14. Maya
14
MAYA
“ H ey, Maya! Let’s see that rack!”
It’s getting easier to ignore the assholes who insist on making me miserable. Do not react. They don’t exist. Their stupid, cruel laughter bounces off me like a tennis ball—only a tennis ball might hit them in the face, like they deserve.
I guess I can’t have everything. It’s enough to hear the group of guys hanging out on the other side of the parking lot groaning and muttering disgustedly because I won’t react. That’s the only way to deal with a bully, after all. They need oxygen to live. I refuse to give them oxygen.
All the strength drains out of me, though, when I reach my car and find an envelope tucked under the windshield wiper. My stomach drops to somewhere around my feet, stopping me dead in my tracks as dread fills my veins, pumped rapidly by my racing heart. What fresh hell is this?
Glancing to the right and left, making sure the coast is clear, I reach out and slide the envelope from under the wiper. I hate this. Being afraid to do something as simple as pick up an envelope for fear of what somebody might have left. My name is written across the front, but the handwriting doesn’t look familiar. Again, I look around in case somebody is watching, waiting for me to make a fool out of myself before taking it by the corner and opening the flap delicately. It doesn’t feel any heavier than a normal card.
The only thing on the front is a picture of a birthday cake with lit candles. It was originally blank inside—I slowly open it, dreading what I’ll find, but all I see is a bunch of handwritten words.
Dear Maya,
I fought with myself over whether I should give you this, but finally figured there’s nothing wrong with wishing somebody a happy birthday, even if they don’t want to be your friend.
I still wish I understood what happened, and I still care about you very much. I want you to know I’m always here for you whenever you need me. Anytime.
I hope you had a good day, and I hope I can talk to you soon. I love you.
Wren
It’s the last thing I expected to see, and the one thing I needed to find. A reminder there’s still somebody out there who cares about me, even if I’ve done everything I could to make her feel otherwise.
Now I feel like a total slug for being so distant. I have my reasons, yes, but it does nothing to ease the guilt swelling in my chest as I read Wren’s message again and again. She is the kindest, purest person I’ve ever known.
And I need her. I need a friend. Everything is spiraling out of control, and my world is crumbling around me. This card might be the first step in finding my way back to something like a real life. At the very least, I need to thank her. In person.
I’m in the car and on my way to Briggs’s house in no time. It only occurs to me once I’m a couple of blocks away from school to call Wren and actually find out if it’s okay to come over. “Hello?” she answers, sounding tentative. I hate that she sounds so unsure of why I’m calling. I must have really hurt her, which means she must have fought back a lot of nerves to leave me that card. She didn’t know how I would react.
“It’s me.” I don’t know what to say beyond that. There’s so much she deserves to hear, but I can’t find the words. “Can I come over? It’s okay if you say no.”
“Oh, my god! Yes! I’m home—Tia is at a friend’s house, but Briggs is picking her up later. We have the whole place to ourselves.”
“Say less,” I reply, and we share a soft laugh. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“I’ll be waiting.” My god. She sounds so happy. It’s humbling, in a way. So happy to hear my voice and know I’m coming to see her. Somebody actually thinks I’m worth that level of excitement. I will not squander this friendship. It’s the best, most precious thing in my life. All it took was a little time without her to realize how much I need her.
She’s outside the house when I arrive and doesn’t bother waiting for me to get out of the car before she runs over with her arms outstretched. “Hi!” she happily chirps before giving me a hug that heals something inside me. I take a moment to soak it in, hugging her back, breathing slowly. This is good. This is something I want to feel. I don’t want to rush through it or take it for granted ever again.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, almost crushed under the weight of the pressure in my chest.
“It’s okay. Come on in,” she urges, pulling away with tears sparkling on her cheeks. But she laughs, taking me by the hand and leading me inside. “Are you hungry? There’s tons of food.”
Now that she brings it up, I’m sort of starved. I was too confused and conflicted this morning to do more than stumble my way through getting ready for the day while avoiding thoughts of Tucker, like my life depended on it. Food was the last thing on my mind. By the time I got to school, the idea of going to the cafeteria, where people would only make fun of me, seemed like the worst idea imaginable.
In other words, I haven’t eaten anything. “I am hungry, thanks.” There’s something comforting about walking through a quiet, peaceful house after practically tiptoeing around to avoid Dad and his unpredictable attitude.
Not to mention the lack of ugly memories when we pass the stairs. I didn’t kill anybody here. I can relax a little.
“I really am sorry for acting the way I did,” I tell her again once we reach the kitchen, where she flings open the fridge so I can look inside. My stomach growls loudly at the sight of lunch meat and cheese, fruit and yogurt, pasta salad and smoothies. I grab a smoothie, along with an apple, before perching on one of the stools by the counter.
