Paper Girl Page 2

  She ducked back into her bedroom, voice muffled when she said, “Sure, when I get a chance. I have to make a week’s worth of freezer meals first.”

  I did another circuit, convinced Mom was mad at me, too. Hopefully she’d still get my paper, though.

  Just to be safe, I wrote her a note. Because without my paper, what else did I have?

  Mae’s graduation. That’s what I was supposed to be working toward. Not more paper planets. And that was the reason for my new therapist. To make progress. But having a new therapist just gave me one more thing to stress about. I’d have to start all over again with someone I didn’t know, and someone who didn’t understand how terrified the outside world made me. If I couldn’t even meet a new therapist, how in the world was I supposed to be able to leave the house for graduation?

  6.

  JACKSON

  It sounded like a black hole in here. The washers and dryers made a whirring and whooshing noise that reminded me of those NASA videos I watched on YouTube. Sometimes I could picture myself way out there in space, away from everyone and everything, and I wondered if I’d even miss being here.

  I closed my astronomy book when the cycle finished and stood to pull my clothes out of the dryer. This was my favorite laundromat. It was close to school and everywhere else I liked to go. Someone always left their old National Geographic magazines on the counter by the bulletin board. They were good late-night reading material when I hunched down in the back seat of my car and couldn’t sleep.

  I used to consider poking holes in the upholstery of the roof to make the shapes of the constellations so I’d have something to stare at, but I’d probably end up making the Big Dipper lopsided. If I had any fraction of an artistic bone in my body, like my mom, it might have worked. Mae’s sister, Zoe, was like that, too.

  I remembered her shoes.

  My phone buzzed as I pulled out an armful of socks. I took it from my pocket and peeked at the screen. Robert. His message said: Basketball @ school @ 5:00?

  I mulled this over as I folded two T-shirts, my favorites. One was frayed at the bottom, and a little hole graced the collar. I probably had more clothes at home—unless Dad had decided to sell them for drug money or maybe to pay rent—but there was no way in hell I was going back to check.

  I’ll be there, I told Robert.

  My fingers squeezed the phone, but I resisted the urge to check the Chess Challenge site for a move or a message from Rogue. I was almost out of data for the month. But Rogue…she was quickly becoming my new addiction. It wasn’t so much that she was a chess master as the fact she made me feel normal. She didn’t know I often played her from coffee shops or the library because I had no home. She talked to me like I was anyone else. A friend. Even better—she had no idea who I was, so I never had to worry about her even accidentally spilling my secrets.

  I piled my clothes into my laundry basket and then stopped at the bulletin board by the door. I pulled a flyer for tutoring out of my pocket and tacked it to the board. If I didn’t find something soon, I was going to have to get more creative. My biggest scholarship was riding on the number of community service hours I was getting through tutoring. I hadn’t reached the amount I needed yet, and I had to get this scholarship. It was the biggest thing keeping me going, encouraging me to get to my dream. College.

  I released a long breath. I could do this. My mom had taught me that much. Nothing was too hard as long as you didn’t give up.

  Outside in the sunshine, my car was parked in a corner spot. I glanced around before settling the basket in the trunk and dividing my clothes into piles to place them in the duffel bag. Then I pulled the bag of quarters from my pocket and put that in the basket as well, so I’d have them for next time.

  It was close enough to five o’clock—I might as well head over to the school. I snagged a granola bar from my stash in the trunk, pulled on a baseball cap to block the glare of the sun, and hiked my backpack over my shoulder. Basketball at the gym meant free showers afterward. The day was already looking up.

  I headed on foot in the direction of the school, trying to remember the last move Rogue had made against me on Chess Challenge so I could figure out a way to beat her.

  …

  The cheerleaders were in the gym as well, their enthusiastic claps echoing off the high ceilings.

  Mae was with them, peppy with her hair in a high, messy ponytail. Her sister, Zoe, used to come with her a while back, always sitting with her notebooks and colored pencils, making me want to see what she was doing. Then she seemed to vanish off the face of the earth. One day I asked Mae what had happened, and her answer was a simple: “Zoe decided to be homeschooled instead.”

