Chapter Two.


So, I'm in Pre-Calculus, in a fairly decent mood, when Mrs. Youlee starts crying.

One minute she is explaining to us the difference between a theorem and a postulate, review from Geometry sophomore year, and the next she is standing at the front of a classroom full of thirty high-school students, covering her face with shaky hands and making dying cat noises.

No, she isn't crying. She is sobbing.

We are all in shock. No one knows what to say.

This continues for about a minute until a junior sitting in the front finally speaks up. “What's wrong, Mrs. Youlee?”

Mrs. Youlee slowly pulls her hands away from her face, revealing a purplish-reddish, blotchy, snotty mess. “I'm so sorry, everybody. I just can't do this right now.”

“Can't do what?” Now that the silence has been broken we're all gaining the courage to speak up.

Mrs. Youlee sighs, wiping the snot and tears from her face. She turns the overhead projector off and brings a chair to the front of the classroom like we're pre-schoolers about to have story time.

The room is silent as we wait for her to talk. Even the students in the very back, who spend the entire period every day sleeping or talking to each other like Mrs. Youlee isn't even there are sitting up straight, eyes wide. We all want to hear this story.

“Something happened over the weekend.” I find it almost humorous that everyone else seems to have had a busy, eventful weekend while I spent it sleeping and gorging myself on donut holes.

“My daughter-in-law...” Mrs. Youlee chokes on her words and a few fresh tears slip down her cheeks. I know she is gearing up to tell us something horrible. “My daughter in-law committed suicide.”

I don't feel like laughing anymore. At those words, my stomach drops down to my feet and my heart rises up into my throat. I feel weezy. Mrs. Youlee is a new teacher this year. She's in her fifties, but she's new here at Red Basin High School. She doesn't know about what happened to my family two years ago. She doesn't know she's speaking to a student who has been through the same thing.

I feel the room tense up as they realize the irony of the situation. A few kids sneak glances at me, then quickly look away. Mrs. Youlee sits at the front, her hands covering her face again, and she continues to speak though her voice is muffled and higher than usual.

“I can't figure out why. No one can figure out why. They just had a son. My first grandson. And he'll be raised without a mother. I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't teach because all I can think about is why on Earth she would do this to herself, and her family. What will become of her son and her husband? Will the sadness slowly eat at them until they grow old and still can't get over what she did to herself? Has she ruined their lives, as well as her own? I just can't do anything right now. I'll get over it, but will my son, and my grandson?”

It takes every ounce of my strength not to burst into tears. All I can think is “she understands”. She knows what I am feeling, every moment of every day. I want to stand up and tell her that no, her son will never get over it. Her grandson might be too young, but he will always be affected by what his mother did because his daddy will never be the dad he could have been. Their lives will always, every moment of every day, be centered around that suicide. It never gets better. I want to tell her this, but I can't, not in front of everybody.

It's crazy how suddenly one's day can change.

The bell rings then, and slowly people pack up their things and flow out of the door and back to their daily lives. I hang back, I don't know why, until I am the last one in the room.

“Yes, Evelyn? Was there something you wanted?” Mrs. Youlee looks up at me, her eyes rimmed in red and her cheeks wet.

“It doesn't get better.”

There. I've said it.

I snatch my backpack from the top of my desk and walk briskly out the door. I don't think I can handle going to my next period, so I skip. I walk outside, and I decide to spend my day alone.

There is a forest behind Red Basin High. It's protected and obtained by our school's Green Team. It is filled with trees and deer and ponds but no humans. Not on a school day at least. Right now, it sounds perfect.

I drop my backpack a few steps in. I walk for about ten minutes, and then I think “what the heck?” and I run. I run for an hour before I trip. My clumsiness is bound to get to me sooner or later. I lay down on the forest floor and think about how good it felt to run. How nice it is to be away from people and just concentrate on the feeling of each and every bone and muscle in my body. My legs aching in a happy, therapeutic kind of way. My heart beating harder, having to strain to push blood throughout my body. My arms pumping by my sides, punching the air as if to make a statement. I can defy you. You don't hold me back.

The air here is so fresh. I gulp it up.

My stomach growls, and I laugh loudly. Silly stomach, trying to digest food when there's none there! I suppose it's lunchtime, but I am not going back yet.

It's a day to spend with myself. A day to think. So I sit up and take a deep breath.

I subconsciously rip out handfuls of fresh green grass, something the Green Team would ban me from the forest for, as I sit there and think.

The first thing I think about is my life. How it is now, and how I want it to be in the future. Right now it's pretty grim. The death of Mom and Patrick has held me in its grasp for two years, allowing me to do nothing but get through each day. I barely do that, going to bed early each night and sleeping practically all weekend. I manage a C average on my grade reports, even though I know I could manage As if I only tried. I ace tests but never do my homework.

It's been a while since I've thought about what I want to be when I grow up. When I was younger my teachers always told me I would make a great writer someday. And when I think about it, it is one of the only things that takes any tension off my shoulders, weight off my heart, except for talking to Dad. But I feel like my writing is too private. I wouldn't want the world to read what was on my mind. So I don't think that's for me.

That's when an idea floats into my mind. It's crazy, it's not my thing at all.... but I think maybe it could be. A psychologist. I could understand. I would have to work on my social skills, but I think people would feel better talking to someone who had been in a bad situation like themselves. It was something to think about anyway.

But that would mean I would have to clean up my grades. I would have to start doing my homework. And going to school. This makes me laugh. Today doesn't count, I think.

The next thing I thought about was Mrs. Youlee. What she said, and what I said to her. Her words were like deja-vu. The same thoughts had gone through my head when it first happened. I feel for her, I pity her, and I understand her. Was I right in saying that to her? “It doesn't get better”. Was that really what she needed to hear just then? Is it what I would have needed to hear two years ago?

No, it wouldn't have helped, and I know that. At least Mrs. Youlee had a little bit of faith in her that things could have gotten better. That her son woujld get over his wife's suicide and could raise their newbron daughter on his own and she would turn out happy and healthy. I destroyed her faith. That was definitely wrong of me.

I decide I am going to talk to her again. But this time, I'll keep my cool. And I'll tell her my story. It might be nice to talk to someone other than Dad. Someone on the outside who understands.

I rise and start walking deeper into the forest. My legs feel like Jell-O from running for so long. I hear a bird calling to his friends above me. It makes me smile. I wish I could speak their language, and call back. It would be so much easier than talking to a real person.

And then, because I am completely alone and there is no one but the nature and animals to hear me, I try it. I form my lips into a little “o” shape and whistle, high and pure, just like the bird before me did. I hold it out for as long as I can, the clear soprano flying up through the trees like the acoustics were designed for this language. It's so beautiful even I stop.

The forest stands still.

I'm expecting to hear it call back to me. I replicated its voice so perfectly, it must mistake me for another bird. I could practically have been its echo. But, sadly, it doesn't respond. Perhaps it flew away and I didn't see. Or it just has instincts that tell it I'm a human. Humans are the enemies. No other creature likes humans. Why would they? We're the ones in control. But we aren't nice rulers. No, we kill them and we eat them and we work them for our own benefit. Of course the bird didn't respond to me. The wish to know its language grows even greater in me as I realize this. I want to apologize, and explain that I'm not like the rest of them. That I know pain, and I would never cause it to others.

If Dad and I were birds, we would be long gone by now. As soon as we saw our family laying on the ground, we would have flapped our wings and never looked back. I start muttering to myself..

I wish I could fly...

And then the next thing I say happens to rhyme.

Soar into the sky...

and suddenly I am a poet.

Go way up high...

where the Eagles fly...

Never come down...

To the place I love...

Stay up high...

Oh, stay above...

If I were an Eagle...

I would fly..

So very high...

Surpass the sky.


“You didn't go to school today.” Dad informs me as I step into the house and pull my coat off, shaking the leaves from my hood.

“No, I did not. They called?”

“Yeah. Something wasn't right in the woman's voice, though. What happened?” Dad has always been too perceptive.

I sigh. I don't feel like going into this now, but I have to tell him. “Mrs. Youlee's daughter in-law committed suicide this weekend.”

Dad's mouth opens and shuts. That's all. It opens. And it shuts. That is his reaction.

I nod, I don't know why, and walk down the hall to my bedroom. All I hear in the house is silence. Silence and stillness and surprise.

I lay on my bed for a while, just thinking, until I have had enough of thinking for the day, and I doze off. I'm in that stage of sleep where you can still kind of take note on what is going on outside of you, yet you are still dreaming and your eyes are closed and your consciousness is mostly turned off. Maybe that could be called the time when both your conscious mind and your subconscious mind are working. I really don't know. All I know is that I was confused when I finally opened my eyes.

I think I must have become trapped in my subconscious brain as I lingered between the two. Because all that happens next could not have been reality.

I wake to the sound of a fire alarm. It blares and screeches and hollers in my head and bangs on my eardrums as hard as it can, screaming “Fire! Fire! Get out of bed! Fire!”. I almost close my eyes and fall back to sleep, hoping I'll slip back into my conscious brain and wake up how I should. To silence and stillness and all those 's' words that described my home before I fell asleep.

But then, as my eyes are closing, I see a cloud float underneath my door. It is greyer than it should be. It floats through, in all its ugly sickly gasiness, and invades my room and lungs. I fall onto the floor in a coughing fit as more and more of its friends follow after.


Between each cough, I'm saying “Dad. Dad.” in this little weak voice that isn't mine.

Between each fit, I'm hearing “Eva. Eva.” in this hoarse, far-off voice that isn't Dad's.

It is so confusing.

The fog isn't helping keep my head clear so I can know what to do. I try and think back to first grade, and all those drills we learned from firefighters that came to school with their fancy little trucks and devices and techniques. But when I close my eyes, all I see is smoke. And when I open my eyes, all I see is smoke. Everywhere, all there is is smoke. And fog. And clouds. In my lungs, in my heart, in my blood, in my brain.

“Dad. Dad...”

“Eva. Eva. Eva. Eva. Eva...”



Dad hasn't seen another human being, in person, in two years and four months. He always thought he would be ready when he went back out into the real world, if he ever did. He would prepare note cards to look off of when he forgot his etiquette. He would have his speeches analyzed and memorized and practiced multiple times. He would be ready.

“Expect the unexpected.” -...

Wise words. Things don't happen as you want, nor how you expect. It's the way of life. While you could argue that's a good thing, no matter what you would say I would stay firm in the belief that it is the worst life rule that was ever created.

If everything in life is unexpected, no one is ever ready for anything. People can't be all they could have been. People don't know how to act in tough situations. Because it came to them unexpectedly. Or else they would have been ready.

Dad is in a different room. I haven't seen him, all I've heard is what people say outside of my door when I'm pretending to be asleep. The nurses won't tell me how he's doing. Yes, they'll tell me how's doing PHYSICALLY but all that is is numbers and big words and blee blah blegh. That's not what I need to know.

I heard one nurse the other day saying “I can't understand him. Even when he isn't sedated, his words are jumbled and don't make any sense. Are there any records of mental issues?”

I wanted to dive out of bed, rip out my I.V.'s, and scream. Just scream and scream.

I wanted out of this hospital. For Dad. He wasn't ready for this. He didn't have any note cards with him, and any he had prepared would have been burned in the fire.

All that's in my head is confusion and a nauseating desire to get out of this place.



I wake up and the nurse tells me that today I can leave the hospital. She almost says “go home” but stops herself just before the words slip off her tongue. There is no home now.

I sit up and stare at the food they've placed before me. Mushy scrambled eggs (or egg whites, really), a piece of whole wheat toast with no butter, and 100% grape juice. My favorite. I don't take a single bite.

The nurse comes in to retrieve my food, and check in on me. I'm sitting on my little hospital bed, in my little hospital gown, flipping through channels on my little television set.

“Hello, Evelyn. How are you this morning?” she takes a look at my tray, untouched, and shakes her head slightly. She keeps her mouth shut though, so I decide she must be okay.

“I'm fantastic. How about you?” I wonder if she heard the sarcasm in my tone. It's getting tough these days, even for me, to tell the difference between an honest answer and sarcasm.

She laughs, which makes me assume she heard it.

“I am alright. Not in a hospital bed, so that's a plus. I guess I can't complain.”

“Well that's good.” I finally land on a channel I can stand, so I set the remote down.

“Is it even worth it for me to tell you that you really should eat your breakfast?” She's still standing in the doorway, holding my tray in one hand. I look over, slightly annoyed that she isn't gone yet.

“No. It isn't.” I reply.

She nods. “I figured as much. I guess I'm being unfair. Don't tell anyone, but I didn't eat breakfast either. Never do.”

“Oooh.” I say. “Naughty girl.”

“It's just so inconvenient. I always thought it was ridiculous that we are supposed to eat big meals in the morning, then gradually eat less and less throughout the day. In the morning, every second of sleep counts. On a good day, I have time to snatch a granola bar before sprinting out the door to make it to work on time. But dinner? There is all day to prepare for that. It's just so inconvenient. Don't you agree?”

She's distracting me from my show. The thing is though, I'm actually interested in what she's saying. It is true, now that I think about it. Breakfast and dinner should definitely be flipped.

She opens the door to leave.

“Wait.” I say.

She freezes. “Yes?”

“Um... I was just thinking...” her expectant look makes me change my mind. “Would it be okay if I visited my Dad today?”

“Of course! Just please press your nurse button on the right hand side of the bed first. Then I can now when you're leaving, so that someone doesn't come in, see that your not here, and all Hell breaks loose. Okay?”

I nod. “Alright. Thanks.”

“No problem, honey. Now get some rest. Everything will be back to normal soon.”

She closes the door behind her as she leaves.

My hand shakes as I reach for the remote and press the off button. I don't know what has gotten into me, but I do. Something about that nurse, I can't believe I forgot to check her name tag, but something about her brought back a painful tsunami of memories. She looked nothing like Mom. Mom was tall, while the nurse was short. Mom had long brown hair, she had shoulder-length golden hair. They didn't look the same, and yet listening to her talk, I was almost convinced it was her.

I close my eyes as the waves crash over my head. I close my eyes and I let them dance above me. Drowning in an ocean isn't drowning if you accept the water , into your lungs. If you close your eyes, accept the fact that they are bigger and stronger than you, and take a big, deep breath of cold saltwater, then it isn't as painful.

Mom was the best woman that ever lived on this Earth. That sounds cliché, but I mean it with all of my heart. I believe she was the best woman out there, even after what she did to herself and her son. And her entire family, for that matter. Even after all of that, I still believe she was the kindest, wisest, most beautiful woman.

She looked at the world in a different way than most. She wasn't your classic Mom. Whereas most parents have a system, they know they are in control of their children, and they pick at them and whip them into shape until they move out to live on their own when they are eighteen, Mom did things differently. She never TOLD me to do things, she SUGGESTED I do them. She didn't treat me like a child, she treated me like an adult whom she had the privilege of spending time with every day. This is what I loved most about her, and what most people wouldn't understand because they've never known a Mom like that.

She also wasn't afraid to change how she appeared on the outside to appeal to others. Now, I know this may sound like a bad characteristic, but I assure you that in my eyes it was ingenious. If she knew that what people liked in a person was that they were honest, honest she would be with them. If she knew they just wanted someone who would be there when they needed someone to talk to, she was there. She shaped and molded herself to be who others needed and wanted. And therefore everybody liked her. She was everyone's best friend.

She taught me how to use her tricks, but after she died I stopped trying. I forgot all those silly things she told me. Which I guess is why I only have one real friend.

I can almost feel her in the room with me, her arm wrapped around my shoulders, telling me everything will be fine with me and Dad and our home. That it will all get sorted out and the pain can stop now, because she is here to help me.

Except that if she were here, the pain wouldn't be.


I press the nurse button around noon. My nurse, the same one as before, rushes in with a tray full of food. I check her name tag. “Julie.”

“I figured you could bring your lunch with you when you go visit your father.” Julie says.

I look down at the tray she sets before me. A tuna fish sandwich, saltine crackers, and a little water bottle. I wrinkle my nose, but nod for her benefit.

“I heard he just woke up a few minutes ago. You have good timing.” She smiles. “Maybe you can get some sense out of him. I'm hoping he didn't take this harder than we thought. We're having trouble communicating with him.”

I don't know what to say, so I'm honest. “It has nothing to do with the fire. He doesn't get out much. He hasn't been good at communicating since two years ago.” I don't know why I tell her so much. It's just that she is so much like Mom...

“And what happened two years ago?” she asks gently.

“My mother and my brother died.” I can't tell her that they committed suicide. I just can't.

Her face melts. “I'm so sorry, honey. I know how it feels to lose someone so close to you like that. Recently, my sister killed herself, and her husband went crazy and ended up in jail for theft. I care for their only son now. I'll never know why it happened. But I do know it hurts.” she gives me a look of sympathy; more sympathy than I have ever seen on anyone's face before.

“She... committed suicide?” My voice is weak and shaky.
Why does suicide seem to be everywhere these days?

“Yes. I can't possibly understand why, but she did.” Julie opens the door and steps out, closing it softly after her and leaving me in shock, sitting on my bed. Twice in one week. This shouldn't be happening.

I pull myself out of bed and my legs give out from days spent laying down and doing nothing. I fall onto the floor, and squeeze my eyes shut. I take a couple deep breaths, and I pull myself up again. The back of my hospital gown is open, so I find my jacket that I wore during the fire. I smell it, and it smells fresh and clean. They must have washed it. I pull it on over my gown and grab my tray. Then I open the door and cross the hall into Dad's room.

“Eva.” his voice is still a little raspy, but he looks great. I'm so happy to see him. I pull a chair besides his bed and sit down after I give him a hug. I grab his hand and hold onto it.

“My nurse reminds me of Mom.” I say,

“Which one?”

“She doesn't look anything like her. Her name is Julie. She has short blonde hair and freckles. But it's something about the way she acts, and talks. I think it might be a sign.”

“A sign of what?” he asks me.

“That she's here with us, helping us through this. That she doesn't want us to give up.”

Dad smiles at me. He closes his eyes. “Of course she's here.”

“And Patrick too.” I add.

His smile grows bigger. “We CAN get through this, Eva.”

