Part 7 (2/2)

But as I walked toward the pit toilet, I couldn't help thinking that it didn't matter where I was. I would still feel this.

I would still be me.

I will still have done what I had done.

22 f.u.c.king Days to Go A fter a day spent repainting the lines on the tennis courts without the boys, we are back in our cabin being forced to write about what we want to do when we leave here. Considering the day we had, which involved enough masking tape and white paint to turn the three of us to mummies, ”painter” is definitely not on the list.

But honestly, until Rawe gave us the directive, adding that we needed to start planning our lives beyond this place, I really hadn't considered it.

As much as I wanted to leave, I certainly didn't want to think about what my life would be like when all the choices were mine. It was obvious I was pretty s.h.i.+tty when it came to making choices: look at everything that happened to me before I got here. Or, more specifically, everything I let happen to me.

Cue stomach punch.

Once I was done here, I would have to make real choices-life choices. Even though I hadn't had a chance to experience much of it, I had graduated from high school. I was ”out on my own,” or would be once I was allowed to leave here. Would I move back in with my parents like my brother had? Would I even be allowed to? It's not like college was ever a choice for me. Community college maybe, but not anywhere with kids like the ones who used to go to this camp.

I stared at the flypaper on the ceiling and the names carved under the shelf above my bed, people who'd written they ”wuz here” and the year. My guess was none of them ever had to wonder whether it would only be them and their duffel bag when they left this place, waiting at the bus station or airport for someone to pick them up and having no idea if anyone would.

That sucked to think about, so instead I started counting the flies stuck like dead raisins to the flypaper, which looked like sickly stained gla.s.s when I aimed my flashlight at it. Maybe I couldn't think about what I wanted to do when I left here until I thought about where I was supposed to be instead of here-where I was supposed to be with Lila and Amy instead of here.

f.u.c.k Rawe for opening that can of worm c.r.a.p.

It had all been set until three weeks before prom. As usual we had spent the night at Lila's and as usual when I woke up bleary eyed on Lila's floor, Amy's sleeping bag was empty. It didn't matter how early in the morning it was or what time of year it was, she was always out on Lila's fire escape.

Sometimes I would go out there with her and have a cigarette and we would sit together without talking, just sharing inhales and exhales, breathing in a rhythm until Lila woke up. I would watch the sun rise around Amy's head while I wondered what she was thinking about. While I wondered if she was wondering what I thought about. While I wondered why sitting with her like this and not saying anything made me feel so calm. I figured it was partly because for once I didn't have to talk.

The morning everything went to s.h.i.+t, I woke up to find Amy's sleeping bag empty as usual. She was out on the fire escape, thinking about the things she thought about.

I was ready to go out there and join her when I saw she wasn't alone. She was talking, whispering with Lila. They were both still in their pajamas, and Lila had a comforter wrapped around her. The sun was coming up, big and bright, turning them into silhouettes. The window was open. I lifted my head slightly and tried to hear them.

”We'll be okay,” Lila said. ”It will be okay.”

It was the first time I think I'd ever heard Lila try to comfort anyone.

Even though I was straining to listen, I stayed low to the ground and pretended to be asleep. What were they talking about? Were they talking about me? I'm not sure why I thought that-it's not like when Amy and I were out there we talked about Lila nonstop-but I guess I always thought they were talking about me, that lingering feeling when I entered Lila's room after they had both been together for hours, when I would find them having just said something and stopping.

”But what will you do without me next year?” Amy asked.

”What will you do without me?” Lila mimicked. I couldn't help thinking about Amy's stupid pet parrot. Lila was repeating her words the same way, empty of meaning.

What the h.e.l.l? Last I'd heard we were going away together, the three of us. Traveling the country, driving in my car to wherever we felt like.

”But I don't want to go,” Amy said. ”Not without you guys.”

I got up and crawled out onto the balcony.

”What are you b.i.t.c.hes talking about?” I asked, like I couldn't care either way.

”Good morning to you, too,” Lila said.

I looked at Amy. She looked down.

”What the f.u.c.k?” I asked, unable to hide that I did care.

”Amy's leaving us,” Lila said, letting the words settle.

”I didn't say that,” Amy said.

”Don't be stupid,” Lila said. ”You're going.”

”Where?” I asked, looking at Amy. ”Where are you going?”

”College,” Amy said, in the voice she had that always sounded like someone had turned the volume down on just her. It was the voice she used with us a lot. ”My mom sent in my acceptance for me, but I didn't say I was going to go.”

”So you're not coming with us?” I asked, still trying to act like I didn't care, like I wasn't p.i.s.sed, but really I felt like when something gets taken that you don't know you'll miss until it's gone.

”I'm not going to decide anything today,” Amy said, her voice trembling, tears filling her eyes. ”I still have time.”

”Don't worry,” Lila said. ”Ca.s.sie and me still have each other.”

”Lucky us,” I said, even though my head felt like a cavern being whipped through with wind. Aside from my brother, Amy and Lila were all I had.

”At least you won't have to sit in the backseat of Ca.s.sie's t.u.r.dmobile for three thousand miles,” Lila said.

”Yeah, there's that, I guess,” Amy said, turning to me and wiping her face. ”Ca.s.sie, you okay?”

It was only then I realized I was shaking. ”Yeah, I'm f.u.c.king fine.” I pulled out a cigarette. ”Just having a nic fit,” I said, barely able to light it.

”I'm okay, too,” Lila said. ”Thanks for asking.”

”Sorry, Ca.s.sie just seemed upset,” Amy said, but I could see she immediately regretted it. I didn't get upset.

I didn't do getting upset.

”One of us is crying like a little b.i.t.c.h and two of us are not. Who's upset?”

”Sorry,” Amy said again.

”You will be if you keep whining like your diaper is too tight,” I said, finally getting my cigarette lit. I looked at Lila, wondering how many miles we would be able to drive without killing each other. Without Amy to balance us out, I doubted we'd make it past the state line.

I don't know if Amy ended up deciding to go to college, but Lila left town before we were even sentenced-took off on both of us before Amy even could. I wonder now, if I had been honest that day, not covered up my feelings with angry words, whether Lila wouldn't have left me, too.

Whether Amy wouldn't have ratted me out to the cops.

But I know eventually everything goes to s.h.i.+t.

Eventually everything falls apart.

<script>