Page 71 of The Lies Always Told

“You know what, Gus? Maybe I do need to act my age for once in my life. What was it you said to me? Oh yeah: I have my whole life ahead of me. You’re right. I’m too young and too hot for this back and forth. Goodbye, Gus.”

I hang up the phone and park my car. There’s zero thinking and all feeling today, especially as I numbly walk inside the house. Maybe that was too harsh and irrational, but damn it, I’m done with it all. I cry and cry until sleep takes over.

TWENTY-TWO

WHO WILL BE EVEN LEFT TO TELL?

Blowing Smoke by Gracie Abrams&Different Kind of Pain by Sam Barber

Nellie

“What happened to you?”Bella asks as we walk together toward my office.

“Good morning to you too, Bella. Do you think that’s an appropriate question to ask an adult?” I ask, sliding my sunglasses up to my hair and taking another sip of my coffee. There’s not enough caffeine to carry me through the day. I didn’t go to sleep at all last night. First, I was crying, and then, I was mad. Then, I was crying again. Eventually, I started deep-cleaning everything I could find, and before I knew it, it was 6:00 am.

The biggest downside of living with my parents is that they’re nosy, always worrying about everything. Mom’s concerned, and she said she’ll call Cara today. I just really wish she wouldn’t. What am I going to say? It’s not like I canshare with her why I’m so dysregulated. I just need to make it through this morning, and then I can sleep all afternoon.

“Sorry. You look like…you didn’t rest at all.” She’s blushing, and now I feel like an asshole for making her feel embarrassed.

“It’s okay. Thanks for your candor. I am tired. I didn’t sleep well last night, but my job is to be here for you, not the other way around. How are you? Did you think about our conversation the other day?” I ask, stopping by my office, unlocking and propping the door open. I walk in and stay near the door, per school safety regulations, but leaving enough space that any other kid can walk in and grab a snack if needed.

“I needed a day to think it through, but I think I’m talking to them today. I help at my mom’s store today, so we’ll have time to chat, and then Dad takes us out to dinner on Thursdays, so that works too.”

“I’m proud of you. It’ll be great. Keep me posted, yeah?”

“I will,” she replies, turning around and walking out of my office. She disappears into the hallway, mixing in with the other students seamlessly.

Cody walks in as usual, but today, just like yesterday and the day before, his head’s low, and he doesn’t say anything before he gets to the food area.

“Hey, Cody.”

“Hi, Ms. Thompson,” he replies with a hoarse voice. This is a little concerning now. Two days in a row without his usual bright personality.

“How are you, kiddo?” I ask, probing to see if he’d finally open up to me.

“Alive,” he replies as he walks out before I can even process anything. The bell rings, and I let the door close behind me, walking to my desk and making notes of the interactions with him. Maybe I need to talk to the district psychologist who visits us weekly and see if there’s anything else we cando. Or maybe I need to check his cumulative folder and see if there’s any information I don’t know about him. I don’t like this change, and I don’t like those answers.

That same ominous feeling I’ve had the past few days returns, this time more potent, and again, I can’t put my finger on it. It feels like when my head is underwater for too long, right before I come up for air. It’s unclear whether I need to breathe or not but knowing that waiting too long can be fatal. This feels like that, but without the sensation of when it’s too much or too long or even why. No water in sight, just the drowning feeling.

I walk to the snack area and grab one of the messages. This one is…odd. Usually, these are silly or sweet, maybe even sad, but this one is just bizarre.

Maybe we’re all walking in hell.

I bring the note to my desk, placing it inside my planner so I can think on it longer before deciding what to do. There’s a knock on my door as soon as I sit down, and at the same time, I get a message. I know it’s Gus.

DLS:

I hope you like it.

Like what, Gus? Like what?

I get up quickly and unlock the door.

“Hi!” I say to our school resource officer, who is holding a small bag on the other side.

“This was left for you in the front office.”

“Thank you.” I take the small white bag and the iced coffee from him and walk back to my desk. I set the coffee on the table, but not before reading the writing on the bag.

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