Our Broken Pieces Read online

  I write sad, hurt, devastated. Then below that I write stomachache, headache, heartache. Laura peeks at my paper and then nods her head. “Title the next column Unhelpful Thought. Write down the thought that hurt you.”

  “I don’t know the thought. I just saw them and then lost it.” I hold the pen above the paper and feel the roll of my stomach again just from replaying the situation.

  “Take your time.” I know this means that I’m not getting off the hook. I think about being in the hallway and watching him take her hand as if he’d been doing it for years. I let the tip of the pen slide along the paper as I write, It should be my hand. He doesn’t love me anymore. I’m not his anymore. He is not mine. Then I save her the trouble of peeking by reading what I wrote.

  “Now title the last column Alternative Thought. Let’s see if we can reframe some of those negative thoughts and come up with some more helpful ones.”

  I move the pillow out from between my body and the clipboard. “I don’t know what to write.”

  “Let’s start with the first unhelpful thought, ‘It should be my hand.’ What’s an alternative thought to that? Remember last time we talked about not using the word should.” My mind is still blank. I can’t think of one thought that erases the pain of the thought on the paper in front of me. I’m used to being a good student, so I feel this pressure to answer her and give her the right response.

  “Um, I guess at least I got to hold his hand?” It sounds more like a question than an answer, but she smiles at me and gives me a little nod.

  “That’s a good start. This will get easier. Let’s move on to ‘He doesn’t love me anymore.’ What evidence do you have that that’s true?”

  “He’s with her. He was talking to her when we were still together. He doesn’t care that it hurt me or that my life feels like it’s been turned upside down. He doesn’t care that I’m embarrassed at school because everyone knew except me.” I reach for the tissues on the ottoman between us.

  “It’s not possible to love two people at once? Being with her means he doesn’t love you?” She waits for her words to sink in and then continues, “He’s told you he doesn’t care that it hurt you? I thought he was visibly sad when you confronted him about her. Could those feelings be gone already after only two weeks?”

  She’s right of course. It’s possible to love two people at once, but why does he have to love her? Maybe it isn’t even love yet. Maybe he just really likes her. “He was upset when I found them. He told me he didn’t want to hurt me. His actions just said otherwise.”

  “Okay. So what I’ve heard is that he still cares about you. It might not be in the way you want, but he cares. He told you he didn’t want to hurt you. His actions were painful, but it’s possible he was trying not to hurt you, just really messing that up.” She smiles at me and I smile back.

  “He really messed that up.”

  “How are things with Elle this week?”

  I let out a big sigh and take my phone out of my pocket to show her the texts from Heather. “I’ve had three different girls confront me about something she told them I said. I don’t get it. Why does she have to keep doing it to me?”

  “There’s a saying in recovery, ‘Keep your side of the street clean.’ It means don’t worry about what other people are doing and why they are doing it. Just do what’s right on your side and let the universe take care of the rest.” Laura spins her pen once in her fingers. I watch it closely, letting her words sink in.

  “So you’re saying I shouldn’t defend myself or attack Elle?”

  With a few nods Laura answers, “If you said mean things, apologize. Everyone makes mistakes. If you tell others what Elle told you, you are no better than she is and what would it prove? It would only hurt those people to hear her opinion. Just let it go and be the bigger person. Eventually all this drama will stop.” She sets the folders aside and reaches for her appointment book. “I want to start working on your staircase of fear. We will work on conquering your fears one step at a time until the biggest fear doesn’t feel so overwhelming anymore. Be thinking about what those fears might be.”

  The hour is up so we book another appointment for next week. She offers me a different time in case I want to try to avoid the boy from the waiting room, but I tell her I’ll keep my usual spot. I’ve been coming here for two years already and this is the first time I’ve ever seen him, so it’s entirely possible he won’t be here next week.

