Marcus looks closer at me, takes a step forward. “Hey, are you okay?” He is so gentle. And he’s paying attention to what I’m not saying as well as what I am.
“Please don’t ask me that,” I say, my voice a warble. “I can’t here.”
“Then where?” he asks. “Do you want to take off for a…” He puts his hand on my shoulder.
“I’m serious, Marcus.” I lower my voice. “No.”
No to talking. No to taking off for a bit. No to us. No to everyone talking, gossiping, judging. No to more dreams. No to kissing, hugs, fairs. Just no.
He backs off. He lets me go.
Mo isn’t here today, so as soon as school finishes, I text her.
SOS
I don’t even wait for her response before I start driving.
Twenty-Six
Mo’s sister Krissie is fourteen, four years younger than Monique, but she claims she’s been searching for an aesthetic that matches her soul for years.
When she opens the door dressed in black from head to toe, lips and fingernails included, I don’t quite think she’s found it. But I can see why she thinks she might have. It reminds me of the wailing widow I wanted to be when Jason first went into a coma.
“Krissie, hey!” I say, giving her a hug.
“Hey, Zadie!”
“Is Mo home? She wasn’t at school today.”
“She has a cold, but I’m sorry to tell you that she is in the basement, watching the new TV Granddad mounted. Jack and Archie were playing whatever they play and they cracked the screen, and because everyone in my family is a slave to the capitalist agenda of consumerism, they went and immediately purchased another. I don’t even believe in screens.”
“Iamsorry to hear that. Good for you for standing strong,” I say, right as Mo appears from the basement.
“Oh, hey, Zad! Are you here for dinner?” Mo asks, then blows her nose noisily into a tissue. Just seeing her face, I want to start crying. I don’t want it to be true. “Bad night for it. It’s the twins’ turn, and we’ll be lucky if we get peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches.”
“No,” I manage to get out. “Just wanted to talk.”
She must hear something in my voice, because she looks up. “Oh,” she says. “Let’s go outside.”
Outside, we sit on the porch chairs her grandparents love. “What’s up?”
“I think I was right about Jason. He was cheating on me,” I say. The stiffening of Mo’s posture is subtle, but I’m watching for it.
“Geez, really?” She sniffs. “What did you find out?”
I close my eyes because suddenly I am just so, so tired. Of lying, of hiding, of trying to get things right. “I know it’s your ring.”
Mo frowns, opens and shuts her mouth. “Sorry, what now?”
“The ring,” I say. “I know it’s yours, and I know that you’re the one who’s been messaging me on Instagram.”
Mo stares at me a moment, then laughs. “I’m sorry, Zadie. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her eyes widen and she sniffs again. “Wait, did Alana answer? Or did a different girl contact you on Instagram?”
“Yes,” I say. “You!”
Mo is looking at me with genuine concern now. “Zadie, is everything okay?”
“Just tell me the truth. I’ll respect you more if you just look me in the eye and be honest with me,” I say. “Maybe we can still find a way to be friends.”
