Paper Girl Page 4

  He tried to peer into the room again, his hand propped on the door. His fingers were long and slender, but they looked strong. Capable. What would it feel like to have him hold my hand? For him to brush those long fingers on my cheek as we sat in my galaxy.

  I could show him. I should show him because he looked interested, but what if he got inside and hated it?

  He smiled and glanced into my study. “I guess you probably already knew that.”

  I should have. But in all honesty, my Milky Way masterpiece was entirely because of Jackson. I hadn’t had much of an interest in astronomy before him. Paper, yes. Planets, no.

  “Did you know that there’s a Super Massive Black Hole at the center of the Milky Way?” he asked.

  I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. I tried again. “You learn something new every day.”

  His eyes lit, crinkling as he smiled. “You do.”

  He remembered. He remembered our conversation on the bleachers. My heart ached. I wanted so badly to show him the stars and planets. To talk like normal people did. But all I could manage to do was stare at his shoes.

  “Oh-kayy,” he said, the word long and drawn out, and I knew I’d let him down somehow. “I should let you get back to it.”

  “See ya,” I mumbled.

  I ran to the kitchen, snagged my phone, and then whipped back around to head to my study. When I peered down the hallway and saw that Jackson had vanished, I darted to my room and then shut the door quickly behind me.

  I sagged against the surface, cheeks still warm and heart thumping hard.

  My phone dinged with a text. Mom.

  Did you need something at the store?

  Nervous laughter bubbled up. I texted back Paper!

  12.

  JACKSON

  Keeping to his agreement, my dad had left my mail in the mailbox for me to pick up. I swung by after leaving the King household. From top-of-the-city living to a dingy white house on a cul-de-sac that I wished my father would just sell already.

  Every shutter, every warped piece of wood on the porch, every crack in the driveway was there when Mom was alive, but none of it had seemed out of place then. Then, I would have said it had character. Now I just thought it was trashy—probably an embarrassment to the rest of the neighborhood.

  Sure, it wasn’t a rich area, but people kept their property orderly. Clean. Cheerful, even. Like how our house used to be when my mom was alive. Dad had never cared about the place, always wanted to use extra money for his music or other hobbies (I hadn’t known then that drinking and drugs were a hobby).

  Here, in the sunlight of mid-spring, the house looked as sad as it had when I’d left two winters ago. There wasn’t any trash on the lawn this time, though, so that was an improvement. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the neighbors had cleaned it up so it would feel more like the neighborhood they once had.

  Since my dad’s car wasn’t in the driveway where he usually parked it, I figured it was safe to assume he was out. I didn’t hesitate to sit in my car and look through the envelopes without worrying Dad might see me. He was probably somewhere trying to score his next hit. Drugs and alcohol were his life. Even when Mom was sick, getting high had still been his priority.

  Bastard.

  The first envelope had the name of my car insurance company on the front, and I set it on the bottom of the pile. Bills. Of course. If I didn’t need my car to sleep in at night, I wouldn’t have one at all—it was just an extra expense that I didn’t need.

  Everything at this point felt like an extra expense I didn’t need. Even college. I knew going was the right thing. I’d promised my mom I would—and not just for her, but for myself. Our love for astronomy was something we shared since my first memory. I would never forget it.

  But the stress over saving enough money was killing me. I understood enough about debt to know it was something I never wanted to experience. It could rip a family apart.

  I glanced at the house again, this time with regret. College was the only thing life hadn’t taken from me. Deciding not to go would be like…giving in.

  And I knew Mom would hate it. This was the one thing she wanted for me, the one thing I could give her even though she wasn’t here anymore.

  You can do this Jackson, she’d say. I’m right here with you.

  I’d figure out this tutoring thing, that’s all. I’d gather my letters of recommendation, put a notice on the school board and a few places online and see what came of it. I’d even add my name to the board at the library. There was bound to be someone who needed a little extra help. And maybe, just maybe, I’d get lucky and be able to tutor Zoe. Then she’d let me see her galaxy.

