Boot Camp

21: Old Version

I felt bad for annoying Axel with my sickness.

Sort of.

When I wasn't half-hallucinating from my fever, I found it pretty entertaining how concerned about me he was. Sympathy was a good look on him; he should try it on more.

The next day, after consulting the camp's nurse at Axel's behest and sleeping the whole night in my bed—nearly thirteen hours—I feel a lot better, almost like the sickness was just a passing shower. I have enough energy to sit up without feeling faint, and my limbs aren't oddly cold anymore.

My phone rings as I turn to lie down on my bed on my side, my hand tucked underneath my pillow. I reach my arm out and fish for my phone from my side table, almost knocking over the lamp in the process.

I look at the caller's name, and my face brightens when I see it's Poppy.

"Hello?" I say, trying to make my voice appear stronger than it is. I hear a shuffle on the other end of the line.

"Whitney, hi!" she responds cheerfully. "Mom tried calling you three times yesterday, but you wouldn't even pick up, so she made me try. Is everything okay?"

What a coincidence that my mother decided to call right after I fell sick and fainted. "Yeah, everything is alright. Well, now it is."

"What do you mean? Did something happen? Are you alive?" She almost sounds like my mother right now.

I rub my forehead and sit up. "No, this is Whitney's ghost talking to you, Poppy. Kidding aside, I got kind of sick yesterday and fainted, but it's not a big deal. Please don't freak out Mom because she'll probably come here and drag me back home."

"You don't have to worry anyway, since me and Mom don't do a whole lot of talking lately," she grumbles. "But are you sure that you're okay?"

"Yes. Trust me." I flop back against my sheets, staring up at the ceiling. I think I feel extra great, since I won't have to do any exercise all day. "Have you and Mom really resorted to not speaking? You're almost worse than me and Dad." I chuckle, even though the situation is anything but humorous. I haven't received anything past one text from him the whole time I've been gone.

I like to say it doesn't hurt, but it does.

"Outside of formalities, then yeah, we don't. And Dad is just awful to you, Whitney. Mom at least has a reason to be mad at me right now."

"What did you do?"

"You mean what did I say. I was feeling really frustrated over the fact she wouldn't stop criticizing every one of my life decisions, so I told her that I at least didn't end up with a brainless job and an emotionless husband who spends ninety percent of his time at work."

I suck in my cheeks. "Damn, that's a low blow, Poppy."

I can almost see her wince through the line. "I know, I know. I'm going to apologize to her, but I know she probably won't want to hear it."

Something hits me as I keep staring up at the white ceiling. "Don't you think that the reason she was always so hard on you, wanting you to go to Columbia and is now so adamant about law school and waiting to get married, is because she doesn't want you to end up like her?"

Silence follows on the other end, and then the line goes dead. My face scrunches up in offense, but then I realize she was just switching to FaceTime. I accept her call and find her sitting outside on our patio in a yellow baby-doll dress, which enhances her naturally effortless beauty. "Sorry, I just realized this was getting to be too much for a phone call. I think that thought actually has occurred to me once before, but it feels a lot different when someone else says it to me."

"You know the funny part? Instead of her meddling getting you to thank her, it's only pushed you further away." I play the ends with my tangled hair, giving up with the knots at the end. "I mean, I've really missed you these last four years. You barely visited home."

"I know," she says quietly, her eyes downcast. "I guess I forgot we don't live in a vacuum. Getting away from Mom meant getting away from you, and I want you to know I'm sorry, Whit. You've always been my best friend."

"It's okay," I reply weakly. "At least when I didn't have you, I had Mom."

"But that's not enough, Whitney. I've seen the way Dad has treated you practically your whole life; you needed him too."

"It's not your fault."

"But it is." She swipes at a nearly invisible tear in the corner of her eye and makes eye contact with me again. "I became the girl Mom wanted me to be, and I never said a word when I realized Dad preferred me over you because I acted so goddamn perfect all the time to please them both."

"That goes back to him, Poppy," I snap. I run my hand over my face, letting out a shaky breath. "I don't even care if he has a favorite out of the two of us. But it's pretty fucking depressing I never got the time of day from him because I didn't have any lacrosse championships for him to go or I didn't scoop up half of the school's awards each year. And I'd say it's pretty depressing that he probably wouldn't haven't liked us both if we were just average."

"You're not average, Whitney," she says, shaking her head. "Hell, you're a million times better than I am. At least you're not afraid to be exactly who you are."

"Well, that hasn't always been easy," I reply, biting the inside of my cheek. Uninvited tears well up in my eyes as I think about what being myself has brought me: a father who's probably never loved me and years of bullying on the side. "W-when did our conversation turn so deep?"

"I don't know," she replies, swiping at her eyes again. I clamp a hand over my mouth as I begin to cry, doing nothing to stop the droplets that trail down my cheeks. Poppy's expression falls. "Oh, no, Whit, don't cry. I didn't mean to make you actually cry."

"It's not you," I choke out, putting down my phone to grab a tissue from my bedside. I blow my nose rather unattractively, eliciting a chuckle in the midst of my tears. "I realize I've never really cried about any of this. Maybe this is a good thing."

Once we end the call, I don't stop crying. The tears comes out like a river against a broken dam, and when I feel like I've finally calmed down, I start shaking and sobbing again. I can't do anything to hide my red face when the door flies open, but as soon as Martina sees me my current state, she throws her arms around me without even asking what happened.

Reacting the opposite way to the comfort, I cry even harder.