Lost for Words (12 page)

“Maybe ten seconds.” The other was Abigail.

“Okay, you take the toilet on the right. I’ll race you.”

I had no idea what they were talking about. Then I heard them go into the stalls, and they both started retching. THROWING UP. It was revolting.

I stayed really quiet.

After a while they stopped and came out of the stalls. The bathroom stank of sick.

Abigail said, “I feel better. I can’t believe I ate all that.”

Megan said, “I had so many chips. All gone now.” There was a pause. She said, “You look great. You know Zara can do it in five seconds.”

There was the sound of taps running, and then the water was turned off.

Then they walked out of the bathroom together, their voices cut off as the door clicked shut behind them.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 3
^RD

How could I not have noticed what’s been going on with Abi?

FRIDAY, MAY 5
^TH

All I’ve thought about all week is Abi. I didn’t even realize my best friend was making herself so sick. How could I be so blind? God, everything’s so messed up. I’m so messed up.

I think I’m permanently panicking. Abi and I hardly speak right now, so I can’t ask her about her problems. Not that I’d know where to start. But I feel sorry for her. Then I feel sorry for me. I don’t know what to do.

MONDAY, MAY 8
^TH

I had to see Lynda today. I sat down and felt the usual tension. She said, “I could refer you to another therapist if
you think you might like it. She’s very good. I wonder if you might want to talk to her.”

I said, “You’re quitting on me?”

“No, you can keep coming to see me if you want. You’re always welcome here. I’m just not sure I’ve been able to give you the help I think you need.”

I went quiet and thought about what she was saying. I thought about how messed up I am.

She said, “Let’s take it one step at a time. It’s up to you. What do you think would be best?” She smiled her pleading puppy-dog smile. The one that makes me so cross with her. I realized suddenly it wasn’t her fault.

I said, “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to talk to you. I don’t know why.”

“It’s okay. What would you like to do?”

“I’d like to see the other therapist. It’s nothing personal. I think I need to start over. With someone else.”

She nodded.

I said, “The writing has been helpful, though. Thank you for giving me the notebook.”

She smiled, and there was nothing else to say.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 10
^TH

I have so much homework, I haven’t had time to write anything. Abi still looks awful. Dan hasn’t called. I’m avoiding Mum. And I’ve got so much homework to do and
exams to study for. I’m having trouble sleeping. Not that I wasn’t already.

SATURDAY, MAY 13
^TH

I woke in the early morning because it’s Emily’s birthday today. She’d be twenty. I lay in the dark thinking about her. I tried to picture what she’d look like now, but I couldn’t. In my imagination she looked just the same as the last morning I saw her.

I wonder if one day she’d have been a great artist. Or teacher. Or social worker. I can imagine her in a job where she helped other people. I wonder if in the future she’d have married and had kids.

A slow anger burned through me. She’d never have children now. I’ll never be an aunt. God, I want to see my sister on her birthday.

SUNDAY, MAY 14
^TH

I worked on that poem again. I thought of a last verse.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 17
^TH

God, I wish I could go back to the night I was sitting with Emily on the roof. I wish I could hold time still at that moment and never move forward. I wish I could be there forever.

THURSDAY, MAY 18
^TH

I got home from school, and I pushed my bedroom door shut behind me. I hadn’t time to catch my breath before I was on my knees crying. And then I saw Emily. I could see her lying there on the floor in front of me, struggling for breath. Why did this happen? What sort of a world is it where someone could do something like this? Why my
sister? What did she ever do to anyone? Why did she die and not me?

Then, instead of lying there in the tunnel, Emily was standing in front of me wearing jeans and a gold dress cut off at the thighs.

“That’s my dress,” I said.

She shook her head.

“You can have it,” I said.

And I knew she wasn’t there. I know she’s not here. But for a moment I felt better. My sister.

FRIDAY, MAY 19
^TH

I had to get out of the house this evening, so I called Rosa-Leigh and we arranged that I’d go over. Her dad said he’d give us a ride to Camden so we could go to the spoken-word thing—I don’t think he realizes it’s in a bar.

