Chapter 9
Istared at the paper in front of me as if the words would begin forming themselves.
A rebellion list. Where was I even supposed to start with that?
My pen sat beside the lined paper, but I was too chicken to pick it up.
Too chicken to write any of this down and make it real.
The thought of such a thing seemed so much easier in Ms. Murphy’s office, when I wasn’t tasked to do it in the moment.
In Hudson’s presence, I could at least pretend I was more confident than I was.
Now, with my parents down the hall, I wanted to bail on the thought of rebellion entirely.
I told Hudson I would make a list. No, I pinky promised him. That was basically contractually binding, and there was no way I was double crossing the Grim Reaper.
With a shaking hand, I picked up the pen, but right as I poised it to the paper, Mom’s voice came from behind me. “Hey, sweetie.”
I dropped the pen like it burned, turning in my chair to face her. She had a few of my shirts on hangers dangling from one of her fingers, freshly ironed from the laundry. “Hi.”
“Doing some homework?” She came close enough to peer at my desk and at my empty sheet of paper.
What was it that Landon always said when he was caught drawing? “Just…goofing off.”
Mom hummed a little under her breath as she hooked the hangers in my closet, smoothing the shirts between her fingertips. She eyed my clothes lovingly. I sat with my hands in my lap, because even though it was an innocent sheet of paper before me, I was on edge with it in her presence.
She turned to face me. She’d scrubbed her makeup off since being home from work, and her rosy cheeks were in full bloom.
“I feel like we haven’t gotten to chat lately,” she said as she made her way over to my bed, sitting on top of the made duvet.
“Today was your second day of the mentoring, right? How is it going so far? Are you two getting along okay?”
Before, I would’ve answered in an instant, telling her the truth and leaving nothing out.
There was never a reason to lie to her, and it never would’ve even occurred to me.
When I was little, my parents always told me that my lies will always find me out.
No matter how small, they’d always know.
Now, as a teenager, I could see the fear tactic for what it was, but years of dreading the anger and disappointment of my parents had me hesitating.
I stared at her a moment, contemplating how to answer. “I think it’s going okay. I think I’m really getting through to…them.”
I mean, he was at least calling me by my name now and not “sophomore.” Sounded like we were making progress to me.
Mom nodded approvingly, leaning her palms back on my bed.
“When Talia told me she had a student that needed some help, one-on-one, your dad and I were both happy you could help. It’s a good opportunity, isn’t it?
She thinks you’re responsible enough. And a great use of your time after school.
You know, I hated the idea of you sitting around for an hour.
Now, this works much better, don’t you think? ”
“You didn’t check with me,” I said before thinking about my response.
“I already knew what you’d say.”
I was struck with the consistency of Mom. It wasn’t like Mom making choices for me was anything new—she’d always done this. I was just only now noticing.
My gaze flicked to the sheet of paper on my desk. The promise of rebellion. The promise of freedom. “Thank you…for signing me up to do this. I think it could be good for both of us.”
“I think I’ll lay out your sage skirt tomorrow,” Mom said, standing to her feet and making her way to my closet. She’d grown restless with the conversation. “The one that comes just above your ankles. That color looks so beautiful on you.”
“Mom.”
“Yes, sweetie?”
It was like the words were already written on the paper—that was how clear they stood out to me. “Can I pick out my own clothes tomorrow?”
She was silent. My whole life, she’d purchased clothes she liked for me. She laid out clothes she thought would look nice. The most I ever got to pick out were my socks.
I held still under her scrutiny while a war waged inside me. Was it worth it to even ask? It wasn’t like I had an entire new wardrobe I could pick from—I’d still wear the outfits Mom put me in once upon a time. But still. It was only a sliver of my autonomy, and I was taking it back.
“I suppose so,” she answered finally, but her confusion was clear. “Do you not like me picking out your clothes, Gemma?”
To appease the lines between her brow, I tried to smile. “I just want to do it from now on.”
Mom walked up to me and coasted her hand down the side of my head, stopping once she got to my ear. Her eyes were so cloudy, like she was fighting the urge to cry, and guilt stirred hotly in my stomach. Is it really so wrong to let her pick out your clothes? the guilt whispered.