  It reminded me of what Rogue had said about where she lived. Sometimes it feels like a whole other planet. That’s what Zoe’s paper room felt like. A whole other planet. An escape.

  The next envelope was from the cell phone company, addressed to my father. I was still on his account because I was underage, but he had no problem letting me pay my part of the bill—and sometimes his part, too.

  When I flipped it over and saw the envelope was already open, I frowned. I pulled out the bill and spotted a haphazard note scribbled on the total.

  Already paid. I paid for car insurance, too.

  Dumbfounded, I flipped the bill over, like there might be some sort of explanation on the back. Dad didn’t pay my bills. That was fact. So, what was this?

  And insurance? He hadn’t paid my car insurance since I was sixteen. Even that was sporadic at best. Besides the fact he couldn’t seem to keep a job, all the money he’d gotten from my mother’s life insurance had been used for drugs or alcohol, as far as I knew.

  I read the brief note again, searching for insight. Nothing hit me. It didn’t make sense.

  I’d check the account later. Both accounts, because this was probably a joke. Dad might have been a drug addict, but he still had a sense of humor. Maybe this was his sense of humor on drugs.

  When I looked at the house again, I straightened.

  What the…?

  Dad walked out the front door and paused on the porch when he spotted my car on the other side of the street. After a long moment, he lifted his hand in a wave.

  I put the car in gear, pulled away from the curb, and flipped around so I could exit the cul-de-sac.

  My stomach growled. Partly out of hunger and partly out of anger. What was he doing? Waving? Writing me notes? We had an agreement. He stayed out of my life and I stayed out of his. The only reason I’d stopped by before the sun had set was because I was in the neighborhood and didn’t want to waste gas.

  When I almost zoomed through a stop sign, I gritted my teeth and forced myself to breathe. He wasn’t worth getting worked up over. I swung into the nearest Starbucks parking lot, grabbed my laptop and charger, and wandered inside, searching for an empty table.

  A small one sat unoccupied in the corner, right next to a table with two teenagers making small talk over a book they both had. I forced a smile as I passed, claimed the table, and plugged in my laptop.

  I pulled off my glasses and rubbed my hands over my face as the computer booted. When the main screen came up, I held my hands over the keyboard. They hovered there, a small tremor running through them.

  To prove to myself I wasn’t affected by my dad, I went to the Chess Challenge website first.

  I finally found myself able to relax when I saw Rogue2015 had made another move.

  13.

  BlackKNIGHT: How old are you?

  Rogue2015: Old enough to know your queen is in trouble.

  BlackKNIGHT: She’s making friends with your castle guy.

  Rogue2015: Don’t pretend you don’t know what it’s called. Stalling is the most obvious sign you’re not confident of your next move.

  BlackKNIGHT: Checkmate.

  Rogue2015: Wait. What?

  BlackKNIGHT: That’s got to hurt.

  Rogue2015: You’ve been practicing.

  BlackKNIGHT: Not mu
ch else to do in the evenings. Just stalk you on Chess Challenge and try to learn your moves so I can dominate.

  Rogue2015: What about family? Don’t you spend time with them?

  BlackKNIGHT: Not really.

  Rogue2015: I’m sorry. I forgot. You said you had a complicated home life.

  BlackKNIGHT: No problem. That’s life, right? What about your family?

  Rogue2015: My family is…close. But I don’t really fit.

  BlackKNIGHT: Why do you say that?

  Rogue2015: Because they all want me to be someone I’m not.

  BlackKNIGHT: Isn’t that the way of the world? Trying to change you so you can fit? I like you just the way you are.

  Rogue2015: You might not say that if you really knew me, but thanks.

  BlackKNIGHT: I do feel like I really know you. Even though you won’t tell me your name. :-)

  Rogue2015: I tell you other things, though. Do you have a job?

  BlackKNIGHT: Here and there.

  Rogue2015: What’s that supposed to mean? Wait, I know. You’re independently wealthy. You have a trust fund.

  BlackKNIGHT: Ha. I wish. You have a job?

