Page 11 of Every Thought Taken

“Love you, too.” She ruffles my hair then takes her seat.

One last present. Did a classmate buy me something? All the family gifts have already been opened.

With a buzz of excitement in my belly, I pick up the last box. The package is small. A little bigger than my palm. I tear off the dark-green bow and ribbon.No tag. Then I peel back the gray paper. Lift the lid on the blank white box and open the tissue paper flaps. A brown leather pouch with a gold snap in the middle sits nestled in the box. It matches the leather case for the flashlight. I remove it from the box and open the pouch. Stare down at the hinged gold circle with a button and loop.

With a press of the button, it pops open. Inside is a compass. On the inside of the lid is another engraved message.When you’re lost, find true north.

“Do you like it?” Helena whisper-asks.

My eyes shoot to hers as my vision blurs. Slowly, I nod. “My favorite,” I choke out quietly. “Thank you.”

Her gift is practical. Something no one would ask questions about. But the message… is generic enough to not raise brows or stir uncomfortable conversations. But it also says I am not alone. There is always another path to take. There is always hope if you go in a different direction.

A bright smile lights her face. She reaches over the arms of our chairs and wraps me in her arms. I close my eyes and let her peace fill me up. Let her light shine on some of my darkness.

She straightens in her chair and gives me a smaller smile. “Happy birthday, Ander.”

No one has ever called me Ander, but I like the way it makes me feel. Like I belong.

“Thanks, North.”

Her smile grows.

“Happy birthday to us.”

CHAPTER6

HELENA

“Thanks for coming.”

I wave and smile as the last of the partygoers get in their car. When the car’s taillights vanish, I drop my hand and relax my expression. Inhale a lungful of air and hold it for three, two, one. On the exhale, the rest of me relaxes. Peace loosens my muscles as the quiet warms my soul.

Crowds don’t bother me, but I do prefer smaller groups of people. The more familiar the people, the better. Aside from Mags and Lessa, I do have friends. But I have never wanted to spend time with anyone outside of school except them. My best friends. My sisters.

Fun as the party was, it would have been more enjoyable with less. Mom and Mrs. Everett went a bit over the top. The constant entertainment and stimuli. The endless checking in with people rarely spoken to.

Anderson avoided the kids from his grade more often than not. And I didn’t miss their quiet laughter when he opened the gift from his parents.

He said he didn’t have friends at school. That he was bullied. Come Monday, the kids that laughed today will pick on him for his new clothes. And dang it, I wish I could be there. I wish I could get in their faces and yell. Shove them away and give them a dose of their own medicine. Make them feel an ounce of what Anderson does when they mess with him.

But it isn’t my battle to fight. If Anderson wants my help, he has to ask. For now, so long as he isn’t injured, I will be there for him. However he needs me to be. If it is just to listen, then I will listen.

Going back inside the Everett house, I head for the living room. Mom and Dad are still here, hanging out with the other parents in the dining room. Dad has one arm around Mom’s shoulders, his hand rubbing the top of her arm in slow circles while he talks with Mr. Bishop. When his hand stops, Mom leans more into him, her silent way of telling him she loves the small touch.

I drop down on the couch between Lessa and Anderson and blow a lock of hair out of my face. “Ugh. Parties are exhausting.”

“I like parties,” Lessa says. She sits up straighter and twists to face me better. “What’s not to love? Special snacks and dessert. Soda and loud music. Time with my friends.” Falling back into the cushion, she sighs. “I want a cool party on my birthday.”

The room falls silent as we digest her glee in our own way. I prefer smaller gatherings. I get to be more myself, more comfortable. Though no one bugs me about what I wear or how I look, I am a girl. And like most girls, I care what other people think about my appearance. I care about clothes and acne and fitting in.

Some days, I wish I didn’t care about such trivial things. Some days, I wish no one did. We would all be happier.

“Maybe our parents can give you the fancy birthday instead,” Anderson mutters under his breath. “You can have them all.”

I knock his arm with mine. “I’ll agree to this under one condition.”

His eyes widen as he gives me his attention. “What condition?”

---