After Zero Read online

  He moves to the chair opposite me. “Can I join you?”

  I look around. There are a dozen other tables he could sit at, all empty. At the same time, it seems silly to pretend we’re strangers—to shake my head no, he can’t join me, when he’s been sticking up for me at his house. But if he sits down, he’s going to want to chitchat, as people who aren’t strangers do. Because we aren’t strangers anymore, whether I like it or not.

  This is why I shouldn’t make friends. It could jeopardize my promise.

  Conn hesitates. “I won’t bother you, I swear. Just trying to catch up on some work. I have trouble studying at my house because, you know, it’s chaos.” He laughs.

  “Hey there.” The librarian pops up behind Conn, whispering. I clamp my hands over my sandwich under the table. “This is a quiet workspace, okay? Students are trying to work.”

  My muscles relax a little. I like her. We’re on the same page—even if the only other student here is Bernard Billows, who’s snoozing in the opposite corner.

  Conn holds up his hands and mouths, Sorry.

  The librarian nods, seeming satisfied. Then she glances at me, her lips curving into a smile before she twirls on her heel and returns to her bookshelves. I think that’s the closest she and I have come to interacting.

  Conn takes the seat across from me. His binoculars clonk against the table. He winces and mouths, Sorry, again. He spreads out all his textbooks and notes, and I spot a list of words that look like Italian. I wonder if the Italian teacher cares less about oral exams and practicing conversations than Mrs. Bebeau does. Maybe I should have taken Italian instead of French.

  He pulls out his sandwich—also ham and apple butter, by the looks of it—and tries to mimic my technique, glancing at the librarian before whipping his sandwich up to his mouth and then down again under the table. He swallows a bite and takes a bow of triumph in his chair. I guess he’s not bad for an amateur—barring the big smear of apple butter on his chin.

  I look at him and tap my own chin. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, missing the apple butter by an inch. Gone? he mouths. I give him a thumbs-up and return to my book, trying to keep my face straight. It’s official: the library is no longer the safe, neutral place it was yesterday.

  And I don’t mind as much as I thought I would.

  • • •

  I decide to make a detour after track practice today. Instead of going straight to the Karneys’, I head to my street. This time, I force myself not to look at Mel’s house as I pass it biking up the hill. The only time I see Mel now is during practices, but I won’t be going to those anymore. Coach Ewing made me do a four-by-four relay today with Mel, Sylvia, and Nellie to prepare for our next meet. Sylvia did a bad handoff, scratching me with her pink nails and causing me to drop the baton. I suspect she did it on purpose; I heard the three of them snickering about it after. There’s no reason to stay on the team when I can run on my own. That’s the nice thing about running. It requires me alone.

  When I reach my house, I inch up the drive. The station wagon isn’t here. It’s safe to go inside and write a note.

  But now that I’m here, I can’t go in. I can’t see how many more dishes have piled up in the sink. I can’t hear those whispers and echoes again.

  I get off my bike, find a pen and a pad of sticky notes in my backpack, and write the note outside. Still staying with the Karneys. Should be back sometime Friday. I lift the pen and then bring it down again, adding, School’s good.

  I press the sticky note to the front door and pick up my bike.

  The distant crunch of tires on gravel startles me. I fling myself and my bike behind a bush, just before the station wagon crests the hill and pulls into the driveway.

  My mother gets out of the car carrying grocery bags, her head turned away from me. She sneezes. I wait, but no one else is here to say “bless you,” so her sneeze hangs in the air, unblessed. One of the grocery bags slips from her hand. She stares at it as if contemplating whether it’s worth the reach and then finally stoops and retrieves it. I watch her trudge up the walk to the front door, set down her bags, and fumble with her keys. She lifts her eyes and pauses, peering at my note on the door. I hold my breath while she peels it off. I want to look away, but my gaze sticks to her back. She stands there for a minute, not moving. Then she turns around and sits on the front step. As she looks at the note, her eyes seem to sink back within purplish rings. Purpler than the last time I saw her. Does the unsleep visit her too?

