In the garage, the radio played from my 1998 forest-green Dodge Neon. Aires’ Corvette still had its original radio. Translation: a piece of crap, but the rest of the car was totally beast. Flashy bloodred with black pinstriping running horizontally— Aires typically lost me at this point, but he would still continue talking even though my eyes glazed over—three functional, vertical front, slanting louvers on the sides of the front fenders; a blacked-out, horizontal-bars grille and different rocker panel moldings.
I had no idea what that meant, but Aires said it enough that I had the description memorized. The car looked awesome, but it didn’t run. Thanks to Noah Hutchins, my chances of it ever running lessened each day. I tightened my hands on the steering wheel and remembered Aires’ promise to me. Days before he left, he had hovered over the open hood as I sat on the workbench.
“It’s going to be okay, Echo.” Aires’ eyes had flicked to my rocking foot. “It’s only a six-month deployment.”
“I’m fine,” I’d said as I blinked three times. I didn’t want him to leave. Aires was the only person in the world who understood the craziness of our family, plus he was the only one capable of keeping the peace between me, Ashley and our father. He wasn’t Ashley’s biggest fan, but regardless of his feelings, he always encouraged me to give her a break.
He chuckled. “Next time at least try to stop your telltale sign of lying. One of these days Dad will pick up on it.”
“Will you write?” I asked, changing the subject. He’d talked a lot about our father before he left.
“And email and Skype.” He wiped his hands on an already greasy rag and stretched to his full six feet. “I’ll tell you what. When I get home and finish the car, you can be first to drive it. After me, of course.”
My foot stopped rocking and I was flooded with the first real feeling of hope since Aires told me of his deployment. Aires would return home as long as his car waited for him. He’d given me a dream and I held on to it after he left. My dreams died with him on a desolate road in Afghanistan.
“Whatcha thinking about?” asked Lila now.
“Noah Hutchins,” I lied. “He’s had all week to tell the whole school about my scars. What do you think he’s waiting for?”
“Maybe Noah doesn’t have anyone to tell. He’s a stoner foster kid who needs tutoring.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I answered. Or maybe he was waiting for the perfect moment to make my life a living hell.
Lila played with the rings on her fingers, signaling nerves.
“What?” I asked.
I had to strain to hear her mumbled answer. “We told Luke.”
Every single muscle in my neck tightened and I released my grip on the steering wheel, terrified I’d rip the plastic to shreds. “You what?”
Lila turned in her seat, wringing her hands in her lap. “He’s in our English class. Instead of proofreading each others’ papers, Natalie, Grace and I were discussing the Noah situation and your scars and … Luke overheard a few things.”
My heart pounded in my ears. For almost two years, I’d kept this horrible secret and in one week two people had forced their way into my personal nightmare.
When I didn’t say anything she continued, “Those scars are not your fault. You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Your mom definitely does and possibly your dad, but you? Nothing. Luke already knew your mom was freaking psychotic and he never told anyone. He’s a moron, but even he could figure out your mom hurt you.”
Should I be mad? Relieved? I settled for numb. “She’s not psychotic,” I murmured, knowing that anything I said regarding my mother fell on deaf ears. “She has issues.”
In a slow, deliberate movement, Lila placed her hand over mine, giving my fingers a reassuring squeeze. A reminder she’d love me regardless. “We think you should tell people. You know, take the offensive instead of the defensive. That way if Noah tells everybody, people will already know the real story and think he’s a jerk for making fun of you.”
I stared at Aires’ workbench. My father never tinkered with tools. If something broke, he called someone to fix it. Aires had loved to tinker. He spent every moment here in this garage. God, I needed him. I needed him to tell me what to do.
“Please say something, Echo.” The heartbreak in Lila’s voice broke mine.
“Whose idea was it?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. “Grace?” She’d wanted me to tell the whole school what’d happened immediately.
“That’s not fair.” Lila exhaled. “Not that Grace has been fair to you either. She swore this whole public versus private thing would end after the head cheerleader vote, but here’s the thing, Echo. She wants what we all want—everything back to normal. As long as everyone thinks you’re a cutter or tried to commit suicide you’ll always be on the outs. Maybe this whole Noah thing is a blessing in disguise.”
I looked at Lila for the first time since she’d broken the news. “My mom is off-limits.”
“We’ll back you.” Lila rushed out the words. “Luke said he’d tell his friends about the crazy mom episodes he witnessed when the two of you were dating. You know, to add legitimacy to your story. And when Grace heard that, she agreed to tell everyone what she, Natalie and I saw in the hospital. We saw the cops. We heard your father yelling at your mother. Grace wants this so badly—we all do.”
“Because having a crazy mom and no memory of the night she tried to kill me is so much better than people guessing I’m a cutter or tried to commit suicide.”