“I know we can.”

We keep repeating it like saying it will make it true.

“We can do it because we're not on our own.”

“Mom and Patrick are with us.”

“We can do this.”

My eyes are closed now too. Our grips are getting harder in each others hands.

“We will never give up.”

“We can do this.”

Chapter Three


Before I know it, it is Thursday the twenty-eighth and three days before Halloween, and we are driving in our RV back to Blue River and our old forest. We listen to the radio on the drive and don't say much, other than small-talk, and stopping occasionally for gas or restroom breaks.

I remember the promise I made to Tracey about halfway through the ride. The promise I made to talk to Dad when she left. I still haven't kept that promise. Now is as good a time as ever.

I clear my throat. “Dad.” I say. My voice is too loud when it comes out though. He whips his head to the right to look at me.

“What is it? Need to use the restroom again? We just stopped for you not thirty minutes ago.”

“No, no, I'm fine.” I say. “I just...wanted to talk.”

He looks at me, studies my face, and sighs. “Okay. What do you want to talk about then?”

My heart is shaking like a leaf but I don't know why. That was a bad question he just asked. “I don't know. Anything. How have you been?”

Dad smirks, and I want to slap that smirk off of his face. “Fantastic.”

“Dad, really. Be serious, please.” I say, holding my patience with echausted fingers.

“Fine, I've been stressed. There's a lot to handle with everything that has been happening and everything that is still happening. It was as sudden as a car crash, only I didn't die. I don't know, maybe that would have been easier.”

My jaw drops. I can't believe he has just said that. That went way too far. I can't even think of what ot say to that. I am...furious. I am sad. I am dissapointed. At who, I don't know.

“Dad...” I say.

He gets mad then, too. Frustrated. He slaps the wheel. “Eva, I don't want to make you feel bad, I just have to tell the truth! I can't sugar coat things! My life is falling apart! I didn't mean what I said, about dying being easier. I didn't mean that, but... I just haven't been good lately. I havne't.”

I have to tell myself this is good. It's good that he is getting his thoughts out. It's good that he is talking to me... Sort of.

“I get it, Dad. I'm sorry. We can figure this out, though. I see all of this as a good thing. We are getting a new house. I am going back to my school. Life is returning to the way it was. Think of it as a little adventure that we took, and learned from. Just please try and think of all of this as a good thing. Please, Dad. I want you to be happy. For once, I am starting to feel happy. And it feels SO good! I want you to feel it, too!”

Dad stares forward at the road, expressionless.

“I can't even imagine it.” He says.

We're silent for a while, again. But I start talking, again.

“Dad, are you ready to give up?”

“What do you mean, Eve?” He looks confused.

“You're talking like you're ready to give up. Ready to just... I don't know. Stop trying to make yourself happy. Just curl up into a ball and let Life hand you whatever it pleases.”

“No, I don't think I am. Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Hasn't that answer always been obvious? Because of you. That wouldn't be fair to you.”

“So when will you be ready, then? When I leave the house? When I die?”

Dad sighs. “I don't know. I guess we'll see when that moment comes. But I feel that when I do decide to 'give up', or leave this Earth to join your mother and Patrick, it will be my choice. Nobody else will make that decision for me. When I die, Eve, is when I'll be ready.”


When we get to the property, there are machines everywhere. They have already begun the tedious task of picking up burnt and crumbled wood and throwing it into a large pile. Dad gets out to talk to them while I sit in the car and watch.

I watch for about an hour before I remmeber something. Something that I left in the backseat a while ago and forgot about.

I pull my journal out of the back pocket of the passenger seat and unclip the pen from the front. I turn to the first empty page and begin to write, but it just doens't feel right.

I look out the window. I watch the workers, and Dad talking to one of them, looking frustrated about something. The man looks hispanic, they seem to not understand each other.

Then my eyes move over to the forest behind where our house used to stand. And I see the big maple tree that has been there forever. And suddenly, my hands are itching to climb it. I can imagine the feel of the hard wood underneath my feet as I soar up into the sky.

Shoving the tiny journal and pen into my sweatshirt pocket, I undo the lock on the door and open it. It slams shut loudly but no one looks over. No one sees me.

So I run. I run to the tree, and when I get there, I climb. I climb as fast as I can, and as high as I can. My breathing rate increases and my heart swells fatter the higher I go.

When the branches feel shakey under my feet, I stop. I find a good, solid branch to sit on, and I watch the workers from above. They look like little ants, building a hill. I laugh, and my laughter is caught by the wind and soars away to fly with the birds.

I pull my journal out and, because words aren't coming to me right now (I can't think of enough to explain all that's happened within the last month without it taking hours or days), I draw the sight below me. The workers busily running around with their little machines and little ant-dad talking to little ant-hispanic-worker-guy.

When my drawing is finished, I stare at it and laugh. Then I look down below me, not to where the remnants of my old house are being moved, but to the forst.

The maple tree I sit on is the tallest tree in the forest. It overlooks everything else that might be wandering about down there, and that is how I notice the girl.

At first she is just a shape. A tiny ball I almost don't notice until I look closer. I know it can't be an animal, because I see color you wouldn't find in nature. Blue with pink on top of brown. And as I watch, I see her move. The slightest stir.

This isn't something you would normally find in a forest. There is something going on here, and I feel the urge to find out what it is. It doesn't look good.

So I leave my journal and pen where I sat, and I begin my descent to the forest floor. It takes all of ten minutes to reach the bottom.


I sit up in the maple tree in the forest behind where they are building my house. I can't believe it is going to be MY house. They're doing a great job, the builders. I think it's because they have heard about what happened to us, and they feel horrible. They're even charging less than usual, not that it affects Dad and I what they charge. Grandma and Grandpa are paying for all of it.

I'm writing in my journal about how grateful I am for the people in my life. Tracey, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa, Mrs. Youlee.... They have helped me through all of this. Even Mom and Patrick, though they aren't physically in my life, they have been helping me through the scars they have left in my heart.

I've been writing for several minutes when something catches my eye. At first I think it is a deer, for that wouldn't be unusual to find in a forest. But it's curled up on the forest floor, and I can see pink, a color you wouldn't find on a forest animal.

I crawl down from the tree to go see what it is. It's farther away than I thought, because the maple tree is the tallest one in the forest and I was sitting near the very top.

What I see makes absolutely no sense. It's a girl, a little girl, maybe seven or eight years old. She is curled up on the forest floor, fast asleep, her arms wrapped around her tiny legs for warmth. Her lips are chapped and blue and her hair is greasy and limp. Her eyelids flutter ferociously and her eyebrows are pulled together, making worry creases on her forehead that look almost permanent.

I almost run back to get someone for help, but something keeps me where I am. I kneel down on the ground, and gently tap her shoulder.

It was a light tip, but it may as well have been a gunshot in her ear, for she shoots up into a standing position quicker than I thought was humanly possible. She crouches back, arms out like i've challenged her for a battle or something.

“No, no.” I say. “I'm not trying to hurt you.”

Her arms fall to her sides. Her eyes look me over from head to toe, and I can see her little brain working to decide if I am a good guy or bad guy.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. “I saw you from the tree I was sitting in farther up. That's my house they're building.” I see a flash of something in her eyes but then it's gone. “Do you want me to get some help? How long have you been here?” My mouth starts running away and I catch it before I , scare her away with all the questions.

She stares at me, still not speaking.

“Okay, let's start with the first question: what are you doing here?”

She says nothing. Her eyes are steel.

I decide there is nothing to do now but get help. I start to walk away. “I'm going to get someone, okay? You stay here.”

“Wait!” Her little voice rings over my ears and brings me to a halt.

I turn. “Yes?”

“Um...” she shifts from foot to foot. “Please don't tell anyone.”


“Don't tell anyone? But I can get you help!”

She looks to the ground. “I don't want help.” her tone almost sounds angry. “They'll just give me new parents. I don't want new parents.”

“New parents? Where are yours?”

She looks up at me then, straight into my eyes. “They are dead.”

She doesn't sound like a seven-year-old then. She sounds like she is a hundred. Her tone gives me chills, as well as her gaze. It frightens me just a little bit.

“I can't just leave you..”I say.

She pleads with her eyes.

“Well... Maybe you can stay with me once the house is built. Maybe... I can tell my Dad, JUST my Dad, and you can live with us. We won't tell anyone. I promise. My mother is dead as well.” I know the words coming out of my mouth right now are crazy, but I can't think of another solution. I can't leave this girl in the forest alone, she'll die for sure.

I see something spark in her eyes. Hope, maybe.

“You would do that?” she whispers. “I could live with you?”

And that's when the surety comes to me. I am doing the right thing. I am saving this girl's life.

“Yes, of course I will do that. You stay here, and I will go talk to my Dad. Don't leave from this spot, okay? I'll be right back.”

The girl nods eagerly.

“Oh, and by the way.” I stop and say. “What is your name?”

“Mia.” she says with a smile.

“I'm Eva.” I say, returning the smile, and I walk away.



“Dad!” I yell, when I see him. He is talking to the construction workers, but I break in between the two. “Dad, I need to talk to you”

“Not now, Eva.” he says. “I'm in the middle of something.”

“But Dad, it's really important.” I say.

“Just wait a minute, Eva! One minute!”

Something is rising up in my throat. My eyes begin to sting. I wish it would stop.

I turn and start walking away, slowly. I don't know why it hurt me so much to hear him talk to me like that. Maybe because he hasn't raised his voice to me since I was young. He really is changing. The stress is morphing him into someone else. Someone unlike my Dad. And I need my Dad.

“Okay, Eva. What is it?” Dad comes up behind me and stands next to me. We stop walking.

I try and get the words out, but it doesn't come out right. That darned lump in my throat is making it hard to talk. And I don't want him to see my eyes beginning to water.

“There's this girl.. in the forest. Her parents are dead... she wants to live with us.” I get out.

I know he is going to push me away before his head starts shaking. “Eva, I can't deal with this right now. There's too much going on. Please, just deal with it yourself.”

The lump rises up into my mouth, and I can't push it down any longer. My eyes give up and start pouring. “Fine, I will!” I yell, and I turn and sprint into the forest.

My heart is beating like a horse in a race. I am breathing deep and loud, and my nose is running. I am a complete mess but I continue to sprint. I try to find where I left the girl.

She isn't there. I lay down on the floor where she was supposed to wait.

I know I'm overreacting, but I just can't handle Dad poushing me away like that. He hasn't talked to me, really talked to me, in forever. He's been so caught up in everything that is going on that he has forgotten about his daughter. I miss the days when it was just us, and everything was fine. I'm angry that our house burnt down. I am angry at him for burning our house down.

And that's when I make the decision. I am going to tell the girl she can live with me, in my room. I am not going to tell my Dad. He wants me to handle this myself, so I will.

“Eva?” Mia's voice breaks through my head and I stand up to face her. “I'm sorry..” she says. “I just had to go to the bathroom, but I'm back now. What did your father say?” her voice is small and weak. She sounds so innocent and helpless.

“He said no.” I say. Her face falls, and I see her struggling not to cry. “But I don't care what he says anymore. You can stay with me, in my room. We won't tell anyone, not even my dad. I'll help you, Mia. Just me.”

Mia pauses for only a moment, and then her lips begin to raise, and she is smiling. “Thank you.” she whispers, and she reaches forward and gives me a hug.


*******


I go out to the forest every day as soon as school is out. I bring food and Mia and I sit by a tree and talk while we eat. She eats like a starving puppy. I always end up giving her my share as well.

We talk about our parents. I don't ask how hers died, because I know she'll tell me when she's ready. And I don't tell her what happened to mine, because I just can't bring myself to do that. She's already so young.. and hurt...

She talks about how her mom used to take her to the senior center every weekend and all of the old ladies would marvel at her beauty, and grab her hands and give her wisdom for the future. She talked about how they would always go out to lunch after that, and her mom would tell her how proud she was of her, and how she was lucky to have gotten both a good heart and a pretty face. I try to see the beauty in Mia past all of the dirt and grime, but with the added effects of stress and fatigue, all I can see is her good heart.

She talks about how her dad used to take her hunting. She always loved it, until they died and the thought of killing anything made her feel sick. They had a little inflatable pontoon boat that they would sit in and go duck hunting. They usually didn't get anything from the long days spent on the water, but it was more about the experience, and the quality time spent together that was just between the two of them.

She was close to them both. She loved them both, and I can gather from what she is telling me that they both loved her. It's a sad thing that she was the only one left behind. I make myself a promise that I'll do anything to help her, and I won't let my guilt from keeping such a big secret from Dad get in the way.

There's been so much change in this past month that my stomach is always hurting from stress. Yet I see everything that has been happening as a good thing. I needed some change from the sad routine I had been living in. And once we've crossed this thorny hill, I think there will be a lot more happiness and love on the other side.


The house is finished two months later. Completely finished. Dad and I move in, and immediately sell our RV. We both agree that if we never see that thing again, it will be too soon.

We're happy to have some isolation from each other as we set up our new bedrooms. It feels just like the home I've grown up in, aside from the differences mentioned before and how it smells of new house rather than my home.

I get one day to live in my room by myself. Mia understands that I need a day to settle. After that, it will be time to let her in and see what happens next.

Grandma and Grandpa buy us the necessary household objects. They spend the money that was supposed to go to Dad's college fund before he met Mom and they left to never be seen again. That money has just been sitting in the bank, collecting interest, for twenty-two years now. They never could spend it. Nothing seemed valuable enough.

It feels so nice to sleep in a real bed once again. I sleep like a rock, and don't wake up until almost noon the next day, Saturday. I spring out of bed when I see the time. It take a quick shower, throw some food and water into my body, and head into the forest to invite Mia into my home.

She is more than thrilled when I bring the news that I'm ready for her. It's all she can do not to run to the house, and she can't wipe the smile off of her face. My heart soars with pride in myself as I listen to her babble about how great it will be to finally live under a roof once again. To sleep inside, and shower, and eat real food. I know it will be complicated, but it is so much better to have Mia living in my room than out there in the open wilderness.

I pull over the cot that I took from my grandparent's house (the bed I slept in in the RV- the other ones couldn't be stripped of that awful trailer smell) and pull it into my bedroom. It fits perfectly in my closet, and I can close the door and you can't even tell a little girl is living in my bedroom with me. I load the cot with blankets and pillows, and give up one of my dresser drawers for her own things, be them limited.

Mia looks as if she's staying in a five-star motel. Her eyes are lit up like Christmas trees. And that night, she snores like the Polar Express.

I'm happy to see her happy.


I write in my journal that night, after Mia has fallen asleep, showered and snuggled up in my clothes, way too big for her. I hear her heavy breathing through the closet doors and smile.

10:08PM, January 23rd, 2015


There's so much to say. It's been months since I've written and in those months my life has taken a drastic turn for the I-don't-know-how-this-will-end's.


To start with, my house burnt down. After my math teacher Mrs. Youlee, told us that her daughter-in-law committed suicide, I went home and told Dad. He got so worked up over it that he forgot about a pot of water he had been boiling on the stove top. Which ended in our house turning to a pile of ashes. Dad and I made it out safe though, thank God.


Dad and I went to stay at his parent's house, whom we haven't seen in forever. I went to Church. It gave me hope. Lots of things have been giving me hope lately. Things other than Dad and Tracey, who used to be the only things that could give me hope.


Then I found a girl in the forest. Her name is Mia. She has no parents. And she doesn't want me to turn her in because she doesn't want adoptive parents. I completely understand. She's staying in my bedroom, and Dad doesn't know.


There's a lot Dad doesn't know. We haven't talked in a long time. After things took such a sudden change, we just can't talk like we used to. We don't feel comfortable spilling our deepest thoughts and secrets to each other anymore. And now I do have a deep, dark secret. And its name is Mia.


She's sleeping in my closet, on a cot. The feeling it gives me to be helping someone so much is ineffable. Her thin, scrawny body jumping up and down and hugging me as hard as she can even though her arms are weak from her unhealthy diet. Her chapped lips spreading wide into a huge grin. The beauty I know she used to possess, lighting up my day because I can see it returning.


It feels so great to help. To know that I'm changing someone's life for the better. My life is starting to look a little bit hopeful. And I have one of those hunches. Like another good thing is about to come my way.







-Eva


Mrs Youlee stops me as I'm walking out the door to my next period.

“Evelyn, wait please.” Her voice was different. Like when you hear a teacher speak outside of school and their voices lose the volume and authority that they have in the classroom. That is how her voice sounds. Stripped of her schoolteacher demeanor.

I wait until everyone has filed out of the classroom and the door is shut. “Yes?” I ask.

“My next period is free, and I know this is strange, but I was wondering if you could stay here. Skip your next period, so we can talk.” she sounds vulnerable.

“Talk? About what?” I can't think of any failed tests, missing assignments, or overall reason to 'talk' with Mrs. Youlee.

“It's about my daughter-in-law.” shse says.

“Oh.”

“I just haven't been able to get over it, still. It's been three months now, and I still think about it every day. It's constantly in the back of my head. I don't know if I want it to leave, or if I want it to stay to remind me of my son and how he must feel.” She is starting to get shaky and frantic and I reach out and grab her palm. It's sweaty.

“I understand, Mrs. Youlee.” I say.

“Debra.”

“Right.” This situation feels so wrong. To be sitting here, playing counselor to my math teacher., who has asked me to skip class. I don't exactly know what to say.

“My son, Sean, comes over every single day. He drops Nico off with me and climbs up to the guest room to sleep for the rest of the day. I don't have time for anything anymore- not to grade papers, not to make dinner, not to clean the house, but that isn't what bothers me. I would have helped him out with the new baby no matter what. It's the fact that he doesn't seem to care. About anything, even Nico. At the first opportunity he has, he pawns him off on me to sleep the day away. And he's quit his job, so he doesn't have any money coming in, and I'm sure he isn't paying his bills. Pretty soon he'll end up moving in with me, and sleep the entire day long. I want to help him, but when I try and talk to him about anything relating to her, he waits for me to finish, then calmly says “Thank you for watching Nico. I'm going to take a nap now” as if he has completely turned off his ears throughout my entire speech! He's going downhill, and I just don't know what to do. Is this what it was like with you and your father, Evelyn?”