  She shuts her eyes and presses the note to her nose. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was smelling it.

  Is she smelling it?

  I hug my knees to my chest.

  She hugs hers to her chest. We stay like this, hugging. I blink, and water gleams on her cheeks. I focus on being still and blending in with the bush.

  Another few blinks, and my mother is standing, opening the door, retreating. The taste of salt coats my lips.

  Chapter 18

  A new color has joined the Flock.

  That’s what I call them now since they only ever move as one. As Conn and I leave the library, full of today’s ham and apple butter sandwiches, the Flock comes down the hall. Pink, purple, orange, green…and the new one, blue. Mel is talking to her: a girl with aqua-blue streaks in her reddish-brown hair.

  “Fin?” Conn frowns.

  Fin slows as she and the Flock approach. “Oh, hey.”

  “What did you do to your hair?”

  Fin shrugs. “Just a little change.”

  “Have Mom and Dad seen it?”

  “Not yet.”

  “They’ll flip.”

  “Good.”

  She must have done it last night after dinner and left the house early this morning. I didn’t see her at breakfast. Sneaky. Her nails and eyelids are still plain, so maybe she’s easing herself in.

  She locks eyes with me and then snaps her head back to Mel. When did they become friends? I guess it shouldn’t be surprising; they’re in the same grade and on the track team together. I stare at them in spite of myself. Mel doesn’t give me the time of day. Hot-pink Sylvia, on the other hand, is smirking her usual smirk. “Feather’s thriving, I see.” Her eyes swivel from me to Conn. “This your new boyfriend?”

  My cheeks catch fire. Conn coughs.

  “Interesting pair.” Sylvia cocks her head. “Binoculars Boy and Feather Girl. Cute and Mute.”

  Behind Sylvia, I see Fin’s mouth twitch. Nellie and Theresa press their lips together. Mel looks at the floor.

  What did I ever do to Sylvia? Well, I guess I spilled the beans about her parents’ split in front of everyone, but that was months ago, and I didn’t know it was a secret. Is she ever going to stop punishing me for that? It’s safe to say I learned my lesson.

  She walks past us, and Mel and the others follow. “See you later,” Fin mumbles to Conn over her shoulder, before she and the Flock disappear around the corner.

  “Huh.” Conn stares after her. “Fin has new friends. How interesting.”

  He doesn’t comment on what Sylvia called us. Called me. But I know he heard it. The M word. It might be worse than the Q word.

  Conn and I part ways for fourth period, and as soon as I get to French class, I pull out my notebook.

  My silence does not define me. My silence does not define me. I write it all over the covers, front and back. The inside and the outside.

  My silence does not define me. My silence does not define me.

  • • •

  Since I’m done with the track team, I head to the library after the last bell instead of to practice. I walk down the hall toward the inviting block letters. QUIET IN THE LIBRARY. I smile at them as I slip through the double doors.

  I halt at the sight of chairs in rows. And people sitting in them—some students, but mostly teachers and other adu
lts. At the far end of the library, a podium has been set up. I don’t see Bernard Billows or the librarian anywhere.

  Then I notice the sign.

  Green Pasture Community Poetry Series

  Thursday, April 12, 2:30 p.m.

  I glance at the clock on the wall. Two twenty-nine. I hurry back toward the doors.

  “Thank you all for coming. It’s my honor to introduce our first reader and published poet, Green Pasture’s own Lenore Looping.”

  I look over my shoulder. The librarian stands at the podium.

  “I’ve known Lenore since our college days, and I’m still in awe of her talent. She’s been published in five anthologies, and today she’ll be reading from her first book of poems, The Shadow Sister.”

  Miss Looping rises from a chair in the front row and comes to the podium. Thin curls quiver around her face. “Thank you, Jenna.” Her eyes avoid the audience. “The first piece I’ll read for you is a shape poem. For those who aren’t familiar, it’s shaped like its subject matter.” She holds up a piece of paper. The text on the page forms the profile of a woman’s face. “This one I wrote two summers ago, about my sister’s suicide.” She clears her throat.