  I notice he’s not in the waiting room as I make my way toward the exit. The office he disappeared into is closed and there are only a few people in the waiting room. I open the heavy glass door and then make my way down the steps and out to the parking lot to my car. I slip inside and pull out of my spot.

  As I push the preset buttons on my radio until I find a song I don’t hate—no one tells you that being dumped will ruin every love song ever written—I notice the big truck in front of me waiting for an opening in traffic so it can pull out onto the busy street. My eyes flick up to the driver’s-side mirror and I can see the boy from the waiting room in its reflection. I watch in the mirror as he rubs his head, then rests his arm just outside the window. His gaze falls down to the mirror and our eyes lock.

  He doesn’t look away immediately. I see him smile slightly and then his eyes return to the road. When there is a break in the traffic he turns left, lifting his hand in a good-bye wave as I watch his truck pull across the traffic lanes and then disappear around a bend in the road.

  three

  I’M WATCHING AN episode of one of my favorite shows I’ve downloaded on my computer and trying to come up with ideas for our school’s spirit week when I hear my sister Rosie’s footsteps zooming up the stairs and falling heavy on the carpet just outside my door. I glance down at the calendar in front of me and try to look busy when she opens my door without knocking. “Hey,” she says, a little breathless from her rapid ascent of the stairs.

  “Hey.” I look up for a second at her pink cheeks, flushed from the sun and her exertion. I’m envious of her not for the first time in my life. Even though she is two years younger than me my sister has always been a force to be reckoned with.

  “Feel like doing anything?” she asks.

  “What do you have in mind?” I ask, pushing aside my schoolbooks to make room for her on my bed. I don’t feel like doing anything, but I also don’t want to give her reason to think she should talk to Mom about my disinterest in all activities. She smiles and bounces over, folding her legs so she’s perched right next to me. I push up off my stomach and mimic her pose. My body is sore, punishing me from staying in one place too long.

  “We could share a Special C from El Burrito Jr.” El Burrito Jr. has been around since before we were born and everyone refers to their items as letters around here, most people having at least the first ten memorized. Our favorite thing to get is the two bean-and-cheese burritos and a soda special. Once a weekly stop, I haven’t been to El Burrito Jr.’s since the breakup. It’s usually crawling with kids from our school who I would rather avoid until the rumors about Brady, Elle, and me die down.

  “I don’t know, Rosie. I don’t really feel like running into anyone.”

  “It makes it worse when you go into hiding. People will forget about it faster if you can start getting back to your normal life.” She nudges my shoulder with her own. “We can sit in the back so we see who comes in before they see us.”

  I fight the desire to turn her down and stay in my room all night. I know she’s right. I know that going out and letting people see that I’m fine will help quiet all the gossip, but it’s just so hard to find any motivation to put on makeup or switch out my super-comfy yoga pants for jeans. But Rosie isn’t going to give up. “Fine. Just El Burrito Jr.’s,” I agree reluctantly.

  “Want some help with that?” she teases, pointing to the lopsided bun on my head.

  “Nothing crazy.”

  I can see the relief in her eyes and the hope that I am starting to get back
to my old self. “I’ll just help you with the flat iron.” She stands from the bed and extends a hand, pulling me to my feet, before motioning for me to follow her down the hall to the bathroom we share. There are a few things scattered on the counter, the proof that one teenage girl got ready in here this morning. It wasn’t me. I’ve been doing the bare minimum. It’s all I can do to take a shower and brush the tangles out of my hair. I certainly haven’t been the one littering the counter with various shades of eye shadow and filling up space with hair products and eyeliners.

  Rosie plugs in the flat iron as I rest my hip against the counter. I fold my arms over my chest and watch as she digs around in the drawer until she finds my makeup bag. I wonder if she’ll have to blow dust off the top of it. When you’re having trouble putting one foot in front of the other, you certainly aren’t going to try to creatively enhance your features with colorful goo. The zipper on that poor bag would be rusted soon enough if it didn’t get some use.