It takes me a minute to soak up everything she has just said. “Not quite, because we had each other. Dad and I have always felt comfortable talking to each other about our feelings, and I think that is the only thing that has gotten us through this. I think what your son needs, Mrs. Youlee, is a counselor. He needs someone to talk to that is trained in getting people's feelings out of them before they eat away at their insides until there is nothing left. Do whatever it takes to get him to that counselor, and it will help, I promise you.”

Mrs. Youlee nods with understanding. “And I also worry about the baby, Nico. He has started looking to me as if I were his mother. He yowls and screams when my son holds him, and then as soon as he is in my arms he quiets down. I can't help feeling this is a bad thing. I don't want him to forever rely on me. I don't have time for a child anymore.”

I frown. This isn't good at all. “I'm so sorry for that baby.” I say with sincerity. “He needs his father. He's going to have a rough life unless his father gets things together. That counselor is especially vital for the baby. Because you're right. You can't have that baby relying on something that can't be there for them always. He needs someone else. He needs his father.”

“Yes, he does. And that voice? It's so loud in my head, reminding me of how my son must feel. I have to sit down when I hear it, because the pain overwhelms me.”

“Mrs. Youlee-”

“Debra.” she corrects me.

“Okay, I undersatdn Debra. But you want that voice there. You need that determination constantly egging you on because you obviously don't have any on your own. You need to remember to never give up and to keep fighting. It's the only thing that can assure your child, grandchild, and your own self's hapiness in the future. I know you can't see yourself being happy now, but one day, if you keep at it and n ever give up, one day you will find it.”

Mrs. Youlee pulls her glasses off because they are fogging up, and she wipes them off on her blouse. She starts shaking, I can't help wondering if she is shaking because of my words or because of her memories and 'voice.”

The principle steps in then,

“I need to talk to you Mrs. Youlee, is this a bad time?” He doesn't seem to be pleased with the obvious privacy of this conversation. I don't know if I should stay or not, so I gather my things and leave the room, heading for the double doors that lead otuside.

Outside the weather is perfect. It isn't cold and overcast yet through the clouds you can see a faint smudge of yellow light streaming through. It s isn't freezing cold , it isn't blazing hot. It's siimply... perfect. I walk to my car and sit there for a minute, thinking about Mrs. Youlee and her son and grandson. How that little boy's life will be growing up. His father isn't handling this well at all, and he'll be confused until he is at the age where he can understand why. And then he'll be angry... and upset.. and he won't have a father to talk to.

The thought of it makes me so sad. I turn the car on and pull out of the school parking lot as I hear the end-of-school bell and watch the students pour out of the building. I drive all the way home, wanting only to sleep everything away.

When I get home, Mia is curled up on the cot I pulled in for her, fast asleep. Dad never comes into my room anyway. I pull the blankets around her, tucking her in, and kiss the top of her head gently. Her eyelids are fluttering, and I wonder what she is dreaming about. I hope I am helping her. I hope her future will be better because of me.

Then I change out of my school clothes and into sweats and a T=shirt, and climb into my own bed. I'm asleep within minutes.


*****



“They committed suicide.” Mia's small voice wakes me in the middle of the night and instantly I am wide awake.

“Your parents did?” I am shocked.

“Yes. At the same time. They left me all alone.” I hear her start to cry and I climb out of bed to lay by her.

“Shh, it's okay. You have me now.” I say. “I know it hurts, I understand. My mother and brother committed suicide two years ago. I know how you feel.” I whisper.

“Really?” she looks up at me through streaming eyes. I can see in her face and by the way she clings to me that I am her lifeline now. I am her idol. I am her mother, and her father, and her best friend. I stroke her hair and talk.

“Yes. But they didn't tell me why. They didn't tell anyone. They simply walked into the forest, pulled out two guns, and shot each other. Dad and I haven't gotten over it. I don't know if we ever will.”

She stares at me, waiting to hear more, so I continue.

“Patrick was my brother. My older brother by three years. Him and I used to do everything together. He taught me how to play baseball, and throw a football. I remember one time I got in trouble at school for hitting a kid that made fun of Patrick. The teacher called and left a message on my phone,t elling my parents that I was suspended from recess for violent behavior. Patrick snuck in before they got home, and deleted the message. And then he drove me to get ice cream, and told me I was the best little sister ever.

'I was so lucky to have him.” I continued. “He meant the world to me. And when he died... that was ripped away so quickly. And Mom at the same time. I'll never understand why they did it. Why they didn't think of me, and Dad, when they walked into the forest. Why they would leave us behind, with no explanation.”

Maybe Mia means just as much to me now as I do to her. I can't talk to Dad anymore, and my feelings need to come out. I'm lucky to have Mia now, too. She is someone to talk to. Someone who understands.

Mia is the one comforting me now. She hugs me tight, and pats my back gently like a mother would their baby. I almost laugh but that would be rude and I don't have it in me anyway.

Finally, I sit up and prepare to lay back down in bed and fall asleep. I turn and walk to my bed, then get under the covers, but when I look over to Mia to say goodnight, she is staring at me.


I can tell she's been staring for awhile. And something is in her eyes... it's almost...happy? No, that isn't it..

She must just be grateful to have someone now who understands her pain. I can't blame her for that.

“What?” I ask.

She shakes her head, and the look is gone. “Hm?”

“Nevermind.” I say, too exhausted to concentrate on what just happened. “Good night.”

“Night, Eva.”

Chapter Four


“Eva!” Dad's voice calls through my head and wakes me up. Again.

“What?” I mumble, grumpy.

“It's time for school. Get up.” He turns my light on and leaves, not even bothering to wait until I get out of bed.

I can tell today is going to be a bad day from the second I stand up and look out the window. It is dark and rainy and I can just imaigne how fantastic the walk to the bus stop will be.

I am in an especially nasty mood today. I feel that if someone tried to smile at me right now, I might just spit on them. Today will be a very awful day indeed.

I pull on a rain jacket and jeans, stuffing them into rainboots. I brush my teeth and hair, and whisper goodbye to Mia, who doesn't respond. There is no time to opent he closet door to say it again though, for I am about to miss the bus.

I sprint to the bus stop and get there just as the bus is pulling up. Tommy laughs at me as I run, and I know I must look a sight. This just makes me angrier, and I step onto the bus with daggers practically shooting from my eyes.

Luckily, there is an open seat, so no one has to experience the wrath of Evelyn this morning. I sit down, and pull out my ipod to drown out the sound of little kids squaking when they should be sleeping.

We pull up at school, and I just want to stay on the bus with the heaters warming my feet and my music bringing me away from the rest of the world. I stay on until everyone has stepped off, and then I reluctantly follow.

I pull my hood up and mix in with the crowd of people trudging inside. I find Tracey and step beside her.

“Morning.” she says. I am very relieved she left the 'good' out of that.

“Morning.” I reply.

That is our conversation. We go first to her locker to drop her stuff off, and then to mine. Then we sit in the gym and watch the seniors pass aorund a basketball until the bell rings.



I'm in English when suddenly the lights flicker.

The teacher's words falter off and everyone is silent, until one smartmouth yells “The Apocolypse! It's the Apocolypse!”

The class erupts into laughter, and the teacher waves around her arms in vain, until the lights completely die out and we are left in darkness.

BOOMBANGSHHHHHHHHBOOM!

The building shakes from the loud thunder. The rain pours onto the roof and makes it impossible to see out the windows or hear the person next to you.

Why, oh why, do we have school today?

The teacher doens't know what to do.

“uh...” she mutters under her breath, not liking the loss of control she has over the classroom. Kids have moved desks, pulled out their cell phones and ipods, and are talking loudly.

I am staring at her as she tries to figure out what to do.

“I'm going to go talk to someone...” I see her mouth say, but do not hear.

She escapes from the classroom but no one notices except me. Everyone has turned and is chatting away with everyone else. Except me.

I'm sitting in my lonely loneliness praying to anything holy that they will let us all go home, when someone says my name.

“Hey, Eva.” I hear. I whip my head to the right, unnaccustomed to hearing my voice said by any unfamiliar voice.

“What.” I snap. Then I realize they aren't planning on teasing me, their tone WASN'T sarcastic, so I say, “I'm sorry. What?”

It's Kyle. He is a quiet kid who has one friend in the entire building- Scotty Jevan. They're man BFFs, and no one even tries to become either one of their friends because there's no room for that. But here he is, talking to me.

Kyle looks as if he doesn't know what to say next. He looks out the window. “I wonder if they'll let us home.” he remarks.

“Maybe.” I say, and then, because this is so horribly boring, I add “Where is Scotty?”

His eyes shift to the other end of the room, where Scotty is laying on the floor reading a book.

“Oh.” I say.

“Yeah. He's been all into the Hunger Games lately. Can't set 'em down.”

I laugh. I haven't even read the book. I tend to keep out of things others swoon over. I like to be different, I guess.

“Well, do you want to play cards?” he asks.

“What?” It's such a preposterous question, but when I think about it, it does sound kind of fun. It's been a very long time since I've played cards. And Kyle is giving me someone to talk to.

“Sure.” I say, with a smile.

He pulls a deck out of his coat pocket, which I find kind of odd, but I say nothing.

“Speed?”

I nod. I know this one.

His hands move swiftly and gracefully as he lays the cards down and passes them from me to him, me to him. I am mesmorized by how deftly his fingers work, as if they subconsciously know what to do while his mind concentrates on counting. One, One. Two, Two. Three, Three.

“You ready?” he asks. I nod.

And we begin.

It moves so fast. We flip the top cards over and it's a one and a seven. I jump to set down my six but Kyle is there first. Then I rip the Ace from my stack and throw it down but before I do that, he has slapped down an Ace of his own.

I give a squeel of frustration and he laughs at me.

His stack is getting low and I've set down a total of three cards. There is no question who is going to win this game.

“Speed!” he slaps his hand onto the table and smiles at me. I smile back.

“Let's go again! I was warming up!” I say. I don't mention that part of me just wants to see his beautiful hands deal the cards out once again. I have a feeling that would come off sounding a little creepy.

This time, I am ready. My reflexes kick in and I am the one slapping cards down before he has the chance to. I can't stop laughing. We're nearly tied. We're both breathing hard and way too into this than we should be.

“Speed!” I shout a little too loudly when my stack is gone. Kyle holds one card in his hand. It's an eight. There's a nine on the table, and he slowly sets it down.

“Nice game.” he says with a smile.

I can't believe I'm breathing hard from a card game.

“Thanks, you too.” I reply, then start picking the cards up. I know my hands are awkward and inexperienced compared to his. I need to clip my nails. And put lotion on my hands.

The teacher hustles back into the room, flattening her hair and clearing her throat.

“Class!” she shouts, trying to make order of this chaos.

The volume stays the same. No one is paying attention.

Suddenly an angry-looking principle storms into the room and shouts at the top of his lungs “CLASS!!!!!!!!”

And it is dead silent. Everyone has owl eyes as they turn their heads to the front of the classroom. I think he has shut up the entire school.

“Due to the power outage, we have called the buses and you will all be sent home at twelve o'clock. Until then, please call or make arrangements on how you will get home if you are not riding the bus. I don't want to have to wait an hour at the school until every student has left. I have kids of my own, you know.”

He seems grumpy. It doens't mix with my happy mood. This morning, I believed today would be an awful day. But I was wrong. I made a new friend today.

“Well, I have to go call my parents.” Kyle says as he stands up. “The buses don't drive all the way out to my house, and my parents won't let me use their car to drive myself, so my dad takes me to and from school every day. Dumb, I know. They don't trust me. Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah! Bye, Kyle.” I say, waving as he walks away. I look up at the clock. I still have fifteen minutes left of school. Might as well find Tracey.

After a few minutes of searching, I find her. But I don't approach her. She's leaned up against the wall, people bumping into her as they follow the flow out the door. She doesn't seem to notice, though. She's grinning from ear to ear, her hands being held in Toby Freddy's hands. He's smiling too, and saying something to her that makes her giggle.

I shake my head, hoping this new infatuation won't end in a phone call begging for me to come over and hold her while she sobs over how guys are all big jerks and don't respect her and she deserves better, and she shouldn't be so trusting, and she isn't going to date again until college, where the boys actually have some respect.

I turn around and walk back to my locker, grab my backpack, and then step outside. I get into my car and turn the music on, and the windshield wipers, as the rain is pouring down in buckets and it's going to be hard to see as I drive home. I don't think anyone will notice me leaving. It's not like the teachers are going to sit everyone down and take attendence.

I drive home, surprising Dad. I am shocked but happy to see that our power is still on. I go into my room and Mia isn't there. She must have gone for a walk or something, but that seems strange with the weather and all. But I don't worry about it too long. I'm not going to start making rules.

I sit down and listen to the rain. I think about taking a nap but now that I've made a new friend I'm not in the mood for that. So instead I get back up and go into the kitchen to make some hot chocolate. I settle onto the couch, Dad on the reclining chair, and we watch The Big Bang Theory. It makes me sad when I realize I haven't been even this close to him in a long time. I know I should try and make conversation, but something holds me back. I think it's the guilt. I don't feel like I could start talking with Dad again, start confiding in him, with this huge secret on my chest.

Dad doesn't try, either. He looks completely absorbed in the TV. He doesn't notice as I look over and study him. He's changed. He's gained some weight from sitting all the time watching TV. He hasn't shaved in weeks and his beard and mustache are graying I notice, as well as his hair. He's not even forty years old! He looks tired, with bags under his eyes, and his cheeks are a little bit sunken in. His complexion is washed out and dry.

To sum it up: he isn't looking well.

But I turn my attention back to The Big Bang Theory, and I keep silent. Selfish, I know.

I just can't let my secret out. He would turn her in for sure.



Tracey has been spending more and more time with Toby, and I have been spending more and more time with Kyle. There's a difference though. Kyle and I are just friends, and Tracey and Toby are apparently 'in love'.

She called me that night, as I expected. The night the power went out. She blubbered on and on about how out of nowhere, he started talking to her, telling her he'd thought she was beautiful for a really long time but hadn't had the courage to get up and talk to her. How he suggested, when school was out early, that they go out to eat lunch somewhere, do something fun. They had stayed out until ten o'clock at night. Ten hours she spent with a boy she had only met that day.

But anyway, as Tracey and I pull away, we don't lose touch. She still calls almost every night, and if she doesn't I call her. We wouldn't lose each other for the world.

Kyle and I chat as we walk around school together. He moved his desk in English to be beside mine, and whenever the teacher lets the class get out of hand again, he pulls out that deck of cards and we have another round of Speed. We're about equally skilled at the game now, and we both get a little too into it as we play.

I haven't had a friend other than Tracey in forever, and Kyle makes me feel happy. Not that we're anything other than friends. He's just really good at that; being friends. He's great at listening, and he doesn't feel the need to constantly fill the conversation with talk about himself. That's what I love about our conversations. They don't revolve around ourselves. It isn't the typical 'guess what I did this weekend?' 'guess what I'm doing THIS weekend?' conversation that you hear floating around the school pretty much 24-7. He's different, and I'm different. But, I believe, we're both different for the better.




Kyle knows about what happened to my family. Everyone does. But he has never mentioned it. No one likes to talk about it. Everyone just avoids it. But that's what I hate most. It's on their minds, but they don't see it for fear I'll snap at them or something. That isn't true. I wish we could all just speak casually about it. That would be so much easier.

I bring it up one day to see how he reacts.

“My brother Patrick and I used to go bowling together. He always won.” I say one day, when we're trying to decide what to do after school.

“Really? My older brother would never do that. He doesn't have time for silly things like hanging out with his little brother.”

I smile, because I am pleased with the way he has taken my choice of subject. Kyle looks at me funny.

“No no no!” I shout when I realize why. “I'm not smiling at what you said, I promise! That's really too bad. How old is your brother?”

“He's nineteen. Lives in an apartment nearby, works at Home Depot but isn't in college. He has a girlfriend, but I'm almost positive he's cheating on her with a girl from work. Let's just say he isn't the greatest example. Neither is my father.”

“Oh. Patrick was the best big brother in the entire world, and my mother was the best example of a human being on this entire planet. She was my idol, he was my stone. I miss them so much.”

Kyle reaches over and gives me a hug. “I'm sorry.” he says. He isn't awkward about it, and he doens't try to change the subject. I love that. “That must have been difficult. I figured your family must have been having rough times back then. I never guessed that you were all happy.”

“See, that's just the thing.” I say. “They killed themselves out of nowhere. On a random day, for no obvious reason. We were all happy. We were all living happy lives. We were the perfect family. And not just on the outside, on the inside as well. We loved each other. We loved our lives. Or I did, anyway.”

Kyle's hand moves slowly on my back as I sit next to him, my head on his shoulder. We are silent for the longest time, each absorbed in our own thoughts.

And then there is a shift in the atmosphere, and we both feel it. Our thoughts take on a different track simultaneously. Our breathing increases, and Kyle's hand starts moving faster.

The air has a feeling of something sparking like fireworks in it. I feel Kyle begin to shift, and I close my eyes and wait. I know what comes next.

His hand stays on my back the whole time, but it isn't moving up and down anymore. I can feel the warmth of his body as he stands in front of me, and then I feel the warmth of his lips on my own.

The moment feels so perfect. Kyle feels so perfect with me. Our lips are the perfect temperature. And for the first time in what seems like forever, I feel that despite my shady past, my life is absolutely perfect.


“Evelyn!” Mrs. Youlee stops me one day as i'm exiting the class after fifth period.

“Yes?”

“I got him to go.” she's smiling, something I haven't seen her do in a while. “I got my son to go to the psychiatrist. And it helped, it really REALLY helped. He's been so much better, Evelyn! He's been taking care of Nico, and sometimes he'll even talk to me about her. His wife, I mean. Sometimes he'll tell me how it felt to lose her. Just for a second. He'll say something really short, like “I still can't believe she's gone. I wake up every morning feeling happy, and when I remember that she isn't here anymore, it's like the doctor telling me the news all over again.” and then he shuts down again and won't talk about it any longer. But he's so much better! I'm seeing hope! Thank you so much, Evelyn! So much! You've changed three lives. I really hope you understand how much I appreciate your help.”