But then the dark feeling pushed back against it, the one that surfaced on my birthday. Is it worth fighting if nothing will change? Hudson’s words were so clear that it was almost like he spoke them now.
If I don’t fight, I thought stubbornly, then it definitely won’t change.
“You are getting old enough to,” she said, tucking a few hairs behind my ear. The melancholy expression hadn’t vanished. “When I was your age, I was wearing things my mom near had a heart attack over. Don’t you be like that, okay?”
I wasn’t sure what she expected me to wear—or what it was that she wore—but I nodded.
Mom stood before me another moment, still tucking my hair back.
I sat motionless as she did so, feeling a bit like a porcelain doll she’d drawn off the shelf to admire.
She dressed me. She brushed my hair. She decided what she wanted me to do for the day.
The longer the thought lingered, the more the dark feeling closed in.
Eventually, she dropped her hand. “Well, I’ll let you get back to work. Remember, lights out at nine-thirty. Don’t forget to brush your teeth, okay?”
I nodded, and then she was gone, easing out into the hallway.
My room felt both lighter and emptier with her gone, a weird warring feeling, much like the guilt and darkness that stirred inside me.
It felt wrong to think about rebellion, but it also felt wrong to go on the way things were.
I couldn’t live like a toy for the rest of my life.
Turning back to the paper, the first thing I did was scrawl a title at the top.
Rebellious Things Gemma Has Never Done Before.
I wrote down pick out my own clothes on the list before drawing a fat line through it, pulling in a slow breath.
My first rebellion bullet point checked off.
Maybe it wouldn’t be as difficult as it seemed.
What did I want, more than anything? What were things that made my heart squeeze when I turned them down? Things that caught my eye, got me curious? After so long of pushing all of it down, it was hard to think of any at first.
And then it wasn’t difficult at all, because as soon as I crossed off the one bullet point, another danced into my head, and then another.
Too many for my pen to keep up with, but I scribbled them down anyway, waiting until I was fully finished to stop and remember that I wasn’t just writing down a list of activities.
I was writing down a list of activities that I had to do with the Grim Reaper.
During the class period before lunch on Wednesday, Morgan sat tracing the end of her pencil along my back while Mr. Broker talked about the history of Europe.
He was going straight up until the bell today with no regrets, flipping through his PowerPoint slides with an excited smile.
I listened patiently, even though my stomach was growling like there was a monster in there.
Morgan gave me a hard poke before she whispered directly in my ear. “Have you gotten your dress for the homecoming dance yet?”
I shook my head ever so slightly.
“We should go this weekend.” She tapped my shoulder again. “Did Jaden get a tie yet?”
This time, I shrugged my shoulders.
She went back to tracing patterns into my sweater, giving a little humph as she did so.
I knew she wanted me to be more excited than I was—that was the one thing she and Mom had in common.
I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be excited about anymore, though.
Wearing a pretty dress? Waiting for Jaden to ask me as his date?
None of it seemed like it mattered too much. They could be excited enough for me.
The bell cut off Mr. Broker in the middle of reading his PowerPoint, and students began standing from their desks without waiting for a formal dismissal. Our teacher simply sighed. “Ah. Well. We’ll finish it tomorrow. Have a great lunch!”
“We could go to the mall this weekend,” Morgan said in her normal voice, watching as I packed up my bag. “In fact, we probably should go to the mall soon before all the good dresses sell out.”
“My mom wants to come with me,” I told her, zipping up my backpack and hooking it over my shoulder. I kept it with me for third period since my locker was all the way on the other side of the school, and this way I had easy access to my lunchbox. “She wants to see all the options.”
“You mean she wants to pick it out for you.”
I didn’t respond to that because we both knew she was right.
Jaden joined us when we got close to Cafeteria A, and he nudged his shoulder against mine. “How’s your morning been so far?”
“It’s been okay.”
“Just okay?” Jaden ducked his head to meet my gaze. “Then again, it is school. It’s not going to be anything really exciting, is it?”
Morgan chuckled a little, lowering her voice. “Depends on who you run into.”
I knew who she meant, but Jaden frowned, left in the dark.