WEDNESDAY

DAY SEVENTEEN

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PARKER

It felt like an out-of-body experience looking at my old phone messages from Camille and not knowing what to send. The tightness in my chest hadn't lessened. The pressure to cry was like water pressing against a dam, but the structure was too stable to relax. I've had to patch too many cracks for anything more than a few leaks here and there to escape. I was a fortress.

Sitting on the floor with Ian and forcing myself to smile and laugh only made the hollow feeling in my chest grow. All I could think about was Camille and how she'd tell a joke better. Her stories were better. I craved her thoughts and feelings and her warmth. I never realized the way Camille had the power to soften me.

I guess this was the hard way I found out I was just plain mean.

Mean.

Mean.

Mean.

You can't spell "Mean" without "Me".

I couldn't even make the argument that I didn't know I was being a jerk. The whole time, I knew Camille wanted me to get along with Norah. I knew that party was a big deal to her. Camille's favorite holiday was Halloween and still, at every turn, I just did whatever I wanted.

God. I was that dumb sticky-faced kid who poured salt over a slug and watched it melt to sludge. So dumb. I wished Lizzie warned me. She used to be so good at telling me when I was breaking a record for how big of an idiot I was being.

No. It wasn't Lizzie's fault. Not when she was probably already wrapped with guilt over the whole ordeal.

Instead of the theater, a lot of the tech crew and their supplies scattered about the drama room, spilling out into the hallway with all the sets and my costumes as if a story book threw up here. A part of me wanted to punch a hole through every reinforced cardboard.

While Ian changed the subject about some anime I haven't watched, Norah walked inside with a laugh. She wore her track jumpsuit and white Adidas sneakers. Whipping around, she walked backwards into the room, leading Camille inside. Camille and her chic Hot Topic ripped up jeans with tights underneath, so the dress code police couldn't rain from the sky and give her a ticket for looking too awesome. No makeup today and a purposely tattered Lana Del Rey shirt.

Like her, the most effort I could muster was to put on jeans. I wore a sweatshirt over a free Blood Donation T-shirt with holes in the armpit that I had worn to sleep the night before and the oldest pair of Vans in the universe.

We locked eyes and my face nearly burned to an ugly crisp. I snapped my attention to the pile of fabric in my hands and continued burning my hands with a hot glue gun and only sometimes actually sticking more cheap rhinestones to the costumes. Camille and Norah didn't stop by my dunce corner.

Before I could start watching them from a distance in the creepiest way possible, my phone vibrated in my sweatshirt. I slipped it out and my mom's picture flashed across the screen, that red hair like mine cut short and curled to perfection. She wore something simple, a white button-up and high waisted slacks, but she made everything look three times expensive. She started in New York as a model and if she so desired, she'd make an impressive comeback.

Not with this picture.

Not one where she was smiling so hard, every wrinkle around her face appeared. Not when she was trying to hide her mouth while she was in the middle of eating chow mein and getting sauce everywhere. This picture lacked her usual perfection and that was why I loved it.

Seeing her calling made me jump to my feet. I hurried out into the hallway, answering before the call dropped. "Hello? Mom?"

"Ashley!" my mother cheered and hearing her voice gave me goosebumps. The ache in my chest pounded as I realized it had been almost a full month since I heard her voice. "Hey, baby. How are you? How's school?"

"I'm fine. It's good," I said, feeling wildly unprepared.

"Fine? And good? Those are some sad adjectives, Ashley Marie."

"They're all I got."

A lump formed in my throat as my armpit welled up with sweat. It was hard to catch my breath past my nerves. A few people waved as they passed me, and I almost absentmindedly ignored Lizzie when she came up to me. I grabbed her arm and in my panic gave her a small shake as I mouthed, "It's my mom!"

"Oh!"

Lizzie's eyes popped out of her skull. She nearly yelled but quickly covered her mouth. She just nodded and scurried into the classroom to give me some space. Leaning back into the hallway, she gave me a quick encouraging thumbs up. Grinning, I waved her away, but I watched her walk back inside. I needed to know where Lizzie would sit. She stopped by Camille, of course. She motioned to the door and me and I spun around to avoid Camille's attention again.

"How's work going?" I asked, dying from the pause of silence. I needed to fill it. To use it up as much as I could in these rare moments. "I loved the September issue. If you didn't get Paloma Young's signature for me, I'm disowning you."

