Not One to Talk

Not One to Talk (Chapter 8)

Desiree:

     The weekend came and went slower than I even thought was possible. I kept my promise to myself and didn't mutter a single word to my parents the entire time. They didn't say anything about it (lucky for me), but I could read the worry on their faces as easily as if I were reading a book. It was so evident I almost felt bad for them.

     But I was done with sympathy. So done with it.

     Surprisingly Monday came quicker than I had expected it to. My mom had asked me what I was going to do about school when the time came, and I knew she was thinking I wanted to stay home and grieve. I knew she was thinking that I was going to stay locked up in my room all day, ignoring the world, isolating myself from everyone around me.

     Oh, was I going to prove her wrong.

     No matter how hard it was to put on a brave face and put up with another week at school, I would do it. If it got me away from my parents, I would do it. If it meant that I could finally talk again and maybe get my emotions out, I would do it.

     But unfortunately I underestimated exactly how hard it would be. Right when I got off the bus, people looked at me like I was harboring some contagious disease. No one said anything to me, just avoided me like an outcast. Every time I passed one of Jake's friends in the hallway, they gave me these strange stares that I couldn't stand to see. I hadn't even gotten to first period yet and already I was on the verge of crying.

     "Desiree, are you all right?" My best friend Ivy's voice came out of nowhere, and in a flash I realized she was standing right in front of me. Her chocolate brown eyes studied my face intently, her dark brows knitting together.

     "Y-yeah," I stammered. I could feel my lower lip quivering. Keep yourself together, Desiree, I thought. Don't lose it here.

     But everything I saw reminded me of Jake. The classroom right across the hall from us was his first-period class. We would meet outside the door every day. Stuck inside the rings of my notebook was the pencil he had let me borrow last week. And hanging on my neck was the beautiful necklace he had given me for my last birthday.

     "Desiree!" Ivy gasped, and I noticed I had started crying. She wrapped her long arms around my shoulders and rubbed my back.

     "Ugh," I whispered, furiously rubbing my eyes to rid them of tears. It didn't work - they just kept streaming down my face.

     "I'm sorry." Ivy pulled away and brushed my hair out of my face. "I'm so sorry about Jake." She paused for a moment. "I - I honestly don't know what else to say."

     Don't get me wrong - Ivy was my best friend, but at that point I just couldn't be around her. Ivy's eyes were wide as I left her standing alone in the hallway. Wiping my eyes again and feeling horrible, I walked into my algebra class without another glance back.

     Everyone saw me come in, and the room fell silent.

     It was hard, but I managed to struggle through the day. A few other people told me how sorry they were, but I could see it in their eyes that they truly didn't understand what I was going through. Ivy diligently stayed by my side all day, offering words of encouragement when she knew I needed them. Being the loyal friend that she was, she came to my house after school. We both knew my parents wouldn't be home yet, and she didn't want me to be alone.

     "How did you find out?" Ivy asked me. Between us were our various books and folders for our classes, but Ivy stretched her arms over them like they weren't there.

     "The police sent me a letter," I said quietly. "It was on Friday or something."

     "Oh." Ivy scribbled a couple words in her notebook and looked back up at me. "What did you . . . . I mean, how did you react?"

     I raised one eyebrow. "What is this, an interview? Are you writing down what I'm saying?"

     "No! I'm just curious is all."

     "Oh, Ive." I shook my head in fake disdain. "You're crazy."

     She flipped her hair dramatically, but it went nowhere since it didn't even reach her shoulders. "And I'm proud of it."

     I let out a small laugh and Ivy gasped. "Oh, she still has her sense of humor! We might be making some progress!"

     Sticking my tongue out at her, I grabbed my English book and flipped it open to the page we were supposed to be working on. Ivy reached across the table and laid her hand on mine.

     "You know I'm just kidding, right?" she questioned softly. 

     I nodded.

     "I totally understand how you feel and why you've been acting the way you've been," she went on. "You have a right to be sad. Anyone who doesn't get that is the crazy one."

     A hesitant smile spread across my face. "Thanks, Ivy. That really means a lot to me. My parents have been giving me a hard time about this, about how I've been crying and acting all depressed. You'd think as my parents they would be at least a little more compassionate."

     "Really," Ivy mumbled, shaking her head. "But you know our house is always open for you, right?"

     Closing my book and standing up, I responded, "I'm not planning on running away anytime soon, you know. But thanks."

     Ivy followed my example and groaned. "I'm so hungry! Can we have a snack?"

     I nudged her with my shoulder. "Hey, our fridge is always open for you."

     Snickering, Ivy and I raced to the fridge, but I beat her there. We burst into a fit of hysterical laughter.

     Maybe I was making some progress after all.

* * * *

     It was late. Darkness blanketed the sky, with only the glow of Rochester's lights to chase it away. From where I was sitting on my bed I could hear the cars rushing past on the street. My parents weren't home yet, so I was alone, as Ivy had left a while ago. I tried to keep myself occupied by doing homework, but I just couldn't concentrate.

     Minutes has passed by like hours. How could life still be going on outside when it seemed to be at a standstill for me?

     Exasperated, I grabbed my algebra notebook and attempted to work on it yet again. There were still a few problems I had left to do:

     A + B/ C = X/Y * AB/C

     Jake. 

     ½ ÷ A + BC

     Jake.

     I threw my notebook against the wall. The metal rings hit it with a clang and then gravity sent it to the floor. Paper crumpled with the impact.

     Just like paper, I crumpled into a ball on my bed and closed my eyes. 

     Jake.