  I was pretty sure I’d answered with something like, “I’d rather cut off my own leg before being homeschooled,” which I realized now was fairly insensitive.

  But I’d been riding a ship through the shit storm of life with my father at the helm. My grades were plummeting, and I’d only stuck with basketball because it got me out of the house. That last day before I decided to leave for good, Zoe had come to watch Mae practice, and I’d caught her reading a book on chess.

  I’d sat next to her, happy to brood in silence until she’d spoken to me.

  “Zugzwang.”

  I’d glanced over. “What did you call me?”

  She’d smiled and pointed to her book. “Zugzwang. It’s the point in a chess game where a player is forced to make moves that are going to cost him pieces—and maybe the game altogether.”

  “Meaning the other player is probably going to win.”

  “Right. The other player being me.”

  I’d shifted to face her. “You’re that good at chess?”

  “I plan on being that good at chess.”

  “Zugzwang,” I’d repeated, returning my attention to the basketball game. “You learn something new every day.”

  “That you do.”

  She’d gone back to her book. I didn’t know what had possessed me to turn to her again. Maybe it had been her determination to do something so simple: be awesome at chess. Maybe it had been the fringe of black bangs she’d had to keep brushing out of her eyes, or the manga characters drawn in a rainbow of colors on her shoes.

  Whatever it was, I felt compelled to say, “Maybe we could play chess together someday.”

  She’d nodded. “We should.”

  Like I’d known how to play chess. I’d been pretty sure I’d played it with my mom once years ago and referred to the pieces as “little horsey guy” and “castle man.”

  I’d known the pawns, though. I remembered them well because my mom had told me, “The pawns are the pieces you sacrifice for the greater good.”

  Sacrifice was something I was far too familiar with, and I hated that feeling, so I’d buried those thoughts of my mom along with all the other crap moments of feeling sorry for myself. My mom would have hated that, me feeling sorry for myself, so I wouldn’t let her see me like that.

  And then Zoe had said something I would never forget. The exact words my mom had said to me before she died. “Life’s too short not to live it to the fullest.”

  Those words had stayed with me since then, propelling me to keep going even though life wasn’t exactly full of rainbows.

  Forcing myself to focus on the present as my basketball teammates piled into the gym, I grinned at them, and life was on an even keel for the most part.

  I still thought about Zoe, though. Enough to sign up for matches online at Chess Challenge.

  I wondered if Zoe still played chess. Or why she never came out of her apartment. Maybe Zoe’s childhood had vanished just like mine, and we were both unfortunate adults now.

  7.

  BlackKNIGHT: I’m not going to lie to you. I’m pretty sure you’re a robot.

  Rogue2015: Because my chess game is flawless?

  BlackKNIGHT: There is that.

  Rogue2015: Because I say words like “compute”?

  BlackKNIGHT: That, too.r />
  Rogue2015: I just took your rook. Is that something a robot would do?

  BlackKNIGHT: Absolutely. It might have something to do with your bionic leg, too. Like a cyborg.

  Rogue2015: :-) How did you know about my bionic leg?

  BlackKNIGHT: Wild guess.

  Rogue2015: Sometimes I wish I were more like a robot.

  BlackKNIGHT: Why’s that?

  Rogue2015: Then you don’t have to feel. To know when you’re letting someone down.

  BlackKNIGHT: Is that how you feel?

  Rogue2015: I made a promise I’m not sure I can keep.

  BlackKNIGHT: What promise?

  Rogue2015: Just something I wish I wouldn’t have said.

  BlackKNIGHT: You’re not going to tell me what it is?

  Rogue2015: No.

  BlackKNIGHT: You sure?

  Rogue2015: You spend more time talking than playing, you know.

  BlackKNIGHT: It’s not every day you meet a robot.

  8.