My mother laughed. "That's not how it works."

"I'll make it work."

"You always have a way...."

Another pause.

"Listen, Ashley," my mother said in that way people spoke when they were about to say they had cancer or that they were out of Coke and ask if Pepsi was okay. "I called because someone double-booked my schedule and I'm supposed to be on a plane the day of your play."

"Okay," I said because her words weren't quite landing.

"It's for a huge client and I can't say no. If it weren't in London, I could probably make the proper arrangements to swing by, but the flights are so long."

"Okay."

"I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"Okay."

"If anything, we'll see each other for Thanksgiving and I'll take you to a show, any show you like, and you can bring a friend."

"Okay..."

The bottom of my stomach fell out as a chill suddenly enraptured my body. I crossed my arm, holding myself as best as I could manage. "Does dad know you're not coming?" I said two more words than I should've tried. Tears pricked at the corner of my eyes, but I swallowed that misery, feeling it slither down my throat like cough syrup and slam into my stomach.

"I haven't told him," she admitted. "Would you mind letting him know? I don't have time to get into it with him. You understand, don't you, Ashley? He just doesn't understand our work ethic."

"Right. Yeah. Okay."

"I love you, sweetheart."

"Love you too."

She hung up, but I didn't drop the phone from my ear. My shoulder crashed against the cold concrete wall as I closed my eyes and tried reinforcing the dam again and refusing to let the waterworks flow. Refusing to break. This was normal. This was what always happened.

I had to stop being so fucking surprised.

Mrs. Donnelly passed me, slipping into the room with the assistant director, Annalise. I turned away and pretended to still be on my phone so no one would notice my face.

Why couldn't I have stayed in the world of five minutes ago? I wanted to go back to five minutes ago. Five days ago. Five days ago, when I had a best friend and I didn't have to think about losing love. Five years ago, when I didn't have anything so precious that could be taken away, but I lived in a world of weak houses with no foundation. It was about time it all came down.

The things that once tied me down unraveled and frayed.

My palms suffered rope burn from holding on too tight and I could only handle so much pain before I let go. No more ties left. The ache was gone, replaced by a cold empty feeling.

Mrs. Donnelly's voice snuffed out the voices in the drama room and made my skin crawl. Even hearing someone cough was enough to make my teeth clench. She explained, "Listen up everyone. I know we've gone through the trenches during this production already, but I have some more news."

A chorus of groans answered back.

"I know, I know. This one is small. Just a small little hiccup. The advertisements we printed in the local paper announced the wrong day... by a month."

"It's kind of hilarious at this point," Jordan guffawed, and the sound grated my ears.

"It'll all be alright," Mrs. Donnelly said, dumbly. "We will continue to persevere."

"Why?" I said without pause. "Let's just call the whole thing off. I mean it's stupid to think we can still do this fucking play without half a cast and no one coming to watch. Unless—"

"Parker!" Mrs. Donnelly gawked.

Somehow, I ended up standing in the middle of the door, gripping the threshold until my knuckles turned white. "Unless, the plan is to get laughed at? Then, let me tell you we're doing the Lord's work! I hope I get nailed in the face with a rotten tomato."

"Parker." Mrs. Donnelly's voice dropped two octaves. Her stance stiffened as she stood up to match my height. "I will speak to you outside. I'm not going to take that kind of attitude. Not in my classroom."

"Wow, you're really sounding like a director now-"

"Parker, I will give you one more warning and that's it."

"Parker, let's go outside," Lizzie said, walking towards me with her hands out. She approached me like a wild dog. I must have looked crazy. I felt crazy. When she approached, she whispered, "Is this about your mom?"

My words came out hot from the embers inside my lungs. Every word burned my tongue. "Do it. Do your worse. I'd like to actually see you do something-" I stared across Lizzie's head and glared at Mrs. Donnelly. We mirrored each other's glares and red faces. It was difficult to hear myself over my heart thrumming against my ears.

Finally, Mrs. Donnelly snapped, "Parker, you are off costumes and that is final."

"What?" Camille blurted. "But what will we do without-"

Mrs. Donnelly snapped her hand straight at Camille, cutting her off. "We will get the costumes from donations and thrift stores like we do every year. Parker, you'll help Ian with the lighting, but if you say one more word you are out of the production entirely."

