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“Did you know he has them?”
“No, but I’m not surprised with the stressful life he’s had.” He picks up the stack of papers and sets them in the desk drawer. “Your mother used to have them when she was younger.”
I stop spinning in the chair. “Really? Why have I never heard about this?”
He glides the drawer shut then moves to the trash bin to clean up the cans. “Because she hasn’t had them in a long time. And she doesn’t really like to talk about it too much.”
“Is that why you guys worry about my mental stability?”
He drops the can he’s holding. “Why do you think we worry about that?”
I push up from the chair and scoop up the can he dropped. “Because I heard you guys talking about it once. That I was too happy.” I chuck the can in the trash bin. “You guys seemed pretty convinced that was a bad thing.”
He collects another can from the floor and crunches the metal. “You misunderstood us.” He tosses the can into the trash. “Your mom … she just worries.”
I start gathering the records on the floor. “Over what?”
He sighs, scratching the side of his head. “You know about your grandmother, right? Your mom’s mom?”
“I know she committed suicide, if that’s what you’re getting at. But only because Grandpa let it slip out in one of his stories, not because you two told me.”
“Well, she was bipolar.”
“And…?”
He sighs again then takes the records from me and stacks them on the shelf. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but sometimes, your grandmother would get in these moods. These really, upbeat, happy moods that almost seemed unnatural.”
I study his uneasy demeanor and a theory develops. “Wait a minute. Do you guys think I’m bipolar?”
“No,” he says quickly, tense and guilty. “That’s not what I’m saying at all.”
“Then why do you look so guilty?”
His stiff posture loosens. “Lyric Scott, we don’t think you’re bipolar. Yes, we had to worry since it can be hereditary, but that’s it.”
“Well, to stop your worry, I’ll just be blunt with you. I’m overly happy because I’ve had a super good life and I’m happy. That’s it.” I head for the door to leave. “And just so you know, I do get sad sometimes. I just choose not to be mopey for very long because life’s too short to waste my energy on being sad.”
I exit the room, even though I haven’t discussed our band playing for his opening yet. But I’d wanted to cheer up, not sink farther into a bummer mood.
I go up to my room and rock out on the violin for a while, seeking comfort from music. The soft tunes and channeled energy soothe my restless soul. By the time I put the bow down, I feel content enough to jot some lyrics down.
I grab a pen and notebook then flop down on my bed.
Look at the stars, staring upon the souls.
Watching them wander. Little pieces of their own.
Lost in a sea of others. Drowning in pain.
But there are too many to hear all the silent cries.
So we keep drifting, drifting, drifting
As the stars keep shining, shining, shining.
Watching, watching, watching us all fade away.
I withdraw the pen from the paper. “Okay, I’m not sure if I love what I’m writing or am terrified of it.”
I decide to give my hand a break from my head. I hide the pen and notebook under my pillow then sit up. Outside my window, the sunset paints the greying sky with hues of pink and golden orange. I still have a few hours until band practice. I could work on my homework, but I want to check up on Ayden first to make sure he’s okay.
Grabbing my phone from my nightstand, I pad over to the window and send him a text.
Me: How r u feeling?
While I’m waiting for a response, the Gregory’s sedan backs out of the garage and down the driveway. I can’t tell who’s in there, but I wonder if Ayden is.
Ayden: Yeah, I’m fine. Just resting now.
Me: At your house?
Ayden: Yeah.
Me: By yourself?
Ayden: I’m with Kale. Lila and Ethan just took Fiona and Everson to soccer practice.
Me: Want some company? I’m super bored.
Ayden: Lila actually told me I couldn’t have anyone over.
Me: But I’m not just anyone. I’m your best friend.
Ayden: Sorry.
Sorry? What is that? A brush off or something?
Before I can think about it too deeply, Ayden walks out of his house and hurries down the driveway toward the sidewalk. His hood is down, and he keeps peering around as if he’s nervous. When his eyes land on my window, I duck for cover and peer over the windowsill.
He lied to me again, snuck out of the house again.
“That little liar,” I mutter as he veers right toward the end of the block, the same direction he wandered up from the other night when he snuck out.
Even though it might be wrong, I make the choice to tail him, worried he might be in trouble. Worried he’ll blackout again like he did earlier. More than that, I’m just generally worried about him.
I snatch my leather jacket from my bedpost then run downstairs and out the door. I slip on my jacket as I jog across my lawn and turn right when I reach the sidewalk. I can’t see him anywhere, so I pick up the pace, sprinting to the end of the street. Glancing left then right, I finally spot him crossing the street in a hurry.
Hunching down, I race after him, zigzagging behind trees and parked cars, trying to stay out of sight as much as I can. I check left and right before I dash across the street and hunker down behind a chain link fence near the park as Ayden slips through the gate.
I count to five under my breath then stand up and peek over the fence, crossing my fingers, hoping he hasn’t spotted me.
He’s striding across the grass toward the playground. No one is around, except a guy perched in the middle of the merry-go-round. As Ayden approaches him, the guy hops to the ground. They meet under an oak tree and start talking about something, their lips moving as they huddle together. Then Ayden sticks his hand into his pocket and retrieves a silver object out that looks like a knife.
Something snaps inside me. Worry, fear, anger—perhaps a mixture of all three. Without any forethought, I leave my hiding spot, march through the gates and toward Ayden and his friend.
The guy spots me first. He says something, and Ayden reels around. Shock crosses his face, and he quickly shoves the object back into his pocket.
“Oh, don’t stop whatever you’re doing on my account,” I say to Ayden as I reach the two of them. Up close, I get a better look at the guy. Lanky and on the younger side, with squared framed glasses and a pen tucked in the front pocket of his plaid shirt, he looks kind of nerdy. “What’s going on?” My gaze travels back and forth between the two of them
“That’s none of your damn business, little girl,” the scrawny guy states, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes at me.
“Little girl?” I mimic his move, folding my arms. Then I arch a brow and stare him down until he squirms. “Look, I think we both know I could kick your ass, so there’s no use trying to be all badass.” I turn to Ayden who’s all squirrely himself. “What’s going on?” The only thing keeping me calm is that maybe he has a good reason for lying to me. “Why are you sneaking off,” I nod my head at the other guy, “to meet him?”
Ayden gulps. “Lyric, you need to go home. You shouldn’t be here.”
“Ouch. That stings.” I pre
ss my hand to my chest, noting that it actually does ache.
“I’m sorry, but you do.” His eyes narrow. “Wait. How did you even find me?”
“I followed you here when I saw you leaving the house after you texted me, telling me you had to stay in,” I say coldly, shocking both him and myself. I hardly ever get angry, but right now, frustration simmers under my skin. “I’m sorry for getting snippy, but I’m worried about you, and until I’m not worried about you, I’m not leaving.”
