Sunday

Sunday

When my phone alarm goes off, my mouth feels thick and dry, my head is spinning, and my stomach feels messy. I lean over the edge of my bunk. Ricci's not there. I climb down and grab the ever-present water bottle she keeps on the floor and drink it all in one gulp. That eases the pinpricks in front of my eyes a little.

I check my phone for the time and see a message from Amber.

Call me. We need to talk.

I stare at the words, a vague feeling of unease creeping over my body. That…doesn't sound like Amber usually sounds. She sounds…terse.

My finger hesitates over my phone; then I shake my head. I don't have time to call her or I'll be late, and if she's mad at me for some reason, well, I don't want to hear about that until later. I toss my phone in my backpack and grab my work clothes, throw a blanket over my still-damp sheet and towel, and head to the bathroom for a shower. I feel dizzy and heavy-headed under the hot spray, so I hold on to the tiled walls until it passes. I'm a little afraid I might throw up, which is a thing that's happened a few times, and even though you think running water would make everything easier, it is not, in fact, easy to get puke down a drain.

In the mirror, my eyes are like red marshmallows and just like I thought, there's a swollen purple mound under my chin. Fuck. I do my face and eyes really quick, making sure my eyeliner is heavy to distract from my gross face. I swab some concealer over the wound on my chin, but it still puffs out. I swallow some ibuprofen and wash it down with water cupped in my hand from the faucet.

My stomach rolls. I lean over the toilet, panicked. I've only thrown up a few times after drinking, and it wasn't pleasant, and I had to spend the rest of the day in bed after telling my mom I had the stomach flu.

When I come out, Vanessa and Ricci are in the kitchen at the tiny table. Vanessa holds out a plate to me. "I made you a bagel. Your dad's still asleep. You need a ride to work? Wait, how late did you stay up? You look wrecked. What happened to your chin ?"

I bristle, turning away from her so she can't have a better look at my face. "Wow, what a super nice thing to say to me first thing in the morning. And I slipped down the bunk ladder last night and hit my chin. That's what happens when I have to share a room with my sister and I have to climb up in the dark so I don't wake her up, okay? And no, I'm just gonna take the bus."

With her mouth full, Ricci says, "Bella had a nightmare last night." Bits of bagel flutter from her lips. Jelly's smeared on her cheek.

I frown. "What are you talking about? I don't rememberthat."

Ricci swallows some bagel. "You were weird. You were, like, crying about Dylan. And letters. Like the big kind. Are you in trouble at school?" She wrinkles her nose at me.

"I wasn't crying. Shut up, don't lie." What is she talking about? I don't remember anything like that. Why does she make stuff up all the time? Big letters?

But still.

Something is poking at my brain. I try to concentrate. I did my laundry, I fell asleep, I woke up, I saw Dad and Hoyt, I went back up in my bunk and…why did Amber text me that weird message…

"It isn't a lie. You were crying. You're the liar!" Ricci shouts.

Vanessa says, "Ricci. Honey, that's not nice."

Then Vanessa turns to me. "You okay? You want to talk?"

"It's fine and I was not crying. Ricci makes shit up all the time."

"I didn't!" Ricci yells.

"Girls," Vanessa says.

"Just forget it," I say. "I have to go. Don't forget Ricci needs to do two pages of her homework packet, if you're sticking around tonight, Vanessa."

Ricci's whining follows me out the door.

—

The bus is late, so by the time I get off at the stop closest to Patty's I have to run really fast so I'm not even later for my shift. I'm sweating inside my hoodie by the time I get there. My stomach hurts, too. I should have taken that bagel Vanessa offered. Maybe I can get Deb to fix me some toast before things get busy.

I'm hanging my backpack on the rack by the flour shelves when I feel my phone buzz again.

Amber. I really need you to call me.

Can't. At work. Double shift. Talk later.

I check my call history on my phone. It looks like I called her last night? But I don't…remember it? I must have rolled over on my phone or something in bed. Three missed calls from her last night after that.

I squint at the phone and then shove it in my back pocket. That's weird. My stomach flips nervously as I tie my apron around my waist.

What is up with Amber?

—

I'm on dinner break in the back when Patty pokes her head in from the kitchen and says, "Your friend is here. The nice one." She doesn't like Kristen, either, so I'm guessing she's talking about Amber or Cherie.

