The Tension of Opposites (8 page)

“This whole thing sucks.” She choked on the words, trying to contain her sobs.

“Yeah.” I stood there, unsure of what to do with my hands, so I shoved them into the pockets of my jeans.

“People are walking on eggshells around me. Even my shrink.” Elle wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “And me. I just want to see something break.”

“Yeah, I can kind of tell.” I smiled, and the corners of Elle's mouth pulled up a little, too. It made my heart stop, because she almost looked like the old her.

“I know I need to chill. It's just that … God.” Elle slid the notebook and pen onto the comforter and sat forward, grabbing a pillow from behind her and squeezing it to her chest. “It's hard.”

“Maybe if you think more about how glad we are to have you home …”

“For two years”—Elle pressed her palms into her eyes—“all I thought about was everyone I'd left behind.”

When she lowered her hands and looked at me, I reached out to touch her, but I didn't know if I should go for her shoulder, or her arm, or her hand, so I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear instead.

“Everyone's judging me, you know?” Elle looked down at the bedspread, waving her hand at the TV on her dresser. “Reporters who've never met me are saying I should have talked. I just want to scream at them. It may have looked like I could've gotten away, but it's like I was tied to this invisible leash.”

“It was weird.” I rubbed my wrist, scratched at my thin, pale skin. “Hearing that you weren't actually locked away the whole time.”

“The thing is … I was,” Elle said.

Her words hit me hard and made me feel like I was sinking. Like I couldn't get enough air.

“I wish I could explain it. But I lived it, and I really don't understand.” Elle looked up at me.

“Elle, I'm sorry—”

“I'm so
sick
of that!” Elle slammed her fist into the mattress. “Everyone's sorry, pitying me and trying not to say anything that might upset me. Jesus, I wish people would just act normal for once. Coop's the only one who has the balls to say what's really on his mind.”

“You want to know what's really on my mind?”

Elle's head snapped up. “Yes.”

“I missed you. We all missed you.” Tears welled up in my eyes. “And now you're back, and we're still missing you. As long as you keep this wall around yourself and refuse to let anyone in, he wins.”

Elle nodded. “Okay, maybe.”

“Unless you speak up and tell us, we're not going to know what to say or do. Nobody's psychic.”

“We used to be.” Elle smiled, and I felt a little surge of my old friend coming through. “Psychic twins?”

So there was hope after all. This was the first time she had referred to anything from our past.

“You don't have to remind me.” I smiled back, remembering all the mornings we'd arrived at school wearing almost identical outfits, in the exact same color, accessorized with shoes and purses so similar they could be interchanged. Then there were all the times we'd called each other at the same moment, only to get a busy signal. And the zillions of times we'd finished each other's sentences.

I decided to sit on the bed. When I did, the notebook between us slid toward me, and I looked down at the familiar writing, catching three words—
can't believe I've
—before Elle grabbed it and flipped it shut.

“What's that?” I asked.

“Homework.” Before she threw the notebook on the floor, I saw a flash of a huge butterfly in the center of the blue cover. It was some kind of fabric patch, the raised wings stitched with varying shades of blues, greens, and purples.

“Are you totally dreading going back to school?” I traced my finger along a thread in the bedspread.

“Yeah. Everyone's going to stare and whisper like I'm some freak. Plus, I'll be in all freshman classes. I don't know which part will suck more.”

“I didn't even think about your being held back.”

“Me either. Not until my tutor came in and started testing me. She's cool, though, says I'll be able to catch up with my own class—your class—after summer break, if I keep working hard.”

“I guess so, if you're throwing yourself into homework like that.” I pointed toward the edge of the bed, where the notebook had disappeared.

“What?” Elle's nose crinkled up. She looked to the floor and waved her hand. “Oh. That's different. It's for therapy. I'm supposed to keep that notebook with me and write down anything that comes up. Like if something happens that's frustrating, or that brings up a bad memory. How the scent of coffee reminds me of his sour breath … stuff like that.”