“That’s not nearly enough. You look like you’re losing weight, and you don’t have much to spare in the first place. Are you not eating?” She pulls out a package of turkey, along with a package of cheese and a bottle of mustard. “I’m making a sandwich. Do you want a sandwich?”
Now that she’s mentioned it… “Sure. Thank you.” The answer seems to make her happy—she smiles wide before pulling a loaf of bread from the counter and taking out four slices.
The fact she doesn’t grill me for answers makes my heart swell in a nice way this time. The pressure is pleasant.
She’s a good person. I shouldn’t have pushed her away. When I tell her that, she frowns a little but eventually shrugs. “I know you must’ve had your reasons. And I’m here to listen whenever you want to share them. Even if you don’t, that’s fine. Just, you know…” She glances my way. “Maybe don’t take it out on me next time.”
“I swear, I won’t.” But now that we are here together, just the two of us, a yearning starts to stir in my chest. It would be so nice not to carry this all by myself. I would never tell her about Mom—I can’t shake the feeling she would always look at me differently if I did. And she doesn’t need to know about my cutting, either. It’s bad enough Tucker knows about it.
Still, there’s a lot I’ve been keeping from her, but I don’t want to keep so many secrets anymore. All secrets do is make a person feel disconnected, and I’m tired of that now. I’m tired of so many things.
“Can I tell you something?” I ask as she slides the sandwich my way. Sinking my teeth into it is maybe the best thing I’ve done all day besides finding her card. It’s the simplest thing in the world, but she made it with love. It might as well be a gourmet meal.
She nods, murmuring her encouragement. “I really need to find a way to get out of my house and away from my dad,” I confess. “He’s trying to make me marry some business partner of his.”
“What?” Her mouth falls open so suddenly, turkey almost falls out before she catches herself. I’m so glad I told her, because her reaction tells me I’m not totally wrong for being repulsed by the idea.
“There’s so much about him I’ve never told you or anybody,” I continue. Now that I’ve started, it’s like I’ve opened a floodgate. Everything wants to come rushing out. I’m afraid I’ll overwhelm her, but I can’t help it. “He pretends to be loving. He doesn’t really care about me. Only what I can do for him. He took me to dinner last night for my birthday, but really, it was to introduce me to this guy. It’s gross. He’s Dad’s age. And when I told Dad I can’t marry him, obviously, it was like he didn’t hear me at all.”
With a sigh, I add, “It’s not the first time he’s done something like that, either.”
She looks sick, sliding the sandwich aside. “That is disgusting. I’m so sorry. And I’m so sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me this sooner—I, like, trauma dumped on you for so long.”
“I’m kind of practiced at holding things inside.”
“It must’ve been so gross and shocking when that man showed up.” She shivers, her nose wrinkling.
“The worst thing is, it’s not even all that shocking compared to what he’s done in the past.” It’s hard to swallow with this lump in my throat. A few sips of my smoothie help keep me from choking. “I found out when I turned sixteen that he was trying to sell my virginity at a sex club. He was talking about it over the phone, making arrangements. Then he announced he was taking me to the gynecologist. That was when I knew for sure.”
I can’t believe I blurted it out like that. The horror on her face—bulging eyes, wide open mouth, pale skin—sort of makes me regret telling her. She couldn’t possibly have guessed or prepared herself.
“I don’t know what to say,” she murmurs, shaking her head while her chin trembles like she’s about to cry. “What did you do? Did he go through with it?”
I love how she doesn’t ask a bunch of questions about how I can be sure or whether I misunderstood the situation. She trusts me enough to know I wouldn’t tell her unless it was true. “I lost my virginity on purpose, so he couldn’t go through with it.”
“Oh.” Her eyes bulge even wider. “Well, I guess that’s one way to do it. He must’ve been pretty pissed.”
“Extremely. But that’s not the whole story, either. God, there is so much I’ve been hiding for so long.” All she does is take another bite of her sandwich, waiting for me to continue. I feel safe. I have space. For once, nobody’s trying to force me into anything. “This guy. I knew he liked me. I mean, I sort of liked him, too, so it’s not like I had to make myself do something I didn’t want to. But…”
I’m ashamed of myself when I look back and remember how hopeful he looked when he tried to get me to go out with him after that night, when we had sex during the party. He was almost a different person then, sweet and sort of vulnerable. Not as hard or cruel as he is now. “He didn’t understand I had sex with him for a reason, and I didn’t know how to explain it. I sort of shut down afterward. I do that a lot,” I admit.