“Where’ve you been?” she said when I eventually arrived.

“The bus took forever.”

“I don’t mean that.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been walking around school in a fog for ages. Since Easter.”

“I was just—” I paused. “I was just thinking.”

Her dad drove us there, making jokes on the way. Rosa-Leigh looked at me a couple of times, and as soon as we got out of the car, she grabbed me and said, “What’s going on? You’re not telling me something.”

There was so much I wasn’t telling everyone. I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I kissed Dan.”

“Oh my God,” she said. “And are you okay?” She was talking fast and pushing me into the room, and I sat on one of the sofas and took a deep breath.

She brought me a drink and said, “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her face was open, surprised. “He’s the worst, Sophie.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sorry to tell you this, but Kalila heard from Zara that he and Megan are, you know, sleeping together.”

“Dan slept with
Megan
?” I put my hand over my mouth, and my stomach twisted with jealousy. “No.” But suddenly it made sense. He’d had no qualms about kissing Abi’s old best friend, me, so why would he have any trouble sleeping with her new one, Megan? I wondered if it was Megan who’d called when he’d been kissing me in the street. And then I thought of the look Megan had given Zara in the lunch queue. It
was
her! He’d gone to see
her
that night
when he’d left me. It was true. God, I’d been so wrapped up in everything else, I hadn’t realized what sort of a guy he really is.

“What?” Rosa-Leigh said. “You didn’t like him?”

I said, “I did. I really liked him. I’m an idiot.”

“
He’s
an idiot. God, that’s why you’ve been hiding away? Because of some guy?”

“Does Abigail know about Megan?”

“I don’t think she does.” She took a big sip of her drink. “Tell me everything.”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“When was it?”

I leaned back into the sofa and took a deep breath. “It was stupid. It was nothing.”

There was a silence, and then Rosa-Leigh said, “It was at her party, right?”

“Kind of. Yes.”

“I knew it.”

“And then I ran into him on my way home from school. Oh God. I kissed him again.”

“No!”

I smiled at her. “Dumb. Really dumb.” I thought of Dan kissing me. I thought of how his hands touched me. I said, “Is Abigail okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“Abigail has a lot to deal with right now without having to worry about him. And what you asked before: is it
because of him I’ve been spaced out. The answer’s no. It’s not him. It’s me thinking about what happened to me last summer. I’ve been thinking about my sister a lot.”

Rosa-Leigh nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. That’s what was nice about Dan. It was easy to forget.”

Rosa-Leigh gave me a brief nod and kindly changed the subject. “Kalila’s coming to meet us here. She’s the coolest person.” Rosa-Leigh smiled. “Except for maybe you.”

And then Kalila arrived. She was wearing her head scarf, as usual, and she looked good. It’s funny: I’ve never really talked to her, and since last summer, I feel really uncomfortable. I don’t blame her—that would be stupid. I blame the people who did it, those hateful men. But I worry she might think I’m blaming her because she’s a Muslim—even though that’s ridiculous. I know other people have given her a hard time, especially last term, especially stupid Megan. But I’ve just avoided her.

She sat and said, “Hi.”

I had that feeling again, the one I always get when I’m with her, like I don’t know what to say. I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable, either. I said, “Hi” back and then didn’t have any other words. I was thinking about the tunnel, about the shattering of glass, and my mouth went dry. I started to feel sick.

She said, “Are you okay?”

I shrugged and took a couple of deep breaths. “I don’t
know. No, yes, I’m fine,” I replied. “I’m sorry, Kalila. I just get, um…” I looked to Rosa-Leigh for help.

Rosa-Leigh said, “She just gets freaked out sometimes.”

Kalila nodded. And then she just tackled it straight on. She came out and said, “It must have been hard for you. My mum’s coworker was there that day.”

“Really?” I said. “Is she okay?”