I smile at Mrs. Youlee, touched. “I understand. I'm glad you got him to go. I hope the baby is doing good.”

“Oh, he's diong fantastic! He's a big beefcake. Eighty-eighth precentile for his weight, fiftieth for his height, and seventy-second for his head circumference. Healthy as a lamb. And all the screaming and crying has decreased by a LOT. My head thanks him. All those Advil could not have been good for my system. But, anyway, you have a sixth period to go to. Here, I'll write you a late pass. Thank you again!”

I laugh. “It felt good to help you, Mrs. Youlee. I'm glad my experience could come in handy.”

she scribbles her signature at the end of the note and rips it off, handing it to me.

“That's a good way of looking at it.” she says.


“Whatever happened to Scotty?” I ask Kyle one day, because the question has been on my mind for a long time.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you used to be around him all the time, and now you spend all your time with me. Isn't he, like, jealous or something?” I grab a potato chip from the bag we're sharing as the credits roll on Finding Nemo.

Kyle takes a sip of his water and thinks for a minute. “I need to explain some things to you” he says. “about Scotty.”

“What?” I hadn't known there was more to the kid than video games and skateboarding. But I guess you can't judge a book by its cover. He just always seemed so.. open. I hide a laugh at my unintentional pun.

“Well... Scotty is actually my cousin, to begin with.”

I stop chewing the chips and stare at him in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah. My aunt's kid. WE're almost exactly the same age, only two weeks apart. We were always really close as little kids. I went to his house like every day, or he came to mine. It was the best kind of friendship because whenever we had those family get-togethers, you know the ones kids always dread because they have to dress up in ugly sweaters and hang with their family members when they just want to be with their friends? Well, my best friends was at all of those, sporting a turtleneck just as ugly as mine! We were really close, and then something happened.”

“Something happened? I thought you guys still were really close.” I break in.

“Just wait, I'm getting to that.” he says.

“Oh. Well, keep going, then.”

“Our entire family went to Alaska to spend the Holidays, because my grandparents live there and they have this big house and refused to fly out to Oregon because 'they always have to' and so there Scotty and I were, on a plane, flying out to Alaska, seven years old.

'Scotty gets sick on planes, so the plane ride was no fun, and once we got to Alaska he just wanted to sleep. I let him do that, but after a while I got bored. So I went in to wake him up, secretly of course, my mom would have killed me if she knew that's what I was doing, and when I went in there, he was shaking violently in the bed. His eyes were open and rolling around in their sockets, and his arms and legs were flailing around like he was being suffocated.

'I was absolutely terrified, of course. I screamed, despite the fact that everyone would see that I had come into Scotty's room to wake him up. I didn't think about that. Everyone came running in, and when they saw Scotty they ran over and tried to hold him down, do anything to make him stop, but he just kept hitting them in the face and he wasn't responding when they spoke to him. After a minute or so, he stopped, his eyes closed, and he fell right back asleep.

'His parents rushed him to the hospital and it was there that they found out he had epilepsy, and was fighting a seizure, the first of many to come. Scotty has seizures about once a month now, I've witnessed about three quarters of them. They come randomly, so I am the only one Scotty ever wants to have over and hang out with because he doesn't want anyone to see him have one. That's why I've alwayas been his only friend. He's afraid to get too close to anyone else.

'But just recently, the epilepsy started going away. No one knows why, but Scotty hasn't had a seizure in almost six months. So he's started making other friends. And he doesn't spend as much time with me anymore. And I'm okay with that. I'm just glad he's finally happy.”

I feel terrible. I can't believe I was so shallow to assume that Kyle and Scotty were just, well, obsessed with each other. I remember Tracey and I joking one time that they were secretly gay. I'[m realizing that there's more to people than what you see on the outside. You shouldn't judge someone without getting to know their story.

“You're a good friend, Kyle.” I tell him, meaning not only to Scotty, but to me as well.

He smiles. “I'm a firm believer in the idea that people are in your life as long as you need them, and vice versa. I'm just there for as long as people need me, and then I can understand when they don't any longer.”

I know what he's saying, and he's right. I do need him.

“and I'll do the same for you.” I say.

He smiles. “Good. I was hoping you'd say that.”

This situation is just screaming for a hug, so I reach over and give him one. Then I get up and pull the Nemo disk out of the DVD player and replace it with Despicable Me, and sit back down with my bag of chips.


Mia and I are sitting on the floor in my room the next day, playing cards. I walked in to her playing Solitaire, and I immediately jumped at the chance to play Speed once again.

I asked if she knew how to play and she said no, so I taught her. She taught on quick, and we played for hours on end. I won most times, but she beat me two or three times. When she did, she smiled as if she had won the lottery and threw all the cards up in the car, declaring that the loser had to play 52 Card Pick-Up. Funny how this rule only applied when she won.

After we were done with that, she left to take a bath. I wrote in my journal while she was gone.

8:17PM, April 20th, 2015


Mia's in the bath right now. We just finished playing hours worth of Speed. That game reminds me of the day I met Kyle, at school. How he was yet another thing that brought me hope to keep fighting. First it was Julie, the nurse. And then it was Tracey. And after that, Grandma. And then church. And then Mia. And lastly, Kyle. Kyle has brought me the most hope of all, though. He reminds me of who I am, just like Tracey always has. Only Tracey can't always be there because she has her relationships, too. Kyle will be at my side whenever I need or want. And that is exactly what I need. And want.

Recently, I've been thinking back to Kyle and I's conversation a long time ago about the purpose of life and how it started. I like the idea of things happening for a reason. Such as Mom and Patrick dying, and Kyle being brought into my life. But I'm not too sure that isn't another one of those feel-good theories. And while those theories are fine while you're hurting, and only need something to cling onto, now that I'm happy I want the real answer.

So I was thinking, maybe it's about fairness. Everyone gets an equal amount in their life. And if three years of my life were spent being handed the most unfair situations life had to offer, then Kyle was the sign of things changing. Now life will treat me fair, treat me right. I've had my share of tragedies and upsets, and now it's the time for miracles and laughter. Of hope and watching dreams unfold and taking roads that lead to flowery meadows and sunlight.

It's just a theory, but I think maybe it's one I can build on. I want to know. I want to know more than anything what the real answer is. Maybe Kyle and I can do it, together. We can figure it out. I've had this feeling lately that I can do anything. I think they should change the definition of 'impossible' to : never been done before. Because if someone tries hard enough, they can make the impossible possible. As Kyle said, there is a first to everything.



-Eva

I brush Mia's hair when she returns from her bath. She talks about how her mom used to do that for her. And she used to do something to her hair every day. Her fingers were like crochet hooks and Mia's hair the yarn. She'd weave it into beautiful patterns on her head, and she would be complimented all the time. She then goes on about how beautiful she used to be, as she's done many times before.

After listening to her for a few minutes, I grab her shoulders and turn her around, not gently. I press her cheeks in between my palms.

“Look at me, Mia.”

She looks. Her eyes are confused and just a little bit frightened.

“You ARE beautiful. You're maybe even more beautiful than you were before. Because you've grown strong. Just look at the beautiful tan on your face from being out in the sun all day long, every day in the summer. The strong muscles on your arms from building yourself a shelter all on your own out there, so you would be protected from the rain. Your heart, strong from the heartbreak you've gone through and endured. Something good comes out of everything, Mia. Even deaths. You're beautiful. Now stop saying you aren't.”

I swivel her back around and go back to brushing her hair.


Kyle asks me one day if I believe in anything. A million memories come rushing in. Of so long ago, when the only thing I believed in was Dad and his reliance. And even farther back, when I believed that God was always there helping me and when I died it wouldn't be that awful experience everyone is terrified of; I would be leaving to a better place.

And after that, when I went to church and felt peaceful feeling that I could believe in that again.

But now?

“I don't know.” I say.

He chews on that for a minute.

“Do you?” I ask.

“I don't know either.” he says. “Sometimes I think the only thing I truly believe in is myself. I get this feeling in my gut when I am doing something right. Like when I started talking to you, for example. Something in my head, or maybe it's in my heart, it just...clicks. I can't see myself putting my faith in something else, because everything changes. And the whole things with Heaven and Hell and all of that, I just can't wrap my head around. To me it's all just people desperate for a way to explain the universe, and make themselves feel better about life and what happens after. I just can't imagine anything other than the real world, and how things are in reality. Maybe that's just the type of person I am. But the only thing I truly, honestly believe in is myself.”

I nod. He makes good points. And it's odd to be sitting here talking philosophy with him, but at the same time it feels good. He's smart. He thinks outside of the box. Yet I can understand what he;s saying.

“But it all has to have started somewhere.” I say.

“That's true. Everything starts somewhere.”

“And nothing in the 'real world' could have started it all. I can't think of a single thing.”

“Yeah, but I don't see how anything, real world or not, could have created all of this, because where did THAT start, if everything starts somewhere?”

It's almost too much for my brain to handle. But it's so interested I keep going. “But if it's nothing we know of now, nothing like humans and reality and everything we see and hear and touch, then who says it has to have started somewhere? You say 'everything starts somewhere' but what you mean is everything we know of. Everything our minds can process, can understand. If there was something out there that lived by different laws and rules that our universe does, then it may not have had to have a start.”

“Wow.” Kyle says. “That was incredibly insightful.”

I smile.

“But why that something have created us, then? I mean, what our we doing really, just living our short lives, reproducing, and then eventually dying? We aren't accomplishing anything singularly, and I can't see what we're doing as a whole either.”

“I don't know the answer to that one. But I bet whatever created all of this is getting pretty frustrated that no one has figured it out yet.”

“Unless we ARE doing just what they meant.” Kyle adds.

“Yeah. Unless that.”


“But the only thing I can think of that would be satisfying to whoever/whatever is watching us would be entertainment.”

I sigh. “That would be horribly depressing if that was our purpose. Entertainment.”

“Seems like a lot of work for something so simple.”

“Maybe they were bored.”

“REALLY bored.”

“Hey, if you were immortal, you'd get pretty bored, too.”

“Not if we both were.”

I smile at him. This topic changed quickly.

“Okay, but what if there is something controlling our thoughts. Something putting thoughts into our heads right now, and we just assume they're our own because they come from our heads.”

“Oh Gosh, I really hope not.”

“And whenever someone starts to figure it out, whenever they think of the right answer, that person drops a thought in their head that leads them astray; makes them think they're wrong.”

“So really we'll never figure it out.”

I think about that.

“But I have to figure it out. I can't die before I figure it out.”

“i feel you.”

Chapter Five


As I'm walking through the halls of my high school the next day, I notice a big poster on the wall.

Winter Ball: December 15th. Tickets will be on sale the week before. $15 couple, $10 single

December fifteenth! Thats in two weeks!

I find Kyle and show him the poster.

“You forgot about it?” he laughs.

“Yes... didn't you?” I feel silly all of a sudden.

“No, Eva, of course not. Don't you worry. I've got something planned.” he winks at me and walks off to his first period as the bell rings.

I talk to Tracey at lunch, and we make plans. She's happy to get caught up with me. And I'm happy to spend time with her, too.

We leave right after school and drive up to Portland to go dress shopping. The dress I pick out is ruffly and one-shouldered, emerald green to match my eyes, and hers is skin tight, almost short enough to see her underwear, and hot pink. She gives me a look as if to say “Is it too much?” when we're trying them on, and I give her a look as if to say “You only live once.”

We go out to dinner at Red Robin to catch up. We've both been so involved iin other things: her with Toby and I with Kyle, that we haven't left room for our best friends. It feels good to laugh with her, and tell her how things are with Kyle. I don't tell her about Mia. It would be like dropping a bomb on a perfectly happy, sheltered community. I tell her I am happy now. Really happy. And she smiles.

“I'm so glad, Eva. I've been waiting to hear you say that for so long. I'm glad you found someone who could make you happy. And let me tell you, I never would have picked out Kyle Houston for you, so props for that.”

We laugh. She tells me she is actually happy now, with Toby. He isn't one of those jerks that only uses her to look good for his friends, and he moves as slowly as she wants. I am glad for her as well. I'm glad that she finally realized she was better than what all those other guys treated her as.

We drink our strawberry lemonade and eat our big, greasy, Red Robin burgers. We plan for Winter Ball, how we're going to go eat at Red Lobster before, and get ready together, and get group photos. Despite the butterflies in my stomach, I am excited. It's my first dance. And I can feel that it is going to be great.

When we're done at Red Robin we get into my car to drive home.

“How are things with you and your Dad?” she asks me.

I don't want to tell her the truth, but I can't lie. So I settle for something in between. “We talk occasionally.” I say.

She looks over at me, cocking her eyebrow up as if to say “I'm on to you.”

I sigh. “Okay, so things aren't going so great. But he's busy with work, and I'm happy with school and Kyle and everything. It's really not so bad.”

“Is he happy, too?”

“Well.... I'm not really sure.” I say, even though I'm pretty sure the answer is no. The garage which is slowly filling up with beer cans and bottles. The way he's always either sleeping, working, or watching television. The bears he's grown. The way his lips have forgotten how to smile.

Tracey shakes her head.

“It just isn't easy to talk to him anymore, Trace. I'm finally happy, and I just can't relate to him anymore. And that's what we always liked about each other. We could relate, and understand. Trace, if there's one thing I've learned from Mom and Patrick committing suicide is that there's only one thing that can ease the pain even a little bit, and that's understanding.”

“You should still try.” Tracey begs me. “He's been here for you throughout all of this. Imagine where he would be now if you had died with them.” I shake away the image that floats into my mind, of Dad laying in a coffin underground, a stone above him with his name on it, and the rest of my family's beside his.

“”I know.” I say. “I know.”


“Kyle.” I say.

“Yeah?”

“I need to talk to you...”

He looks at me questioningly, then we put on our shoes and go outside. “Eva and I are going on a walk!” he calls to his mom before slamming the door.

We walk a little ways before Kyle says “So what did you need to talk to me about?”

“It's kind of a big thing..” I say.

“Oh.” he says. I sense his impatienceness.

I sigh, knowing I need to just spit it out. “There is a little girl living in my room.” I say. “She's five.”

He looks at me, but says nothing. I can tell this is not what he was expecting. Well, yeah. I think. Who would guess that?

“Um.. and nobody knows she is living in my room with me. Her parents are dead. They killed themselves.”

“Oh.” His eyes are like saucers as he looks at me.

“Yeah. I told you it was a big thing.”

“Yeah. So why doesn't your Dad know? Or does he?”

“He doesn;t.. that part is complicated. I was just so frustrated with him when I found her out in the forest behind my house that I kept her a secret. Dad and I don't get along as well as we used to.” I explain.

He looks sideways at me. “Eva, that isn't good.”

“I know!” I say.

“Sorry.”

I sigh. “But you're right, though. I shouldn' t have let my anger get the best of me. But he was going to make me turn her in to the cops, and that was the one thing she begged me not to do. She doesn't want new parents. Which I can understand completely. She has a lot of pain, Kyle, and I can understand that.”

Kyle nods, but his face looks worried. “I understand your intentions Eva, but this is really a serious thing. She needs to be reported.”

“I can't just yet. I just can't do that to her.” I say.

He nods. “Well, what is her name?”

“Mia.” I smile. “She's so small and sweet. You'd like her.”

“Will I ever get to meet her?”

“Maybe sometime.” I say, knowing fully well that that probably won't happen.

“well, Eva, I'm glad you told me.” he says.

“Of, course!” I say, shocked. “Why woulnd't I tell you?”

He shrugs. “I'm just glad you did.”

We turn around and head back to his house.


Dad is sitting at the couch watching some House Hunters show and drinking out of a green glass bottle of beer. I wrinkle my nose at the sight and trudge past him to my bedroom.

“Eva.” he says, stopping me.

“What?”

“Hey.” His voice is funny-sounding and I don't know why until he gives a little birp and starts laughing. And then I want to slap him in the face.

“You're drunk!” I scream.

“What? No, I'm not.” There he goes again. Laughing his drunken head off.

“Dad!” I realize there is no point in arguing with him when he can't think straight, so I stomp furiously to my room. It's not that I've never seen my dad drunk before, it's just that I haven't seen him even take a sip of alcohol since Mom was around. He promised me that he wouldn't become one of those fathers that turns to alcohol after their wife dies and then I be left with no parents at all. The fact that he is drinking now kind of makes me feel like he doesn't care about being a Dad to me anymore, and that makes me angry but mostly it just makes me upset, though I'll never tell him that.

It makes me sad that I can be feeling this way and not be telling him. What has happened to us
? I think. I can't help feeling I am to blame because not listening to his advice and letting Mia live in my room has left a big, guilty weight on my chest and I can hardly bring myself to look him in the eye without spilling it all out. But I don't think it is all me. All this stress that Dad went through at once has made him, well, depressed.

But it is my fault I haven't been helping him through this.

I've been kind of happy lately. Happier than I had been before all this change brought about. And Dad has been more depressed than at any other time in his life. And I've done nothing to help.

The guilt overwhelms me now. I hear Dad shout in the other room “Pick the cheap one, god damnit!” and I throw myself onto my bed.



At the end of the day on Friday, as I'm walking out to my car to drive home, because now that Dad has a job I can pay to drive myself to and from school. I carpool every other day with either Kyle or Tracey, I'm stopped by a man who appears to be about twenty years old. He isn't a senior, because I would know him, but he can't be any younger. And he is way too young to be a teacher.

“You're Evelyn Thornbury, right?” he asks.

“Yeah, I am. Who are you?”

“I'm Brad... I was your brother's friend back in high school.”

“Oh!” I say, shocked. I try and think back to then, but my brother rarely had friends over. I can't remember his face. They must have just hung out at school.

“I was wondering if you had a moment... to talk about some things.” he tells me. His voice sounds like he's fighting the urge to just leave right now and not go through this, but for some reason he feels he has to. I'm getting good at looking into people.


“Yes, I do!” I say. I put my keys back into my backpack and start walking with him. I don't know where we're going, but I let him lead. Turns out we're just going to walk circles around the school. In silence.