  ZOE

  I heard the elevator ding from down the hallway. Therapist #6. Probably another clone of Dr. Edwards and all the other therapists I’d had over the years. I ducked into my study when Mom told her to come back, and planted myself beside my desk. When she came in, her quick smile suggested she was perfectly comfortable walking into a strange place. Well, strange didn’t even begin to cover me and my room. The proof? Her surprised expression when she realized she’d just entered the Milky Way.

  Strewn about the room were paper planets, stars, moons, and hopefully soon a couple of constellations. I folded them, cut them out, and crafted them until they became art. They mostly lined the southern wall, but Jupiter was bound to leak onto the ceiling.

  And therein lay 80 percent of my life. Paper art in these four walls.

  Therapist #6 said, “Wow. This is…out of this world.”

  My cheeks flamed, and I gurgled out a laugh. It sounded so silly, so I kept my gaze averted. She didn’t look like a therapist. In fact, she looked young enough to be Dr. Edwards’s daughter, with her dark skinny jeans, a hip blazer, and a navy scarf with designs that reminded me of the galaxy above us. Her shoes were yellow—the same shade I used to make the sun. Did that mean she was inexperienced?

  “Zoe, I’m Dr. Gina Price. You can call me Gina. Dr. Edwards mentioned I was coming when he saw you last week, right?”

  I nodded. He’d sprung it on me after our session, right after we’d talked about compulsions and changing behaviors. We’d talked about how my parents were enablers, allowing me to stay cooped up in my large apartment with my own paper playground so I’d have no reason to want to leave. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d talked with them as well. My parents probably didn’t know what to do with a word like that. Enabler. Martin and Yoko King weren’t sure what to do with my therapy, either. They thought I was just “shy” and maybe “a little obsessive.”

  “This is really impressive,” Gina said, staring at the ceiling. “How long did it take?”

  I flicked a glance at her, surprised she asked. Dr. Edwards never asked about my paper art. My stomach clenched so tight, I thought I might throw up. I knew exactly what she was doing. Making small talk to get me to open up, feel comfortable. I kind of wanted to create paper dolls out of both her and Dr. Edwards so I could make them get swallowed by a black hole.

  “A long time,” I said, so quiet I was sure she hadn’t heard me.

  She stared up at Pluto, one of my favorite pieces. The dwarf planet and I were more alike than I wanted to admit. Both not quite what everyone thought we should be. It could be cold and lonely out in space.

  “Are you comfortable talking in here?” Gina asked.

  Talk? She meant assess me.

  Though I was terrible at math, I loved numbers. There was always comfort in certainty. For example, I knew for certain Gina would use the words “cope,” “panic,” and “focus,” at least once during our “talk.”

  “Sure,” I said when she wouldn’t stop staring at me.

  I nudged a pile of comics farther under the desk and stood to block the computer. It was a chess match, and I’d used the King’s Pawn opening because I was really starting to like BlackKNIGHT and I didn’t want to beat him too badly. A message popped up on the bottom of the screen.

  BlackKNIGHT: I know what you’re doing.

  I wanted to answer, but not in front of Gina. BlackKNIGHT spent just as much time talking to me as he did playing, and it was my secret addiction. I had lots of addictions, but everyone knew about the rest.

  “You like music?” Gina asked, wandering to my wireless speaker.

  I called it Cyclops because there was a symbol of an eye in the middle. “Yes.”

  “You listen to it while you make”—she gestured to the wall covered with paper—“all this?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s pretty elaborate.”

  I shrugged, keeping my gaze directed at the floor. “Kind of like a part-time job.”

  “Hmm. A good coping technique.” (Cope=1)

  I winced. I clearly gave the wrong answer. When I looked at Gina again, she met my eyes. I tried to hold her gaze because Dr. Edwards said I should make eye contact. It was one of the steps for coping with the real world. But Gina was too sure of herself, and she didn’t falter. I wished I could be like that. I picked up a pen from the desk, like I might start doodling right in front of her.

  Which I would never do.

  “So, you’re in your junior year?” Gina asked.

  I nodded.

  “How’s homeschooling going?”