I listened to Elle breathe, watched the digital clock on her nightstand for two minutes, tried not to think about how close she'd had to get to smell his breath.

“And she gives me assignments, too,” Elle added.

“What kind of assignments?”

“The first one was to recall everything that happened that day. When he took me.”

“Will you tell me?” I asked, the soft words springing from my mouth before I could stop them. “What happened, I mean. I've spent two years envisioning different stuff. And I just want to know—”

“Everyone
just wants to know
.” Elle stood. “You're exactly like everyone else, aren't you?”

I shook my head, wishing I could grasp the words that floated on the air between us and stuff them back through my lips, swallow them whole, bury them deep inside. “No, Elle. I just—”

“All you want is to know every sickening detail.”

“Elle—”

“People don't have to ask. Their darting eyes, never making contact with mine, scream all their questions. How'd he get you? How'd he keep you? Why. Didn't. You. Tell?” Elle leaned down. I scooted to the end of her bed. When she stood up, the butterfly notebook lay in one hand while the fingers of her other hand tore through pages until she found what she was looking for. “You wanna know?” she screamed, every part of her shaking. “Here!”

She threw the open notebook on my lap and stormed out of the room, leaving me alone with her words. Leaving me alone with the answers I'd been waiting two years to learn.

“You've been crying,” Elle said from her seat on the couch.

My hand flew to my cheeks, fingers rubbing the slight swell beneath my eyes. “I rinsed my face with cold water.”

“I can still tell.” Elle shifted under the pale yellow blanket spread across her legs. I remembered making a fort with it years ago, stretching it from the back of the couch to the bar stools that were now pushed against the far wall, and whispering and giggling under its shelter.

I waved my hand in the air, indicating the wide space of the Pendeltons' basement. The recessed lighting was on its dimmest setting, allowing Elle the perfect hideout. “But it's so dark down here. Am I totally transparent?”

Elle shook her head. Rolled her eyes. “That little red dot you always get when you cry. It's there. Under your right eye.”

I walked to the arm of the couch and leaned against it. “It's crazy. How well you know me.”

Elle fluttered her lashes. “Don't kid yourself, Tessa. I don't know you any better than you know me.”

“But we've been best friends since we were—”

“You do realize that I've been gone for two years, right?”

I opened my mouth, but I didn't know what to say. This huge space was cracking open between us, gaping in front of me, daring me to jump to her side to try to keep her from disappearing all over again. But all I could do was stand there and stare.

“Everything's changed.” Elle jutted her chin forward. “We can't just go back to the way we were.”

“But—”

“But what?” Elle leaned forward, her eyes glaring at me. “You got what you wanted, right? Now that you know what really happened, you can leave. Go tell all of your loser friends what they're dying to know.”

I shook my head. She didn't understand. And I didn't have a clue about how to make her.

“Close the door on your way up.” Elle grabbed the remote from the coffee table and clicked on the television. The pale blue light bounced off her face as she gave me one last hard look. “I want to be alone.”

When I pulled out of the Pendeltons' driveway, I switched off my radio, deciding to make my way home in silence. The sun had set, and all that was left in its wake were creeping shadows that shaded the world with a purplish tint. It could have been all the kids in costumes running from house to house, carrying pillowcases and plastic buckets filled with sugary treats. Or the flickering luminaries and jack-o'-lanterns that lined the street. But I was pretty sure the real reason the night felt so eerie was Elle. And that journal.

I remembered the last Halloween we had spent together. Dressed as Thing One and Thing Two, Noelle and I had pranced around our neighborhood for hours. Our blue Afro wigs had been fluffed high on our heads, and we had collapsed into giggle fits each time we'd looked at each other. But the best part was the freedom. Back then, most parents were fearless and chose to stay home.

I let out a long sigh as I glanced at the packs of moms and dads, bundled and cluttering the sidewalks. Centerville was no longer safe or untouched. Not since the middle of August two years ago.

After turning onto my street, I noticed a car parked in front of my house. I didn't think much of it; our next-door neighbors had two young children, and their grandparents came over for all the photo-worthy holidays. But as I approached my driveway, I realized the car was familiar. And someone was leaning against the black hood.