“Um..” I say after about five minutes of listening to our foosteps hit the ground. I didn't mean I had ALL DAY. I keep this thought to myself, though.

“Sorry. It's just.. hard to talk about.”

“I understand.” I lie.

“okay, well.. Patrick and I were really close friends.” he says.

“Yeah? That's cool. Patrick wasn't really the type to have friends over after school and stuff, so I apologize for not knowing your face.”

“Oh, that's okay, I'm not surprised. We've all gotten older, too. What are you, eighteen now?”

“Seventeen, almost eighteen.” I reply.

“So it's been almost three years.” Brad says.

“Yes. That's right.”

“that's when I left.” he says.

“Left?”

“Yeah. I ran away. After Patrick..died.”

“You can say it, Brad. He killed himself.”

Brad looks down at his feet. “Yeah.”

“So why did you leave?”

“i don't know, exactly. It was just so sudden. Patrick was such a good guy, I couldn't imagine him diong anything like that. When I heard the news, I was shocked completely. I didn't believe it. I thought 'they're wrong. Everyone's wrong. He couldn't have killed himself. It must have been murder'. But everyone was so ADAMANT about it. They were certain he had killed himself.”

“Yes.” I say. “I'm the one who found them. They were laying on the floor with two guns, pointed at each other's heads. My mom and Patrick, that is.”

“i heard about that.” Brad looks down again, looking defeated, like I've already answered the question he had come here to ask.

“What is it, Brad?” I ask. “Just tell me.”

He takes a deep breath. “I came back to find out if everyone's opinion was still the same. If everyone still believed it was a suicide.”

“Yes... Of course we still believe that. It's the truth.”

that's when Brad's shoulders sink down, and his head falls forward, his chin almost touching his chest. He folds over himself like a puppet.

“Were you expecting a different answer?” I ask, somewhat agitated.

He nods. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come back and bring all this up again.”

“I think about it every day, that's not what I'm upset about.” I say.

“Well, did you ever consider it was a murder?”

“No!” I scream. “Because it was a suicide!”

He looks up at me. “I'm sorry.” he says again. And he walks away.

I slink back to my car, confused and upset and...confused. I slide into my seat, shut the door, and turn the car on. I drive home slowly, watching the rain pour onto my window and the people running from building to building, hoods pulled up over their heads, dodging the raindrops as if they were bullets.

Brad is just upset. He's just upset because when he was my age, his view of the world was thrown askew. He realized that people who appeared to be happy on the outside could actually be so upset with life that they would kill themselves. He still hasn't come to accept it. I shouldn't have been so short with him. I should have helped him, tried to make him see clearly.

I pull up at my house and walk inside slowly, letting the rain fall onto my head and face and drip down my nose. I can accept the rain. Why does it seem I'm the only one around here who can?


“What do you say we go out to dinner?” Kyle suggests after school the next day. “My treat.”

“It's always your treat.” I laugh, throwing my backpack into my car.

“I know. I've just always wanted to say that.” He swings himself into the passenger side of my car, obviously in good spirits.

I get in too, close the door, and we drive off.

“You know, I don't feel like going home right now.” he says.

“Well, where do you want to go, Crazy?”

“Hm.. How about your house?”

“Nah.” I say. “I don't feel like going there.” I think back to yesterday, how I found Dad, and I don't want Kyle to see that.

“Well then, the park?”

“Sure!” I take a sudden turn, that we almost missed.

The park is crowded, as the sun is out today and it's only three o'clock, not yet dinner time. Kids run around chasing each other, screaming, with ice cream dripping off their mouths and smiles on their faces.

Kyle and I walk, hand in hand, down the trail to the pond. It's one of my favorite places. Usually people bring bread crumbs to throw at the ducks but as I don't carry around a bag of bread crumbs in my car, I have none today.

“My parents used to bring me here all the time.” Kyle says. “I had so much fun. I remember when I got to be about ten, and I wanted to come, and my parents told me I was 'too old for the park'. That was the same year I was too old for Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.”

“Must've been a rough year.” I laugh.

“Well, I knew Santa and the Easter Bunny and all that weren't real, I just liked the presents, so I pretended for my parents.”

“That's horrible!” I can't help laughing. Our arms swing back and forth as we stand over the pond. Surprisingly, there are only a few teenagers and little kids over here. Probably because it's deeper into the shade, and it isn't as warm. We've all been craving sunshine.

“Do you know how to skip rocks?” Kyle asks suddenly.

“Of course I do! Pretty good at it, too.” I say.

“Well, then. Let's just see about that.”

He lets go of my hand and starts sifting through the rocks for a perfectly flat circular one. I've got a better eye though, for I find one first. I whip my hand back and throw it out into the water.

One. Two.

“Pshh, I can beat that any day!” Kyle teases. Lifting a rock he found, he whips his hand back and flings it out into the water.

One. Two. Three.

“The challenge is on.” I say.

We skip rocks until it is dark and it seems there are no more flat rocks left on the land beside the pond. Kyle beat me, with a winning record of nine skips.

“Hey, not so bad!” He congratulates me, reaching his hand up for a high five.

I go to hit his hand and he curls his fingers over mine and pulls me in.



“How was school, Eva?” Mia bounces after me as soon as I step into my room and close the door. She has curled her hair using my curling iron and is dressed in one of the old dresses from my closet. One that I didn't get rid of when Mom and Patrick died.

“It was fine. How was your day?”

Mia's face scrunches up. She is growing more and more beautiful as the scroungy forest-girl look begins to fade away through showers and nutritious food.

“So boring. It's so boring sitting here all day with nothing to do.” I notice that her lips are an off color, and a little too shiny. Then I see the mascara and eyeshadow and know that she has gotten into my makeup as well.

I sigh. “I'm sorry, Mia.” I say. “I'll need to think of something you can do while I'm gone.”

“It's okay.” she forgives me. I pat her hair. Crunch.

“Maybe a little less hairspray next time, honey.” I laugh. She giggles.

“How is your boyfriend?” she asks.

“He isn't my boyfriend.” I respond. “But Kyle is good.”

“You go on dates with him.” she says. “He is your boyfriend.”

“It isn't official.” I say as I stand, wanting to change the subject.

“Well, make it official!”

“Uh, that is so not going to happen.”

“Why not?” she whines.

“That is his job. And I'm not putting any pressure on him either. He'll make it official when he wants it official. It doesn't make any difference anyway. It won't change anything.” I want to ask why she cares so much but I know she is just bored from being cooped up all day in my boring room.

“Listen.” I say. “Why don't I take you out to get some dinner tomorrow night, and maybe watch a movie? Would that be fun?”

Something crosses her face, that same expression I've seen many other times but not been able to put my finger on.

She quickly recovers, as always. “Yes!” she screams.

“Shhh!”

“Oh, right.” she lowers her voice. “Yes, please.”

I laugh. “Alright. You deserve it. I get off work at five and then we can leave, sound good?”

“Sounds great.”


“I'm taking Mia out to dinner tonight, and to see a movie.” It tell Kyle the next day at school.

“That's good.” he says. “She must be getting bored sitting in that tiny room all day.”

It makes me a little angry that he has figured this out without Mia telling him personally, when I couldn't. But I say nothing.

“You know what?” I say. “Maybe you can come, too. I'll bet she would love to meet you.”

“Are you sure?” Kyle looks uncertain.

“Of course! Please come! We're leaving around five thirty.”

“Welll... Alright. If you think it's a good idea. I don't want to barge in on something between the two of you, you know.”

“You won't be, I promise. She'll be thrilled.” I smile and thread my hand through his without really thinking about it. He looks down at our interlocked fingers and smiles, so I do too.


“Mia!” I say as soon as I open the door. I freeze.

“How do I look?” Mia gives me a twirl, and I stand for a moment too long, my jaw nearly on the floor.

“G-Great!” I say, holding back laughter. “You look fantastic!”

She is dressed in my sparkly pink dress that I wore for my eleventh birthday when I dressed up as a popstar diva, and she has bubble gum pink lip gloss on that I got from my grandma for Chrisstmas a couple years ago and haven't used. Her hair is curled once again and she has sprayed so much perfeume it makes my eyes water.

“You smell nice too.” I say just before I sneeze.

“Is it too much?” Mia looks worried.

“No, no, of course not. Who ever said there could be too much perfume? It's like saying too much candy, or too many hugs.”

She giggles and grabs my old pastel purple purse.

“Just give me a second to get ready.” I say. Then I remember. “Oh, yeah! And I invited Kyle to come with us. I figured you would want to meet him.”

that look crosses Mia's face again. I seem to be seeing it more and more lately. For a second she looks absolutely furious- crazy, almost, and then in a flash it is gone. She smiles, cute and innocent. “Yay! I've been wanting to meet him!”

I open my mouth to ask her what that look was for, but something makes me change my mind and I close it. My stomach is all twisted up into knots though. This really is getting out of hand.


“Mia, this is Kyle. Kyle, this is Mia.” I introduce the two of them and they look each other over then smile and shake hands. We're standing outside outside of Kyle's house where I am picking him up. In my peripheral vision I catch a glimpse of Mia looking into his house, which I find kind of weird but I don't say anything.

“So anyway, Mia. Where did you want to go to eat?” I ask.

“Red Robin!” she says with no hesitation. For some reason she say it in babytalk, like she is trying to look small and cute for Kyle. This frustrates me. I'm starting to wonder if it was such a good idea to bring Kyle into this. We haven't even left his house and I'm already wary.

“Alright.” I say. We pile into my car and I turn the heat on, for it is freezing outside. We're silent for a few minutes before Kyle gives in and turns the radio on.

A few minutes of Kesha screaming at the top of her lungs and we're all desperate for conversation. I speak first.

“So, how is everyone?”

I hear Mia sigh in the backseat. “I'm okay.” she says in a voice higher than reality.

Kyle twists in his seat to look at her. “Just okay?” he asks.

I see her nod from the backseat window.

“Why is that?” Kyle seems to be buying into this crap.

“I don't know. I've just been really bored lately. And things have been different. I miss my parents a lot.” she looks down into her lap. I have to remember to concentrate on the road. For some reason I feel so angry I could pop blood vessels in my eyes.

“Oh, I'm sorry. That really must be hard.” Kyle searches for words to ease her pain. I can hear the sympathy in his voice. I want to tell him she is just doing this for attention but I can't exactly do that in front of Mia. Maybe it's a good thing anyway, he wouldn't believe what I had to say. Mia is a good little actress.

“Yeah. It hasn't been easy. Do you live with your parents?” she asks in her little delicate voice that seems to cover so much pain, as if the very act of talking hurts her little heart.

I am fuming. I am surprised steam isn't blowing out of my ears. What is my problem?

“Yes, I do. I have good parents.” he says. “I'm lucky to have them. Maybe you can meet them sometime.”

She smiles, bigger than she should. “Yes, I would love that!” suddenly she is the happiest little girl in the world. Kyle twists back to face the front, with a pleased expression on his face, like he is happy to have made such a depressed child smile.

“What's wrong, Eva?” he asks when he notices me glaring at the road.

“Nothing.” I spit.

He is silent, but he stares at me, trying to figure out what is making me so angry. There is no way on Earth I will tell him, though.

We finally pull into the Red Robin parking lot and I step out of the car gratefully. I stretch my arms and legs and take a deep breath, telling myself that when I exhale I am letting go of all my angry feelings. Tonight is supposed to be fun. I don't want to ruin it for all of us.

We pull up at the theater and Kyle pays for the tickets for the three of us. We buy popcorn and candy, which Mia dives into like she;s never seen food before. Then we sit in our chairs and watch previews. I take deep breaths and give myself a pep talk, not paying attention to the previews at all. I tell myself there is no reason to get worked up over something so silly. Mia hasn't been out in public in a very long time, she doesn't know how to act around people. The last time she was out, she WAS as young as she's acting. That must be it. That must be why she is acting like this.

Finally calm, I look up at the screen just as the movie is starting.


“That was SO GOOD!” Mia can't stop talking as we walk out of the theater and to the car, and then the entire car ride. “I've never seen an action film like that! Mission impossible? I don't think so!that mission was so totally POSSIBLE! I mean, in the beginning I didn't think so, but by the end I was like 'oh my god, these guys can do anything. I bet NOTHING is impossible to them'. Did you like it Eva? What about you, Kyle? You had to have liked it, you're a boy. Boys always like that kind of stuff. But i'm not even a boy, and I loved it! So Eva, you must have liked it too. How could you NOT like it?”

I tune her out, while Kyle laughs and talks about his favorite parts with her. We get to his house, and I let him out. I'm just going to be honest here, I am a little relieved to see him get out of the car.

“Thanks, Eva, for a great night.” He tells me, a sweet smile on his face. So I have to smile back and thank him as well. “And thank you, Mia! I'm so glad I finally got to meet you. You're a good kid.”

She gives him this look like that is the kindest thing she has ever heard, but says nothing in return. Her eyes follow his house as we drive away, until it is out of sight.



Winter Ball comes up sooner that I had imagined it would, especially since I'm so excited for it. Time usually drags when I'm looking forward to something, but before I know it it's Saturday morning and time to start preparing for the great night ahead of me.

I see I have a missed call from Tracey. She must have been up at six in the morning, panicking about her nails and her hair and making herself look absolutely perfect. I am planning on calling her as soon as I get back from the bathroom.

I open my door and step out into the hall, and there she is! “Tracey, what are you doing here?” I say, shocked.

“I couldn't wait any longer. You slept in until nine, Eva! Who sleeps in until nine on the day of Winter Ball?”

“Sorry.” I say. “Just let me go to the bathroom please, and then we'll start getting everything ready. Sound good?”

She presses her lips together. “Would have liked to hear that two hours ago.” Then, after I give her a look, she says. “But yeah. I guess that sounds okay.”

I've warned Mia that she may have to stay in the closet for a while this morning, while Tracey and I get ready. She agrees without complain, and I am thankful she doesn't snore because the closet walls aren't exactly soundproof and finding a little girl sleeping in your best friend's closet would be a puzzlement for sure. And stress like that could give you a zit. And you can't have that on the day of Winter Ball.

I sit down obediently in a chair while Tracey gets to work on my curls. She sprays a ton of hairspray in each one, turning it to concrete. She weaves the top into a beautiful crown, and adds bobby pins with silver flowers on the tips. It takes a total of two hours. I play music and paint my fingernails and toenails.

Tracey is too concentrated for conversation. She bits her lip and mutters to herself and gives screams of frustration every now and then, which I ignore. When it's finally finished, I feel as if she's poured cement on my head and blow dried it, but it looks absolutely beautiful.

“Tracey, you should be a hair stylist!” I exclaim when I see my reflection.

“Really? You like it?” she's grinning from ear to ear.

“It's gorgeous! I don't see how I'll be able to compare...” I'm suddenly worried because she would never forgive me for messing up her hair, which is what comes next.

She plops herself down in the chair I had been sitting in. “Oh, no worries.” she says. “I'll walk you through everything I want. Unlike you, I can't just put all of my trust into someone else's hands on something like this.”

Something like hair. Of course not. How dangerous that would be.

I smile, relieved. “Oh good, you have a plan.” I say.

“Of course I have a plan! Now, is the curling iron set to four hundred degrees?”


Dressed and physically prepared we are at six o'clock that night. We're still working on the mental preparation. I'm shaking and I seem to have permanent goosebumps on my arms and legs, which is unfortunate as both are showing in my dress. Now all there is to do is wait for our dates.

“Will it be crowded?” I ask Tracey as we wait. She's been to all of these things since we were freshmen, and I haven't been to a single dance in my lifetime.

“Oh, yes.” she says. “And hot. That's why we used waterproof mascara. You might get a little sweaty.”

“How will I dance in these heels?”

“You'll figure it out. A Ball isn't so much about the dancing as it is the romance.”

My nerves shoot a little higher at that. I look in the mirror one last time, making sure I look the best that I can. I don't want to have anything embarrasing on my face as Kyle and I are face-to-face for a slow dance.

I hear a car pulling into the driveway, and Tracey and I immediately look at each other, terror shining in our eyes. Then she laughs. “Why are we so nervous?” she asks. “This is going to be the best night of our lives.”

I smile and take a deep breath, agreeing with her. But my heart still skips a beat as I hear the knock on the door.

I open the door, and Kyle and Toby stand next to each other, each holding a bouquet of flowers. Kyle's suit is lined in green to match my dress, and Toby's in pink. They bow at the same time and grab our hands, kissing the top of them like princes.

I feel just like a princess. Tracey and I giggle.

Then they lead us outside and into the car. Toby and Tracey take up the front two seats, while Kyle and I sit in the back.

“You look beautiful.” Kyle tells me once we're buckled and pulling out of the driveway.

“Thanks.” I say, looking down at my legs, relieved to see that the goosebumps have dissapeared.

The car ride is mostly silent. We all look out the window and try not to let the others hear our heart beating.

Then we're at Red Lobster. We pile out, and walk into the resteraunt, Toby and Tracey holding hands and Kyle and I trailing behind. We have reserved seating in the back corner. I see other high school students who appear to be doing the same thing as us tonight. I smile at them, and sit down.

We order our food, and I only get an appetizer because I don't feel like I could eat much right now. I stay away from caffiene because that would only shoot my nerves higher than they already are.

As we eat, we chat about who is going with whom, and what songs they will likely play because they play them at every dance. Tracey gets all giggly when Toby mentions the song “The Climb” by Miley Cyrus. I find out that it's 'their song', and has some special meaning to them. Toby promises to request it as soon as they get there.

Kyle looks nervous as well. It's both our first dances, and to be quite frank I have no idea what to expect. We eye each other nervously then laugh at ourselves.

“If it's too horrible, we can always leave.” Kyle points out.

“That's not what I'm stressing over.” I say.

“Then what is?”

But I don't know the answer to that question. I think it has something to do with the slow dancing, and the fact that Kyle and I are going 'together'. As a couple. I'm misjudging my excitement and eagerness for anxiety and worriedness.

I tell Kyle so, and he smiles and agrees with me.