  Rogue2015: This is pretty much it. Too bad we don’t get paid for being chess masters.

  BlackKNIGHT: You’re right. That’s too bad. Otherwise, we could team up and beat everyone, amass a fortune, and spend all our days traveling.

  Rogue2015: Where would you go?

  BlackKNIGHT: It doesn’t matter. Anywhere. Where would you go?

  Rogue2015: Everywhere.

  14.

  ZOE

  I was starting to forget what our apartment building looked like from the outside. Even the last time I’d come inside, knowing I never wanted to leave again, I didn’t pay attention to anything. As we’d walked into the lobby, then to the elevator, and then rode thirty stories up to our penthouse, I’d been paying more attention to my shoes—the bright comics I’d drawn on them. And I hadn’t left since.

  In my fantasy world, I rode the elevator to the lobby every morning. I greeted the doorman and set off for a three-mile walk along the downtown streets. I strolled the 16th Street Mall and bought hot dogs from the vendors there. In my fantasy, I was a part of the city as much as it was a part of me.

  Tonight, Dad arrived home from work at 6:15, the elevator opening to reveal him carrying his briefcase in one hand and his striped tie in the other. He entered the kitchen where Mom and I had prepared five pounds of meatloaf, some for tonight, and some to freeze for later. Mom froze everything she could get her hands on—and called it being time and money conscious.

  She was remarkably frugal for a woman who lived in a penthouse.

  Dad kissed Mom on the lips long enough to make me cringe, and then he kissed me on the head.

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” Mom said. “How was work?”

  As the Car King, Dad worked day in and day out, running three dealerships. He was a businessman through and through. Last week, he starred in his first Car King commercial since I’d refused to do the last one. It made me uncomfortable to even watch. How had he stood up in front of the camera like he was best friends with the world? I probably would have thrown up on his selection of new Toyotas. Or had another panic attack. Just like the last time.

  “Our new lot is almost open,” Dad said, draping his tie over the back of a chair. “How was your day?”

  Mom smiled. “I made a YouTube video on how to fêng shui your house.”

  Dad looked around the kitchen at the same time I did, trying to find what she might have moved.

  “Balance,” Mom continued, holding her hands out and moving them up and down like scales. “Yin and yang.”

  He pointed to the living room. “That’s why the couch has to face the other way now?”

  “Exactly.” She bobbed her head emphatically. “You want good flow, right?”

  Dad’s lips twitched. “Flow?”

  “Energy flow.”

  “I want good energy flow in the house because…?”

  Oh no. Now he’d gotten her started.

  Mom waved her hand from the living room to Dad and back. “Good energy flow in the house means good energy flow in the personal life. You want that. Good energy flow, good success in your personal and professional life. You want good success in your professional life, right?”

  Dad nodded seriously. “Absolutely. You think I should fêng shui the lot at work?”

  “Couldn’t hurt,” I told him. “Hire Mom for the day. Get your flow right.”

  He grinned at me and then asked, “Where’s Mae?”

  “Her room,” I said.

  Dad nodded and filled a glass of water. He and Mae were close, probably because Mae was basically a female clone of the Car King. She got people excited and on their feet through cheering. Dad did it with his charm and his commercials. Come to think of it, Mom did it by decoupaging things.

  I was pretty sure I was adopted.

  When Mae joined us, Mom said, “Let’s eat.”

  Mae came to the dining room table, still in her cheerleading uniform from practice. Dad wore a suit. Mom had on a skirt and bright shirt with a bulky necklace she’d probably made herself. I was in yoga pants. Black. Which of these things did not belong?

  Dad asked Mae about cheerleading, and while we passed the meatloaf, Mae filled us in with a deluge of “OMGs” and “likes” and “BFFs” and “proms.” If I could monologue like that, I’d have a thousand friends and I’d talk to Jackson. Flirt with him a little. In my fantasy, words were like paper, and there was always plenty to go around.

  “How was your session with Dr. Edwards today?” Dad asked me. Dad and Dr. Edwards were old friends from college. Words were easy for them, too.

