Chapter 3 #4
“I do love you. More than you will ever know. You have nothing to be worried about. I can take care of myself. And so can you. Don’t date any stupid rich boys and you better ace your junior year competitions. Deal?” she says as her voice continues to crack.
“Deal.” I stretch out my hands to grab hers. She rolls her eyes, squeezing my hands.
“Okay, this little exchange of feelings never happened. I expect you to be the valedictorian your senior year, like me. No slip-ups. That way, you can still get into a top school. I also expect you to figure out what you want to do with your life and what college you plan to go to. Or are you saying that I’ve failed?
” She raises my chin with her finger, staring into the depths of my soul.
“What?”
“As your big sister, I’ve taught you to be brave and strong. And to never give up, not even in my absence, so don’t disappoint me.” She wraps her hands around my head, caressing my hair.
I swallow hard and barely manage to control my emotions.
“Good. I will talk to you in a month. Now stay here, do not leave your room. I’m gonna go, got it?” She lets go of me.
I inhale and exhale. “Got it.”
She leaves my room and closes the door.
I run to my window and roll up my blinds, waiting to see her one last time. All I see is New York City buildings, like military robots in the night, with lights that do not have an off switch.
I wait, and wait, and wait. Levon finally emerges.
I look to see her face. Her expression is cold with a blank stare, but it is not the coldness I am familiar with.
It is the kind of coldness that breaks into my bones, shatters my heart, and leaves me feeling utterly powerless.
She walks alongside my parents, who are both on their phones, so I peer closer, praying for a smile, a wave… a last second of warmth.
Nothing. She enters the car and they’re gone. I should have listened to her. I shouldn’t have looked.
Levon is gone. I feel abandoned.
Pillow on my face, my skin dampens as the ocean breaks free from my eyes. Wave after wave. No one checks on me. For the first time in eleven years, not my sister.
One Year Later.
Snow embellished envelopes lie open on my lap on the sunniest day of all, flapping their wings back and forth like the graceful birds above that perch on my windows.
Then they peck. Yes, still the envelopes, not the redbirds singing the same tune in front of me.
No, not them. But my envelopes. Yes, the paper made from trees.
Yes, I hate them. My mind, my hands, my eyes.
Even my nose despises the smell of them, the smell of the flagrant message that lies within them.
And I wish I could say it is just my opinion.
But it’s not just me. Other people hate them too.
Like the numerous librarians who were terrified to hand me these antique letters.
Like the skeptical schoolmates I collected them from, who also have siblings sentenced to life at The Commons.
And like my homeless friends on New York streets, who I convinced to pay in exchange for their collection of trashed and lost Common Letters.
My body despises them. It shrieks because it is afraid of how sick and frail it could become should it get into closer proximity to the contents of these letters.
Still yet, my mind cannot help but envision them.
Nonstop, it sees them, hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of papers flying around in my thoughts with a mind of their own.
And my heart is an even greater affair, for it has planted trees of them, sided with its descendants, and made roots and foundations that long to uncover their deepest and darkest secrets.
I should not open these letters. But why is my hand betraying me?
Why are my hands the enemy of my sanity?
Before I can object to their action, my eyes are reading the words inside them, one after the other.
My eyes outrun my mind, reading everything these letters contain.
And what do they hold? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Another pack of useless letters from The Commons Alumni praising the school for its success and saying nothing about the actual experience of being in such a school.
Urgh! I really thought this time, I was going to find the evidence I need to fuel my worries about The Commons.
I’ve been complicit in tree killing for a year now, finding countless flyers and letters on The Commons and tearing them into pieces in anger.
Since Levon left, it has been a blur. I remember doing only two things.
Waiting for Levon’s next call—it’s a good thing I can see her when we talk so I know she’s doing okay—and waiting for a clue about what is happening to her there.
I basically live for one day every month—the day I get to speak to her.
When I’m not studying or waiting, I focus on reading inspirational novels, self-help books, and things of that sort that interest me and spark my emotions to be positive.
However, I cannot help but read about The Commons.
The more I read, the more skeptical I become.
The more skeptical I become, the more questions I ask Levon.
She says The Commons is off topic and I try to respect that, but my lips, like my hands, often betray me.
The more questions I ask Levon, the more she pulls away from me, more and more lately with every phone conversation.
“So, I’m sorry I keep asking questions. It’s because I’m worried about you—”
“Has that ever been your job?” Levon interrupts, turning on her phone’s camera.
“No, but—”
“Whose job is that?”
“Yours, but—”
“No buts!”
“Just because you’re my older sister doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you.”
“Focus on winning competitions and get into a good school, and avoid listening to your rich friends ramble about their Commons applications.”
“Got it. Trust me, I have no interest in The Commons, except to maybe visit you. Or know what it’s like for you.”
“You know we can’t have visitors. And it’s not worth knowing. It’ll just drag you down to the deadly world of Commonda.”
“Commonda is deadly?” I ask, confused.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Yes, you did!”
“I didn’t. Shantavia, I have to go.”
“But why? We haven’t even talked for that long.”
“I’m sorry. My phone call privileges are up for today. Win math and science nationals and don’t worry about me.”
I hear a door slam. Levon’s eyes widen. My camera screen turns to black.
“Levon, are you okay?”
Silence.
“Levon! Levon!”
Her phone goes dead.
I take deep breaths to stop the ocean of fear flooding my brain. My heart pounds. Who came into the room that made my audacious sister so afraid? Why did she say the island was deadly?
I have read all the books I can find about The Commons.
The Commons is supposed to be the prize, the reward, the promised land. Not the reverse.
And certainly, not deadly!
I quickly wipe my tears away upon hearing footsteps from outside.
I stash the picture and return to my bed.
Closing my eyes, I cover myself under the canopy of my ocean blue blanket.
I try to feign sleep as Beatrice steps into the room, watching us like a hawk.
It is one minute before bedtime, and she is already here to make sure everyone is asleep.
I tighten my fists and hold my breath to avoid being noticed by her.
In the back of my mind, I recite the first seven rules of The Commons and review my plan to get around them.
But I am deeply terrified of class tomorrow.
From what happened at The Selection, which I’m still not sure of what really happened but, I hope I don’t see a single Patron, or I know they will make me suffer.