Page 21 of Tiny Fractures

“Umm… Cat? Hello? Are you still there?” Julie’s voice comes from my phone’s speaker, and my thoughts snap back to her and our conversation.

“Sorry, brain fart,” I say, taking a deep breath to get Ronan out of my head. He should not reside there. I can’t let him invade my thoughts. “What did you say?”

Julie’s laugh rings through the speaker. “I was just saying that I have to let you go. I’m heading out to meet Nate.”

“Oh, okay. Hey, tell him I said hi.”

“Will do. I’ll talk to you later!”

We hang up, and I turn my attention back to the clothes basket, and more specifically Ronan’s sweater. I scoot to the foot of my bed and move the hoodie from the basket and onto my comforter. I should really get this back to him, but have no way of contacting Ronan; I neither have his phone number nor know where he lives. I guess I could call Vada and get that info from her, but I have a thing about seeming too forward, too aggressive, too permissive. It got me in trouble in the past, and it’s not about to get me in trouble again.

So I get up from my bed and grab the handles of the laundry basket, walk over to my little closet, and begin putting away the laundry my mom had washed and folded for me, making a mental note to thank her.

I’m used to being self-sufficient. Both my parents work, and my brother and sister are quite a bit younger than me, so it was usually on me to pick them up from school, feed them, and do basic chores before my parents got home every night. To alleviate some of the burdens on everyone, I took it upon myself to wash and fold my own laundry. Since moving to New York, things have been a bit easier, obviously, as my brother and sister stayed with my dad while my parents figure everything out. They both agreed that they didn’t want to uproot my siblings in the middle of the school year.

My phone buzzes while I put away the last pieces of clothing and I pick it up off my bed. Vada’s name is displayed in large letters across the screen, and I push the button to answer.

“Hey!” I say, chipper.

“Hey Kitty Cat! What are you up to?”

“Not much; putting away laundry. How about you?”

“Just got done cramming whatever crap I can into my brain and now I’m ready to relax. Feel like going to a movie?”

I can picture her lounging on her queen-sized bed. Vada’s room is decorated in a beachy, minimalist theme with nude neutral tones, a hanging wicker chair, and a giant majesty palm in the corner by her window. It’s the most relaxing room I’ve ever stepped foot in, and I love hanging out at Vada’s and doing my homework there.

“Actually, that sounds fun.” I haven’t been to the movies in forever.

“Sweet, I’ll be there to pick you up in about ten minutes,” Vada says, and hangs up the phone before I can get another word in.

I put the last few clothes in my closet, then step in front of my floor-length mirror and make a face. My hair is in a messy bun and I’m still in my black sweatpants and oversized Duke sweater that I may or may not have swiped from my dad’s closet before I moved. So I grab a pair of faded blue jeans and a heather-gray crew neck shirt and change outfits. I hastily pull the tie out of my hair, letting it fall loosely across my shoulders and down my back. I give it a rough brush, put some mascara on my lashes, and add a little blush to my cheeks, thinking I really should try to get some more sun; I look ghostly pale for this far into May.

I yank a green plaid flannel off its hanger in case I get cold at the movies, tie it around my waist, and race down the mahogany stairs. I’m taking two steps at a time when I hear a knock on the front door.

My mom beats me to the door, opens it, and smiles as she invites Vada into the house.

“Hi, Mrs. Stevenson,” Vada says politely.

“You have stop calling me that,” my mom says. “It’s Jen, please, just Jen.”

“My dad would have a heart attack, but if you insist,” Vada laughs.

I’ve met her dad: he’s a short, stout man with tightly cropped hair the same shade of bronze-brown as his son and daughter. He’s a professional through and through, ever the lawyer, but he’s also really nice. He works crazy hours from what I understand. Makes sense; I know lawyers work a lot.

Zack has told me his father prosecutes violent crimes, homicides and all that. I cannot imagine the things he must see on a daily basis, but putting away bad guys is certainly worth it. Vada and Zack’s parents divorced years ago—the demand of their respective careers too much for their marriage—and Zack and Vada live with their dad full-time. Their mom, a flight attendant for one of the major airlines, travels overseas too much to make it feasible for the twins to live with her, but both spend as much time with their mom as possible.

“Are you ready to go?” Vada turns to me as I slip my feet into my black Doc Martens boots.

“Where are you guys headed?” my mom asks.

“We were going to head to a movie,” Vada informs her, “and then maybe hang out after, if that’s alright with you. I don’t know, maybe grab some dinner?” I can’t tell if the question is directed at me or my mom.

“How fun!” my mom says and turns to me. “You have exams tomorrow, so curfew is nine. Please have your phone on you,” she says, handing me some cash from her purse.

“Thank you, Mom!” I exclaim.

She smiles at me and Vada. “Be safe, girls!”

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