  “Makeover time,” she says softly as she blots some foundation on my face. I make duck lips and she laughs. “See, I knew you didn’t forget.” She goes to work covering the dark bags beneath my eyes and brushing some bronzer over my cheeks and forehead. I close my eyes when she applies the eye shadow and liner.

  “Open and look up,” she directs as she holds the mascara wand in front of me.

  “Poke my eye and I’ll hold you down and smear this mess into your hair.” I wrap my hand around her wrist and move the wand back closer to her face. Her lips curl up and she blows a kiss.

  “Trust me. I do this all the time.” Her face gets serious as she braces her hand against my cheek. I do trust her. I trust her to do more than put on my makeup. I trust her to watch out for me and to make sure I will eventually find all my missing pieces that seemed to scatter when Elle and Brady broke me apart. I just can’t tell her all of that without the tears that are threatening to spill down my cheeks ruining the work she’s done so far to my face.

  “There,” she says, stepping back to look at the final result. I look into the mirror and recognize the person I see staring back. She’d somehow managed to paint the image of who I used to be onto the poor, depressed girl that has replaced her.

  “Thanks.” I smile and give her a hug. She holds on a little tighter and longer than usual, but I don’t mind.

  “That was the easy part.” She reaches for the small black band in my hair and tugs it a few inches. “This is going to hurt.” With a few more tugs she pulls it free and tosses it onto the counter by the flat iron. I watch her reflection in the mirror as she concentrates on separating out chunks of my hair and heating them until they hang perfectly straight.

  “What if we run into them?” I ask. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror and she gives me a small shrug.

  “You know seeing you has to hurt them too.” She sets the iron down and runs her fingers through my hair. “Elle must be torn up about what she did.” I open my mouth to argue, but Rosie shakes her head. “She’s not a monster. She might be a terrible friend, but we both know somewhere in there she has a heart.” With Rosie and me being so near in age, she was almost as close to Elle as I was. Elle had even encouraged Rosie to try out for the junior varsity cheer squad, and would help her with the routines—something that the previous varsity cheer captain wouldn’t have dreamed of doing.

  I nod my head and she reaches for the flat iron again. “I’m embarrassed,” I confess. Rosie pauses for a moment, taking the time to look into my eyes again as I explain. “I feel stupid for not seeing what must have been right under my nose. I feel ashamed that I carried on about how great things were between Brady and me when she was already pulling him away from me.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong. She’s the one who should be embarrassed and ashamed. He’s just a boy, Everly. He never should have come between you guys. He showed everyone he’s dishonest.” We are quiet for a minute as the flat iron slides along my strands again. “He’ll never be able to trust her either. He has to know that a person who is capable of doing what she did to you could never be loyal to anyone. His relationship with her is nothing when compared to the length of time and commitment you and Elle had invested in each other. If she could turn her back on you—she can do it to him too.”

  An hour later as we pull back onto our street after an uneventful dinner, I’m grateful Rosie pushed to get me out of the house. I’m realizing that sometimes when I don’t feel like I have the strength to do something on my own, I have people who love me who will pick up the slack and help get me out of this dark hole. Little by little I will dig myself out, but the task is so much easier when people are offering me a hand and cheering me on as I climb back up to the light.

  four

  MRS. CRAMIER CALLS our student council meeting to order right after the sixth period bell. As the secretary of activities, I’m responsible for keeping a calendar of school events, planning spirit week, and for helping the other council members plan their assigned activities. It’s a position I ran for because I’d always enjoyed cheering for the football team but wanted to make sure other athletes and academically strong students were recognized too. (Plus it would be a fun way of supporting Brady and a great excuse to get out of school early to attend the away games.) The end-of-the-year rally is always my favorite event. This year I would get to announce the students who make it into the bigger colleges and honor those who scored high on their SATs.