Kalila shrugged. “Kind of. She nearly wasn’t. The whole thing makes me sick,” she said. “So violent, so stupid, so terrible. It must have been so terrible.” She put a hand out and gently touched mine. “It doesn’t compare, but it’s been horrible for us.” She lifted both hands toward herself. “One guy came up to me in the street and spat at me. He called me a terrorist.”

“God, that’s awful,” I said, looking into her gentle dark eyes.

“I understand people being angry, but they should be angry with the right people—with the terrorists, not people like me. I just wish they wouldn’t be so narrow-minded.”

I nodded. “It’s so messed up.”

Rosa-Leigh said, “I don’t mean to get you guys on to more cheerful things—Well, I do, actually. I thought that you”—she looked at me—“might like to read tonight.”

“Read where?”

“Up there. I thought you’d like to read one of your poems.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so,” I said louder than I meant to.

Rosa-Leigh did a dramatic sigh and said, “Worth a try.”

Then Kalila asked me about the poems I’ve written, and I got a bit shy. She told us how she loves to sing. One of the performance poets started.

I had this feeling in my chest like I wished I’d put my name down to read.

I’m at Rosa-Leigh’s house. I called Mum and told her I’m spending the night, and Saturday night, too, if she didn’t mind. She sighed and said, “Sure.”

SUNDAY, MAY 21
^ST

When I got home, this MAN came out of the kitchen. I practically had a heart attack, and I was about to start screaming about intruders and stuff when Mum called loudly, “What do you want to eat?” And I could tell by the tone of her voice she wasn’t talking to me.

He was a slender man, bald, glasses, round face. I recognized him but I didn’t know where from. He reached out his hand and he said his name was Robin.

I shook his hand, which totally enveloped mine.

He said, “I’m so glad to see you. We’ve met before.”

“No, we haven’t,” I said. I dropped his hand quick,
like it was suddenly hot.

“You were tiny at the time. You wouldn’t remember.”

Mum came out of the kitchen and jumped at the sight of me. Her face put itself back on, and she tried to smile like everything was completely normal. She said, “Robin and I have been friends for years.” She looked up at him.

“What’s he doing here?” I said.

“This is my friend, Sophie.”

I wanted to say,
And he stayed over last night?

As if she’d read my mind, she said, “He came over for an early lunch.”

I didn’t reply, instead turning to go upstairs.

“Come back,” Mum called after me. “Join us for lunch, please?”

I ignored her and went to my room. I lay on my bed. I sort of expected something to happen but nothing did.

In the end I went downstairs. They both quieted when I sat down with them. I could see Mum was about to say something, but then Robin gave her this
hold-off
look. Mum sighed and put pasta on my plate. They chatted about some professor they’d known at university—they went to university together, apparently. The conversation felt like it was better off without me in it, so I stayed silent and toyed with my spaghetti. I noticed a yellow spill of olive oil on the table. Since when did Mum start cooking again? I suddenly realized she’d been cooking for me for a while—I
just hadn’t been eating with her.

Then Mum said, “Robin has been looking forward to meeting you,” and added randomly, “He’s traveled all over the world.”

Robin said, “It’s true.”

“Why don’t you ask him about it?” Mum said.

Robin said, “Don’t push her.”

“She can do what she wants,” I said.

“Sophie, please.”

“What? What do you expect? You’re acting like everything should be FINE.”

Mum’s face went red and splotchy all along the sides. She held on to the table, her knuckles white.

“I’m not hungry,” I said, and got up.

She said, “Please, Sophie.”

I looked at Mum. “What do you want me to say?”

“Please,” she said in a whisper.

I could feel Robin staring at me. I knew he just wanted me to sit down, and I hated him for that. And I hated myself for being such a bitch, but I couldn’t calm down. I didn’t know what to say, so I said, “I’m finished with lunch. I’m going to my room.”

Mum yelled after me to come back and talk. I heard Robin saying, “Leave her. Give her time.”

“She hates me,” said Mum.

I wanted to kill them both.

I slept all afternoon. When I woke up, Robin was gone. I wished then that he hadn’t left, because somehow he got in the way of Mum and me. Without him we’re back to where we’ve always been.

