18. Sever
SEVER
Kodiak
IDON’T GO to school the next day. My session with Queenie was exhausting, and I had a hard time sleeping.
I don’t get up until late, and still feel tired.
I want to know how Lavender is doing and make sure she’s okay.
My parents have confiscated my phone, so I have no way of getting in touch with her without going to her house.
Maverick is my best friend, so I’m there a lot, but I worry that’s going to change.
And I’m right to worry.
I come downstairs and find my parents and Lavender’s parents sitting around the kitchen island. Their whispered conversation stops as soon as my mom addresses me. “Morning, sweetie, did you sleep okay?”
I shrug. I had bad dreams where I kept finding pieces of Lavender’s dress and her broken glasses in front of a door I couldn’t open. Every time I tried to call her name, all that came out was a whisper. It feels like I haven’t slept at all.
My mom pushes out of her chair and comes around the island so she can pull me into a hug.
Usually I’d be embarrassed because we have company, but this morning I need it.
I don’t like it when my parents are upset with me, and last night they were.
I’m already taller than my mom, so I have to hunch.
When she lets me go, her eyes are bright and shiny, as if she’s trying not to cry.
“What’s going on?”
She brushes my hair away from my forehead. “We all need to have a talk.”
“We did that last night, though.” My stomach feels off.
“I know, but we thought it would be best if we were all present, and Queenie will be here too.”
I glance over where everyone is sitting. They look tired and sad. “What about Lavender?”
“Queenie’s going to bring her. You should get dressed, because they’ll be here soon. I’ll make you some toast, okay?”
“Okay.” I nod numbly and go back upstairs to change. Everything feels wrong.
Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting at the table with a glass of orange juice and buttered toast I don’t think I can eat with how nervous I am—especially since Lavender is seated across the table from me, her parents situated to the right of her, just like mine.
There are dark circles under her eyes, making the blue even more vibrant. She clasps her hands on the table, and her teeth run along the scar on her bottom lip, over and over again. Her lips are red and raw.
Queenie sits at the head of the table, with us on either side. Her eyes are soft and full of compassion, but today she also looks nervous and slightly uncomfortable.
“Do you know why we’re all here?” she asks.
“Because of me,” Lavender says quietly.
Her mom puts her hand over Lavender’s but doesn’t squeeze.
“This isn’t just about you, Lavender. If it were, only you would be here,” Queenie explains. “What happened yesterday made us very aware of how out-of-hand this situation has gotten. We cannot rely on another human being to make our anxiety better.”
“But it’s only when it’s really bad,” I argue. “And I make it stop.”
“Lavender’s panic attacks have increased in frequency and severity over the past several months,” Queenie says.
“That’s because Courtney is bullying her. And middle school is different. It was hard for me too, when I started,” I counter.
“I agree that middle school is different, and Lavender’s told me about the bullying, which we’re going to deal with. But it’s more than that, Kody. You’re hiding things, and that’s not good for either of you.”
“I’m not hiding anything!” But it’s hard to swallow, because that’s a lie.
Queenie nods to Lavender’s dad, who produces a thick folder. Inside is a stack of white paper. He flips it open and fans the sheets out. His gaze meets mine; he doesn’t look angry, but he doesn’t look happy either. “These are the text messages between you and Lavender for the past two weeks.”
I look at Lavender. Her chin quivers, and I can see the apology in her eyes. She didn’t remember to erase the messages, or maybe her parents kept all the message receipts. I disabled mine, but didn’t think to do the same for Lavender.
Tears stream down her cheeks, and her shoulders shake as she curls in on herself. Her mom takes her hand, probably so she doesn’t hurt herself again, although her nails have been cut.
“I know you care about Lavender, Kody, and you would never do anything to hurt her, but this”—her dad has to clear his throat—“talking almost twenty-four-seven without anyone knowing. It isn’t good for either of you.”
My anxiety spikes as I think about all the messages we’ve sent, the things we talk about, the times where some girl has said something mean to her, and I’ve told Lavender the girl is jealous because Lavender is prettier.
Her dad has read them all. He knows sometimes we message late at night when she’s having trouble sleeping, and that our messages are constant, starting first thing in the morning and continuing all day.
We’re each other’s lifelines. Why don’t they understand that?
“She’s my friend,” I say. “I just want to help.”
My mom squeezes my hand. “We know, honey.”
“I think it would be good to establish some boundaries,” Queenie says gently.
Lavender’s expression reflects the panic I feel.
“Boundaries?” she whispers.
“You two need some space from each other,” my mom says.
Queenie looks at my mom, lips pursed, and I can tell she’s doing that thing where she’s really thinking about what she wants to say.
“This dependency is becoming unhealthy. It’s not good that you’re hiding things from your parents.
” Queenie takes Lavender’s free hand. “You were doing so well, Lavender. I know middle school is different, but we can’t go backwards in life; we can only keep moving forward, or what happens? ”
“We get stuck in bad patterns.” Lavender’s gaze shifts briefly to me and then away again. Two tears drop onto the tabletop. “I can do better. I’ll do better. I’ll work on my strategies. Just please . . .” Her voice breaks.
“I know you can, and it will be easier to do if we set some boundaries for the two of you. We’ll try—” Queenie says.
“I really think it would be best if they had some time apart,” Lavender’s dad interrupts. “Kody will be in high school next year. Lavender, he’s not going to be there to help you.”
“But he can still be my friend, even if we’re not in the same school.” Lavender’s eyes are wide, darting from her dad, to me, to Queenie.
“Of course he can, but you can’t only rely on Kody to get you through the panic. You have to rely on you,” Queenie says.
Even though I don’t want to see it, acknowledge it, believe it, Lavender’s dad is right.
I won’t be there next year. And then what? How will she manage without me? I’ve been damaging Lavender without even realizing it. Setting her back instead of helping her move forward.
My stomach turns at the thought.
But Lavender was so helpless yesterday.
“You need to be able to cope without a human crutch,” Queenie explains.
Lavender goes into a full meltdown.
All I can do is watch it happen, knowing how much worse I’ve made things for her.
I want to save her from her demons, and me from mine. But they always catch up. No matter how hard we try to outrun them.
Something dark settles in my gut. Anger I’ve never felt before bubbles up and mixes with despair, because I finally realize what everyone else seemed to know already: Lavender is better off without me.