Part 23 (2/2)

I expected her to shrug, to pull out a pad, but instead she spoke, her voice so quiet it was almost like it wasn't there. So quiet it was like a woodland fairy flying out of her mouth.

”I don't know,” she said. It was so strange to hear her talk, but yet, it felt familiar. She was no different, just louder.

I could have asked her why she was talking, but the big deal I'd made about it yesterday didn't seem like it had gone over very well. Yesterday? f.u.c.k, it seemed like weeks ago.

”Aren't you going to get in trouble?” I asked, still not sitting. Maybe it was really because I didn't want her to get comfortable. f.u.c.king up Nez's face and Ben having probably gotten busted for staying last night were about all my overflowing conscience could handle.

”I'm gathering wood with Eagan,” she said, looking up at me. That was what she was supposed to be doing, but instead she'd come here.

”Don't punch him in the nose,” I joked, even adding a laugh, but it was stupid. It made me wish I couldn't talk, like Troyer hadn't been able to until yesterday. I kind of understood. If you kept your fat trap shut, you didn't say stupid s.h.i.+t you would regret. You could keep other people from saying regrettable stupid s.h.i.+t in order to keep up with the regrettable s.h.i.+t you kept saying, which meant you wouldn't have to hear their stupid s.h.i.+t replaying in your mind like a song on repeat.

I didn't know what else to do, so I sat down next to her on the cool ground.

”So are you talking again?” I finally asked. I'd decided it was weirder not to mention it. If any part of this could have gotten weirder.

”Not really. I guess only to you.”

”I'm sorry,” I said. I could have taken the time to explain, but I hoped she understood. I was sorry for opening the dam that had held her words safe. It had been my fault and now she was struggling to put them back in, like bunnies jumping from a cardboard box.

”It's okay,” she said. Maybe she knew. Or maybe she didn't want an apology from me.

I got that, too.

An apology from me probably felt like a fly buzzing in her ear. It would have been like getting an apology from Nez. One from Nez would be one I felt like swatting away. One I felt like smas.h.i.+ng under a magazine. I had much bigger apologies to deal with.

She looked at me and waited. The skin on her arms was so pale, it reminded me of a peeled pear.

I felt the words behind her lips. The words she wrote in her a.s.sessment Diary, that she thought were like her own song on repeat. Just like me.

”You don't have to tell me,” I said, still staring at her arms, wanting to look anywhere but at her face.

”You either,” she said. Her voice was hoa.r.s.e. You would have expected it to be clear and bright from being rested for so long, but it was the opposite. Her voice was a rusty bike that squeaked when you rode it for the first time after the winter.

”I can't anyway,” I said, pulling my knees up to my chin. I guess she could see the words behind my lips, too. I guess everyone could. I probably didn't hide them as well as I thought.

She nodded. She knew all about not being able to say things. In that moment I saw her as epically strong. The restraint it had taken her to stay silent for so long, it really was incredible. Swearing and yelling and saying words to cover up the words I couldn't say, that was weak.

”It's not the same without you at camp,” she said, pulling her knees to her chin like mine.

”That's because Nez is a b.i.t.c.h,” I said.

Troyer turned to me and did something I didn't expect: she laughed, long and hard. Her laugh was deep, beautiful. It made me hate whoever it was who made her feel like she had to hide it. It made me hate me for not having laughed like that since I'd been here-since the clinic. It made me hate myself for wondering if I could ever laugh like that again.

”Ben told me he came to see you last night,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

I guess he hadn't been busted. There was that at least.

”You like him, don't you?” Troyer said.

”No,” I said quickly, instead of being a smart-a.s.s and saying Who? like I usually would. It made me wonder if the answer wasn't really no, wasn't as easy as no. It was complicated, that was for sure.

”So, you okay?” Troyer asked.

”Yeah.” I looked around. ”Rawe said I'd get into the solitude.” I pushed my hands straight out, like a surfer guy trying to balance after catching a wave.

”Rawe's kind of an idiot,” Troyer said. ”Not in a mean way, in a regular way.”

”Most people are idiots,” I said. ”I'm kind of an idiot.” I was honestly surprised I was admitting it. But my time at Turning Pines had made me realize that. Only idiots let themselves get in f.u.c.ked-up situations with horrible boys that made it hurt to breathe when they thought about it.

Only idiots let that situation keep ruling their lives.

”Ha,” Troyer said, ”that's true.”

If anyone else had agreed I would have throttled them, but Troyer agreeing with me felt right. She deserved to agree.

”What else did Ben say?” I asked. I thought about his diary. I shouldn't have read it. I shouldn't have even looked at it. That was another thing that made me an idiot.

She shrugged.

Of course, now she was silent.

”I came here because I want you to understand,” Troyer said.

”You don't have to tell me.” I understood that better than anyone.

”I have to tell someone,” she said. Her face was so small, like a softball with a wig on.

”Okay,” I said, breathing in. I don't know what I was expecting. Her deepest, darkest secret? The reason she was here?

Was it worse than the reason I was here?

The real reason?

It didn't matter. I would listen. I could at least give her that.

”I don't talk because people take your words and do what they want with them,” she said, looking at her feet. ”When I got in trouble before I came here I had a lot of people try to tell me what I meant when I said things. What I was really saying. I had people try and take my words and throw them back at me. So I stopped talking. No words, no confusion.”

It made sense. It made more sense than anything I had done that hadn't worked yet. Maybe I needed to try keeping my mouth shut for once.

”I guess it seems stupid now,” she said.

”Not to me,” I said.

She leaned into me. Her breath smelled like peanut b.u.t.ter. It made me remember I hadn't eaten in hours, yet I wasn't hungry at all. ”When I stopped talking they said it was because I couldn't steal anymore. They said it was like I was stealing my own words. Isn't that crazy?” she asked.

It honestly made sense, not like I had the guts to tell her. ”Who are 'they'?”

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