Page 27 of Broken Things

“We’re okay.” Lying is just another thing that takes practice. Your muscles get used to it over time. “Actually,” I say, before I can think about it, or wonder whether it’s a good idea, because thinking of Summer—beautiful Summer, a ballerina with her arms up, center stage, light spilling around her in a pool, light pouring from her—makes my chest tight with pain, “we’re kind of doing a project. About Summer. Summer Marks.”

She flinches when she hears the name, like so many people do here in town. Like it’s a curse word. But she recovers quickly enough. “I see,” she says, adjusting her glasses. “Is this for the anniversary memorial?”

“Yeah,” Brynn jumps in when my voice, seemingly exhausted, simply curls up. It does that still, sometimes. Retreats, withdraws. Peters out. Like it’s a living thing with its own moods and appetites. I’d forgotten that yesterday, Twin Lakes had been planning a big five-year-anniversary commemoration of Summer’s death. It must have been delayed because of the storm. “Yeah, it’s for the anniversary. Kind of like... a memory book. We’re talking to everyone who knew her.” I’m sure Ms. Gray can’t tell she’s lying, but I can. It’s the way she’s speaking, kind of breathless, as if she’s been running for a while.

Ms. Gray smiles. “Well, I’m not sure I’ll be able to tell you anything you don’t already know,” she says. “You know Summer wasn’t with me for very long. Life Skills,” she adds, with a little shrug, “is a misnomer. The school sticks the students with meonce a week to satisfy a state requirement about sex education. The rest is just fluff.”

Brynn and I exchange a look. There’s something thrilling about hearing Ms. Gray admit it after all these years—that’s exactly what we used to say.Just give us some condoms and a forty-five-minute free period, Summer had said during one lesson, so loudly I was sure Ms. Gray had heard.

And again, I feel that knifepoint of sadness thinking of all the things Summer will never hear, see, or know.

“Still,” Brynn says. “Is there anything? Anything at all about her you remember?”

“I remember the three ofyouwere together all the time. I had to separate you so you wouldn’t pass notes in class.” Ms. Gray’s smile fades. “Summer was a difficult student, in some ways. But very sweet, veryalive, if you know what I mean.”

We do. Of course we do. Summer was twice as alive as other people.

I fumble for a way to find out what I want to know—an explanation for all those red marks on the page, for the fact that Summer seeminglycouldn’twrite. “What do you mean bydifficult? You mean she was having trouble?”

Ms. Gray tilts her head to one side, giving her the look of a bird that has just spotted a crumb. “Can I ask why you want to know?”

I glance over at Brynn. We should have agreed on a story in advance. Now I can’t think of a single excuse.

Luckily, Abby comes to the rescue. “We want to celebrate therealSummer. The Summer nobody knew. That’s the point of the memory book.”

“Were you a friend of hers too?” Ms. Gray asks. Abby nods, and I pray Ms. Gray won’t know the difference. Apparently she doesn’t, because she goes on, “I think I remember more than I would have otherwise, given...” She gestures helplessly. “She was very enthusiastic about the things that came easily to her. She loved to talk about the reading we did. And she was a great reader. A veryslowreader, but she truly loved it. But with other aspects of the class, she struggled.”

“Writing,” I say, remembering her marked-up quiz and feeling a tickling pressure all along my spine.

Ms. Gray nods, but I can tell we’re losing her attention. The marching band is breaking formation again. She keeps casting worried glances over one shoulder. “She was badly dyslexic,” she says. “It slowed her reading and made it hard for her to write. She was very, very frustrated. I think she was embarrassed, too. I understand she’d bounced around quite a bit.” Ms. Gray shrugs. “Other than that, I never got much of a sense of her. I tried to help her, you know. I gave her extra time on the homework and on our quizzes. I suggested she go speak to her guidance counselor or get help from the Tutoring Center. She refused. She said she wasn’t stupid.” Ms. Gray spreads her hands. “Well, of course that wasn’t what I’d been implying. But afterward she wouldn’t listen to me, no matter what I suggested.” This time her smile is anemic andbarely reaches her eyes. “She was a sweet girl. She tried hard—too hard, in certain ways. She was prone to... exaggerating. Not lying, exactly, but making things up.Colin, get back in line.” This to a little kid carrying a tuba practically as big as he is.

“What’s the difference?” Abby asks, genuinely curious.

Ms. Gray turns back to us, squinting. “I always think of lying as a desire to hide the truth. But with Summer... I had the feeling she wanted toremakethe truth. Just invent a whole new one.”

There’s a beat of silence. Even though Brynn doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at me, I know we must be thinking the same thing. We understand. We remember. I have the sudden, stupid urge to reach out and grab Brynn’s hand, but of course I don’t.

Ms. Gray shakes her head. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know if that’s the kind of thing you were looking for.”

“That’s okay,” I say quickly. “Every little bit helps. Thanks, Ms. Gray.”

She makes a face as several flute players begin to compete over who can blow the loudest, shrillest, most obnoxious sound. “Sorry. I should get these monsters up the hill. The parade will be starting any second.”

But even as we’re turning away, she calls us back.

“You know, Summer did get help eventually,” she says slowly, as if she’s not really sure she should be speaking and so she’s just letting the words fall out on their own. “She found a boy to tutor her. I might not even have remembered except... well. I think theidea is that they became close. Very close.”

The sun blinks out. I hold my breath. I know what she’s going to say. Of course I do.

But Brynn still makes her say it.

“Who?” Brynn asks.

“Owen,” she says, almost apologetically. “Owen Waldmann.”

Wishes really did come true in Lovelorn. Which could be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on who was doing the wishing.

—FromReturn to Lovelornby Summer Marks, Brynn McNally, and Mia Ferguson

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