Shaken, page 8
It annoyed Kristy. “Shouldn’t you be, like, pretending to care?”
Marilyn apologized and invited Kristy to get up out of the chair and help. Handed her a tiny pair of scissors from the desk.
Here, trim these dying leaves, there and there and there. See where it’s yellow? I’ve been meaning to transfer this one to a bigger planter. It’s a little squished in there. The roots need more room to grow.
Kristy went to the tap and filled a watering can. Free labor for her therapist. She trimmed leaves and watered plants. It wasn’t so bad, actually. The plants were kind of cool and it was nice not to sit in a chair and talk about things—even though it seemed like that’s what they were supposed to be doing. Toward the end of the appointment, Marilyn surprised Kristy by asking:
Are you open to trying something new?
Kristy shrugged. “Maybe.”
I’ve noticed that in your journal, you like to draw.
“Doodles, mostly,” Kristy said. “When I’m stuck for words. I’m not an artist or anything.”
I know someone, a very kind and talented art therapist named Nelly Grey. I suspect that a little time with Nelly might be just the thing for you. Let me tell you about it.
SEVEN
SNEAKING OUT
Missing classes on days when Kristy didn’t feel up to it might have sounded good on the surface, but it actually made life more difficult. And besides, the old Kristy actually liked school. But this was a year of survival, not honor roll. Kristy embraced the concept of barely sliding by. Her parents were on board with it as well. “For now,” her father said. “This arrangement is temporary.” He was gone all day, buried in work, and frequently traveled to the home office in the city for “face time.” To Mr. Brian Barrett, a risk-averse securities analyst, everything was temporary and Kristy would soon be “back on the horse.” That’s the way he talked. And yes, it was annoying. Faces and horses.
In truth, her dad probably missed soccer more than Kristy did. It was the one thing that forced him to “shuffle things around” to attend games and tournaments. Without Kristy’s demanding sports calendar, he was no longer needed as chauffeur or cheerleader. Instead, he just worked, worked, worked. She wondered if maybe work was easier than playing daddy to a messed-up kid.
Kristy’s mother tried to keep an eye on her daughter’s erratic study habits, but she was often distracted with phone calls, or in her home office with the door closed. A lot of times she had to attend meetings at the administrative offices.
They ordered a lot of takeout.
The situation gave Kristy space for recovery time. In this case and at this particular moment, her schoolwork involved lying on top of an unmade bed with sweet Zuzu curled at her side, scrolling on her phone. She knew it was wrong to compare herself to supermodels and half-waif girls, but she couldn’t look away.
Kristy never aspired to that look anyway. However, it was more difficult to ignore the strong, cut, athletic fitness models. The weight lifters and track stars. Their bodies were amazing and came from hard work. She respected it.
Wearing soccer shorts and a sweatshirt, Kristy idly raised her right leg, toe pointed to the ceiling, and frowned. She was losing definition—and her legs had once been, she believed, her number one asset. Now she felt weak and out of shape. Maybe she could start running again? Running was something she had always loved, but now … the thrill was gone. And so was the motivation. The Evil Doctor Mustache—He Who Should Never Be Named—said that Kristy could gradually ease back into it. When? she asked. When she felt up for it, he said. We can’t rush this, he said. Listen to your body, he said. Blah, blah, blah.
Sigh. Kristy got up and did some side planks and Russian twists. Whew. She was gassed already. Burpies next? No, nobody needed that torture. The thought made her head hurt.
She was so bored. So, so bored.
Kristy thought about Jimbo. They hadn’t really hung out as much since the humiliation at CVS. She kept her distance and he didn’t push for more contact. But still … she missed him. A-surprisingly-lot.
Maybe they could sneak out one night? An adventure in the dark, secret world. The thought quickened Kristy’s heartbeat. They had talked about it a little, but Jimbo didn’t take her seriously. They needed a plan. He was terrible at texting, let his phone go dead for days at a time. Who does that? Oh well, if things got bad, she could always throw rocks at his bedroom window.