I straightened up, swallowing the lump of anger like a hairball I couldn't hack out of my throat. Keeping my shoulders rolled back and my chin in the air, I stormed through the room and grabbed my tub of costumes, stumbling to hold it as I pushed my rack of clothes. These beautiful glimmering gowns and suits that made me want to cry. Still, I wore a mask of pride that didn't hide my swollen red face or the tears welling up in my eyes.

"I'll help you," Lizzie spoke softly.

She took the rack away from me, pushing it towards the exit. But the tub I grabbed popped open because I overfilled it like an idiot. I scrambled to pick everything up and it wouldn't fit the same way again because of course it wouldn't and everyone was staring at me struggling to pick everything back up. Camille lowered. She stuffed as much as she could into her arms without a word. She went back for a suitcase full of shoes that I almost forgot. She nudged me to follow.

We marched through the school to the parking lot. Camille was the first one to say anything. The last thing she said was shouted at me and now, she was yelling again. I guess that was the trend now. "What the hell was that?"

"I don't know," I said.

"You don't know?!"

"I don't know!"

"Let's just calm down," Lizzie said, and I took a deep breath, but it still felt like my skin was on fire. My entire being sizzled as my adrenaline showed no signs of slowing down. Nothing seemed like it would ever slow down.

"What did your mom say?" Lizzie asked.

"Your mom called?" Camille softened.

"She's not coming to see the play, which is fine, right?" I grinned so wide my cheeks ached. "It's not like I'll have anything to show anymore. No one's going to see the costumes. Not the school. You guys. Not her. She won't see...." I stopped before I could say "me."

Camille dropped the suitcase with a huff. "I can't fucking stand your mom. Jesus!" She muttered something I didn't understand in Spanish and kicked Lizzie's tire. She whipped around, pointing a sharp finger at me. "You have to stop letting her fuck up your life!"

I closed my eyes as my leg jittered on its own. Everything inside of me begged to burst. On the other side, Lizzie pushed me. Shocked, my eyes popped open as I fell against the trunk of her car. Tears burned her eyes and irritated them a bright shade of pink. "Let it out Parker. Just let it out. What are you? Huh? What are you?"

"I'm angry," I said through clenched teeth, like passing a vocal kidney stone. "I'm so angry. About everything. All the time."

Camille pushed too. "Then what are you going to do about it?"

Lizzie grabbed both of my arms and closed her eyes tight before she ripped out a scream. I screamed back. Camille joined our huddle and we screamed and screamed and screamed, until I thought my ears were going to explode, until I was crying and thought I might even pass out I became so light-headed.

I took several deep breaths to pull life back into this empty vessel of a body. Lizzie's hand rested on my back. She rubbed comforting circles across my rigid shoulder blades, knocking off the icicles. Camille was gone, leaving only us.

"Let me take you home," Lizzie said. Her voice softer than velvet, kinder than a Christmas song. My arms moved on their own, pulling her into a hug.

My voice cracked like the screen of a fallen cellphone. "I really thought she'd come. I thought she missed me or something."

"I know. But you have to remember the people that are here. Your dad, your stepmom, Hayden and me."

She didn't add Camille to that list. That list used to have my mom. Used to have a lot more people, but all the names continued to fall away and disappear. I squeezed Lizzie tight, not sure what I would do if Lizzie struck her name from that list.

Lizzie took me home and thankfully, no one was home to ask why Lizzie and I brought so many costumes back inside the house. She sat with me on the couch, until I was too exhausted to keep my eyes open. She pressed a small kiss to my forehead and that was almost enough to make me cry again. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her, but I knew that might make her run. 

We were too close. Too wrapped up in each other. If anyone got too close to me and started to see the real me, that was when they ran. I couldn't let Lizzie see. We needed distance. We needed to be in a position where my life didn't explode at the end of this trial. 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE

Ouch. Double ouch. These parts have been really difficult to write and the next day, I completely lost. Somehow I deleted the ENTIRE scene and didn't notice. I really don't know what I did. It feels so weird for it just to be gone. Luckily, I'm close to rewriting it completely. I always mourn the loss of words I've already written, but the new scene always turns out better. So there's that, I guess. Wish me luck! 

So, what did you think about the day? Don't forget to leave a comment with your thoughts! Did you expect anything else from Parker's mom? What did you think about Parker's outburst and were you surprised to see Camille there to help? 

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