Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
The evening wears on. I hear the murmur of voices and the vibrations of steps in the house below me—my family going through the motions of nightly routines.
Or maybe there’s more tense conversation between the three of them.
I don’t know. For the past two hours, I’ve been lying on my bed staring at the swirling textures lining the ceiling.
Instead of my mind turning them into happy shapes like fluffy lambs or cotton candy, I see nothing.
There’s nothing there except bumps and ridges in the white plaster.
As the sun sets and the room grows darker, there’s eventually nothing at all.
The blackness settles over me like a cold, heavy blanket.
My heart pumps blood and my lungs expand with each breath.
Electrical pulses run through my nervous system making it all happen.
But my mind is blank. Maybe that's a mercy. What has thinking ever fixed?
Eventually, the thoughts start. The relief of nothing dissolves into barbs of little somethings. But I can’t stop it.
Braden. Just thinking of him sends a fresh pang of pain through my chest. I turn on my side and curl into myself.
My gaze reluctantly moves to my vision board, barely visible now in the low light.
The MIT logo that was hanging at an odd angle before has now completely fallen, lying on the desk like discarded garbage.
What an apt image. Braden tossed me away with the same casual cruelty gravity treated my dreams. At least the board can’t experience the burning happening within me now.
My eyes wander to other papers pinned there. The sparkle star stickers I’d been so pleased with reflect the ambient light from the window, but I don’t need to see well to know what’s there. I know it all by heart: swim captain, valedictorian, scholarships.
What’s the point of it all?
Dad’s leaving, Braden left, my hopes have all fallen off a cliff—straight into an abyss of mediocrity and failure. And worse. The comfort I used to have at home has been snatched away. My parents care and they love me—I KNOW that—but everything feels as stable as shifting sands.
How am I supposed to navigate the constant disappointments?
I used to talk to Jenna about everything, but now I just…
can’t. And I know it’s my fault because I feel like I’m holding so many secrets inside that I might explode, but what else am I supposed to do?
Why would I want to tell everyone that my boyfriend ghosted me, I’ve failed at everything, and my parents are getting divorced?
I might as well wear a shirt that has ‘FAILURE’ emblazoned in bright red letters. If I ever leave my room again.
Tim the Beaver gazes back at me, his eyes a cruel, glinty black. Where his gaze used to bring accountability and steadiness, it now feels full of judgment. Like he knew I’d fail.
How is it possible that I was laughing the day I’d won him at the fair? Laughing feels like something that’s done now. Avery James no longer laughs. She doesn’t smile. And she certainly doesn’t need a planner because her plans go nowhere.
Then I think of clear blue eyes.
Charming dimples.
Warm, steady hands.
A rescue mission, complete with guacamole and fried dough and a bet.
The thought propels me up with a small surge of energy. Among all the other things happening… I’d completely forgotten. I’m supposed to make him a shirt to wear with my name on it. Would he still want to wear it if he learns the truth about me?
But… he does know. He knows I need help with calculus. He knows about Braden. And he knows about Jenna. Despite it all, he’s been there. The cold that filled me earlier starts to dissipate.
My school tablet dings from its perch on my desk next to the discarded cookies I brought upstairs. The nausea churning in my stomach wouldn’t let me eat them.
31415: Hey, stranger. Long time no chat. Any plans this weekend?
Yes, I’ve locked myself in my room, and I’ve given up on all my hopes and dreams. Obviously, I’m not going to say that. Mr. Pi doesn’t need to be brought down into the depths with me. Our conversations have always been fun and frivolous. Like the cookies, the sound of that doesn’t appeal at all.
I look at my phone, hoping to see a text from Jake, but there’s nothing. Maybe Operation Cookies was too much for him to deal with. Can’t blame him if it was.
My fingers move on autopilot. Not because I feel like chatting. Maybe the electrical pulses are still making all the decisions. Doesn’t matter either way.
80085 [Me]: You offering to give me plans if I don’t have any?
31415: Sure.
That catches me off guard. I expected him to deflect or joke, not offer something real.