Her phone dinged: “Little Mouse, Little Mouse. Come out of your house!”
Kristy’s heart froze. It was Quinn.
She peeked out the bedroom window. And there in her driveway was Quinn’s silver Jeep. Quinn leaned against it, a goddess gazing up at Kristy through the pane. A high school senior in tight jeans, a belly-baring black top, and a driver’s license in her back pocket. Confident and five years older than Kristy. Teammates with nothing in common except the game. It was one thirty. What was Quinn doing here?
Kristy opened the front door. Called out, “Uh, hi.”
Quinn pushed herself off the car and walked around to the driver’s side. Gave a little wave and said, “Come on, let’s go. I have to be somewhere at three o’clock.”
“I can’t, I—”
“Text your mom, ask permission, do what you need to do, and get in the car.”
So Kristy got in the car. Which was cool as hell, for the record. But still. Where were they going?
Quinn reached for the radio dial, glanced at Kristy. “You mind?”
“Nope,” Kristy lied. Certain sounds still irritated her, but to Kristy’s relief, the music was relatively mellow.
“Joan Armatrading,” Quinn said. “My grandmother’s favorite. I’m deep into it.” She put the car in reverse and off they rolled.
After a few minutes of music—the woman singing, “Oh the feeling / when you’re reeling”—Quinn explained, “There’s a new brick oven pizza place at the Plaza. Personal pies. Pretty righteous.”
Kristy patted her pockets. “I didn’t bring any—”
“Yeah, figures,” Quinn said. “I got ya covered.”
Inside, they ordered on a screen and grabbed a booth in the back.
Quinn folded her hands together, leaned forward, and didn’t say a word. It felt a little tense.
“What?” Kristy finally said, perplexed and becoming a little irritated. “You hate me, right?”
Quinn snorted, shook her head, looked away for a merciful moment, then locked eyes with Kristy again. Deep brown eyes. “You have no idea how rare you are,” Quinn said. “Look at you. Just a mouse. Halfway through middle school.
“That’s the worst, right? Middle school. You’ve probably never even had a boyfriend. Am I right? And yet you’re already one of the most talented players on the field, playing against juniors and seniors.”
Kristy made a face. “But why…?” Kristy’s voice trailed off. She couldn’t find the right words. Why was enough. Why … everything. All of it. Why.
“Why what?”
“Why were you so mean to me?” Kristy finally blurted. “I got hurt. It’s not like I wanted to be injured.”
“Maybe I’m dumb about some things,” Quinn said. “My brother Ty says I have anger issues. You ditched us. And I was angry with you for it.”
Kristy’s cheeks flushed with shame. It wasn’t fair.
“But I was wrong,” Quinn confessed.
A server arrived with the pizza. Quinn’s words hung in the air while they plated their slices, hurriedly sprinkled on grated cheese and oregano and red pepper flakes.
“I guess I brought you here to say that I’m sorry,” Quinn said. “But also, I wanted to explain myself. Most of what I did was for the team. We had sectionals, and we had a shot at states. We couldn’t sit around and feel sorry for ourselves.”
Kristy remembered that first practice after the collision. The cold, hostile way Quinn acted.
We don’t need her.
How deeply those words cut.
When she needed a hug, Quinn gave her a shove.
“Next girl up,” Kristy recalled.
“That’s right,” Quinn said. “Next girl up. And we almost got there, too. But we needed you and I knew that we needed you. Everybody knew it. But I was the captain. It was my job to get us to believe in ourselves—even without you.”
Kristy’s mind was swirling, swirling. Her head, her stomach. Spiraling, twisting, whirling in a mix of thoughts and emotions. This was too much to process. So she said, “The pizza’s great.”
Quinn laughed, crunched into a slice.
“I guess you talked to Tia,” Kristy realized.
“I’m the captain, Mouse,” Quinn said. “I talk to everybody. I take it seriously.”