I want to tell Mum that I’m sorry. I want to make it better. But she’s so nervous around me now, and angry, that I don’t know how to handle it.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 24
^TH

School: awful. Home: worse. Rosa-Leigh called and asked if I wanted to go over tomorrow just for supper. I’ll definitely go. Mum is treating me like I’m made of glass and if she drops me I’ll break into little bits. I just want her to come and talk to me and make everything okay. But every time she’s tried recently, I’ve yelled at her and shut her out. Perhaps I’ve ruined everything forever, especially after how I acted during the weekend.

THURSDAY, MAY 25
^TH

Supper at Rosa-Leigh’s was great. It’s so much easier there than here with Mum.

FRIDAY, MAY 26
^TH

I wonder if Emily hadn’t died in the bombing whether
she’d have died soon after anyway. Like in that film I can’t remember the name of where they’re meant to die in a roller-coaster accident but don’t. Afterward, death stalks them all until they’re killed in horrible ways.

I imagine a big room with lots of pens writing out the dates we’re due to die. Fate. Written in the stars. When our date comes, it’s all over.

I wonder if there’s anything afterward, like God or Allah. Or is there nothing? Is Emily really nothing now? When I remember her, she’s so much more than nothing.

Mum came in just now. She said to me, “I love you, Sophie. Don’t ever forget that.”

I pretended to be asleep. She turned out the light.

MONDAY, MAY 29
^TH

Abigail looks really sick. She’s so thin. It’s so obvious that she’s throwing up her food, I can’t believe I didn’t notice before. I can’t believe I haven’t done anything since that day I found out. I know I should do something, but I feel like we’re on two sides of a huge river, and the river is so big that I can’t swim across to her even if I want to. Half-term starts tomorrow for the rest of the week; I’ll use the breather from homework and tests to try and think of what I can do to help her.

FRIDAY, JUNE 2
^ND

I went to an appointment with a new therapist, the one Lynda organized for me. She is tall and thin and black and looks nothing like Lynda. Her name is (Professor) Koreen Sinclair. She reached out a hand to shake and said, “Hello. Make yourself comfortable.”

She isn’t annoying or patronizing, or a puppy dog like Lynda. She’s firm and clear. I liked her straightaway.

She said, “So, why don’t you start by telling me what’s brought you here?”

It’s so embarrassing, but I just burst into tears. I cried as if an upsurge of water had burst from a pipe deep inside me. Then, after she’d handed me a tissue, I started talking. And I’d only said a couple of things when I started to feel that terrible pounding of my heart. “Oh God, I’m sorry,” I said. Nausea flooded through me, and I was struggling to breathe. “I feel like…there’s no air…”

She looked at me as if I was totally normal. She said, “Do you know what a panic attack is?”

I shook my head. I tried to speak. It took a moment for the words to come out. “I looked on the internet, and I wondered if that’s what is happening to me. But it seems like the sort of thing that happens to, I don’t know, weak people.”

She shook her head. “Take a deep breath. Are you okay?”

For the first time in a long time I was honest. “No, I’m not.”

“Panic attacks aren’t a sign of weakness. A panic attack is a normal physical response that happens at the wrong time. Do you understand?”

“Not really.”

“Think of it as a huge adrenaline rush. If you were having that adrenaline rush at the right time, it wouldn’t feel remotely strange.” Her voice was so calm it was like warm milk.

“Like when?”

“If a little boy stepped out in front of a car and you had to rescue him, for example. Your heart would speed up, sounds would be louder, colors brighter, your digestive system would go on hold so more energy could be diverted into saving him.”

“But I’ve never had to save anyone from stepping in front of a car.”

“And that’s why it feels so awful. When you panic, you’re having that response—a right response—at the wrong time. We’ll talk about this again. It’ll take a while.”

I nodded. Stayed quiet. Caught my breath. Felt my heartbeat return to normal. She smiled. Asked me to come back next week.

When I came out of her cozy room, I felt a little different. Clearer.