  I stand by the doors, my head still turned over my shoulder. I watch her eyes, sunken but focused, move across the woman’s profile, across the lines of the poem. I watch her hands motion gracelessly but firmly. “‘There’s a shadow of you I found, then lost. I saw it by the guitar box. I’d ask you why you left it there, but you left too. You left too…’”

  I watch her start to glow—to stand taller as her voice grows louder. People in the audience nod, close their eyes, or lean forward in their seats.

  “‘…you left, you went, without your shadow, and now it’s mine to bear. Now it’s mine to wear…’”

  A dry spot on my throat tickles. I swallow, trying to force it away, but it makes me cough. A man glares at me.

  “‘…but you always preferred to be a shadow. You always preferred that, didn’t you…’”

  Another cough rises. I try to swallow it again, but it escapes. “Shh,” someone hisses. Now is not the time for a coughing fit. I’m ruining Miss Looping’s poem, ruining her moment.

  I’m glad to be standing in the back. I slip out the double doors, coughing and sputtering and stumbling for a drinking fountain. I can’t find one. I guess I’ve never looked for one. I never look up from my feet. I never look—really look—at the things around me, the people walking by, because I’m so focused on getting away from them. I wonder what else I’ve missed, besides Miss Looping’s poetry.

  I didn’t know she had a sister.

  Her classroom is empty but for Beady. I hurry past him without meeting his eyes and sit at a desk in the back row, coughing until the tickle subsides. I open my notebook and flip past pages of tally marks.

  Ghazal due Friday.

  I can feel Beady hovering at the other end of the room, staring, challenging me.

  As I think of Miss Looping standing at the podium, reading from that woman’s profile, I have a strange urge to reach her. Someone. Anyone.

  I bring the pen down. I don’t lift my eyes, not even when I think I hear a ruffling of feathers, because I know that if I do, I’ll lose my concentration, lose the words gushing out of my pen. By the time I scribble the last word, Mr. Koptev is wheeling his cleaning cart into the room. I look up, but Beady is standing still. Of course—he isn’t going to move now that the janitor’s here. I grab my stuff and nod hello to Mr. Koptev, glancing at Beady on my way out the door. Only when I’m in the hall do I realize he was standing at the right corner of Miss Looping’s desk. Hadn’t he been on the left when I came in?

  Chapter 19

  I’ve become an expert at avoiding the Karneys. Like eating in the library, it’s an acquired skill. No one showers after eight at night, so that’s when I shower, and the kitchen is clear by nine thirty, so that’s when I get my bedtime drink. It’s a skill I won’t need much longer, since tomorrow’s my birthday, but I cross to the fridge one last time and pour myself a glass of King Karney apple cider. Someone has left their stuff on the table—keys, a wallet, a pack of gum. A camouflage baseball cap that says “Born to Hunt.” Dónal’s things.

  I step closer. The gum is spearmint, like the pack I had in my backpack, only it’s half-empty. A bill is sticking far enough out of the wallet to show most of the number 10.

  I notice the tear at the corner.

  Something about that tear makes me take another step closer. I wiggle the bill out a little further, revealing a second zero. 100.

  My fingers tighten around my glass of cider. I figured he’d have spent the money by now, or at least divvied it up with his pals, but there it is: a hundred dollars that belong to me. A hundred dollars he doesn’t intend to give back.

  The truth is, I don’t care much about the money. I haven’t missed it the way I’ve missed my birthday card or my old notebook with the swan illustration—things Dónal probably trashed since they’re of no use to him. But taking back something is better than taking back nothing, and now I have a chance, maybe the only one I’ll ever get.

  Before I can change my mind, I put down my cider and pull the bill all the way out of the wallet. I take the gum too for good measure.

  It feels nice, reclaiming what’s mine.

  I fold up the bill and smile. I know it’s supposed to be for my college fund, but maybe I could use some of it to buy stuff for my brothers. Candy? Tickets to a movie or an amusement park? Extra-large sticky buns from Patsy’s Pastries?

