Jennifer Murgia - Leminscate

Even if the feather was black.

And the feeling stayed with me all the way to school. My classes came and went without incident. Nothing fell out of my locker except the usual calculus book, which I kicked every time it jumped out at me. I saw Ryan before homeroom and then again before lunch and both times he appeared apprehensive. He probably thought that overnight, rationality had permeated my senses, making me realize that I really did hate him. Even with my reassurance, he didn’t seem too convinced.

It didn’t help that by the end of the day, my cramps were killing me and I was positive Ryan thought my sudden withdrawal had something to do with him. How do you explain cramps to a guy? I knew the answer to that one. You don’t. Instead, I made my way to the third floor bathroom.

I was just about to grab my purse from the metal hook on the last stall door when a small group of girls strolled in. I recognized their voices immediately. Peeking through the little, narrow opening by the door, I had a sideways view of Sage and Lauren. They were at the mirror, primping, obviously in love with themselves. Emily was leaning down, and from what I could tell, she was rolling a miniature lint roller up and down her expensive black tights. I realized then that Brynn was not with them and I strained my vision, pressing my face right up to the door in case she was further away out of range. Not only were they without Brynn, but the absent leader of their hateful little group was also the topic of their discussion.

“What is her obsession with that girl?” Lauren’s squeaky voice filled the tiled room.

“Beats me.”

It was Sage who answered her, her gold bracelets jingled as she held her arm up, looking for signs of white beneath her brown, toned arms.

Who would wear a tank top in fall?

As I eavesdropped, it amazed me how superficial their group really was. Not that I thought any of them held any depth or consideration, but it dawned on me how tactless they truly were. To each other. They were bashing Brynn as if she were an outsider, which shocked me. I thought their type stuck together. But as they recounted Brynn’s personal business, I realized they were also talking about me.

Emily chimed in then, tucking her trusty little lint roller back into her bag, “I know, all she does is talk about how she’s going to ruin the girl’s life. I mean, come on! Why bother!”

“Hello? Her dad is dating her mother. That practically makes them sisters.”

“Eew.”

I pressed my ear to the opening but they were walking further away from the mirror.

“Well, whatever she’s planning to do, I hope she gets on with it. She’s acting weird.”

“Yeah, I like wearing black and all, but … save it for the runway.” Lauren let her sentence trail off as soon as the lip gloss applicator touched her already perfect mouth. “What’s with that book she keeps looking for? The one in her dad’s library?”

“Who cares! I say this Friday we go to that party without her. I mean, she’s got some little dinner to go to anyway, doesn’t she?” Sage was clearly annoyed. “I’m not ruining another good party at Marc Slater’s just so Brynn can play scavenger hunt through her dad’s dusty old medical books. I heard Marc found his dad’s stash of rum!”

“You’re right, but do you think he put her up to it?” Lauren asked as they filed out.

Just like that, they were gone and I was left alone in the bathroom shaking.

Black? Raiding her dad’s office? What was Brynn getting into?

I didn’t like the sound of this and obviously her friends were getting bored of Brynn’s idea of weekend fun. Luckily, they were all too shallow to read into what this could really be about. Something was not right with this. I knew Brynn hated me but after Ryan’s warning that she was still after me, and the revelation that it was supposed to be me on the roof at the rave last year instead of Claire …

If ever there was a time I needed Garreth to calm my nerves, it was now. But he was absent in more ways than one. I took a deep breath and stepped out into the florescent glow of the bathroom. I splashed some cold water on my face, dried it with a paper towel, and walked quickly to my locker, grabbing everything I would need. The walk to my car took longer than usual. Each step felt like a step backwards as I thought of the impending weekend.

As soon as I got home, I was promptly shuffled from my car into my mother’s Honda. Together we drove to the store for pizza supplies for Friday night.

I followed her around, aimlessly pushing the metal cart like an eight year-old. When you’re eight it is a big deal to push the cart up and down the aisles.

It isn’t when you’re eighteen and a senior and the little gray-haired ladies still smile at you as if you’re the biggest help in the world.

My mind wandered, as usual, and I tried to steer it towards matters of importance—like the calculus homework I had to tackle or what conditioner to buy so my hair never looked the way it did today again. Ever. Then the inevitable happened and my mother dropped a series of bombs. As hard as it was to swallow, the first one was expected. In fact, I expected it yesterday, but I guess she was just trying to be nice.

We were in the frozen food aisle when she asked, “So how is Garreth doing? He hasn’t been around lately?”

“He’s just not feeling himself,” I said quietly. It wasn’t a lie. Our last conversation, the one I’d been avoiding, played through my head. He definitely didn’t act or sound like himself.

“Hmm. That’s too bad. Let’s stop over at the spice aisle. Brynn came up with the idea of having a topping bar! How brilliant is that?”

I rolled my eyes.

The next ten minutes were taken up by intense decision making. Parmesan or parmesan-romano? Crushed peppers or creole powder? Garlic powder? Garlic salt? Garlic flakes? By the time my mom made the earth-shattering choice of what we were all going to shake onto our pizza, I had spaced so severely that I may have even drooled on myself.

Thankfully, the toppings were the last thing on the list. As we were checking out, Mom asked if I wanted a magazine or a candy bar, just like she used to when I was little. After picking out a pack of gum, I noticed she looked a little antsy all of a sudden, like she couldn’t wait to leave. Well, geez, she could’ve felt that way back in the spice aisle.

After paying we walked to the car and she carefully placed the bags in the trunk. I realized that she wasn’t being cautious for the groceries’ sake but for mine as she turned to me and half-whispered “Nate’s asked us to move in with them.”

I stood staring at her like an idiot, unable to move. Really.

“Honey? Well, what do you think?” she was giving me one of her strained smiles. The kind where it’s sort of painted on her face and overly cheerful.

But it was starting to crack from the tension.

Without a word I turned, opened the passenger door and got inside, shutting the door on the mess that had just exploded in my face. I didn’t have to look out the window to know that my mom was still standing there, dumbfounded. I could visualize her biting the inside of her cheek, the crease forming deeply on her forehead. I heard her mutter “alrighty then,” and then she got in on her side and we drove home in complete, uncomfortable silence.

Silently, we unloaded the groceries and then went our separate ways for the rest of the night. Guilt consumed me as I tried to focus on equations and found myself padding inconspicuously into her bedroom, waiting by the doorframe for her to notice and invite me in.

She looked tired as she peered over the top of the novel she was reading. Again, the guilt pangs hit me hard as I realized something. Our disagreements seemed to wear on her, but when she was with Dr. Dean she looked years younger. When she talked about Dr. Dean she gushed like a teenager, going on and on like a first crush, stopping only when my ears rang painfully and I couldn’t take it anymore.