The Words We Keep: Prologue–Chapter 6

I use the term losing metaphorically, of course, because I’ve decided going insane is a process, and not a singular event, despite our eloquent idioms.

It’s more like a drizzling leak you don’t even notice until you’re gasping for air, suddenly and irrevocably aware that you’ve drowned in your own thoughts.

Sam slings her violin case onto the desk next to mine, doling out the same advice she’s given me since we were freshmen.

While Sam scrutinizes the intruders, I pull my cards out of her pocket.

"Who?" Kali asks, a singsongy lilt in her voice because OMG! It's Damon! who she’s been in love with since fifth grade.

“I read on the Underground,” she says, referring to the tell-all cesspool of an online gossip page where people post the Ridgeline High rumor du jour, “that he had a full-on meltdown at his last school. Like, a calling-the-cops freak-out.”

My stomach clamps so tightly, I almost lurch out of my chair.

The knot in my stomach expands, undulating out in all directions.

I shake his hand, trying to ignore everyone staring, including Damon, mouth agape, obviously loving every second of this awkward encounter.

His brown eyes hold mine for a second, questioning me, and I try to send the best please just play along look I can muster.

He stands there for an interminable few seconds, rocking back on his heels, drawing attention to the fact that he’s wearing neon green socks with monkeys on them, pulled almost all the way up to his shorts.

“Sorry, dude,” he says with so much disdain, I can taste it.

I keep those words to myself. No need to go blabbing about my questionable sanity so my classmates can call me a psycho, too.

He flashes an easy, genuine grin just as Principal Porter rounds the corner, his mouth puckered in its usual I-hunt-children-for-sport demeanor.

“You’ve missed our spiel, you two, but Mr. Friedman will give you the SparkNotes version.”

“We’re combining our classes to explore what happens when words and art collide,” says the art teacher with the straggly beard.

“Please save all your mockery until the end of my soliloquy.”

“As I was saying, take a look at the finest heroes of all time. Frodo. Captain America. Jon Snow. What do they have in common?”
“Capes? An unhealthy affinity for hair gel?”

The big deal is that I exist in two very different worlds. The one where I win races and get straight As, and the one where my brain is breaking and my sister is in a rehab center because hers already broke. Two Lilys, and never the twain shall meet, at least not if I want to keep at least one Lily sane.

She throws her head back in exasperation.
“Lily Larkin. Do not make me take away your Google.”

I glance at the school behind us, where Coach is berating some terrified freshman, and I follow her down the stairs, taking them two at a time until I land on the soft beach.

Back at the track, Sam takes off with the long-distance runners while I pay my push-up penance.

He shakes the box again, trying to ply me with my favorite game.

Dad's a self-proclaimed logophile (aka “lover of words”) just like me.

He’s a staunch supporter of the Coalition Against Fruit on Pizza.

He’s a staunch supporter of the Coalition Against Fruit on Pizza.

I look away, trying to ignore the ache in my chest. It’s not the usual palpitation-induced tightening, more like a dull ache right behind my ribs.

It’s not the usual palpitation-induced tightening, more like a dull ache right behind my ribs. An ephemeral thud of sadness.

Staci pipes up, her face beaming with an overzealous smile. “What wonderful news. This place hasn’t been the same without her.”

“She’ll stay here for a while.”
Well, that pokes a ginormous hole in our Alice-is-away-at-college ruse.

“It’s not a lie, honey. It’s more like—”
“An omission,” I offer.

On the night she left, I meticulously tucked in the corners of her navy-blue comforter.

She’s standing between Margot and me at her high school graduation, her cap barely holding down her long, brown, curly hair that always occupied as much space in any room as she did—big and boisterous and everywhere.

Figured it was another one of Alice’s fleeting ideas, like when she went Goth for a month. I expected it to pass.

I try to put Alice and her expedited homecoming out of my head while I bust through my homework in a few hours.