I take my plate of cheese fries out front, where Amber is sitting at the last window on the right, tucked away in the corner. She's rubbing her hands together and looks upset.

"Hey," I say, sliding into the booth across from her. "I'm sorry I didn't catch you earlier. Everything okay?"

She's quiet.

"Amber? What's wrong?"

"You look like shit, you know that?" There's an unfamiliar edge to her voice.

"I'm sorry, what? "

"Do you not even remember?" She looks up. Her eyes are glossy, like she's trying not to cry, but they're also…kind ofmad.

"What? What are you talking about?" The cheese fries feel very heavy in my mouth all of a sudden. I swallow them in one lump.

"I'm so sick of this, Bella. I'm just so tired of it." She picks some green polish from her nails.

"Amber, whatever it is I did, I'm sorry. Just tell me what I did."

What could I have done? I didn't even see her yesterday. I'm struggling to think of why she's so upset and why she had to call me three times in the middle of the night. I mean, I couldn't answer. I was sleeping, for god's sake.

"Did I say something to you?" I start scrolling through our texts, looking for any place I might have offended her. "Whatever it was, I'm sorry, Amber."

The words of our texts whiz by my eyes, but there's something else, something eating away at a far corner of my brain. What Ricci said. About me having a nightmare. Dylan. Letters. I don't remember that. That didn't happen.

Did it? I was just reading Wild and I fell asleep and—

Amber pushes my phone down.

"You called me last night, like, at three-thirty in the morning. I could barely understand you, you were mumbling and crying about Dylan." She pauses. "You were drunk, Bella. Again. "

My stomach drops. I wipe my mouth with a napkin and then fold it carefully into a tiny square, hold it in one fist. I have to think fast, defuse this situation.

"I was really tired. I don't…honestly, I don't remember, and I'm sorry. I just…I don't know. Ricci said I had a nightmare or something. Maybe I called you in my sleep. I was sleeptalking! Get it? Like sleepwalking?"

I laugh, like it's a joke, but I feel kind of sick.

Amber's eyes are on the table. "You said you were cracking. That there would be blood. Do you understand how freaked out that made me? I almost called your dad."

I can feel my face drain and my blood run cold. I don't…I don't think I remember that. Do I? I felt unsettled when I woke up, my stomach messy. I had too much. A little too much, but I made it into bed, except for that thing with my chin, and I tried to read, and then I just fell asleep. Or I thought I did.

It's like it was at Luis's party, when I flipped out over seeing Dylan with Willow. Where one minute I was doing things and being there and then…nothing. And other people had to tell me later about what I was doing during that nothing.

Amber is staring at me.

"I mean, you were at your dad's, so, like, where did you even get something to drink? Do you go and shoulder-tap when you aren't with the rest of us? Do you think it's funny for me to hear you like that? And you're like that a lot lately."

"Listen," I say, carefully, trying to squash the panic down inside me. I can feel Patty watching us from the register. I keep my voice low. "I've been really stressed and I'm really torn up about Dylan. I'm sorry. I know…it seems bad, but…I just need this semester to end and then, I swear, things will be different. I need a break. I'm sorry. I guess I just…I don't know. I didn't mean to upset you. I mean, technically, I don't even remember, so I don't know why I'm saying sorry, ha ha."

"I can't believe you got that drunk by yourself." Her voice is flat and sad.

"I'm tired, Amber," I say defensively, my voice rising slightly. "And I said I was sorry. I can't control something I can't even remember."

Her nails are almost completely free of polish now and she's pushing the green chips into a small pile on the white table.

"When did everything become about getting wasted?" She says this really softly, almost like she's not even talking to me, just talking to herself. She pushes a lock of her deep brown hair behind her ear. "Like, I feel like that's all we do now. I mean, that's what you guys do, I just drive." She flattens the pile of green chips onto the table. "And I don't think I want to do that anymore. I'm not even supposed to have that many kids in the car with me, you know."

"Amber, that's not all we do." My voice cracks a little.

She looks at me.

We're so different now, me and Amber. She's got a clean, washed face and I layer on a mask of makeup every day. She's on yearbook and does Science Olympiad and I keep to myself. She's got plans for this big car trip of ours, hope literally pinned on a map on her bedroom wall, and I feel like I'm just…just hanging on for the ride.

"It's not funny or cool, Bella. That one time a couple of months ago when I had to cover for you at your mom's, after we went to that stupid thing in Carter's garage? When I told her you must have gotten food poisoning from the drive-through burger. Do you think that was fun for me?"

