Chapter Twelve
Esha: will you come to the interest meeting for the animal rescue club? it’s this afternoon
Nova: do I have to rescue an animal
Nova: if so what kind and from where
Nova: also I’m probably not wearing the right shoes for that?
Esha: no actual rescuing required, I’m just scared no one else will show up
Nova: oh in that case sure
There’s a knock on my otherwise silent study-room door, quick and demanding. Maybe it’s Mrs. McCrary, the pink-haired librarian, telling me someone else wants the room. Lord knows I’ve had more than my fair share of time in it today.
I slide the creaking desk chair across the faded carpet, reaching one arm back to open the door without even looking.
My left hand keeps scrolling down on the school computer.
I’m trying to get ahead on research for Lowry’s midterm paper, and I have a whole sticky note filled with the titles of scholarly papers to read later.
I’m going to write something so good, so academic, so well thought-out, she’ll have to give me an A.
“Sorry,” I mutter, not turning around. “I’ll be out in just a minute …”
“What are you doing?” Esha asks. She spins my chair around to face her. My eyes have to refocus; all the blue light from that ancient computer makes the room fuzzy.
“I’m working,” I respond, making a futile attempt to turn my own chair back around. She’s so much stronger than me. All it takes is her foot stopping my momentum, and I’m stuck.
“Right, but it’s late. They’re closing.” She steps out of the way so I can see the almost completely dark library behind her.
“Oh!” I rub my eyes, blue and black splotches lingering once I open them again. “I didn’t even realize.”
Esha starts packing up for me, and while I appreciate the gesture, she’s doing it all wrong. She picks up my lucky pencil and throws it haphazardly into the biggest compartment in my bookbag, and that’s just anarchy.
“Alright, alright! I’ll go!” Shuffling my stuff around into the proper order, I see, out of the corner of my eye, Mrs. McCrary starting to flip the last lights off. I’ve never closed down the library before.
This is either a new high or a new low. Maybe a little of both.
I let the adhesive back of the sticky note grip my thumb as we walk out of the library into the dark. I wasn’t expecting to see the moon. My parents are going to kill me.
“Your mom called me,” Esha says, either reading my thoughts directly from the source or guessing by the horrified look on my face.
“Thank you,” I respond. It’s not the first time I’ve lost track of time studying somewhere, but this might be the latest I’ve ever stayed out on a school night. “And I’m sorry. Sorry that you felt you had to come and get me.” I rub my forehead with my non-sticky note hand.
“I didn’t feel, I did have to come and get you. You didn’t answer my texts! I was worried! I still don’t know what you were doing in there all night.”
“I was working on essay ideas for Lit! We have this midterm paper coming up … She hasn’t told us anything about it, and I don’t know if she ever will …
but I still have to write the damn thing, so I need a killer thesis!
I read the syllabus, that’s the only reason I even know about it.
It’s 50 percent of our final grade. So it has to be perfect. ”
Esha whistles, the sharp sound interrupting the rhythm of cicadas chirping.
We reach the campus parking lot, her giant Jeep and my tiny Honda the only two vehicles left. She’s parked under a lamppost, like a street-smart adult. I’m parked next to the dark woods, like the first person to die in a horror movie.
“Call your mom once you get in the car. She made me promise.” Esha squeezes my shoulder, then heads for her Jeep. I watch her push a button on the remote, and the headlights cut through the dark.
My sticky note outline slips from my finger, and I accidentally step on it on the way to my own car. Superb. That sticky note is my comprehensive plan to save myself from a shitty grade in what was supposed to be the world’s best class. I bend and retrieve it.
After I slide into the driver’s seat, I fumble for my phone. The screen lights up as I dial my mom.
“Where have you been?” Mom asks, instead of saying hello.
“The library,” I sigh.
“You’ve been in the library all night?” Mom asks. She sounds exasperated. Frustrated. I wonder if that’s the usual Nova-is-too-much exasperation, or if she’s even more exasperated than usual. “It’s almost eleven!”
I place my phone in the cup holder and put her on speaker, then throw the car in drive.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m really sorry. I just … I just …” My voice breaks at the end, and suddenly I’m crying at a red light.
“It’s okay, sweetie.” Mom’s voice has turned gentle. “I was just worried. I am worried. I know that you get lost in things sometimes, and you care about school and grades and the future so much. But you have to remember that you’re still human. And that there’s still a present.”
I hiccup, tears flowing freely now.
“You’re still a kid, Nova.” Her voice is a whisper.
Things are near silent for a while. The hum of what sounds like the TV is on in the background, and that and her slow breathing are the only noise besides the air conditioning in the car. As I continue, I hit every green light, and that feels like a small miracle.
“I’m almost home,” I say, swiping furiously at my eyes. “I’m pulling into the neighborhood now.”
“Okay,” she mumbles, and I realize she’s half asleep. Waiting up for me has exhausted her, and she has to work tomorrow. I feel a pang of guilt.
“I can open the door myself,” I say quietly. “Love you.”
Once I park my car, I stand in the driveway for a moment, just breathing in the crisp black air of an early fall night. I tuck the sticky note into the front pocket of my backpack, making it officially tomorrow’s problem.
Mom is waiting for me right inside the door in her slippers and floral print fuzzy bathrobe. Raven stands beside her feet, as if they’re both here to lecture me.
But Mom pulls me into a wordless hug, her chin resting on the top of my head. Her cold fingers stroke my hair.