We're done eating fairly soon and it's time to leave for the dance. Even though I barely finished half of my plate, I feel as if I ate too much. Tracey and I excuse ourselves for the bathrooms while they guys pay, and we brush our teeth. I never would have thought to bring a toothbrush and toothpaste with me, but I am grateful for Tracey that she told me I should.

Then we get back into the car, and take off toward Red Basin High School, for the Winter Ball. Kyle reaches across the seat and takes my hand, and we hold hands the entire ride there.

It really is a Winter Wonderland in the school, I think as I walk in. Sparkles and snowflakes and mistletoe strung everywhere, and everyone dressed in big, beautiful dresses, looking and feeling like characters from a fairytale. We walk through, just looking around admiring everything for the first few minutes. Tracey and Toby break off from Kyle and I. I see Toby racing to the DJ before everyone arrives to ask for a song request.

“Are you ready for this?” Kyle asks, stopping and turning me to face him, his hands on my shoulders.

I smile up at him. “I am.” And I no longer feel nervous. The butterflies have flown right out of my stomach. All I can think about now is how beautiful Kyle's eyes are and how good his hands feel on my shoulders.

A slow song begins, a country song called “Amazed”. Kyle seems to know the words for he sings them quietly as his hands slide down to my waist and my arms lift up and wrap around his neck. We sway to the beat, our eyes locked on each others.

I don't know how you do what you do. I'm so in love with you! It just keeps getting better. I wanta spend the rest of my life with you by my side; forever and ever. I don't know how you do what you do. Baby, I'm amazed by you.

My head falls onto his chest and his lips brush my ear as they whisper the words. I close my eyse, breath in in the scent of him. It feels so good here in his arms. I don't notice anyone else in the room. I don't think about anything else other than Kyle. Every part of me lives for him. I rely on him. I need him. And nothing else seems important anymore.

The song comes to an end and an upbeat, dancing song comes on. I pull back, looking up at Kyle.

“Are you ready for THIS?” I ask, and then I break out into crazy dance moves, for a moment absolutely going insane before his eyes.

I stop. He stares at me.

And then we both start laughing so hard, tears stream from our eyes. And we both start dancing. Not with as much passion as I had before, but about as much as everyone else.

I've already started sweating, and it's barely been twenty minutes. I can't stop laughing. Kyle is the most awkward, uncoordinated dancer I've ever seen. His moves are old-school and yet he does them with a serious face, like he thinks he can bring it back. I'm not sure if he realizes I'm laughing at him. But he's having a good time. And I'm having a good time. And, let's face it, I'm not the world's greatest dancer either.

About halfway through, when another slow song comes on, Kyle and I shuffle our way to the middle of the gym and when I look up from Kyle's shoulder, I am eye to eye with Tracey.

She smiles and I smile back, surprised. I give her a look as if to ask how it's going and she sneaks a thumbs up at me, beaming from ear to ear. I do the same. Then we both spin away from each other and I don't see her the rest of the night.

Chapter Six


“Kyle!” I call as I run into the building. “Kyle!”

“What?” I nearly run into him, standing outside next to his locker with his binder in his arms.

“I need your help.” I say breathlessly. “Will your parents be mad if they get a call saying you didn't show up at school?”

“Yes.” he says. I don't know what to do.

“But I don't care.” he finishes.

“Then come with me!” I grab his arm and we sprint out of the school and into my car. I turn the heat up and the radio off.

“What's going on?” he asks.

“We have to do something.” I say. “It's about Mia. I found... I found my mother's journal in her bed this morning.”

He is silent. “Your mother's journal?”

“She used to write in it all the time. No one has ever read it though, because she trusted us not to. But no one has seen it since she died. My dad has searched everywhere... Why on Earth would Mia have it?”

Kyle stares forward at the road as he thinks. “She must have found it in the forest.” he concludes.

“Well,” I say. “today we are going to find out.”

“And how are we going to do that?”

I am silent.

“I don't know, to be honest. I was hoping you could help me think of something.”

Kyle pauses for a moment, and then starts laughing. I join in, even though I am completely enveloped in worry. Worry that maybe I don't know Mia as well as I think I do. That maybe there is a secret she is keeping from me.

And maybe I don't want to know that secret. But then again, maybe I need to know. I think I need to know.

And then there is always the possibility that I am overreacting about this whole thing. I can only hope that is the answer.

Kyle and I laugh, but it's a shallow kind of laughter, the kind that comes from your throat but not any farther. My stomach is twisted up in knots of worry.

We stop, finally, as we pull up at Denny's. I figure we might as well get some lunch while we're out of school. I park, and we walk in.

“Table for two, please.” I tell the waitress, and we follow her to a table in the far back corner of the resteraunt. There is hardly anyone else here, and I vaguely wonder why she brought us all the way back here if no one else is here. But I don't dwell on it tooo long.

Kyle and I sit down. We're silent until a new waitress walks over, gets our drink orders, and leaves. Then Kyle looks straight at me.

“You say you haven't seen the journal since your mother and brother died?” he asks.

“Yes. And my Dad has searched everywhere.”

He thinks about it. “But if Mia had found it... why would she keep it? And that was a whole two years ago. Mia can't have been living in the forest alone for long. So when she found the journal it must have been wet and falling apart.” he looks at me, eyebrow raised.

“No.” I say. “It looked perfectly normal, aside from some dirt and water stains. Definitely not like it had been sitting in the forest for years.”

His eyebrows squish together. “And you don't have any idea how long Mia has been in that forest alone?”

The waitress drops off our drinks. Me, a diet coke, and Kyle, coffee. She takes out food order and leaves again.

I shake my head once she is gone. “She's never told me, and I've never asked.”

“Maybe you should.” he says. “It would be helpful. It just doesn't add up right now.” he stirs his coffee, lost in thought.

“I know.” I say. “I will, tonight. Hey Kyle?” I say. He lifts his head. “Thank you. For helping me out with this.”

Kyle stops stirring, his hand falling onto the table. He looks at me, all his attention on me. “Eva.” he says. “did you really think I would let you think this through yourself?”

I smile. “I just want you to know that I appreciate it. Very much.”

He smiles, silent, and goes back to stirring his coffee.

“Hey, Eva.” he says. I notice a slight shake in his voice and he starts stirring faster.

“Yeah?”

“How are things with Tracey?”

I look at him, but he won't look at me. “They're good.. what do you mean? Why?”

“I'm just wondering.” he says. “Are you two still, you know, best friends and stuff? Does she still come over? Does she know about Mia?”

I pause to think about why he is questioning me like this, but I can't think of an answer. “Yeah, I guess we're still best friends... But she is busy a lot with Toby these days. They're always hanging out with each other after school, I don't think she has time to come over. And, no. She doesn't know about Mia. But why does it matter?”

He sighs. “I was just wondering.”

“No, I don't think you were.” I say. I want to leave him alone but I also want to know what's on his mind.

He chuckles slightly, and finally lifts his eyes to meet mine. “and what do you consider me?” he asks.

“Oh.” I say. I get it now.

“Oh?” he looks slightly annoyed.

“Um, yeah.” I say. Words aren't ocming to me right now.

The waitress brings our food over.

Seconds later, I realize why we have been brought to the far back corner of the resteraunt. A parade of tiny children come marching into the resteraunt, one with a big birthday hat on his head, blowing one of this obnoxious paper whistle things kids like to have at parties. His friends scream and jump up on their mothers, yelling their orders even though they haven't even been seated yet.

The sounds sear through my head and make me want to rip my hair out. I've never been good at handling little kids. I just don't understand them.

They fill up the room, more and more piling in. There must be twenty or thirty little children and their mothers in the room now. I eat my grilled cheese sandwich quickly, wishing Kyle would hurry.

I look over at Kyle, meaning to give him a look as if to beg him to eat faster, but his expression catches me off guard. The annoyance is gone from his eyes, and replacing it is this look of... concern. No, that's not the right word. It's more like he feels tentative. Like he wants to ask me soemthing but is afraid of my reaction.

“What?” I say. We must rely on lip-reading now.

He takes a deep breath. “Eva, do you think.. do you think you could read the journal?”

The birthday boy starts screaming, and the mother has to haul him out of the room. This is at the same time that a group of workers come in singing Happy Birthday and dancing around, but then there is this awkward situation as the boy and his mother walk away quickly. The mothers smile at the workers as they try and contain their chidlren, who are wanting to run off after their friend.

Everything has suddenly gotten louder. My sandwich grows heavy. I drop it.

And then, out of nowhere, my eyes fill with tears.

I shake my head frantically. “No.” I tell Kyle. “No, I can't. She trusted me not to. I can't just because she's dead. I can't.”

He wipes his hand off on his napkin and reaches it across to lay on top of mine. I'm shaky. “Shh..” he says. “I'm sorry, Eva.”

I keep shaking my head, back and forth. “You have no idea how bad I want to.” I say. “I want to so bad. But I just can't.” My shoulders start shaking. I'm embarrased to be making a scene like this in front of so many people, but Kyle's question has just really got to me.

Reading that journal is my biggest dream. It will answer in fine print the entire reason for Mom and Patrick's suicide. It will tell me why their did it, what I did wrong, it will answer the question I have bene asking myself for two years: Why?

I know this is why Dad dedicated the first couple weeks after Mom and Patrick's death to searching for that journal. It holds the answers, I know it does. But I can't break her trust. I have easy access to it now, but I just can't.

I'm really crying hard now, so Kyle stands up and helps me up. He puts his arm over my shoulder and walks to the front to pay for our half-eaten food. We leave, get in my car, but we don't buckle yet.

My shaky hands are gripped hard on the wheel, and Kyle is watching me, concerned.

“I'm sorry I asked.” he says, sincerely.

“No.” I say. I sniff. “It's okay.”

We can't go back to school now. And I can't go home like this. So I start the car, buckle myself and then Kyle follows my lead, and we start driving to the park.

We don't talk on the ride. Kyle is lost in his thoughts as I am lost in mine.

Can I really not read the journal? Would Mom have wanted me too? That is the question I just don't know the answer too. Would Mom have wanted me to know the answer? If not, then why wouldn't she have destroyed the journal? Or maybe she did, and Mia just dug it up or something, although that seems really unlikely. But if Mom DID want me to read the journal, she would have left it sitting out with a note saying “Please read”.

We pull up at the park and get out to walk around. I need fresh air. We walk to the pond, where geese flock, waiting for bread crumbs to be thrown at them.

“Sorry.” I tell them. “I have none.”

They grunt at me, and flap their wings and fly away. Once again, I find myself watching them with jealousy as they effortlessly fly up into the air and away from life right here. Things arne't working the way they want, so they lift up into the air and go somewhere else.

I think more about Mia, and the journal. It just doesn't make sense why she would have it. I want to ask her, but I am afraid she will just make an excuse, lie to me. I'm already starting to lose my faith in her, or maybe I'm just growing some suspicions. Something about her, sometimes... I just know that she is hiding something from me. And finding that journal definitely proves that.

“She must know it's Mom's journal.” I say out loud without realizing it. “The name is on the front. And I've told her Mom's name. And my name must be in there on several pages.”

Kyle looks at me. He must decide it's safe to talk about this again, so he adds his input. “Maybe she has a secret she is just waiting to tell you.” he says.

I look down at our feet, moving slowly, synchronized. “Maybe.” I say. “But maybe I don't want to know.”

Kyle looks sad. “It's better than not knowing, right?”

I sigh. “Yes. I think so.”

“Eva... Do you want to know what I think?” I can hear the real question behind this one: can you handle it this time without crying?

I think about it for a minute, then nod. I don't feel like crying anymore.

“Well, I think you should wait a week or two. And then, if Mia still hasn't mentioned anything about the journal or anything relating to it, then I think.. you should read the journal.”

I am silent.

“Or, if you want, I can read it. To make sure it's safe.” he smiles.

I don't smile. “No, Kyle.” I say. “I'm sorry, I just wouldn't feel right handing over my mother's journal for you to read.”

He smiles. “Hey, it's alright. I understand.”

“thanks.” I say.

His face becomes serious again. “But I think you need to figure this out Eva, no matter how bad it hurts.”

I nod, a little scared by what he is saying. “I know.”




Tracey runs up to me ant school the next morning. “Eva!” she says. “Remember what you promised me a few weeks ago? About going on a date?”

I freeze midstep. Oh, God. “Yes..” I say.

“Well, I found someone.” she smiles. “Tomorrow night, seven o'clock. Movies. You're going to see House of the Irish.” she waggles her brows at me like she's the greatest best friend ever, and then saunters off to walk with Toby.

Surprisingly, even to myself, I am filled with rage. I do not want to go on a date. It is the farthest thing from my mind right now. A tiny voice in the back of my mind whispers something about Kyle, but I push it away and continue walking to my locker, thinking up excuses for why I can't go tomorrow.



Much to my relief, my date gets sick Friday night, and cancels. Tracey sounds like she is spitting rocks when she calls to tell me this, and I can imagine the sympathy 'my date' received from her when he cancelled.

I invite Kyle over instead. He agrees, of course, and we decide to have a little picnic, as it isn't raining today. We fill a shopping bag (because I don't have a picnic basket) with sandwiches, little apple sauce cups, water bottles, and a box of cheetos. Then we trek outside.

I point everything out to him: the maple tree that I was sitting in when I spotted Mia, the bird's nest with the pretty blue jays that wake me up in the morning, the pond if you go really far back, the spot that is completely infested with ant hills, the spot that mysteriously has no trees and the sun shines through, and the place where we found Mom and Patrick.

We end at this spot, both smiling, but when I tell him what it represents, his smile droops and falls off his face.

“It's okay.” I say. “I didn't tell you that to put a damper on our evening.”

He looks around, eyes mystified by the beauty of my forest.

WE aren't there very long, as neither of us feel exactly comfortable there, and we go sit by the pond to eat our dinner.

At first we make small talk, about the birds and the ants and the trees. But then, things get deeper. Kyle asks about finding Mom and Patrick, and I tell him the story about how we waited until the next morning because by the time we became worried about them being missing, it was too dark to look and too early for the police to help.

I tell him about how I was the one to find them, and the sight was charred into my brain for months. I'm just glad it finally left. I thought it never would.

And that's when he convinces me that I need to read the journal. He spends ten minutes explaining why I should. And it doesn't help that underneath everything, I want to read it more than anything in this entire world.

We decide on tomorrow night. Tonight is too soon. I'm not ready. But tomorrow night, I'll leave in the middle of the night to read it, alone. I don't want anyone to see my reaction when I read it. And it has to be the middle of the night so I can sneak it away from Mia's cot.

I'll convince Mia to sleep in my bed tomorrow night. I feel a sick twist in my stomach as anticipation and anxiety set in. I don't feel like eating anymore. Kyle eats the rest and we head back to my house. He tries to change the subject to something lighter, but I can almost hear the ticking of the clock as it counts down to the moment I find out why Mom and Patrick killed themselves.


My wrist vibrates, waking me up. I've set the alarm on my watch for midnight, so that it wouldn't wake Mia as well. For the first few seconds I lay in bed, rubbing my eyes and wondering why the heck I am up.

And then I remmeber, and I am suddenly wide awake.

I sit up slowly, careful not to wake Mia. I slide out of bed, hittting the floor a little too hard. I freeze. Mia stirs. My heart shoots up into my throat.

“Eva?” she whispers, her voice small and clogged with sleep.

“I'm just going to the bathroom Mia, I'll be right back.” I say sweetly.

She nods tiredly, sighs, and curls back up. I listen for her breathing to become slow and heavy again, and then I turn for her cot.

It only takes me a minute to find it. After feeling around blindly, I feel something hard and pull it out. I sneak out of my bedroom, leaving the door open behind me because the hinges need to be oiled and squeel when you close it. Then I tiptoe out the door, grabbing the flashlight I have hidden in the inside of the door.

Once I'm outside, I break into a sprint. Sockless and in my pajamas, I run as hard as I can to the maple tree. I climb up swiftly, though it is midnight and I hav eonly been awake for minutes. Once I reach the top I am panting and out of breath and it takes a moment for me to calm down enough to sit back and turn on the flashlight.

The light is blinding in the night sky. I squint and wait for my eyes to get used to it. Then I slowly pull out Mom's journal. And I stare at the front.

This Journal Belongs To: Eleanore Climate

Just simply seeing her signature makes my throat choke up, but I clear my throat and opent he first page. I take a deep breath before I look down. I give myself a little pep talk.

This is for the better, Eva. She won't hate you for this, Eva. You arne't destroying her trust, Eva. This is what Mom wants, Eva.

Then I look down.


Dec. 01, 2008


I have decided to start keeping a journal because, after looking at my children today, I realized that time really does fly by. And only some memories you are allowed to keep. But I want all of the memories. My life is perfect right now. It really is. And years from now, if things get rough, I want to be able to pull this out and flip back to the first couple pages and reminiscence. I want those good memories to come back and give me hope.


Eva is turning out to be a beautiful young women. She is thirteen and in her eighth grade year at junior high. Her hair is long and a dark chocolate brown like Drew's. She looks a lot like Drew, actually. Even her eyes, that beautiful almond shape and dark green color I have always envied. Her eyelashes are long and thick even without make-up, which she has started wearing to school lately. When I see her in it I want to go tell her to wash it off, but I know it's not in my place to do so. She was so proud of herself that first time she walked out with longer eyelashes and pinker cheeks. “Do you like it, Mom?” she said. “Katie let me borrow her make-up. I was thinking I'd get some to wear from now on. I like how it makes me look.” I smiled, of course, and told her she looked lovely. But I hope someday she looks into the mirror when she isn't wearing any, and realizes how truly beautiful she is without it.


Patrick is growing tall. Well, he is done growing actually. He is sixteen years old, and getting his license in a couple of months. I can hardly believe it. I won't have to drive him to basketball practice anymore, and football, and track. Or his friends' houses. He can do that all on his own. And I know he'll be responsible with this new freedom. He is much more mature than others his age. Even to the point where it almost worries me. Only because I am waiting for his rebellious teenage stage, where he is out all the time with girls, and makes a bunch of mistakes, and talks back, and only cares about himself. I can see Eva walking into this stage. But Patrick it seems will never go through this. He is just like me, I guess. That's what Drew says. He is too smart for that. I guess I can't remember going through a stage like this, but I can't know for sure. I will have to ask Mother.