She rips up a napkin, the little pieces sitting in their own pile next to the fragments of her nail polish.

"Do you even remember that night?"

My face heats up. I remember the garage was damp and smelly. The beer pong. And then being in Amber's car, a plastic bag on my lap while she mumbled "Oh shit oh shit oh shit" in the front seat. Then nothing until I woke up in my bed with her next to me the morning after, a worried look on her face.

But I thought we laughed it off.

Or maybe that was only me.

Tears slip down her face, splash on the chipped polish and napkin shreds.

"I think I can't hang out with—" she starts to say, but panic rises inside me and I cut her off.

I can't lose her, too. I'll have nothing, nobody. I grab her hands.

"I'll be better, Amber. I promise. Please," I say, leaning toward her, trying not to cry. "Please. I'll stop. I promise. "

"It's not good for me, Bella. I love you so much, but you're killing me."

"I promise, Amber."

I stand up and slide next to her, wrap my arms around her. Solid, beautiful, kind, and funny Amber. "Please believe me."

"You girls all right?"

It's Patty. She's looking down at us, concern on her face, holding two glasses of Coke. She puts them on the table.

"It's okay," I tell her, wiping my face. "Just friend stuff."

Patty nods and walks away.

Amber sniffles and takes a sip of her Coke. She still won't look me in the eye.

"Please, Amber."

"Okay," she says finally, finishing her drink. She hiccups. "I'll believe you. I have to go now. I have to get back home."

I slide out of the booth so we can both stand up. "I love you, Amber. I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that. If you were so sorry, you'd stop with all this," she says. Her voice is sharp.

I flinch.

"I mean, do you not even think this is a problem ? You're calling me in the middle of the night and like, blanking out, and you can't remember things? That seems like a problem to me."

Little bricks of shame are stacking in me, one by one, weighing me down. I was too much. And now I'm a problem.

Blanking out, Amber said.

A little bit of last night flashes across my brain. Me saying I was all capitals. Too much. That's it. Like Ricci said.

And I am, I am, I am.

"I…" I swallow, trying to force out more words, something, but there aren't any. I feel hot and cold all at once. I bite my bottom lip, hard, to keep the swell of tears from erupting behind my eyes.

"Sorry," Amber says. "I'm tired. I should just go."

She scoops up her pile of green nail polish shavings and napkin pieces and slides them in her pocket. That's Amber: clean and neat, never leaving a mess for someone else to clean up. She pulls her hoodie over her head and looks at her sneakers.

"Amber." My voice is small. "Can't you just be nice to me? I'm just…Stuff is really hard right now."

"Oh, so it's my fault? Nice. " Her voice cracks. It's just as tiny as mine. She shakes her head. "See you, Bella."

I watch her walk out the door, the bell jingling as she leaves.

Problem-toomuchproblem-toomuchproblem-toomuch. So many letters jumbled together in my brain it's hard to focus, until I feel a hard elbow against my arm. A customer, squeezing by me to get to a booth.

Across the diner, Lonnie and Deb and Patty are standing by the grill, staring at me.

I put my head down and start moving, grab a bus tub, pick up dirty plates and stained glasses, vow to keep busy the rest of my shift so I don't disintegrate into a thousand pieces.

—

My dad is ten minutes late picking me up. He pushes the car door open for me from the inside. "Hey, kid. Long day in the trenches?"

I climb into the car. "Yeah. Pretty busy."

"You want me to spring for a late dinner? You hungry? I can swing by Sonic on the way home."

"Whatever."

"I just need to make a quick stop first, okay?"

He pulls into the bright orange Quik-Mart around the corner. "Be right back," he says, hopping out of the car.

I watch him through the glass windows of the store. He goes to the beer cooler.

When he gets back into the car, he dumps a twelve-pack in the back seat. "Gonna drop you off and head over to Hoyt's after. My turn for the libations." He winks and starts the car.

I hug my backpack to my chest. I can feel the extra bottle of Sprodka inside.

My dad and I are in a car and we both have alcohol, only one of us doesn't know about the other's.

He makes a left, honks at someone taking too long in the crosswalk.

