Page 11 of Advice from a Sunflower

Last Friday, he and Emma walked through the halls hanging all over each other, and it was like the Eli I had spoken to on Halloween was gone. Just a mask he wore for the holiday and took off the moment it was over. I’d even tried to meet him at his locker to drop it off, but somehow seemed to always miss him.

Today, all anyone can talk about is how crazy of a party Emma threw over the weekend while her parents were stuck at her grandparents’ house a few towns over with a broken-down car. Even if they were home, Emma would have thrown the party. She always did. There was just a new aspect added to it with no adults around to harass everyone for weed or stop them from hooking up on their bed.

Eli had been at the party, joined at the hip with Emma all night. I overheard his teammates talking about how they couldn’t even get him away from her to do a keg stand with them. Apparently, it was a huge teenage tragedy. I found comfort in their complaints about her clinginess and their plans to try to pry their friend away from the tyrannical girlfriend if she continued down the path she was on.

So just like that, the night I shared with my childhood best friend had further solidified the termination of our friendship. Whatever charade he put up on Halloween night was over, and I refused to fall for something like that ever again.

Today, I waited until he parked his car in its spot against the curb and stuck his iPod through the cracked driver’s side window before my shift at the diner. As I made my way down my street on foot toward the main road, I saw Emma drive by with Olivia toward Eli’s house. I could swear I imagined the middle finger she held just outside the passenger side window, and the same smug smile she wore right after kissing him in front of me. Just before I looked back to the ground, I spotted Marnie with her head tilted, laughing in the back seat as her blonde hair tangled in the wind.

With my head bowed down and my heart in my throat, I counted the days left before I could get out of this toxic place and never return. Then, I released a cleansing breath and pushed them all from my mind.

Chapter 7

Lyla

18 years old

Today is my eighteenth birthday. In just one week, I’ll be graduating Hollow High and walking out of those doors for what I hope will be the last time. The past year has been nearly unbearable, and I can’t wait to get out of this town and breathe in fresh air for the first time. Not the recycled, musty air we’ve been forced to breathe here our entire lives. Real air.Cornellair.

As usual, Marnie and Denise made the day about them. I can’t really blame them, though. It’s all they’ve known. I just wish they could have held back long enough for me to share some of my own news for once. For me to talk for once.

I realize now what a foolish thought that was.

It’s the beginning of the month, so Denise is feeling festive. She’s decided she can spring for a dinner at iHop to celebrate mine and Marnie’s birthdays. Marnie’s was two months ago but neither of us bothered to mention that small fact. Not when we could get a good meal out of it. I think she knows in the back of her mind that this will probably be the last one we spend together. That I’ll most likely never find my way back to The Hollow once I leave.

So, on a whim she took Marnie and me out for a quiet dinner. We’ve just been served our meals when I grab the piece of mail out of my bag, nervous excitement swimming around in my chest.

I planned to announce to them that I’ve been accepted into the early enrollment program at Cornell this summer. It’s a big deal. You have to be really good to get into the program, and it gives me the chance to explore the campus before it fills with irritated upperclassmen and confused Freshmen. I’ll also get a head start on my classes, which will help later on when my course load is overwhelming.

“So, guess—” I begin, but no one hears my voice over Marnie clearing her throat.

“I have something to tell you guys,” she interrupts, pausing dramatically to make sure we’re both listening. Seconds tick by as silence falls between us. Typical Marnie, always with a flair for the dramatics.

“Well, spit it out. I don’t have all day,” Denise grumbles, shoving a large piece of pancake into her mouth.

“I’m pregnant.”

She holds her head high, doing her best to look stoic. I know Marnie better than that, though. Her fingers are tapping against her leg, her feet dancing beneath the table. She’s nervous, although you’d never be able to tell from just looking at her relaxed facial expression.

I gape, taking her in for the first time in what feels like forever. She does look a little more swollen than usual. I’m not sure how I missed that.

“What?” I half-gasp, but it’s drowned out by Denise’s, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Marnie shrugs nonchalantly, moving the food around her plate to avoid eye contact now.

“Sorry, Denise. You’re going to be a grandma.”

“Like hell I am,” our mother insists, her brows raised in seriousness.

I can tell she’s conflicted. Her religious obligations tell her to allow Marnie to go through with the pregnancy and figure something out later. It’s still a child of God, after all. But her maternal obligation is telling her to get that thing out of her daughter before anyone else finds out. To stop her from following in her own footsteps, despite every attempt she’s made to prevent that from happening.

“That isn’t your decision to make, now is it?” Marnie’s chin juts out in defiance and I watch the anger flash across Denise’s eyes before she lifts her hand in the air, ready to strike her for mouthing back.

“I’d think twice before hitting a pregnant woman. I have more than just myself to think about now, and I’m not afraid to send you to jail for assault.” Her hand rubs circles around her flat stomach symbolically.

Denise narrows her eyes, her pale, hollowed cheeks flushing with hatred.

I shove the letter back into my bag, promising myself I’ll tell them later when things have cooled off. Or maybe I won’t even bother. Maybe I’ll just disappear one day and see how long it takes for them to notice.

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