Do I want to meet in person? We go to the same school, which means the truth is one conversation away.
The thought should be exciting. Instead, it terrifies me.
What if the person behind the number is a stranger who wants nothing to do with the real me—the me who's curled up in the dark with a pile of uneaten cookies and a failed vision board?
Not for the first time, I wish 31415 was someone I already know. Someone safe. My mind drifts to Jake before I can stop it, and the warmth that follows feels dangerously close to the warmth I felt a few minutes ago.
He sends another message.
31415: But maybe you’re not ready for that yet, which is fine. Let’s just talk instead. Tell me something I don’t know about you.
80085 [Me]: Um… ok
My eyes flit around my room, looking for inspiration. It’s fully dark now, but the shapes are there. The vision board, a bookshelf, the dresser, my laundry basket—nothing inspires any ideas and deeper thought hasn’t come back online yet.
But there… the rectangular shadow taped to the side of the mirror. I know what it is—a picture of Jenna and me dressed up for Halloween two years ago, me as Elizabeth Bennet and her as Mr. Darcy. Our smiles light up the picture. It’s too dark to see but it’s there, in my memory.
80085 [Me]: I’m a horrible friend.
80085 [Me]: How’s that for a fun new fact?
31415: Not so sure that’s ‘fun’, but maybe it’s something you feel is true. I doubt it is.
31415: In fact, I’m biased. I like talking to you, and I’d like to think we are friends.
My heart flutters lightly at his words, like an electrical misfire. My fingers keep moving.
80085 [Me]: No, it is. It definitely is. Objectively true.
31415: Hmmm. I need evidence.
A finger taps against the edge of the tablet.
The demolition of my longest-running friendship has been thorough.
But… that’s not all. Long before Braden was my boyfriend, he was also my friend.
Maybe I took a hammer to my relationship with Braden too.
The pressure of schedules and check-ins and calls…
without stopping to consider if that’s something he also wanted.
Am I the common denominator in all of this?
The light of the Connection Services screen beckons me.
80085 [Me]: I told my best friend I’d come to her game and I didn’t. I hung out with someone else instead without even telling her.
80085 [Me]: I don’t answer her calls or texts and hide from her at school. I haven’t told her any of the things I’m struggling with, even though I know she’d support me any way she could.
My fingers fly over the screen as the confessions keep pouring out of me. I think about Analiese’s twisted, angry face the day she called me a selfish coward.
80085 [Me]: I hurt someone else who shared their vulnerability with me and let them think I was ashamed to know them.
80085 [Me]: I set such high expectations for other people, setting them up for failure just by knowing me.
80085 [Me]: I present a picture-perfect facade when my entire life is crumbling. I smile and laugh when I’m dying inside.
80085 [Me]: I use people for my benefit when I need help, but I’m too busy trying to meet my goals to return the favor.
80085 [Me]: I distract people from the truth instead of freely giving it.
A harsh breath releases, my heart pounding hard. I stare at my confessions laid bare as the seconds tick by without a response. Maybe I scared him off too.
Finally, the bubbles start bouncing.
Then stop.
Then start.
Panic starts to seize me. I just emotionally vomited on this anonymous person I don’t want to lose. But maybe this is what I deserve, and what he deserves too. I’m a toxic person, and he’d be better off without me.
31415: I’m going to try to say this without sounding like a motivational poster. I apologize in advance if I do anyway.
31415: But hear me out. I see it differently. Let me show you my evidence:
31415: I see someone who is self-aware and knows her failings, but she’s struggling to overcome them. She cares about the people she’s hurting but feels lost. She doesn’t want to keep hurting them.
31415: She tries hard to keep up the facade because she cares about doing well, and she doesn’t want to burden others with her struggles. She wants to make other people’s lives easier, but she doesn’t realize her friends and family would love the chance to support her. I know I would.
I squint at the screen. A strange tickle of awareness niggles my brain, almost like a feeling of déjà vu. There’s just something about him.
80085 [Me]: I guess it’s easy to flip things around and spin them to sound better. It doesn’t make them true.
