The Quiet Game

(special chapter) In Amy's Shoes

This is not a chapter, rather it is an inserted short story about Amy and Blaire. I hope everyone has a great winter break and happy holidays. :)

Sometimes you think you know someone and then BAM, you don’t know them anymore.

It doesn’t matter who they are, how close you are, whether they are your friend or your classmate or your brother. And you realize you really know nothing where you thought you knew everything.

Amy sat across from the principal, freshman year. She squinted against the sunlight that streamed through the window beside her. The glasses she had picked out the week before had thrown everything into sudden clarity, the sharpness confusing her even as it helped her see.

“What?” she asked. The principal looked very sad she thought. He had the sort of face that seemed to be perpetually upset, all the lines sloping down. She thought of ice at the end of winter, when it swept down the street in rivers towards the gutter.

“Your parents are at the hospital and they asked if you could be ready when your mother comes to pick you up.”

“Why are they at the hospital?” she demanded, her hands fluttering slightly as she tried to control her tone. Politeness was so inscribed in her personality that she felt sick abandoning it.

“You should call them,” he advised, “They didn’t give me much information.” She nodded and got to her feet. He looked so sad, she wish he didn’t. It scared her.

She stepped outside and called her mother as she walked back to her locker. Through the narrow windows of the classroom doors she could see students in their after lunch classes. There was something about the afternoon at school that seemed hazy. She always felt as though she were wading through syrup, or looking at the world through a sheet of bulletproof glass.

Amy had just reached her locker when her mother picked up.

“Mom!” she said, her mother didn’t seem to have heard her. “Mom.” she repeated.

“Amy,” her mother exhaled. She sounded like she had been crying, her voice breathless and damp. “Amy your brother has been in an accident.” For a moment she was confused, assuming her mother meant he had tripped and scraped his knee or fallen out of a tree like he had when he was little.

“What do you mean,” she said, and she sounded so quiet she wasn’t sure her mother would respond. The silence that stretched seemed tangible, as though Amy could reach out and part the curtain and suddenly everything would make sense, so that she could understand what was happening.

“He was driving back from a party this morning and he drove into oncoming traffic,” her mother sounded robotic.

“How did it happen?” Amy asked, “Is he going to be okay?” She thought that she was supposed to feel like she was separated from her body. In books when the character received terrible news they felt as though everything was happening from a distance. Amy felt anchored in her body, her systems working in overdrive.

“He’ll be fine,” her mother said. “Absolutely.” There was a sound on the other end and her mother moved away from the phone.

“Mom?” Amy said. “Mom!”

“Amy I’ll be at school a little later than usual, try not to worry.”

“What? No, mom!” But Amy was speaking into the dial tone. She put her phone in her pocket, fumbling and dropping it before she shoved it in. She twisted at the combination on her locker. She needed to get to her class, she was barely pulling through biology as it was and she didn’t know anyone to get notes from.

She messed up her locker combination three times until she just couldn’t spin it anymore. Backing up she became aware that she was shaking violently, and she needed to get out of the building. She pushed against the syrup that filled the hallways and broke into a run just as the bell rang. She was torn as students flooded into the halls, their loud voices reverberating inside her skull.

Jostled from side to side she bounced like a pinball towards the exit, her lungs gasping for breath as she exploded into the outside. Conscious of nothing she sprinted a hundred yards down the sidewalk before clattering to a stop. She was just past the tennis courts, facing the lousy soccer field that lined the west side of the school.

Amy wasn’t sure if she should cry or if that was bad luck so she just stood there and breathed.

“You should sign up for track.” Someone said from behind her, and she turned to see a girl lounging against the tennis court fence. “’Course they probably won’t let you wear such reprehensible running shoes.” The girl gestured a bracelet laden arm at her polished flats.

“Reprehensible?” Amy said. The girl was wearing a tank-top that seemed to be fraying at the edge and a pair of grubby tennis shoes.

“Yeah,” the girl deadpanned. “Shameful, disgraceful. Very bad.” Amy nodded absently.

“I know what it means,” Amy responded.

The girl shook out her long blonde hair, Amy felt a twinge of envy and felt self-conscious about her own short hair.

“Okay.”

Amy glanced down at her shoes.

“Do you want to trade?” she asked, the girl looked confused. “Shoes.” Amy clarified. The girl straightened up and looked abruptly angry.

“I’m not a charity case. I don’t need your handouts.” Amy took a step back.

“That’s not what I was saying.”

“God, all you rich kids think we want to be like you, with your fancy cars and pretty shoes.” The blonde girl stalked back in the direction of the school.

“My brother was just in a car crash.” Amy shouted at her. The girl stopped.

“Am I supposed to care?” she asked, Amy noticed her skirt seemed to be homemade, the different patterns swirling together at the top.

“It’s probably because he was drunk. My parents won’t say it, but he’s always drunk.” The blonde girl still looked angry. “And I asked to trade shoes because these ones are really impractical for getting into the city without a car so you’d actually be the one helping me out.” Amy spurted out.

The girl contemplated this and pulled of one shoe. “Let me try yours.” Amy took of hers and handed it over, stuffing her foot into the girl’s sneaker. “Same size.” The girl observed. “Give me the other.” Amy complied and received the second sneaker in response.

Amy saw that the girl had doodled all over the shoe, the original color almost completely covered in various shades of ink. There were lines and lines of words that she couldn’t quite make out and skulls along the inside.

“T.S. Elliot. He’s my favorite.” The blonde girl said, examining her feet in their new shoes. “I’m Blaire,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Amy.” Amy said and Blaire nodded.

“I know, it’s freaking embroidered on the inside of your shoe,” Blaire muttered.

 Amy blushed slightly.

“Thanks,” she said and the girl shrugged.

“Whatever.”

Amy kicked a stone at the tennis court, watching it chip at the paint.

The girl began to walk away again and Amy leaned against the fence. She bent over to read the words. Amy never read poetry outside of class, she never had the time.

“Hey Amy?” The girl called and Amy looked up. “My sister has a car, you want a ride?”