Amber said I looked like shit this morning. I knew I looked like shit. I tried to fix myself up. It didn't work, I guess. I chew my fingernail. My head still hurts, even though I took more ibuprofen at work after the dinner rush. As my dad drives, I try to get a fix on all the things running through my head. Memories. Or…the not memories. The things that got away from me, like Carter's party and that blank space between Amber's car and holding the plastic bag and then waking up the next morning with my head feeling like someone had stomped on it. Luis's party…That was…Seeing Dylan and Willow and the room shifting, spinning, and my cup always full and then…a bathroom? Crying in Luis's bathroom in the bathtub is how Cherie and Kristen found me. That's what they told me later. I had my knees up to my chest, people pounding on the door, and then

And then

And then

I don't remember what then.

Just that somehow I was in the tub and they were pulling at me and then suddenly I was in my room. Somewhere in the middle I lost an hour, two, maybe three. Poof. Down the drain. Gone forever.

I remember the laptop on my lap as I lay in bed in my room and seeing something Dylan posted in his Stories and then her, lanky Willow with her pretty hair, in a photo and the laptop…

There's another black space.

And then…

That's when my mother came in and then more black space, but it feels heavy in my mind, like there's something attached to it, but I just can't see it.

All day those bricks of shame and worry have been building inside me, getting heavier each time, and now they just keep going in this car with my dad and I can't stop them and do I have a problem am I the problem why doesn't anyone understand why can't I understand and don't I have the answer in my backpack? Don't I have the answer to make all this shit inside my head just stop for one second?

But I made a promise to Amber and I have to keep it.

—

Ricci is in bed when I let myself into the apartment after Dad drops me off. Vanessa is on the couch, the television on and a book in her lap. She smiles at me. "Hey. How was work?"

I drop the sack of Sonic chili dogs and fries on the breakfast bar. "Fine. Dad got food if you want some."

She wrinkles her nose. "I think I had my fill of macaroni and cheese with your sister, but thanks. You want to watch TV? You can pick. I just have it on for noise, really." She pats the cushion next to her on the couch.

I hesitate. I do kind of want to sit down and rest, because Patty's Place was really busy and I'm so tired and worried about what Amber said and still feeling a little sick.

"Okay," I finally say. I get a plate from the kitchen and slide a chili dog and fries on it and sit next to Vanessa, but not too close.

I tell myself if I'm sitting with Vanessa then that's just more minutes and seconds and maybe an hour that I'm not in my room not keeping my promise to Amber, so it's a good thing.

Vanessa is watching Forensic Files.

"You can switch if this is too scary for you," she says, tossing the remote next to me.

"It's okay. I used to watch it with my grandmother."

She nods. "I bet you're excited about a short school week. I was always dying for school breaks."

I almost choke on my chili dog. "Wait, what?"

"It's Thanksgiving! You don't have school Thursday or Friday. That's why I'm reading this." She holds up a cookbook. "You and Ricci will be here, so I thought I'd try something more than macaroni and cheese."

I chew my chili dog more slowly, my stomach sinking. Right.

Right.

This will be our first Thanksgiving without Laurel and we won't be with Mom.

The chili dog, which was delicious, doesn't taste so good anymore.

"Oh" is all I can say.

Vanessa closes the cookbook. "Bella, you okay? You know you can talk to me, if you want. About anything. I know it's been a hard year and this thing with that guy…Danny?"

"Dylan," I say sharply.

"Dylan. Right…well, I get it. I'm not trying to horn in or anything, but I'm here."

I crumple up the rest of my chili dog wrapper and wipe my mouth. "Doesn't it bother you that Dad goes out a lot? I mean, it can't be that much fun hanging out with me and my nutty sister."

She shrugs. "I don't mind. You guys are cool."

She pauses.

"Does it bother you ?" she asks.

I pretend to be engrossed in Forensic Files. If I tell her it does, she'll probably tell Dad and then it will be a thing. But if I pretend it doesn't bother me, she might press me further, so I decide to just say, "Sometimes," and then I get up and take my plate to the kitchen, throw out the wrapper, put my plate in the dishwasher, and tell her I'm heading to bed.

In our bedroom, I pull the blanket over Ricci, take off my work clothes, slide on my pajamas, and climb up to my bunk with my backpack.

Lie down, stare at the ceiling.