31415: Doesn’t make them untrue either. I have an idea, if you’re up for it.
What do I have to lose? My life is even more of a dumpster fire now than it was when I drew that horrific doodle.
80085 [Me]: Sure, though I reserve the right to change my mind depending on your suggestions.
31415: Think about which of these relationship issues bother you the most, then let’s come up with a plan to fix it. Right here, right now.
More honesty. More ripping open the wounds I’ve been carefully bandaging all semester.
Every instinct screams to stop. To close the app.
Enter the darkness. Accept what happened.
But those instincts are the ones that got me here—alone, draped in failure, with the shadows mocking me.
So maybe it's time to stop listening to them.
80085 [Me]: Ok.
80085 [Me]: The one with my life-long best friend, though that’s probably the one that’s hardest to fix.
31415: Why do you think that? If you’ve been friends for so long, shouldn’t the friendship be strong enough to hold you two together?
80085 [Me]: Because then I’ll have to tell her all the other things I’ve been hiding.
31415: And why is that bad? I’m sure she’d accept anything you feel the need to hide if you’ve been friends for that long.
80085 [Me]: Because then I have to admit I’m a failure.
31415: And why is that a problem?
My jaw drops. Why is being a failure a problem?! Who is this joker? Did Connection Services pair me with some delinquent dropout?
80085 [Me]: Umm… why would anyone want to be known as a failure?? Do you not have goals and ambitions? Do you not want to be the best you can be?
31415: Sure, but if I fail that’s ok. Maybe it means it wasn’t the correct path for me.
So basically, this guy is a quitter. That’s what I’m getting from this conversation.
80085 [Me]: If you don’t achieve your goals, what’s the point in having any?
80085 [Me]: And anyway, not everything I’m hiding has to do with failing to meet goals. Some of it is personal.
31415: Maybe you should be a little more flexible with your goals. But let’s set that aside for now. Let’s get you back in touch with your friend.
31415: Why don’t you text her and invite her over, then have some homemade cookies ready to cut the tension.
Tell her you’re sorry, that you know you’ve pulled back, then share as much of your struggles with her as you feel you can.
It might not fix everything right away, but if she loves you as much as you love her, she will be open to that.
What is with everyone’s obsession with cookies?
Is it possible Jake is Mr. Pi…? But no, that doesn’t make sense, does it?
This guy seems way more mature than Jake.
Jake is all about laughing and having a good time.
Plus, it doesn’t seem like Jake would spend so much time texting me like this through Connection Services, even if he has invested a lot more time with me this year in general.
No, this guy has to be a theater nerd or something—he seems to have too much emotional intelligence to be Jake.
80085 [Me]: It’s worth a shot I guess.
31415: Text her now. Then tell me when it’s done.
Wow, bossy, but fine. I pull out my phone and shoot Jenna a text, asking her if she has time to come over sometime this weekend. Within seconds she replies, promising to come over mid-morning tomorrow.
My fingers hover over my texts for a few seconds, the drive to do something kicking in.
Something small, just a little experiment to set my mind at ease.
I’ve had my fill of secrets and revelations today, and I can’t bear the thought of something else hitting me out of the blue.
I navigate to Jake’s thread, noticing I still haven’t saved his contact, but that’s not important now.
Me: Hey, thanks again for this afternoon. Where are you right now?
I bite my lip as I wait, wondering how quickly he’ll respond. Connection Services only works on our school tablets, so unless he’s at home he’s unlikely to have his tablet with him. That’s my working theory on this ‘test,’ at least.
Unknown number: Hanging out with some buddies. Why? Wanna join?
Me: At your house?
Unknown number: No, Tommy’s.
I laugh lightly at myself, despite the unexpected swoop of disappointment I feel in my stomach. Why did I want them to be the same person? It doesn’t matter.
After picking up my tablet again, I shoot off a confirmation to Mr. Pi.
I flop back on my bed and stare into the darkness. My goals may have fallen apart, but tomorrow… I’ll fix one thing. Starting with Jenna.