“You’re a little scary,” Kristy admitted.
“Okay, maybe too seriously,” Quinn said, laughing. “But it got me into college. On a scholarship. I’m proud of that.”
Kristy nodded, listening.
Quinn checked her phone. Wiped her mouth with a napkin. “What about you, Mouse? What’s next for you?”
Kristy blinked, looked up at the ceiling, and shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said hesitantly. “Everything feels different. It’s like … erm, I’m—”
There was compassion in Quinn’s face, her thick black eyebrows and brown eyes. “Give it time, Mouse. It will be okay. You are an amazing athlete, you know that?”
“Everyone keeps telling me that,” Kristy said. “They all wanted me to get over it. Sit out a week and run back out there. Like I was faking it. No one understood. I still get headaches every day,” Kristy continued. “I don’t know when I’ll be allowed to play again, or even if I want to. I feel like I’m failing in every way possible.” She paused and sniffed and admitted, “It’s scary.”
“You’ll get there,” Quinn said. “I’m sure of it. Maybe right now you can’t see it—but I see you. And you’ll get there, you will. You’ll grow up into a Big Mouse someday.”
Kristy sniffled and coughed in a half-gagging, borderline gross way. Her brain felt watery, submerged, sloshing around in her skull.
It was time to go. They both felt better, relieved, and glad to leave. It all felt heavy and fatiguing. Quinn stood, pointed at Kristy’s plate. “You gonna eat that last slice or…?”
* * *
When Binny heard about Kristy’s chicken-sitting gig, she was eager to come along. “My uncle Hector the Horrible has chickens,” Binny said as they walked to the house. “Worst thing that ever happened, one night a weasel—he thinks it was a weasel, maybe a raccoon or a fox—got in somehow and killed them all.”
“Ugh,” Kristy said. “That’s horrible.”
“Uncle Hector the Horrible—that’s not his name, we just call him that; he’s not really ‘horrible,’ it’s just a funny thing we say—said it was a massacre,” Binny said. “But, you know, I used to eat chickens, too, so it’s not like I’m any better.”
“They all died?”
Binny smirked. “Generally when you get your head ripped off, yeah, death happens. Don’t worry, Uncle Hector fixed up the coop and ordered eight more baby chicks the very next day. He loves those free eggs.”
“I didn’t know you were vegetarian,” Kristy said.
“Three months now. Pescatarian,” Binny clarified. “I still eat fish, salmon mostly. Good for the brain. And I’m not totally strict about it. Local meat from farms, cows raised right, that’s different. It’s complicated.”
Kristy lifted the mat by the front door, found the key. Once inside, there was a note on the kitchen table.
Kristy,
The chickens are pretty easy. It’s okay to let them out during the day. They will come back on their own at dusk. BE SURE to lock them in at night. Check that they always have water. Their food doesn’t need to be filled every day. When it’s low, the extra food is in a bin above where you get the eggs. Take the eggs. Otherwise, they might start eating them. True and so gross.
Thank you!
Erin
Binny was already looking into the kitchen cabinets, making noises of appreciation. “Oh, Flavor Blasted. I love these,” she said, tearing into a package of Goldfish crackers. “Want some?”
“Come on, be serious,” Kristy said, sliding open the back door.
“Don’t worry,” Binny teased. “People expect sitters to grab snacks. It’s a fringe benefit. And it’s not like I’m going through the lady’s bedroom drawers looking for stuff.”
Binny’s eyebrows lifted suggestively.
“No,” Kristy said. “Nuh-uh, oh no, we’re not!”
“Yeah, you’re right. People have cameras everywhere nowadays. We’re probably being watched right now.” Binny shoved another handful of Goldfish into her mouth, gave a little bow, and stepped outside with Kristy.
There were four chickens in all, and they seemed truly delighted to have visitors. “Should we let ’em out?” Kristy asked.
“Sure,” Binny said. “Would you want to be cooped up all day?”
“What about a weasel?”