Think about everything Amber said. The stuff I can't remember. The blank spaces. The way everyone at school kind of looked at me funny after Luis's party and made jokes about me being in the bathtub. I tried to shrug it off but it stung, and…

Everything was easier when Laurel was around. Just that tiny bit with her every once in a while. Well, maybe more than that, once everything got a little bad. Well, more than a little bad. The world was dying and we were suddenly locked inside. One day in March we went to school like it was a regular stupid day of sixth grade and we didn't go back for a year and half and going to Laurel's was two masks and feeling like the five-house walk to her house was germs everywhere don't touch that, sanitize yourself, don't breathe. All my friends were just screens, tiny heads on screens, and suddenly one day everyone went back to whatever it was we were supposed to do and no one talked about any of it and I was walking to Laurel's house and—

My body is so heavy with those bricks I can barely move.

Vanessa is still out there watching television and looking at that cookbook. My dad is gone.

I feel around my backpack for the Sprodka bottle, grasp it in my hands. I could just have one or two sips, that wouldn't be bad, would it? Just to soften these bricks, ease my tension. Help me sleep. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Amber will have calmed down by then. And really, she was kind of out of line, wasn't she? Maybe trying to make me feel guilty or something. I wonder if she's maybe jealous of me and Kristen and Cherie. Like I prefer them over her, which I don't, but honestly, it's not like we're the only ones who ever drink. Everybody drinks. Parents drink. There are commercials for it. Some parents buy it for you. It's a plot line in every movie about high school. There are those two YouTube ladies who make videos about wining it up while their preschoolers play on the carpet in front of them.

My phone buzzes.

It's a group text. Cherie, Lemon, Dawn.

Cherie

hey we didn't say who was going to submit the project on the portal 2-night

Lemon

what

Dawn

I think Bella has the finished version

Cherie

Bella u there will u do it

fine Dawn don't forget to bring the actual paper and our notes to turn in tomorrow

Dawn

ok

I dig out my school laptop, find the project presentation, do a quick once-over to make sure everything is in order and spelled correctly, log onto our account for art class, and submit it to Ms. Green. I watch the little circle go around and around as it loads to send. The Wi-Fi at my dad's is sometimes hideously slow, which is frustrating.

Pull the bottle from my backpack.

Hold it in my lap.

Look at the little circles going around and around on the class submission site.

Who would know? It would only be like the smallest bit. Not like last night. Just enough to chill.

I could have this and then quit for a while. I've done it before, a few times when I was with Dylan, but it was hard, because then I was just really nervous around him, and quieter, and it was easier to get a small buzz before I saw him so I could be happy and talkative, more relaxed. More normal. But I guess he didn't like that. "You seem a little ditzy," he'd say.

But then I think of Amber and how upset she was and how can I not remember calling her last night? How can that just be something that's…gone from my memory? What else did I say to her? My stomach feels like it's in knots.

I get up and shove the plastic bottle in the waistband of my pajama pants and creep out the bedroom door, peek around to see if Vanessa is still on the couch, and then go into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I turn on the light.

My makeup is fuzzy and smeared and I have circles under my eyes. I put the bottle on the sink counter and slowly wipe off my makeup. There are deep blue shadows under my eyes. The purple mound under my chin is turning blueish. I wash my face, brush my teeth. My heart is beating really fast. Who would know? I could just finish this. There isn't even that much left, anyway, and then I'd be done. This week shouldn't be so stressful, because I have two days off from school, which makes four days total, counting the weekend, and maybe I can just sleep in every day. I touch the blue shadows under my eyes. I really need to sleep. I need a break. I feel like I could sleep for days. I wish I could sleep for days.

I unscrew the cap and place it on the sink top. Trace the bottle's lip with my pinky finger.

A knock at the door startles me and I yelp, turning toward the door so awkwardly that I knock the bottle into the sink with my elbow. All of the Sprodka bubbles down the drain.

"Fuck," I say, watching it go.

"Bella? Everything okay? You've been in there a long time."

Why does she have to be so nice all the time?

"Jesus," I hiss. "Can I have some privacy. Is that a crime?"

Silence.

Then Vanessa's soft footsteps on the carpet going into my dad's bedroom. The door closes.

The bottle is on its side in the sink, empty. I turn on the water, erasing the tiny remaining bubbles.

I guess that takes care of that.

It only takes a split second for me to reach into the cabinet below the sink, grab the NyQuil, and take a few giant slugs. When I look back at myself in the mirror, there's a small red drop at the corner of my mouth. It looks like blood.

I lick it off and turn out the light.