  “Mom!”

  I reel around. Fin is standing just inside the kitchen doorway, lowering a phone to her side and narrowing her eyes on the money in my hands. But she can’t be there. I didn’t hear her coming. The floor always groans. Why didn’t it groan? Does she have the same knack for sneaking as my mother?

  “Mom!” Fin calls again.

  “What is it, honey?” Mrs. Karney comes up behind Fin in a dressing gown, with Ben on her hip and Clare and Stewey trailing her. Now the floor groans.

  Fin points across the kitchen at me. “She just stole that hundred-dollar bill from Dónal’s wallet.” Her voice oozes with hatred.

  It’s happening again. It can’t be happening again. Words fumble and jumble in my head. No—it wasn’t—I didn’t—

  “What?” Mrs. Karney shrieks, handing Ben to Clare and stepping into the kitchen. She takes two steps toward me, rolling up her sleeves. “After I let you stay here. Fed you all those meals. You have some nerve.”

  My instinct is to drop the money and the gum and run. But running will make me look guilty. And I shouldn’t have to run. I have every right to be holding these. They’re mine.

  “What’s going on?” Dónal appears behind the others. Icing on the cake.

  “This little crook just took your money.” Mrs. Karney glares at me. “I knew we couldn’t trust her.”

  Dónal stares over Mrs. Karney’s shoulders at the bill in my hand. There’s one crook in this house, and we both know who it is. He could tell everyone right now and clear this whole thing up.

  “Yikes.” Dónal scratches his head. “That’s messed up.”

  Of course. If he tells them, then he’ll have to admit what he did. And he’s too much of a coward to do that.

  “If she won’t leave on her own, the police can deal with her,” Mrs. Karney says. “Her mother’s negligence is their problem, not mine. Where’s my phone?”

  “Wait.” Conn pushes past his siblings and steps in front of Mrs. Karney. When did he get here? How much has he seen? “Don’t you think that’s a little drastic, calling the police? Let’s just calm down, okay?”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down.” Mrs. Karney flails her arms. “She just tried to take a hundred dollars, and who knows what else she’s stolen from us? I want her out of my house. Clare, go get your father
. He’ll want to know about this.”

  Clare scurries off with Ben. Conn frowns at the money in my statue fingers and then turns to Dónal. “That’s your hundred bucks, bro? Where’d you get it?”

  Dónal meets Conn’s eyes, blinking once. “Aunt Geraldine. Leftover Christmas money.”

  Mrs. Karney nods. “Right, she always gives you a little more since you’re the oldest. And that’s beside the point.” She’s way too eager to believe Dónal’s innocence over mine.

  “Are you seriously going to just stand there?” Fin interrupts Conn and Dónal’s stare-down. I realize with a twinge of dread that she’s talking to me. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” Her pitch rises. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Fin, chill out,” Conn says.

  She flashes him a look. “Why are you still sticking up for her?”

  “We don’t know for sure what happened. We can’t prove that—”

  “Wanna bet?” Fin holds out the phone she’s been clutching, and everyone turns to her. “When I saw Elise looking at Dónal’s wallet, I got this bad feeling, so I grabbed Mom’s phone off the counter. Caught it on video.” She taps the screen, and Conn, Mrs. Karney, Dónal, and Stewey all watch something I can’t see. Then I hear the audio playback of Fin’s voice calling “Mom!” and my stomach churns. The room spins.

  Fin puts the phone on the counter, and I feel dizzy, distant, like I’m floating near the ceiling, watching this happen to someone else. “So there’s your proof,” she says.

  Conn blinks and stares at the phone. “I just…don’t think she’d do something like this.”

  “You just saw her do it.” Fin throws up her hands. “You’re unbelievable.”

  He shakes his head. “There has to be some other explanation.”

  “Then why don’t you let her explain?”

  “But she doesn’t ta—”

  “She can talk. We’ve both heard her. Our first day at school. And at the pastry shop. Her tongue works fine, so drop the act.”

  Conn’s cheeks redden. I’ve never seen him and Fin fight before.