his mouth, his beautiful mouth, but with his eyes. His mercury eyes.
They change, growing darker, brighter, grass and leaves and Mom’s little emerald earrings.
Not Jackson’s eyes.
Lizzie green, like they’ve always been.
“Run,” he says. “Faster. You can get there. You can find it. Faster, Miki. Come on.” But it isn’t Jackson’s voice. And it isn’t Jackson running beside me. It’s a girl, her honey-brown hair streaming out behind her.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Running.”
Typical Jackson answer. I roll my eyes at him.
No, not him. Her. I recognize her face and her smile, just like in the pictures. “I’m trying to help,” Lizzie says, looking sad.
“I know.” I do. I feel it inside. She wants me to know something. “Are you dead?” I swallow. “Is my mom there with you? She left me.”
“She didn’t. She’ll never leave you.”
I shake my head. “Can you find her? Can you tell her to come home?”
“We aren’t in the same place.”
“What does that mean?”
She doesn’t answer. I’m alone, running and running, my legs pumping, but I’m going nowhere. If I could just run faster, harder, I’d get there. I’d see what I need to see. Find it. Fix it.
I run until I hit the wall, the point of exhaustion, the point of I-can’t-take-another-step.
I push through.
“I’m here for you, Miki,” Jackson says. “To help you figure things out.” Jackson who isn’t Jackson. Jackson who is Lizzie. “It’s important. You need to understand. They’re watching. You have to hurry.”
Marcy tosses her hair and laughs, her mouth growing bigger and bigger, the sound growing louder until it’s all I can hear. Beside her Kathy shrinks to the size of a thimble. It’s funny, but Kathy, tiny Kathy, is the one I watch even though Marcy swells to fill my field of vision.
“You don’t get it!” Lizzie says, looking at me, wanting me to get it. But I don’t. I don’t get it. I run faster, harder. I need to make it to the end.
I’m not running for the run.
I’m running for the finish line. And that’s so unlike me that I stop. Just stop.
“Don’t trust them. They’re poison. Do you understand?”
The world tips and tilts. Time slows. I can hear the rush of my blood in my ears, drawn out so it takes a thousand years for a single beat of my heart.