“Nothing bad will happen as long as we’re around. Especially in the daytime,” Binny replied. “Most of the danger comes at night. Except for hawks. They kill in the daytime. As long as we’re around, it should be okay. That’s why she wants ’em locked up at dusk.”
“You really do know chickens,” Kristy said, impressed by Binny’s knowledge.
The girls sat together in Adirondack chairs and watched the four chickens move around the yard in that bobbing, jutting, twitchy way of theirs. “It really is like watching little dinosaurs,” Kristy marveled. “Each one has a unique personality.”
Binny pointed. “I’m naming that one over there Beyoncé. The queen. Look how bossy she is when the others get near. Sometimes the bossy ones will pluck out feathers and draw blood. There really is a pecking order with chickens—just like in middle school.”
“That’s the one I met the other day,” Kristy said, gesturing. “Henrietta. She’s adventurous. We better keep an eye on her.”
Binny scooped up the nearest chicken, the smallest with brown feathers. “This one looks like Taylor Swift, don’t you think?”
Kristy laughed. “Same lips.” Binny hooted at that one.
While the chickens pecked around the backyard, searching for insects or buried treasure, the girls relaxed and the conversation became more serious. Kristy told Binny about Jimbo. And what had happened at CVS.
SCENE: Kristy and Binny sit side by side, looking out over a spacious backyard. The lawn is patchy and hard-used. There’s a swing set, a fenced-in garden to keep the rabbits and deer out, the chicken coop, a shed, and assorted junk. Even a pop-up camper that looks like it hasn’t been used this century. Kristy just told Binny a story and now waits for her friend’s reaction.
BINNY (disbelieving)
That’s his name? Jimbo?
KRISTY
Yeah.
BINNY
Well, he’s not Mexican.
I don’t know any Latino boys going around named Jimbo.
KRISTY
Ha!
I don’t think that’s the name on his birth certificate.
It’s a nickname.
His real name is James, I think.
BINNY
So it’s a choice?
Jimbo?
That’s so much worse!
Binny shuffles after the top chicken, Beyoncé, but Queen Bey will have none of it. Defeated, Binny plops down again beside Kristy.
BINNY
The whole thing sounds sketchy.
KRISTY (nods)
I told him. No more stealing.
Never again.
Not when I’m around.
BINNY
And what did he say?
KRISTY
He said he wouldn’t.
He promised.
BINNY
Uh-huh. He promised. Famous words.
You believe him?
KRISTY (nods)
Yes, I do.
BINNY
So are you two, like…?
KRISTY
What? Ew. NO!
BINNY
Why so horrified?
You said before he was cute.
KRISTY
I don’t know, it’s not like that.
We’re not like that.
BINNY
All boys are like that, Kristy.
But, well, maybe he’s gay?
KRISTY
Who cares!
Besides, he might not be anything. Why does he have to choose a side?
BINNY (considering)
I’m just saying—
KRISTY
We’re not like that.
In a good way.
It’s nice.
It’s like … he’s neutral.
BINNY
So nothing at all? Just friends?
KRISTY
Yep.
It’s possible, you know.
Boys and girls can actually be friends.
BINNY
How boring!
KRISTY (laughs)
But.
BINNY
But?
KRISTY
I’m going to sneak out with him one night.
We sort of have a plan.
BINNY
Whoa.
KRISTY
I know.
BINNY
For real? That sounds … I don’t know.
You sure about this guy?
KRISTY
I’m sure.
It was my idea, actually.
BINNY
What are you going to do?
KRISTY
He goes out all the time.
He’s got this, I don’t know, free spirit. Like Henrietta.
He’s not like anyone I’ve ever met. He goes to different places.
The rail trail.
The woods.
He says he wants to show me something down by the Hermanskill River.
BINNY
Kristy, are you sure you trust this guy?
You one hundred percent absolutely positively trust this Jimbo dude?
KRISTY
Yes, I do.
It’ll be fun. An adventure.
Freedom.