Anyway, I have to go. The kids will be home from school soon. I'll try to write every month or so, just to get caught up on how things are with my little, happy family.

I can't help it now. The tears pour from my eyes silently. I miss her so much it hurts. Reading this, her sweet words about Patrick and I, is like stabbing myself over and pver with a serated knife.

But I know I must continue. I skim through some other pages, laughing at how she has gone from 'every month or two' to once a week, and then almost every day. And in each entry she is bursting with happiness over Patrick and I. It makes me smile that we made her so happy. Even when I was being snotty and in that 'rebellious teenage stage' she mentioned, she still bubbled about how many friends I was making, and how beautiful I was getting, and how when my friends weren't around and my make-up wasn't on, I was back to being a sweet little girl.

Her entries are always upbeat and positive, that is, until a few months before the end of the journal. Before December eighteenth, two-thousand and ten. That is when the mood of her entries begins to change.

Sept. 09, 2010


I'm worried. Patrick has been acting distant lately. Drew says he is just stressing about moving out next summer. It's his senior year, and that is always stressful, but I don't really know about that theory. Patrick just isn't.. like that. He's always been able to handle that kind of stuff. When I try to talk to him about it, he just shakes his head with this sad expression on his face and walks outside to spend the rist of the evening in the forest behind the house. He doens't return until it gets dark, soemtimes even missing dinner. I want so badly to know what is upsetting him, but I just can't get anything out of him. I get the sense that he wants to tell me, but something is holding him back. I don't blame him, but I can't help but blame whatever it is that is making him unhappy. I want to go yell at it, him, her, whatever it is. I can't stand to see my happy son so depressed like this. That's it.. he seems depressed. I know I havne't written in a few days, and it's because I've been stressing about it myself. I've had to eat Tums like candy these past few days because my stomach is all twisted up into knots as I watch my son grow worried lines on his forehead. I want so badly to help him. That is the worst feelings there is. Watching someone you love struggle and wanting so badly to help them, but knowing there is no possible way you can do that.

It makes me sad that I didn't notice this. I was always gone from the house, out with my friends shopping or painting our nails or at parties... I never noticed my own brother, my sweet, protective older brother, was in pain. He was always there instantly if I even stubbed my toe, getting me ice and picking me up to set me on the couch even when it only hurt for a second. But I wasn't there the one time he was in pain. My heart aches. I wish I could go back in time and talk to him. Help him.

I have to sit for a minute and just think about this entry before I can move on. When I do, I flip to the very last entry. This is the one that will tell me the answer. My breathing is regualar now, I close my eyes. I am calm. I am ready.

I look down.

Dec. 18. 2010


In a few minutes, Patrick will be here to take me into the forest. He wants to show me whatever it is that has caused this wave of depression that has lasted months now. I am eager, and I am scared. But I don't tell Patrick this. I didn't tell Drew about Patrick's plans. Or Eva. He wanted me to keep this to myself. I don't know why. But I sense my life is about to change. If something can turn Patrick's life around the way it has, then surely it will do the same for me. Patrick has always been stronger than me, even being so much younger.


Oh, he is here now. He stepped in, saw me writing in my journal, and told me to take it with me. I don't know why, but I didn't question him. He looks so solemn. Then he left to get his jacket and shoes. We'll be leaving in a minute.


Wish me luck.

Then it just.. ends. It's over. That's it. Frantically, I flip through the last through pages, trying to find anything else that explain what happened in the forest that horrible day, but there is nothing. My chest rises and falls as my hands begin to shake. I don't know what to do with my anger, so I take it out on the only thing in sight.

I rip the journal up. I rip it into pieces as tiny as I can, and then I angrily throw all of the pieces down to the ground, watching as they flutter down. You told me nothing. I think. All that I went through, and you tell me nothing about Mom and Patrick's death.

I watch as the last pieces fall, and then I sit back. But I've misjudged. I watch as the branch I was leaning against while I read the journal pass my eyes to my right, then I see my feet level with my eyes, and I flip backwards.

The one thought that goes through my mind as I fall the twenty or so feet to the hard forest floor is: If Mom went into the forest not knowing she would die that night, then something must have kept her there against her will.


I open my eyes and I am faced with a worried-looking Dad.

“Eva!” he says. I watch, utterly confused, as the lines melt from his forehead and his mouth forms into an ear-splitting grin. He reaches down and hugs me, but is stopped by all of the tubes running from every inch of my skin it seems.

“Wha's goin' on?” I say, sounding like a baby just learning to talk.

Dad straightens up. “You're in the hospital. You've been asleep for four days. I thought you might have been dead.” his throat chokes up and now I want to reach up and give him a hug but I feel like no matter how hard I try, I can't move anything other than my mouth.

Why am I in the ho'pital?” I say.

Dad shakes his head. He gets this funny look in his eyes. His face hardens a little bit. “Well to be honest, honey, I'm not real sure of that answer. I do know that you fell twenty-three feet from the maple tree in our backyard, but why you were up there in the first place, in the middle of the night, with your mother's ripped-up journal on the ground beside you, I have no idea. I've been thinking about it for four days.”

It feels like they've injected ice water directly into my veins as I remember. Sneaking out at midnight, fearing I'd woken Mia, taking the journal, reading it... Getting so frustrated, ripping it up, misjudging where the branch was and falling.. And realizing something.. Was it I realized as I fell?

Oh, yeah. Either something in the forest caused Mom to kill herself, or it wasn't a suicide at all.

I suddenly feel like throwing up. “Dad?” I get out. “Is there a trash can anywhere?”

“Why-?” he begins, and then when he sees my face, he instantly grabs behind him, and holds one out for me. I throw up into it, wondering how I have that much in my stomach if I've been out for four days.

I sigh deeply when I am done. I don't know how I am going to talk about this to Dad.

“Are you okay?” he asks, setting the trash can down. “I'll get the nurse.”

“no, Dad, I'm fine. Really.” I stop him, knowing it isn't my health that caused me to throw up.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I say.

“Well, they wanted me to get them anyway when you woke up...” he says.

“Oh.” I say. “Okay then. But don't tell them I threw up.”

A few minutes later, a familiar-looking nurse rushes in with a clipboard.

“Julie?” I say quizzically.

“Eva! You're awake!” she flutters over to me, and memories come flying in of several months ago, when she was the one that unintenionally brought me hope. Somehow, she still reminds me just a little bit of Mom.

“You know her?” Dad asks me, confused.

“Yeah, she was my nurse after the fire.” I tell him with a smile.

Realization smacks him in the forehead and I laugh at his expression. “Oh.” Then I see him looking at her a different way, trying to find the resemblance between her and Mom.

“Well, how are you feeling, Miss Evelyn?” she asks.

“I feel fine, minus all these tubes.” I laugh.

She smiles. “Of course. Well, I'm glad you are feeling well. That was a hard fall you took.”

I stay silent.

She seems to get the point that I don't feel like explaining what I was doing up there, so she doesn't ask me any questions like that. Instead, she pulls out different instrumets for measuring my health and starts off on the “what do you feel when I do this?” questions.

In the end, they tell me I will be released tomorrow afternoon. I need to stay another night to make sure I really am okay, and then I can go back home. I wonder about Mia. How she has been at home by herself. She must be worried, no one ever told her what was happening, obviously. Unless Dad called an ambulance to pick me up. Then she might know.

I think about all of the questions still unanswered and my stomach twists again. I ask Dad if he has told Kyle and Tracey where I've been this week, and he says that yes, he has. He looks around sheepishly, and I notice all of the balloons and flowers.

“The whole school must know!” I exclaim.

“Well... yeah. Word gets around.” he says. “Like I said, I thought you had died.”

Oh, no. I cringe as I realize what he's saying. Everyone must think I am on death's doorstep. Including Tracey, and Kyle.

I ask Dad for the phone, and I dial Kyle's number.

“Hello?” his voice sounds a little strangled, like he's expecting the doctor, telling him I'm dead. I realize the caller I.D. Must have come up as Oregon State Hospital.

“Kyle, it's Eva.” I say. My voice sounds raspy and not like my own.

“Eva!” Relief floods his voice. It takes him a second, and then he comes back. “You're okay!”

“Uh.. Yeah.” I laugh. “I can come home tomorrow. Can you make sure and tell eveyrone at school tomorrow that I'm not dead please?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course I will! You're okay!” he says.

“Yeah, thanks.” I say.

“So, tomorrow?” he says.

“Yes, tomorrow.” I reply. “I have to call Tracey now. Just thought I'd let you know.. I'm alive.”

“You're okay!” he repeats again. I wait a second, and then when he realizes, he says “Oh. Yeah. Bye! I'll see you tomorrow!”

I laugh as I hang up. I've never heard him sound like that. Repeating everything I said like a little kid. I feel bad for worrying him so much. I feel bad for worrying everyone.

I dial Tracey's number next. Her reaction is similar to Kyle, only she starts crying with relief. She promises to come over tomorrow and see me. She also says she'll tell everyone at school that I'm okay. I thank her, and hang up.

Surprisingly, I'm tired, which makes no sense considering how long I've been asleep. Julie says this is normal, though, and when I fall asleep they walk to the cafeteria to talk. I fall asleep with a smile on my face.



Dad and I talk on the way home, about what happened. He's extremely confused about everything, of course. Especially as to why I had the journal.

So I explain. I leave out big holes, such as the existence of Mia, but I don't tell him any lies. I tell him that the journal had been in the forest, and I read it in the middle of the night and up in the maple tree because I didn't want anyone to be near when I reacted to what I was reading. But then I got frustrated that the journal didn't hold the answers I was looking for, and I ripped it up and threw it on the ground.

Dad is upset that I ripped it up, but he doesn't tell me that. I just know. It's been his dream for almost three years now to get that journal, and when I finally do, I rip it up after reading it.

“What did it say?” he asks me painfully, staring forward at the road.

“It talked about us. You, me, and Patrick. That's all. She talked about how much she loved us, and how happy she was with her life and family, and how there was nothing she would change about her life. She was so happy, Dad. But then she started getting worried about Patrick, because he started to get depressed, and he would always escape to the forest, every single day. I don't understand. The last page ended with her going into the forest with him, and that was it. It doesn't explain anything. The answer isn't in there.”

Dad stares hard at the road. “I wish I knew. I just wish I knew.”

“I know, Dad, so do I.” I reply, shaking my head at how confusing it all is.

We ride in silence for a minute and then Dad says, tentatively. “That nurse, Julie, she reminded me of your mother, too.”

I nod.

“And.. I felt what you felt back when the house burnt down. I think it's a sign that she's here with me, with us. Maybe that we're even on the right track, thinking this way. Reading the journal, that was a good thing. She wants us to know what happened that night.”

“you know, I think you're right, Dad. Really.” It's a new thought, but I think I feel it, too.

“But talking to her made me miss your mother so much.” Dad gives in to what I know he wants to do, which is spill all his thoughts and feelings that have been evading his mind. For the first time in forever, I let him. “The way she understood everything I said. The way she let me talk, and then offered her advice without talking like she knew more than me. Even the way she held her coffee mug!” Dad's voice is raising, becoming hysterical. “I just can't stand it anymore, Eve! I miss her too much!”

His hand shakes as it grips the wheel so firmly his fingers turn white. I stare out the window, hating to hear him throw a tantrum like this. Doesn't he know there's nothing I can do? Hasn't he learned by now that missing someone who is dead is no use?

We pull up at the house and I flee to my room. Mia is there, waiting for me, a solemn look in her eyes. I lay down on my bed and she comes over.

“What is it?” she asks gently.

I sit up and pull her onto my lap. I stroke her hair and tell her everything.


I've forgotten it's my birthday until I get a call from Kyle at seven in the morning. I shoot up, absolutely terrified of why he is calling so early, and answer the phone.

“Hello?” my voice is caked in sleep.

“Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear Eva! Happy Birthday to you!” Kyle sings across the line and immediately my fear turns to anger.

“I thought something had happened!” I yell. And then, because I don't know what else to say to express the rage I feel, I hang up.

I lay back down, but sleep won't come to me, so I get out of bed and take a shower. I get dressed, and it takes me that long to realize I should probably apologize.

Reluctantly, I dial Kyle's number and press talk. It only rings once.

“Hey, Eva. I'm sorry I called so early and didn't warn you..”

“No, no, I'M the one who's sorry here.” I say. “I guess you've never met the me in the morning. Well, now you have. And aren't I lovely.”

He laughs. “Well is it okay to wish you a happy birthday now?”

“I guess so.”

“Can I sing the birthday song again?”

“Please don't.”

He laughs. “Fine. I won't. But I do want to take you somewhere.”

“When?”

“how is now?”

“fine with me.”

“I'll be there in five.”

I grab some breakfast before Kyle gets here, and then I hop into his car. He won't tell me where he's taking me, but it doesn't take long to find out.

We arrive at the beach and I get out.

“Really? The beach? How classic.” I joke.

“You think so? Do you like it, though? Do you want to go home?” he seems genuinely worried.

He looks so relieved I have to laugh again. “You know what?” I say.

“What?”

“i didn't even remember today was my birthday.”

“Really, Eva? That is ridiculous.”


“I know. It just seemed so.... uninimportant with everything.”

“Unimportant? Eva, it's your eighteenth birthday! You're almost done with your senior year! This is a VERY important day, and I plan to make it enjoyable.”

I smile. “Thanks.”


Kyle and I walk on the beach for a while, swining our arms back and forth and just talking about everything and nothing. Then we sit down and bury ourselves in sand, and watch as the tide eventually reaches out and washes over us. We move farther back and build a sand castle. We find mini crabs and stick them into the different rooms. We have crab races and mine win every time.

Then we get hungry, so we head into town for some lunch. I have sand everywhere, even in my ears and I can feel crunching whenever I close my mouth.

We eat seafood, and while we eat I tell him about what happened, with the journal and falling from the tree and talking to Dad after. He listens attentively, trying to piece together everything that doesn't make sense like I've been doing and now Dad.

“There must have been something really awful in that forest.” Kyle says. “Really terrible. But I can't imagine what. It's such a beautiful place.”

“I know.” I say. “But that same something was causing Patrick to be depressed for months before. I just can't even imagine what it was.”

Kyle shakes his hand. “Well, I have a feeling we're going to find out soon.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I don't know exactly. But I just feel like we are. I guess with all three of us trying to sort it through, we're bound to come up with the answer soon, right?”

“I guess.” but Kyle's hunch is making me nervous. He's right that whatever was in the forest had to have been really terrible. So I can't imagine that discovering what thing is is going to be so great itself.


I'm worn out from the day, so when I get home, the first thing I do is take a shower. Dad gets home at the same time as I do, from work. He smiles at me, so I smile back.

“I'm getting in the shower.” I say.

“Have fun.” he says.

I grab my fluffy pajamas and a T-shirt, and bubble bath for good measure. I spend an hour just standing under the warm water, thinking about Kyle. How lucky I am to have someone who cares so much about me with me through all that I am going through. When I finally turn the water off, the house sounds too silent. Then I realize I forgot to turn the fan on.


I flip it on and hum as I dry my hair and brush my teeth. Feeling much better, I finally open the door, and go into my room humming. I drop my clothes in the hamper then realize Mia isn't in my room. I check the closet, although I have no clue why she would be in there, and the I look under the bed, check the lock on the window, and any other corner or place she could possible be hiding. No Mia.

I think back to an hour and a half ago, when I got home. She was here then, she told me hello and asked how my day was. Asked if that was my Dad getting home, which I thought was odd since who else would it be? Her pointless questions are just getting to be plain ridiculous from being cooped up so much.

I slowly walk down the hall, thinking that the house really is quiet. Usually Dad has the TV or radio on or something, but right now there is nothing. It's almost as if I'm home alone...

I step into the kitchen. And I scream.

I scream and scream until I realize that isn't going to help anything. But my mind is in a panic, I can't think straight. I stand there, entire body shaking, not quite sure what to do, when a voice in the back of my head tells me to call an ambulance. I sprint to the phone and dial 911, fingers almost too shaky to do so. I quickly tell them what is happening, my voice somehow coming across the line crisp and clear when in my head I am as confused as a baby.

They want me to stay on the line with them, but I have to call Kyle. They allow me to hang up, assuring me that an ambulance will be there within minutes. I dial Kyle's number, which comes to me without conscious thought, and I'm surprised he can understand what I am saying. Or maybe he can't, but he tells me he is on his way.

I make the ambulance wait until Kyle arrives, and then we all sprint on to the ambulance and it drives away. I've started screaming again, and I can't stop. My fingers claw at my face. I am so confused.

Kyle's arms arre around me, holding my hands down and whispering things into my ears that I can't hear. I am shaking so hard I think my bones are going to pierce through my skin. My heart is beating hard and I know Kyle can feel it.

Finally I manage to gain enough control of my body to ask “Is he alive?”

“Yes.” they tell me. “He's going to live.”

But I don't believe them. They have this look in their eyes, the same look people give me when I tell them about my mother committing suicide. I want to yell at them to tell me the truth, bt I've lost control of myself again and all I can do is scream.


A gentle hand shakes me to wake me up. “Eva.”

“Hm?” I mutter. “Time for school?”

“No, Eva, it's Kyle. You're not going to school today.”

Not going? Why wouldn't I be going to school? Wait, Kyle? Why isn't Dad waking me up?

Oh, wait...

“No!” I whimper. “I don't want to wake up! Let me sleep!”

“Okay, I'm sorry. The nurses wanted to talk to you, but I can tell them to come back later.” His voice is too soft, too gentle. I wince at his sympathy.

And now sleep is out of reach. Not with the visions and memories shooting into my brain like I've been shocked by a tasar. Oh, why did he have to wake me up? I just want to sleep forever.

I lay still for another five minutes. I want everyone to think I'm asleep. I can't talk to anyone now. I can't face the world just yet.

But eventually I have to. I slowly open my eyes, and lift myself off of the bed I've been layed onto, pushing off the scratchy covers. I step onto the floor, noticing the big lump in the middle of the room, on top of the bed. With tubes attached to it. I can't see the face, and I don't want to look close enough to see. Instead I look at Kyle.