  My job was even more fun than I’d expected because Angie is the secretary of spirit and my right-hand woman. We didn’t really know each other at the beginning of the year, but after working together so often during sixth period we’ve become close. We haven’t hung out together outside of student council activities, but we’ve had hours of time to get to know each other while we plan events we are going to lead, and also while we fill the downtime we have when all our tasks are complete. She helps make student council fun, but even she couldn’t distract me from the fact that we would soon have to start organizing prom-related events.

  Situation: Prom

  Feelings: Embarrassed, angry, hurt, nausea, heartache

  Unhelpful Thoughts: I’m going to miss my senior prom because the boy who promised to take me is taking my former best friend instead.

  Alternative Thoughts: Maybe her dress will be ugly. Maybe no one will notice I’m not there. Angie can take pictures for me and it will be just like I was there.

  I don’t think this log is helping as much as Laura wants it to. Luckily the topic of this year’s prom is only mentioned once by the senior class president when she reminds everyone to start working on the notices that will go up around campus to give students time to save for the price of admission, so I don’t have to spend the meeting pretending I’m excited about it.

  My hands have finally stopped shaking from my panic attack earlier. I try to focus on the details of our council meeting, but my mind keeps jumping back to the drama of this morning, and how quickly my day spiraled out of control. Everything had been fine when I entered my first period class, but by the end of second period I’d caught wind of a rumor involving me and the boyfriend of my friend Kendall. It was wildly untrue, and I was so grateful Kendall came to talk to me about it instead of just believing what was being said. Feeling like I could do nothing to stop the lies from flying around the school triggered a panic attack, and even though it’s been a few hours now I can still feel the surreal out-of-body feeling I experience after suffering a powerful panic attack.

  “Everly, will you run this down to Coach Williams?” Mrs. Cramier holds a folded-up sheet of paper in my direction after the conclusion of the meeting, drawing my attention back to the room and out of my dizzying thoughts. I want to tell her no. She has no idea that the thought of an unplanned walk across campus causes anxiety so fierce I fear I might be having a heart attack.

  “Sure,” I say instead as I scoot my chair back and make my way to the front of the classroom. I tell myself that everyone should be in class. If I
can make it back before the bell rings I shouldn’t run into either of them.

  The halls are clear, but each time I hear a noise coming from a locker bay or hallway I feel as if my heart is trying to leap from my chest. When I open the large doors of the building that houses the pool, the smell of chlorine is so strong it seems to smack me right in the face. I carefully step around the puddles on my way to where Coach Williams is standing at the far end of the large expanse of chemically treated water. For some reason, it feels like it’s much warmer in here than other places on campus and I wonder if they try to keep the temperature higher to make the student athletes more comfortable as they climb in and out of the pool.

  “Mrs. Cramier asked me to bring you this.” I hand him the paper and wait in case it requires his response. Sixth period is usually when the school sports teams practice, and I look around the humid building, noticing the boys filing out of the locker room in their swim gear.

  I find myself staring at one guy in particular. It’s the boy from the waiting room last week. Gabe. He goes to my school? He’s laughing with another kid and I can’t help but notice his tan skin and the way his muscles form the ideal swimmer’s body—smaller than Brady’s, but more toned. Just before covering his eyes with his goggles, he lifts his gaze to me. His smile seems to freeze and then grow wider. He adjusts the goggles and then dives into the pool.

  The coach is scribbling something on the paper I handed him so I take a second to watch Gabe swim a length. His strokes are smooth and seamless and it’s almost like magic the way he cuts his arms into the water with hardly any splash. It’s mesmerizing to watch. “Here, please take this back.” The coach hands me the paper and then blows his whistle, calling the boys to attention.

  I hurry back to the student council room, trying hard to figure out how I’ve never seen him here before. I suppose it’s because I go to a huge school in a very big city and for the last two and a half years, I’ve been with Brady, so involved in our relationship that I never really looked around. He might have been here the whole time and I just never noticed. I shake my head as I step inside the noisy room.