Page 27 of The Glass Girl

I pretend to be engrossed inForensic Files.If I tell her it does, she’ll probably tell Dad and then it will be athing.But if I pretend it doesn’t bother me, she might press me further, so I decide to just say, “Sometimes,” and then I get up and take my plate to the kitchen, throw out the wrapper, put my plate in the dishwasher, and tell her I’m heading to bed.

In our bedroom, I pull the blanket over Ricci, take off my work clothes, slide on my pajamas, and climb up to my bunk with my backpack.

Lie down, stare at the ceiling.

Think about everything Amber said. The stuff I can’t remember. The blank spaces. The way everyone at school kind of looked at me funny after Luis’s party and made jokes about me being in the bathtub. I tried to shrug it off but it stung, and…

Everything was easier when Laurel was around. Just that tiny bit with her every once in a while. Well, maybe more than that, once everything got a little bad. Well, more than a little bad. The world was dying and we were suddenly locked inside. One day in March we went to school like it was a regular stupid day of sixth grade and we didn’t go back for a year and half and going to Laurel’s was two masks and feeling like the five-house walk to her house wasgerms everywhere don’t touch that,sanitize yourself, don’t breathe. All my friends were just screens, tiny heads on screens, and suddenly one day everyone went back to whatever it was we were supposed to do and no one talked about any of it and I was walking to Laurel’s house and—

My body is so heavy with those bricks I can barely move.

Vanessa is still out there watching television and looking at that cookbook. My dad is gone.

I feel around my backpack for the Sprodka bottle, grasp it in my hands. I could just have one or two sips, that wouldn’t be bad, would it? Just to soften these bricks, ease my tension. Help me sleep. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Amber will have calmed down by then. And really, she was kind of out of line, wasn’t she? Maybe trying to make me feel guilty or something. I wonder if she’s maybe jealous of me and Kristen and Cherie. Like I prefer them over her, which I don’t, but honestly, it’snot like we’re the only ones who ever drink. Everybody drinks. Parents drink. There are commercials for it. Some parentsbuyit for you. It’s a plot line in every movie about high school. There are those two YouTube ladies who make videos about wining it up while their preschoolers play on the carpet in front of them.

My phone buzzes.

It’s a group text. Cherie, Lemon, Dawn.

Cherie

hey we didn’t say who was going to submit the project on the portal 2-night

Lemon

what

Dawn

I think Bella has the finished version

Cherie

Bella u there will u do it

fine Dawn don’t forget to bring the actual paper and our notes to turn in tomorrow

Dawn

ok

I dig out my school laptop, find the project presentation, do a quick once-over to make sure everything is in order and spelled correctly, log onto our account for art class, and submit it to Ms. Green. I watch the little circle go around and around as it loads to send. The Wi-Fi at my dad’s is sometimes hideously slow, which is frustrating.

Pull the bottle from my backpack.

Hold it in my lap.

Look at the little circles going around and around on the class submission site.

Who would know? It would only be like the smallest bit. Not like last night. Just enough to chill.

I could have this and then quit for a while. I’ve done it before, a few times when I was with Dylan, but it was hard, because then I was just really nervous around him, and quieter, and it was easier to get a small buzz before I saw him so I could be happy and talkative, more relaxed. More normal. But I guess he didn’t like that. “You seem a little ditzy,” he’d say.

But then I think of Amber and how upset she was and how can I not remember calling her last night? How can that just be something that’s…gone from my memory? What else did I say to her? My stomach feels like it’s in knots.

I get up and shove the plastic bottle in the waistband of my pajama pants and creep out the bedroom door, peek around to see if Vanessa is still on the couch, and then go into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I turn on the light.

My makeup is fuzzy and smeared and I have circles under my eyes. I put the bottle on the sink counter and slowly wipe off my makeup. There are deep blue shadows under my eyes. The purple mound under my chin is turning blueish. I wash my face, brush my teeth. My heart is beating really fast. Who would know? I could just finish this. There isn’t even that much left, anyway, and then I’d be done. This week shouldn’t be so stressful, because I have two days off from school, which makes four days total, counting the weekend, and maybe I can just sleep in every day. I touch the blue shadows under my eyes. Ireally need to sleep. I need a break. I feel like I could sleep for days. I wish I could sleep for days.

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