I hate that look on his face. That pity. I hate the pity.

“Eva, he's still alive.” Kyle says, but he says it unsurely, like he doens't know for how long he'll be able to say that.

I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again. I don't say anything.

“Eva, talk to me. He might still have chance.”

I don't say a thing. Who is he to tell me this? What is he trying to do, lift my hopes so they can be crushed all over again?

“He was awake for a second earlier...”

This catches my attention. Dad was awake and they didn't tell me? Kyle catches my look and rushes to explain.

“It was only a second. I was just heading over to wake you up when he went out again. But he said your name, Eva. That was it. He just said your name.”

I don't want to hear this. I don't want to hear anything he is telling me. I turn and look at the pictures on the wall, of flowers and smiling faces, and mountains. I walk down the wall, tracing my fingers along the pictures as I go.

I get to the end, and stop at the last picture. It's two birds, soaring through a pretty blue sky. Their wings are lifted, and they're flying away. Away from what, I don't know. Away from their lives. Just like those geese at the pond. They didn't like what life was handing them where they were, so they flapped their wings and left for a better one.

I leave the picture, and I finally walk over to the lump. I sit down in the chair beside the bed. There is a face on the lump. It isn't Dad's. It's someone else's. Someone in a lot of pain. Someone who's life is not going how they want it to. Someone who wants to fly away, to better places. But unlike those birds in the picture, there is one thing holding him back.

I know what has to happen now. I know what he wants. And though it hurts so badly, I am willing to give it to him.

I lean down to kiss this man laying on the bed. I kiss his cheek, and then I whisper something in his ear.

“Tell Mom and Patrick that I love them.”

It's like letting go of a balloon and watching it soar into the sky. I think I see the corners of his mouth turn up just the slightest bit, and then every muscle in his body relaxes. They monitor stops beeping. All I hear is one solid sound. I smile through the pain.

I know this is what he wants. Life started throwing him things he didn't like, and now he wants to fly away to a better place. He stayed here for me for as long as I needed. And now that I have Kyle, I know that as much as I want Dad in my life, I no longer need him.

I almost laugh as I realize that next month I will graduate, as well as Kyle. I won't be an orphan. Dad stayed as long as he needed to. And I don't blame him for that. I thank him.


The house is empty without Dad. Not even Mia is here. Kyle comes with me to pack some clothes to stay at his house for a couple of weeks, so I don't have to stay here alone. He goes into my room to dig up a suitcase while I walk around, just looking at everything.

This new house, the house that has only been our home for a few months, and is already being vacated. I see the alcohol stain on the couch. Someone has been kind enough to clean the blood from the kitchen floor. I don't know if I could have handled seeing that again.

Little Tommy from three doors down knocks on the door a few minutes after we arrive. I open it, surprised to see him there, for once without a smile on his face. He holds out a plate of cookies, wrapped in saran wrap.

“My mom made these for you.” he says. “We hoped it would make you feel better. It was my idea.”

I take the plate of cookies, touched by his concern. “Thank you so much.” I say.

He shuffles his feet, looking down, his little hands clasped together behind his back. He looks so sad. I've never seen him so sad.

“I'm so sorry about your Dad.” he says. “I can't believe God would do that. After taking your mom and your brother, he took your Dad, too.”

It's the first time I've felt close to tears since Dad's monitor became monotone. I shake my head at Tommy. “I don't understand either.”

He reaches his little arms up and gives me a hug. “but there has to be a reason. He always has a reason. Right?”

“That's what I've heard.” I say. “But what reason could there be?” I seem to be forgetting it's an eight-year-old I'm talking to.

“I don't know. But I'll ask Him. And I'll ask Him to tell you, too, if you never come back so I can give you the answer.”

“Thanks Tommy. Really. I appreciate it. And tell your mom thank you very much for the cookies.”

He nods. “I'll do that. Bye, Evelyn.” He reaches over for one last hug, and then turns around and runs back to his house. I close the door, and set the cookies on the table where we used to set our keys and extra change.

After traveling the whole house, I make it to my room. Kyle is laying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, an open suitcase on the floor. I start throwing stuff into it, not even looking at what. Just some jeans and T shirts, and anything else I might need. I fill it up, and zip it shut. There's no sitting on it to fit everything, and having someone help me zip it up like usual. It's almost too easy.

I have to make one last round of my room before I leave. I walk around, looking at the framed picture of Kyle and I, and then one of my entire family together from when I was little that I retrieved from my grandparent's home. We sent it to them in the mail forever ago. We're all so happy. And now three out of the four are gone.

When I make it to Mia's bed, I freeze.

“Kyle?” I say. My voice sounds hollow and dead to my own ears.

He's right by my side. “Yes?”

“Where is Mia?”

He is silent. I can hear his brain thinking. “I don't know.”

“I can't just leave her.” I turn and face him.

But his eyes have caught on something else. He squints at the cot, not looking at me.

“What?”

He reaches past me and picks something off of the bed. A piece of paper.

Evelyn;


I'm sorry about what I had to do to your family. You were a nice girl. But no matter how hard anyone tries, nobody can help me. I don't even want help. All I want is for people to understand. I want them to understand what it's like to not have parents because they killed themselves and didn't tell you why. And now you do understand. Thank you for letting me stay in your room, though it was pretty boring most of the time. I'm sorry, again.







-Mia

Kyle chases me as I sprint to the bathroom and throw up in the sink. The paper flutters behind us and floats to the floor.





Graduation Day. I wake up in the guest room at Kyle's house. When I first open my eyes and see the ceiling, for a second I am lost. For two seconds I am helplessly confused. When the truth floats into my mind, I feel numb again. But for just that tiny moment I felt something. In that confusion, I felt like there was blood flowing throughout my body, I was breathing oxygen, and I was alive. That all stopped when I remembered.

“Graduation Day!” Kyle calls softly as he knocks on my door.

I sit up and make myself get out of bed. I open the door, eyes dead, I'm sure I must look like a zombie.

“Well hello there, beautiful.” He grabs me and swirls me into a hug. I let him handle me like a rag doll. “Today is a big day. Smile!”

I smile for his benefit, but it's empty. I do the motion, it doens't reach my eyes or the rest of me for that matter. He grimaces a little, but tries to hide it.

“Hey, get ready and we'll meet downstairs. Alright?” Kyle says as he ruffles my bedhead.

“Okay.” I walk past him into the bathroom and start the water for a shower. I stand in it for too long, until the water turns cold, thinking. Today I am graduating, and then Kyle and I are leaving. On a long road trip. To see where life takes us. On our own. By ourselves. Alone.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to feel that spark I now I should be feeling. The terror, the anxiety, the excitement. But there is nothing.

I turn the water off and wrap myself in the towel, sneaking back into the guest room which I have yet to consider 'my room'. I change into nice clothes, and then tromp downstairs.

“Are you ready for your big day?” His mother asks me when she sees me, hair wet and tangled, face expressionless. She is too cheerful.

“Yeah. I say.

Kyle gives her a look, and then smiles at me. “It's going to be great. You'll see. The relief when they hand you that rolled up paper, knowing you are done with something you've been doing since you were five. Knowing it's time to go out into the world as an adult.” His eyes get this wistful, farawy look and I have to look away. I know I'll be deadweight to his dreams.

He shakes himself back to the here and now and starts dishing up a plate of bacon and eggs, which he hands to me. Then he dishes one up twice the size for himself, and we sit down across from each other at the table. His mother pours us both mugs of coffee, sets them before us, and leaves the room to leave us alone.

“Eva, be excited. Please be excited.” he looks into my eyes and says this like he is begging.

“I'm trying. But I just...can't.” I tell him honestly.

He takes a bite of his eggs, chewing thoughtfull. After swallowing, he says “I'll help you. As soon as all of this is over, and we've left, I'll make you excited. I'll make you happy.”

I smile for his benefit, but I just can't believe what he is saying. I feel as if the part of me that feels emotions has been ripped from me. The world has never looked as cruel as it does now.

I guess I know how Mia feels now. I understand. I pity her as much as I hate her.

They still haven't found her. Which means she could be out killing other children's parents. I would be sick and frightened if I could be. I think they don't believe me. They think I'm just scarred from my only parent dying. That my brain is making things up. Maybe it is. I hate things like that: where you just don't know.

Because Kyle is on my side though, he was there when we got the note, he knew about Mia, that is the only reason they continue to search for her. He makes sure they don't give up. I know he'll never let them give up until she is found. He is probably saving many people's lives by forcing them to continue the search. Because I would never have the will to persuade them on my own.

Memories rush into my head of her little smiling face, eyes so filled with trust, arms wrapped around my waist, hugging me tightly like I was her hero, her Goddess. Those liquid brown eyes that followed my every move and replicated it like she wanted to be just like me. That pride I had in myself for saving her despite what Dad had told me to do. How I was wrong. About her. She shouldn't have been such a good actress. I shouldn't have been so naïve.

Kyle is waving his hand in front of my face. “Eva!”

I blink my eyes and snap back to reality. “Oh, sorry, was I spacing off again?”

“Yeah.” he looks worried. “It's alright. Just finish up and we'll leave, okay?”

I nod and concentrate on my food and only that.

Chapter Seven


I'm dressed, and Kyle is dressed, and my teeth are brushed, and we are ready. Ready to graduate and live on our own. Ready to face the world. At least I think I'm ready.

Kyle opens the door and stands back, letting me go first. But I freeze. There's a car sitting in his driveway. A police car.

“Go on, Eva.” Kyle says. “What are you waiting for?”

“Look.” I whisper.

An officer has stepped out and is approaching the door with a brisk pace. Kyle stands in front of the door, looking confused.

“Are you Kyle Thornbayer?” The officer asks.

“Yes, I am.”

“I'm Sargeant Thomas Kinley. I was sent to bring the news to you. The little girl accused of murder has been found. She's being held for questioning at the Office.”

I start breathing harder, feeling as if I am on the verge of feeling again.

“Already?” Kyle asks, shocked. “But how did you find her?”

“We asked around at different houses. Turns out she was involved with some family in this same town, t he son of one of the teacher's at the Riverside High School.Youlee I think is the name? I guess she has many murders behind her. She's a clever little one. Makes everyone believe it was suicide. And she changes her name with each family she messes with. I've never seen anything like it.”

Mrs. Youlee. Her daugher-in-law was killed by Mia just as Dad was.

And maybe even Julie's brother.

I think back to Mom's journal, and how it didn't say anything about why she killed herself. How it just left with her going into the forest with Patrick. It's the first time I've thought about their death since Dad's death. And I realize, the only dangerous thing that could have been awaiting them in the forest was... Mia.

Relief floods through me, making my blood flow again, my heart beat, oxygen flowing into my lungs. They didn't commit suicide. It's odd that I'm feeling relief with the discovering that my mother and brother were murdered, but I'm just so happy that it wasn't suicide. It's hard to explain. But this moment is one of the best in my lifetime.

“Can we visit her?” I ask Kyle. He nearly jumps when he hears my voice. In it is life, which has been lacking for weeks now.

“But the graduation...” he says.

Oh, yeah. “After?”

He smiles at me. “Of course we can.”

The Officer gives a departing smile. “Graduation, eh? Have fun, kids. I hope you feel better now that the girl has been found.”

“Thanks, Officer.” Kyle says. We wait until he leaves, and then we climb into Kyle's car and drive off toward graduation.



The names are being called off. It seems like it takes forever. There are only two hundred graduates, yet it seems to take two years to read off all of their names.

My mind goes elsewhere while they read. Which isn't a good thing right now.

I have all the puzzle pieces now. And my mind goes to putting them together.

It's like a movie behind my closed eyelids. One that's been awaiting an ending for a long time. I watch it closer than I've ever watched one before.

I watch Mom and Patrick, as they were three years ago, leaving the house. Mom has her journal tucked underneath her arm and Patrick has this faraway look in his eyes, like he's not too sure of what he is doing. They walk in silence, both their faces pale, awaiting what is going to meet them.

They walk a long way. Mom starts to wonder about the whole thing. Patrick continues walking like a robot, so mom trails after.

Finally, they approach a girl. She's young. And she has a weak look in her eyes.

“I'm Mia.” she says in a little voice. “I'm an orphan.”

Patrick stops in front of her, and Mom looks at him uncertainly. He nods, and she steps forward, but sysa nothing, only eyeing the girl cautiiously.

“I've lived in this forest for three years, by myself. Patrick has been visiting me for the last few months. He's helped me with some things. He's helped me see that there is love in this world. My parents died, you see. They committed suicide and never told me why. I don't want anyone knowing about me, because I don't want them to give me new parents. Please help me. Patrick said that maybe you would take me in, as a secret. Let me live with you, but not be my parents. Just love me. Because Patrick is the only one that has since my parents.”

Mia starts to cry then, neck falling forward helplessly, her long brown hair falling in fornt of her face. Her shoulders tremble.

I watch Mom's face as her heart aches for the girl. She runs forward to hug her, and to tell her that of course she can come live with them, but Mia pulls out a gun just as she gets there. She points it at her head and it is too late for Mom to move out of the way. The bullet hits her right in the side of the head. She falls to the floor immediately, but her eyes are still open. She's still conscious.

Mia leans over her. “I'm sorry. This isn't for you. It's for your daughter. I need her to understand. I need them all to understand. I have your journal. Your daughter will never know why you did this to yourself, why you killed yourself. She'll understand how I felt when I found my parents. I'm sorry this had to happen.”

then she looks up at Patrick. He can't run, because the sight of his mother laying dead on the floor makes him fall to his knees. It's all his fault, he thinks. It's all his fault she's dead. He shouldn't have trusted Mia, no he knew what she does. Mia and Dad... they'll never forgive him.

He falls to his knees, and it's almost too easy. Mia aims the bullet for his head, and he makes no move to stop it.

He falls to the ground as the gun goes off.

Mia positions them just right, then, pulling out another gun and placing them both in the hands of her two victims, she stands up, takes one last look, and skips off into the forest.

“Evelyn Baker.”

My name is being called. I open my eyes and stand up. Tired applause from the audience. I know their hands must be stinging from all this clapping. I walk to the front, and shake the principle's hand. He hands me my certificate, and whispers to me “Make the best of your life.”

I walk down the steps steadily, my head held high.

Kyle is there with me at the bottom. I link his arm in mine and together we walk out of the gym. We don't stay for the rest of the ceremony. We simply walk out. It's not over yet.


Mia's eyes widen when she sees me walk into the room. The blood drains from her face and for a minute I am reminded of the girl I met four months ago in the forest, small and terrified.

But I know who she really is, and it is not w ho she was back then. So I glare back. I put all of my hate into that glare. I stare at her until she looks away, shaking visibly.

They allow me to talk to her, though a few seem quite unsure. But most of them are sympathetic to me, and understanding. I step into the room. A guard has to follow me, which I find kind of funny. I don't know if it's to protect myself, or Mia from me.

“Hey, Mia.” I say.

She cringes and keeps silent.

I sit down in the chair across from her and look her in the eyes. She's white as a ghost.

“All those suicides around here, those were all you?”

She does nothing.

“It's impressive, really. I mean, that takes some talent. And by talent I mean cruelty, cold-hearted, evilness.”

She looks up at me, eyes so filled with terror.

“Don't give me that.” I say. “I know you're a good little actress.”

she looks down.

“Hey, you owe me something.” I say. “An explanation.”

Mia shakes her little head, hair acting as a curtain to hide her face.

“Yes!” I scream and the guard steps just a little bit closer. “Why Patrick too, Mia? Why did he have to die?”

She looks up with tears in her eyes, and talks in a voice I haven't heard. It's lower, still like a little girl's, but without the innocence she frosted it with whenever she was around me. She sounds old.

“He tried to help me! He came every day, and tried to get me to come with him, to come here, so they could give me new parents! He didn't understand that I didn't want new parents! He knew about the others, Mia. He knew what I was doing, and he tried to stop me, but I just can't stop. Killing them is the only thing that brings me comfort. To know that others are suffering the way I suffered is the only thing that makes me feel like life is fair. I let Patrick believe he had convinced me. He offered to talk his parents into adopting me. So I asked if I could meet your Mom, but in the comfort of my home, the forest. So he brought her. I couldn't kill her without him knowing, and telling on me, so I killed them both. I felt a little bad with Patrick, because he was always so nice to me, and he wasn't a parent, but I smiled when I killed your mother.”

The look in her eyes is enough to send ice water shooting through my veins. Her soft brown eyes have turned almost black, staring at me with no compassion, no sympathy, no regrets. Her hair is wild and frames her face to make her chin look pointy. Her eyebrows are furrowed in fury and her hands shake with anger now rather than fear.

The chair screeches painfully on the hard-wood floor as I stand up. I'm pale now, and my lips are trembling.

“I'm sorry, Mia.” I say, before I turn to walk out the door.

I feel her freeze. The tension in the room changes. Just as I get to the door, she stops me. “Sorry?” she says it as if she h=is asking if I have heard a single word she has just said.

“Yes.” I say, still faceing away. “I'm sorry your parents did what they did. I hope life treats you will, and you find someone to truly love you. You could be such an amazing girl.”

Then I leave. The guard follows me out, locking Mia inside the room alone. I catch a glimpse of her as I leave the police station, and she is sitting in her chair, staring forward blankly. She has this look in her eyes. It's of confusion, pain, and she almost looks as if she is having an epiphany.

“How was it?” Kyle asks as I step outside into the rainy evening.

I sigh. “Let's just leave.”

He nods and gets into the driver's side.

We sit there for a minute, and then we both look at each other. Kyle's eyes seem to ask a question, and he offers a little smile. I take a deep breath, and I smile back. I'm throwing all of the pain behind me, and taking only the lessons learned. I'm moving on.

“So. Where to now?” Kyle asks.

“Away.” is my simple answer.

He nods, and as he turns the key and puts his hands on the wheel, a picture flashes across my mind for the second time. Something from the past.

It's two birds, who are tired of how life is treating them. So they lift their wings, look around as if to say 'farewell' to how things are, and fly away to see how things will become.