Final Room

23 | tree gelbman

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE | TREE GELBMAN

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          The thing about Betty St. Germain is that she'll do whatever the hell she wants to do and, when she sets her mind into something, it takes a goddamn miracle, some divine intervention for her to even consider rethinking her decisions.

          Though I didn't take Odette's request to convince Betty that Callum is not nearly as bad as she paints him out to be seriously, along with knowing it's not my responsibility to change a mindset that has been set in stone for years at this point, there's still a tiny, hopeful voice in the back of my brain that still believes things can always change. Believing in the best of people has historically had disastrous consequences for me, but stubbornness always wins.

          I'm also certain she can tell something's up. By the time mid-November rolls around, just before we all go home for Thanksgiving, I know she's getting progressively more annoyed by the feeling there's something I'm not telling her.

          "Do I have something on my face?" she asks me, freeing her hair from her fishtail braid and running her fingers through it to undo any knots. Odette purposely looks away then, the traitor, and hides behind a copy of Crime and Punishment, leaving me alone to face Betty. "Well?"

          "You look wonderful this morning," I tell her, stirring my mocha. Her blue eyes narrow, but I know she knows I'm not lying. If anything, she looks radiant, even after a considerable drop in temperature; while I'm sitting here, freezing under the heavy weight of my knit sweater and a coat, she's fresh faced. My heart flutters just by looking at her.

          "Go on."

          "No, that's it. I honestly don't know how you do it."

         "Wendy, I'm not stupid." She picks at the sesame seeds coating her everything bagel with her perfectly manicured fingernail. One of the corners of her mouth is stained with creamed cheese, but she rushes to wipe away at it with her napkin. "I know there's something the two of you aren't telling me. I think it's great you're good buddies all of a sudden—no, really, I do; it was exhausting trying to balance things when it looked like you two secretly hated each other. I just wish you wouldn't freeze me out and keep secrets from me for the sake of your budding friendship, that's all. Plus, all this staring is really getting on my nerves, so, if you have anything to tell me, just do it."

          "It's really nothing."

          Odette shoots me a pointed look. "Are you sure about that?"

          "Yes. Are you?"

          Betty huffs, cheeks flushed almost as red as her hair, and it could be a comical sight if I was able to properly handle other people's anger. Unfortunately, I'm not, so what's supposed to be a completely innocent conversation makes my heart pound and the lights in the Lakeside Grill flicker, though I'm not sure that last part isn't just in my head.

          I take a deep breath, glad Betty has taken the bait and is focusing on getting information out of Odette instead, and grip the leg of the table with my free hand in an attempt to ground myself as my world spins out of control, sucked into the eye of an invisible hurricane. They don't appear to notice my behavior or the shaking table and, if they do, they're simply too used to it—like Odette said, I retreat into myself, lock myself in a bubble.

          They bicker, Odette refuses to say a word, and I sit there in agonizing silence, chest burning and aching like flames have erupted in my lungs. Refocusing should help, Doctor Albott says, keyword being should, but it never actually does; it either goes away by itself or it takes my entire energy supply to stop it. The table shakes so hard its feet stomp against the floor, opening cracks on the wood and craters into the ground, and I excuse myself before I run out of the little oxygen still left in me.