Looking down at my sandwich, I draw a deep breath and release it slowly. “It was Tucker.”
“I thought… I mean, after what happened at the party…” He searches my face while his face falls. Disappointment leaks into his eyes, darkening them, turning his mouth down at the corners. “I thought we could go out. Why is that so wrong?”
Because I only had sex with you to keep my dad from selling my virginity to a stranger. Yeah, I could totally get away with that. He would totally believe me.
“What happened, happened.” Why can’t he leave me alone? “It was nice, and it was fun, and I’m grateful to you for being so great about it. Some guys wouldn’t.” I might have been a virgin until just recently, but I’ve heard stories.
“So that’s it? You’re giving me the brush-off?” He leans in, almost pinning me against my locker. Now I wish I hadn’t stuck around to work on my art project after class. We’re alone in the hallway. I’m pretty sure he waited for me.
And it’s freaking me out a little, along with irking me. “Yes, if that’s how you want to look at it,” I tell him with a shrug.
“I can’t accept that.”
“You can’t?” I need to get out of this. There’s cold sweat trickling down the back of my neck and a knot in my stomach that keeps tightening. “Fine. Then how about this?”
It’s ugly, it’s cruel, but it’s the only way I can think to get rid of him after two weeks of being pestered and stalked and questioned. “I’ll tell everybody you raped me at the party.”
“That’s why he hates me now. Because I slept with him, and when he wouldn’t leave me alone after … I didn’t know what to do,” I mumble, staring at my plate. “He wouldn’t let it go, and it’s not like I could admit I needed to lose my virginity because otherwise my dad was going to sell it to some stranger. So I told him… this is so hard to admit, but I told him if he didn’t leave me alone, I would tell everybody he raped me.”
Closing my eyes, I brace myself to absorb her disgust. I can only hope she won’t regret reaching out to me and trying to be my friend after hearing what I did. “I regret it. I really do, but I felt cornered, and I was desperate to make him stop. So he hates me now.” But no more than I hate myself.
“Maya.” Her voice is heavy with sympathy and sadness. “I’m sure if you told him now, he would understand.”
So she thinks. She can afford to think that, since she doesn’t know exactly how complicated things are between us. “Well, that would be up to him. But now you know. I’m ashamed of myself, really.”
“I’m so glad you told me. Do you feel any better now that you did?”
“You don’t hate me?” I ask, holding my breath.
“Of course I don’t! My god!” She even laughs a little in disbelief, shaking her head. “You were desperate! You did the only thing you could think to do to keep your dad from hurting you. How can I hate you for that? But I still think you should explain it to him. It’s not my business, though,” she concludes, holding her hands up.
Her expression softens while I absorb all of this. “I’m here. I want you to feel like you can talk to me, because I know how it is when you’re holding secrets inside. They eat away at you, they rot you, and you don’t deserve that. No matter whether you think you do or not, you don’t. Okay?”
It’s almost bizarre. I feel lighter. Looser. Almost relaxed. I can breathe. There’s no pressure in my chest or in my head. It almost feels the way I usually feel after I’ve cut myself, only I haven’t. I don’t know how to process it.
As it turns out, Wren distracts me from it, anyway. “One thing is for sure: you need to get out of that house. You’re eighteen now.”
“Right, but Dad funds my entire life—which he couldn’t help reminding me.” I let out a bitter laugh. “He’ll cut me off. No school, no home, nothing. And I totally believe he will, too,” I add before she can insist no father would do that to his daughter. She should know better than that, anyway.
“Well, there’s another way. Come here, live here. There is so much room!” she explains when I wince. “And if your dad stops paying tuition… I don’t know, maybe you could talk to Tucker’s dad and work something out.”
“Right.” I smirk. “I’m sure Briggs would be super happy about that.”
“Don’t you know Briggs would do anything to make me happy? And I’m not trying to brag or anything. It’s how it is. If I tell him you need help, he’ll be glad to have you stay here. It’ll be fun.” She claps her hands a little. “Like one long sleepover. Oh, please,” she begs, like I’d be the one doing her a favor.
Could it be that easy? Does it have to be any more complicated? Maybe it’s time for me to start trusting. Maybe I need to start believing life can be better.
“Okay,” I agree, smiling when she claps again. A genuine smile, not the kind I have to consciously put on. “I’ll start getting my things together tonight while you talk to Briggs and make sure he’s cool with it.” I feel like I need to make a big deal out of that, because there’s nothing more awkward than showing up some place unexpected and uninvited.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” she urges, polishing off her sandwich. “You’ll have the biggest spare room. It’s all taken care of. Don’t worry about anything moving forward.”
Moving forward. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I almost believe it’s possible.