Lila spoke softly. “People will feel bad for you. Being a victim … it makes it different. That’s what Grace has been trying to tell you all along.”
Anger snapped my frail patience. “I don’t want their sympathy and I don’t want the worst night of my life up for discussion for the whole school. If I ever tell anyone what happened, I want to be able to tell them the truth, not that I’m some pathetic moron who remembers nothing.” I rapped the back of my head against the seat and stared at the ceiling of the car. Deep breaths, Echo. Deep breaths.
I remembered absolutely nothing about that night. My father, Ashley and my mom knew the truth. But I was forbidden to speak to my mom, and Dad and Ashley believed what the therapists said. That when my mind could handle the truth, I’d remember.
Whatever. They weren’t the ones who lay in bed at night trying to figure out what happened. They weren’t the ones who woke up screaming. They weren’t the ones wondering if they were losing their minds.
They weren’t the ones who felt hopeless.
“Echo …” Lila faltered, took a deep breath, and stared out the windshield. This had to be bad. Lila always could make eye contact. “Have you ever thought that maybe you’ve brought some of this on yourself?”
I flinched and fought to control the anger shaking my insides. “Excuse me?”
“I know it was rough coming back after what happened between you and your mom, but have you ever wondered if maybe you’d come back in September and continued life as normal, people would have eventually moved on? I mean, you sort of became a recluse.”
The anger gave way to a hurt that shoved my heart into my throat. Was this how my best friend saw me? As a coward? A failure? “Yeah, I did think of that.” And I waited before speaking again to keep my voice from cracking. “But the more I put myself out there, the more people talked. Remember last year’s dance team tryouts? People tend to gossip about what they see.”
Her head lowered. “I remember.”
“Why?” I asked her. “Why bring this all up now?”
“Because you’re trying, Echo. You actually came to lunch. You’re talking to people. It’s the first time since our sophomore year that I’ve seen you try and I’m terrified you’re going to go back into your shell.” She turned to face me with a strange spring in her movements. “Don’t let what Noah saw scare you off. Come to Michael Blair’s party with me tomorrow night.”
Had she lost her mind? “No way.”
“Come on,” she pleaded. “It’s your birthday tomorrow. We have to go out for your birthday.”
“No.” I wanted to forget that the day even existed. Mom and Aires used to make a holiday out of my birthday. Without them….
She clasped her hands together and placed them under her chin. “Please? Pretty please? Pretty please with hot fudge? Try it my way and if it doesn’t work I swear I’ll never bring it up again. And did I mention I overheard Ashley tell your dad that she wanted to take you out to dinner? At a restaurant. A fancy one. With five courses. One little yes to me and I can get you out of it.”
Dinner for the Damned on Fridays was bad enough. Dinner for the Damned in public would be inhumane. I took another deep breath. Lila had stuck with me through it all: my mother’s insanity, my parents’ divorce, Aires’ death and now this. She may not know it yet, but Lila was about to receive her birthday present. “Fine.”
She squealed and clapped her hands together. In one long, continuous sentence, she described her plans for the next night. Maybe Lila and Grace were right. Maybe life could go back to normal. I could hide my scars and go to parties and just lie low. Noah hadn’t told anybody and maybe he wouldn’t.
Besides, only four more months till graduation and after that I could wear gloves every day for the rest of my life.
NOAH
Twenty-eight anxious days had passed since I’d visited this bleakly decorated room in the social services building. The clowns and elephants painted on the wall were meant to invite happiness, yet the longer I looked, the more sinister they became. Nervous as hell and holding two wrapped gifts, I sat on a cold folding chair. I didn’t need this reminder of how screwed up my family had become. My little brothers used to shadow my every footstep, worshipping the ground I walked on. Now, I wasn’t sure if Tyler remembered our last name.
I waited like a caged jack-in-the-box ready to spring. The social worker needed to bring my brothers in before my nerves exploded. For some reason, Echo and her rocking foot came to mind. She must be wound twice as tight as me.
My mother’s voice chimed in my head. “You must always look presentable. It’s important to put your best foot forward.”
I’d shaved, which I normally didn’t bother doing every day. My mom and dad would have hated my hairstyle and any sign of stubble on my face. With my mother in mind, I didn’t let my hair grow past my ears on the sides, but, out of self-preservation, I’d let the top grow a little long, denying people access to my eyes.
The door opened and I automatically stood with the gifts still in my hands. Jacob flew through the door and rammed his body into mine. His head reached my stomach now. I tossed the presents on the table, lowered myself to Jacob’s level and wrapped my arms around him. My heart dropped. Man, he’d grown.
My social worker, a heavyset black lady in her fifties, paused in the door frame. “Remember, no askin’ personal questions about their foster parents. I’ll be on the other side of that mirror.”