He stepped away from the Mustang and walked toward my car as I pulled to a stop. But I couldn't move. My hand froze on the key ring. I didn't have time to think before Max's face peered in my driver's-side window, his hand perched on the handle of my door.

His lips moved, and I heard the muffled sound of his voice rising at the end of the sentence. A question. And I was all out of answers.

I shook my head.

He pulled my door open and spoke again. “You gonna come out of there or what?” He held out his hand, offering help.

I didn't understand how he possibly could have known, but I definitely needed steadying.

“I just wanted to check in.” He pulled his cap off his head, and his curls spilled out around his face.

I watched as, behind him, a stream of kids ran through the trampled grass of my front yard and hopped up the steps to my porch.

“You know,” he added, “to see how it went with Elle.”

I didn't know what to say. Unfortunately, my lips opened and let my very first thought escape without any censor.

“Why are you being so nice?”

He looked away then, facing the closed garage door. I couldn't tell anything from his profile, and I wondered if he was mad. Or maybe he was just plain done with me. In that moment, I was kind of scared he might walk away. I had to plant my feet on the hard ground to keep from swaying forward and placing my hands on his chest in the hopes that he might curl his arms around me in a deep hug.

“Trick-or-treat?” A blast of voices shrieked through the air, breaking Max's eyes away from whatever had held his attention. He turned toward my house, and we both watched in silence as my father appeared in the doorway, smiling at the kids who stood in the bright porch light. Tinker Bell sparkled, the Incredible Hulk flexed, and the pirate with the macaw on his shoulder arrghed.

My dad dropped a handful of candy bars into the outstretched bags. The kids shouted hurried thank-yous before turning away, running back to their parents, and dashing off to the next house. My father watched them go, stepping backward into the foyer. Just before he swung the door closed, he caught sight of Max and me standing in the shadow of the driveway. He stopped, unsure, I could tell, of what to do. Slowly, he raised his hand and waved. Max and I waved back. Then my father closed the door, and I heard the brassy
thunk
of the door knocker hitting its bed.

“Come sit with me,” Max said. He reached out for my hand, then stopped several inches short and waited. I reached out (it felt a little like some crazy magnetism took over), and his hand enveloped mine. For a second, we just stood there, kind of breathing in the moment. And then Max started toward his car, pulling me along with him.

We sat on the edge of the curb, listening to the patter of feet scurrying behind us. From all around, little voices called out with excitement.

“I'm being nice because I like you,” Max said softly. “And I'm here tonight because I thought you might need to talk.”

I wrapped my arms around my legs and rested my chin on my knees. “It went okay,” I said. “It's hard, though. Coop's right. She's different.”

“I'm sure,” Max said.

“I think she's really angry.”

“She's got a lot to be angry about.”

“Yeah.” I started to shiver and squeezed my arms tighter around my legs.

“Cold?” Max scooted so close against my side that the gap between us disappeared.

I felt the heat of his shoulder, his side, his thigh, and wanted to melt into him. “It'll work itself out, won't it?” I asked.

Max looked at me, the light from the luminaries across the street dancing in his eyes. “What'll work out?” he asked.

“Everything with Elle.” I thought for a second that he might have been hoping I meant something different. Like us, maybe.

He looked down at the pavement. Pulled his feet toward him with a long scraping sound.

“Being home after all this time.” My words shook. “Fitting in. Finding her way.”

Max took a deep breath. He reached around my shoulders and pulled me in tight. “Yeah.” His hand rubbed along my upper arm, firm and slow. My shoulders relaxed. I allowed my body to slump into his.

“You really think?” My vision was getting swimmy, and I couldn't make it stop. I hoped Max was totally unaware, but I had to keep swiping at my cheeks, and I did that whole stutter-sigh thing a few times.

“I'm sure,” he whispered, his breath warming my cheek.

I finally rested my head against his shoulder and we sat together in silence. At one point, I noticed that our breathing was perfectly in sync.