Page 25 of Room to Breathe

“That was just an observation, a fact.”

“It was a terrible throw,” he muttered as he bent down and picked up the book. But he didn’t settle back into his place, didn’t open it, just stared at me as I started at the beginning of the binder and flipped through pages. The beginning was mostly study guides. But in some of the margins of those were words like:Beau=stupidorGlad I’m an only childorFriends suckor much more strongly worded sentiments. I ripped out those pages and put them to the side. Then I came to the actual binder paper with longer, angrier diatribes, about not just my friends but my parents too. I had forgotten how much I wrote in those early days. I tore out page after page.

“Wow,” he said. “That much, huh?”

“I’m sure you have yourI hate Indyjournal somewhere. Most likely full of how it was my fault that you lost the love of your life.”

He didn’t deny it. For two months I’d wondered if that was true, if he blamed that on me. Now I knew. He still thought Harper was the love of his life. I ignored how that twisted my insides.

I flipped a few more pages, which were just clean white sheets. I nodded, satisfied. Then I stacked the pages I’d ripped out into a more organized pile and looked at the trash can. They were trash, but I couldn’t throw them away in here. Not when Beau could easily pluck them right back out. Or some teacher could get ahold ofthem. (I’d had plenty of bad things to say about teachers too. They were a huge part of the whole messed up situation after all.) So I slid the pages back into my bag and met Beau’s stare.

“Do you want the binder back? Or do you want to start with the book?” I asked.

He stared at me for a long moment. I dared him to say something. Iwantedhim to say something. He didn’t. Instead he held up the book, then hoisted himself back onto the counter.

I uncapped a pen and turned my attention to a blank page. Maybe I didn’t need the notes from my phone. Maybe I could start here from scratch, think of better memories, like a refresh. I only had so much time. And even though I couldn’t track it, I knew it was running out.

Chapter 10

Then

“There was a dark carparked down the street from my house this morning. Did you notice it during carpool?” Beau and I sat on the top row of the bleachers at the school track, waiting for Caroline to finish her cross-country race. The team started on the far end of the school, did a few laps around the big block, and would end up here. Ava was standing on the bottom row cheering, even though we couldn’t see her yet.

“A dark car?” Beau asked. “Parked? No, I didn’t notice it.”

“Yeah…”

“Should I have?”

“I’ve just never seen it before, and I’ve seen it a few times this week. Sometimes there’s a woman sitting inside.” I’d first seen it that night up in my room. I’d thought it was a DoorDasher, but ever since then it sat too long for that to be true. I felt paranoid, and his skeptical look wasn’t helping.

“Don’t you think someone is probably just visiting your neighbor or something?”

“I mean, logically, yes.” He was right, it had to be that. I was just on edge because it felt like everyone in my house was on edge. I was trying to assign a reason to it without having enough facts.

“Andnotlogically?” he asked, shifting toward me.

“I don’t know. Nothing.”

“Point it out to me on Monday if it’s still there.”

His taking it seriously made me even more convinced that I was overreacting. “I’m sure it won’t be. Oh! There’s Caroline.” I jumped up and joined Ava at the bottom of the bleachers. She was cheering even louder now.

Beau settled in on my right, his hands in the air. “Go, Caroline!”

“That’s our girl!” Ava shouted.

There was a small smirk on her face as she passed us, but she didn’t look our way. Her cheeks were pink, and even though it was mostly from exertion, I knew at least some of it was from embarrassment at our loudness.

She crossed the finish line and I said, “I’m going to buy her a Gatorade at the snack bar.”

Beau and Ava nodded, and I walked around the bleachers to the back side, where a small building stood, the metal grate on the front of it rolled up to create an open window. I bought a drink and turned to rejoin my friends. The sound of a skateboard caught my attention from the sidewalk on the other side of the fence surrounding the track.

I walked over to see Cody standing on his board under a tree, practicing some kind of jump.

“Don’t kill yourself, Cudy,” I said.

He turned to face me. “Oh hey, it’s the praying mantis.”