  I strangled the pen. Not well, considering I wasn’t a math or science genius. I could measure and cut and fold thousands of pieces of paper, but the concepts for real math and science still eluded me.

  “It’s going fine,” I said.

  “Your mom mentioned you and Dr. Edwards were working toward getting out of the house more. You have a goal?”

  “Mae’s graduation. It’s in two months. I promised her I’d go.” There was no way I was going to let her down. I couldn’t.

  She started walking around the room, taking in all the components of my recyclable Milky Way. “Two months. That’s good. It’ll give you time.”

  “Time,” I repeated dumbly. What was that supposed to mean?

  “Sure. Time.” She reached up and touched a palm-sized glittering piece of yellow paper. “How did you make this?”

  It was a 3-D shooting star that stretched away from the wall and hovered in the air. There were seven of them altogether. Some were gigantic meteors that took ten sheets of paper, and others small shooting stars that I’d colored first.

  “An X-ACTO knife,” I said. “That’s how I’m doing some of the constellations…and the mountains on the planets, too. I just have to—to be careful. You know, cut them just right so the paper doesn’t fall apart.”

  A beep from the computer indicated BlackKNIGHT had made a move. There was too much going on in my little room. Too many things for me to focus on.

  I wanted to be back with BlackKNIGHT, just us, in my safe space.

  And I wanted Gina to leave. But when she asked me about my art, I wanted her to stay. No one ever asked me about my creations.

  I wondered what Jackson would think if he saw my galaxy. One time I’d overheard him talking about a Discovery Channel special he saw on wormholes.

  BlackKNIGHT wrote: Top that.

  My fingers itched to answer him.

  “That’s really cool,” Gina said. “Does it help you relax? Focus?” (Focus=1)

  “Yes,” I mumbled.

  Gina faced me again. “Dr. Edwards said you were wary about trying some of his techniques for coping.” (Cope=2)

  I shrugged.

  Gina leaned against the wall. I couldn’t read her expression. I was pretty sure Dr. Edwards taught her that. Give nothing away. But…she didn’t seem like Dr. Edwards. Or like any of my other therapists.

  “Do you think…you could help?” I ask,
keeping my gaze down. “With the graduation thing.”

  Gina smiled at me. “I think it’s worth a shot. I have some ideas.”

  Oh no. “Like…what kind of ideas?”

  “Other goals, other steps you can take. You going to prom this year?”

  I almost choked. “No way.” I didn’t even go to school, anyway. Prom didn’t apply to me.

  “Are you worried something bad might happen at prom?”

  “I don’t know.” Yes and no. Why was she even talking about prom anyway? I was supposed to be focusing on Mae’s graduation—that was my goal.

  “Are you worried about what to do if you start to panic?” (Panic=1)

  Didn’t she understand? I was pretty much always worried. That was why the Milky Way and BlackKNIGHT and 12,222 steps made me feel so safe.

  Gina shifted, not waiting for me to answer. “Do you want to go to prom?”

  Oh my God. What was her obsession with this dance? “You already asked me that,” I muttered.

  “No, I asked if you were going to go. Now I’m asking if you want to go.”

  Maybe if Mae stayed with me the whole time. Maybe if I didn’t have to talk, or all the lights went out and I could just listen to the breathing all around me.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered, when really what I meant to say was no.

  Because I’d panic (2) at home before, and I’d panic (3) during the dance, and even if I tried to focus (2) on the fact that I wasn’t the only nervous girl out there or the reality that no one was staring at me or talking behind my back, I still wouldn’t be able to cope (4).

  “They’re steps, Zoe. Prom. Graduation. Even the smaller things like getting up in the morning and going for a walk. Everything has a purpose. What do you think?” she asked.

  “I think I’d rather stay home,” I said.

  Gina nodded like I’d given the correct answer this time, which meant I’d said the wrong thing because that’s what she expected from me. And what she expected from me was probably the same thing Dr. Edwards expected from me, which was that I’d do what made me comfortable.

  Stay inside my four walls and cope (5) with life how I wanted to.