Page 37 of Every Thought Taken

It feels wrong staying over at Lessa’s house without Mags. It feels wrong for the world to keep moving forward while our friend’s life is stuck in this horrific moment. And it definitely feels wrong to celebrate anything—holidays included—right now.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” I mutter.

Lessa sifts through her closet in search of anything black. Considering her preference for brighter colors, her wardrobe choices for tomorrow are slim. Not that I think anyone in attendance at Mrs. Bishop’s service will care if our attire is dark enough or matches.

“We’ll figure it out.” She yanks a black top from its hanger, followed by a dark-gray top. Holding both up, she spins to face me. “If you have pants or a skirt, I have tops.”

“I’m sure I do.”

She stuffs the tops into a bag and shoulders it. “C’mon. Let’s go look. Then we’ll be ready for tomorrow.”

Death is strange. Not the actual moment but how people react to it.

Mags has been inconsolable since the day her mom died. Mr. Bishop, too. I wouldn’t be able to stop crying if either one of my parents died. Every teenager has a rebellious streak, a time when we think we hate our parents but really don’t. It’s the rules we dislike. But even in my angriest moments, I still love my parents. I still want them in my life. Still want their hugs and I love yous.

Losing those moments… how do you breathe?

I scoop a bite of mystery casserole onto my fork and survey the room. Scan the sea of faces in the Bishops’ home for the wake. My stomach twists as I take in some of the townspeople, chatting and smiling like everything is… normal.

Appetite gone, I find a trash can and toss the small plate of food. I crack open a bottle of water and drink a third of it before screwing the cap back on. Warmth lands between my shoulder blades and I sigh at the familiar scent of Anderson.

“Holding up, North?”

I hook my arm with his and hug his side. “Trying to. For Mags.”

“Make you a deal.”

Brows pinched, I look up at him.

“I’ll hold you up while you support her.”

The backs of my eyes sting as my throat swells. I swallow past the lump and nod. “Okay,” I croak out.

He pins me to his side and moves us through the crowd. “Is she in her room?”

“I think so.”

Anderson weaves us through the tightly packed house. We locate Lessa with Mr. and Mrs. Everett, grab her hand, and make our way to Mags’s room. After a soft knock, I twist the knob and step inside. Lessa closes the door behind us as we kick off our shoes.

And without a word, we crawl onto her bed and hold our friend. Silently tell her we are here. To hug or cry with or talk to or scream at. Whatever she needs, we are here when she is ready.

CHAPTER20

ANDERSON

The past few days have been strange. Since the service for Mrs. Bishop, my parents now have a new outlook on life. Dad spends more time with Mom, me, and Ales. Mom is less grouchy, especially with me, and slightly more affectionate.

The change is nice but weird.

With every halfhearted smile, I question the validity of her behavior. Question if she genuinely loves me or simply feels guilty for treating me like the family leper most of my life.

Death changes people. It’s sad that it took my mother losing a dear friend to make her kind.

“You guys want pizza?” Mom hollers from the kitchen.

With the exception of Mrs. Bishop’s service, winter break has been spent in front of the television. Ales, Helena, and I curl up on blankets in front of the couch and get lost in fictional movies and shows. Movie marathons we don’t have to focus on. Serial bingeing of shows we previously watched, so we don’t feel bad if our attention drifts.

Lying on my back, Helena on one side and Ales on the other, I lose focus as we watchGossip Girl. Helena inches closer, rests a palm on my chest, and snuggles into my side. My eyes fall shut as I wrap an arm around her and pin her in place.

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