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Avery and me walked up the path to the porch with our arms interlocked.
I took a deep breath and finally asked the one question that had been on my mind since the previous Friday. "Will you come with me to my session this week?"
Instead of immediately rejecting me, Avery shrugged.
"Is that a yes or no?"
"It's an 'I'll consider it. And beat you to the front door.'" We pounded up the front steps and burst into the living room at the same time.
Avery walked over to the stereo set inside the living room and pushed a button. A second later, the chorus of one of my favorite Analog Controller songs flowed through the quiet air. It was one of their only ballads called, Untitled. Jake said he wrote it about his moms' depression. And he didn't neglect to name it, he just figured, if someone was depressed, would they care what the title was?
Don't ask why. Don't try. Not you.
Forget you're alive and I'll forget it too.
Forget you saw-this mask, this lie.
You can do without. Don't cry.
I am a moment. A tick. A flea.
The second I'm gone, you'll forget about me.
The kitchen was small and white, bright with afternoon light as she led me in to dig for snacks. I was singing way too loud and Avery joined in, granting me a smile. There was something in the way she looked then. I don't know if it was the music or the words, but Avery's dark green eyes grew brighter for a moment as she stepped in to give me a rare embrace. There was a light in Avery that was not evident very often. But when she drew the shades back and let you see inside, no one shone like her. Jake was different-he was sunshine and life. But Avery gave her embraces with a look. Hugs by osmosis. So this physical act caught me by surprise.
"How are you, really?" Her forearm dug into my back a little. "Good?" Avery questioned and pulled back to look me in the eye. As I thought over her question, she nibbled at a few grapes in the fruit bowl set out on the kitchen sidebar.
Suddenly, she spun to face me. "Hey, can I borrow your portable CD player? I found some discs I want to listen to."
I saw the hope in her eyes and didn't have the heart to refuse her.
Avery waited a moment, then guessed. "You lost it, didn't you?" Her mouth was plump with grapes she'd pressed into her cheeks.
I nodded.
"Where did you have it last?"
Avery had this quality, an ability that made me feel comfortable telling her almost anything. She wasn't much older, but was definitely more mature than me, and easily the most beautiful girl at our school. And she was the one who bought me the portable CD player. A surprise present, for no reason other than she was thinking of me when she found it at the second hand store.
I wanted to loan it to her. Knowing I couldn't because of my own stupidity brought sudden tears to my eyes and a ball to my stomach.
"I don't know. I've been really bad this week. My headaches . . . I'm stressing out." I bit my lip, determined to keep Jakes haunting words, but let everything else go. "School's suckier than ever. I feel like I can't do anything right. I barely got my Literature essay in on time. Report cards are going out soon and the Foster will talk to my counselor if my grades slip. She doesn't miss anything."
Avery raised a pointed finger at me. "No tears." Her words were commanding as she cupped my chin, pressing warmth into me with her soft gaze. It spread quickly, calming me. "You know what happens when you freak out. Do you want another trip to the hospital?"
"No." I have passionately hated hospitals my entire life. Nothing good ever comes out of them.
"Those troubles are mine now, okay? You give them to me. Let me do your worrying."
A surprising grin burst through my tears. "Okay." She was so bossy. I loved it.
"I mean it. You give them all to me." She held up one finger. "I know-I'll make a list. Then, I can go right on down, taking my time, carefully worrying over each item."
Smirking, Avery produced a pen and sheet of paper, led us to the small kitchen table, barely big enough for the three elegantly mismatched chairs, and sat down. "Now, you said your essay." She leaned over the paper and began writing. "And your CD player . . ." She kept up her scribbling. "The migraines. Now, tell me-what else?"
My head was fogged with a dull ache. I grasped it and let out those two terrible words, "Not yet," and what they represented. I told her about Jake. How I felt him withdrawing from me. And my insecurities over that stupid girl who he didn't even want in his band and what that meant. Did he not trust himself around her? Or was it only my reaction he worried about? Saying it all out loud made me feel even more pathetic. And I changed the subject, telling how I'd been tired, so tired, since my last migraine, and how I felt like maybe I was getting the flu. And the way I seemed to be forgetting more of the small things.
"It's hard to pay attention in class. More than usual."