  “It was Dr. Price this time,” I mumbled.

  “About that,” Mom said.

  I wasn’t truly worried until she set down her fork. Mae lifted her eyebrows at me. She got to deal with my parents’ serious conversation faces when they were talking about colleges. I got it when they were talking about my therapy.

  Mom sipped her water before meeting my eyes. “Dr. Edwards mentioned that, as one of your goals toward stepping out of your comfort zone, we should think about sending you back to school.”

  Mae choked on her iced tea. Dad patted her back absently, but he nodded like one of those bobble heads, moving his head up and down as though Mom’s words were completely reasonable. Usually he found something else to do, like build a castle out of his mashed potatoes or talk to Mae about taking business classes in college. According to him “business classes will help you a lot more than Chaucer or Shakespeare.”

  “I go to school,” I said. They all stared at me in the silence that followed. I ducked my chin. “Sort of.”

  “And you have a D in Physics,” Mom said. “It’s almost the end of the semester.”

  Mae’s eyes rounded at me as she realized how serious Mom was. But what was I supposed to do? Physics was a concept made up by Martians. I bet even Dad didn’t understand it.

  “I’ll get more help. Mae can help me,” I said, smiling at her hopefully.

  “I had a tutor, remember? Physics is evil.”

  Dad grunted his agreement.

  See? I wanted to tell Mom. Physics isn’t going to get me anywhere!

  “And it’s not just Physics. It’s Algebra II, also.”

  That was because, if physics was evil, algebra was the devil itself. I couldn’t believe she thought the solution was going to school. Actually stepping foot inside a physical building made for teaching.

  I pulled a piece of paper from my pocket and started folding it in my lap. Both Mae and Dad were building shapes in their food. If I ate another pea, I’d vomit.

  “I have a goal. I talked with Dr. Price about it,” I said.

  “What goal?” Dad asked.

  “Going to Mae’s graduation, remember? She said she could help, and we’re—I’m taking steps.”

  “Going to school would be a good one
,” Dad said.

  He stopped playing with his food. His eyes held compassion, but he didn’t relent, either. “You could finish out the rest of your junior year. You have prom this year.” I was really going to vomit now. “Pep rallies,” he continued. I was getting dizzy. “College applications and—”

  “Dad,” Mae said, coming to my defense. “One thing at a time.”

  Mom nodded. “Mae’s right. One thing at a time. I think preparing for school will help prepare for graduation, too.”

  “I…” There weren’t words. School? School. I pleaded with Mae with my eyes. Help!

  “Maybe you could work on getting your grades up some first,” she said, shrugging, “if you had a tutor.”

  The blood drained from my face. “A tutor?”

  “Someone who can come here. Yes, that’s good,” Mom said, smiling at me like that would make it better. She nodded, already on board with the plan. “That will help you take those steps, right? Like you and Dr. Price discussed. I’ll check with her, but I think it’ll be a good start.”

  What’s next? More torture? I silently folded the piece of paper into a crane. I didn’t have to see, only feel. It was keeping me grounded right now. Paper was the only thing that didn’t seem to change, to let me down.

  “A tutor,” Dad said, bobble-heading again. “Good idea. Maybe someone from school.”

  “And we already know who the smartest kid in school is,” Mom told Mae with a smile. Had they talked about this? “Someone who’s really good at math and physics.”

  Mae grinned. Speaking of evil. “Jackson,” she said. “Smartest kid I know.”

  “Great!” Mom clasped her hands together while I died in my seat. “Let’s see if Jackson will do it.”

  …

  Mae walked into my room just after ten that same evening as I put up the last of my sticky notes. The lamp on my end table lit the dim room, but light from the moon filtered in through the blinds. I kept them open as much as possible, to see the world I was so far away from.

  “Don’t be mad at me.” Mae looked at the second row of my sticky notes. Two yellow ones had her name on them. She plucked one from the door and read it aloud. “Replace sugar with salt in Mae’s coffee.”