The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 74: Becca

The door slams open, and Karen storms into the cabin without knocking. "The Director wants to see you," she says, so suddenly and forcibly that Angela drops her sketchpad on the floor.

I bend down to retrieve it for her. The creamy paper is covered in charcoal smudges and jagged black lines, the vague outline of a girl's face taking shape in the whirlwind of black. I conjure up her name almost effortlessly: Nina. I've heard Angela speaking her name in her sleep. Angela rarely talks about Nina with me, but when she brings her up during Sharing Circle, her whole face lights up like it's been hit by a ray of sun.

My fingers are trembling as I hand Angela the sketchbook. "I'm sorry," I say hoarsely, but I'm not exactly sure what I'm apologizing for. "She's beautiful."

Angela smiles softly at me. It's a moment of warmth in Karen's frigid interruption. "Thank you. It's hard to draw someone from memory."

I want to tell her about my memories, about how I already know her relationship with Nina won't last, how they'll break up on a rainy day in their senior year of high school in the face of dividing futures. I want to tell her to guard her heart, to steel herself against the hurt, but I know I won't because I'm cursed to bear her pain on my own shoulders. Angela and Nina get to live in the moment, but I will always be one step ahead, constantly aware of the fact that nothing works out the way you want it to.

"Becca Fisher," Karen says. At the beginning of camp, she said my name like it was an order. Now, it comes out as a plea. "She wants to see you now."

"What does the Director want with me?"

"She wishes to speak with you."

"That's nice."

"She wishes to speak with you now."

I stare up at the ceiling and count the number of cobwebs hanging between the wooden beams. Angela has retreated to her bed, burying her nose in Nina's portrait. "Why?"

"I think you know the answer to that already."

Sighing, I turn my gaze away from the ceiling and force myself to meet Karen's eyes. They're bloodshot and watery, and she keeps rubbing at them like she's trying to prove to me that she's just got a bad case of allergies and definitely isn't pining after her secret-boyfriend-turned-murderer.

I wonder if she's going to be fired.

I also wonder if she realizes she's wearing one of Owen's sweatshirts.

"Just do as she asks. Don't make this harder than it has to be." Her voice cracks. "Please, Becca."

I don't think I've ever heard Karen say please before. It's kind of depressing. "Things are already hard. It'd take a fucking act of God to make them harder."

Karen doesn't react to this statement. She doesn't even react to my swearing, which would make her go off on a good day. "I won't argue with you, Becca. Not tonight. The Director is waiting."

She turns her back on me and leaves. When the door closes behind her, I hear something that sounds suspiciously like a muffled sob.

I stare at the ceiling for a few more minutes in a sort of hypnagogic trance. When I've finally mustered the energy to move, I heave myself into a rain jacket, shove on a pair of muddy sneakers, and make my way over to the Director's cabin.

I pass a police officer on the trail. The sight of her tidy blue uniform takes me by surprise. I assumed that the Director would call the police, but I didn't think the officers would arrive so quickly. More time must've passed than I thought while I was stewing in my cabin and waiting for news.