Part 29 (2/2)

She looks around the room and is quiet for a minute and turns back at me. ”Where's your phone? Let's check your followers. Think of some new hashtags to tweet.”

I pull my phone from my hoodie pocket, and Amy sits down again and looks over my shoulder, squealing when I show her how many new followers she has. Earlier, I tweeted out a follow request to her Twitter name.

”Write something true,” she tells me.

Some days you're the dog, some days you're the hydrant. #true, I type.

She laughs. ”I like the true hashtag, but I like 'things I thought were true' better.”

I smile.

”You're going to be all right,” she says. ”You know that, right?”

I punch her on the shoulder. She chews her bottom lip and it quivers for a second, and then she smiles and lifts her knuckle and we fist b.u.mp.

The afternoon is nice. The gardens are beautiful. We go for dinner and talk about everything except things that matter. I keep a lid on the things bubbling inside until we get back to the hostel. After I crawl under the covers, I start to s.h.i.+ver. I tuck up my legs and wrap my arms around myself. I make myself as small as I can. I hold my breath until my lungs ache, but I'm unwilling to let anyone hear me cry.

200.

sixteenthings.indd 200 9/9/13 2:21 PM.

1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e My body is stiff. I continue holding my breath until forced to suck in a breath. My eyes are squeezed tight, and for a moment, I see an image of myself as if I'm floating over looking down. My inability to do anything except squeeze myself into a fetal position troubles me. I have to deal with this.

The girl I was before this trip is dead. I'm worried who will take her place. It frightens me. I'm afraid my bitterness is bigger and will never be contained. I'm not sure I want to meet the new me.

201.

sixteenthings.indd 201 9/9/13 2:21 PM.

sixteenthings.indd 202 9/9/13 2:21 PM.

chapter nineteen.

13. Statistics don't lie. #thingsIthoughtweretrue A dam gets shotgun for the drive home. I didn't actually give him a choice and took the backseat without asking.

Amy pulls out of the parking lot, giving Adam the rules for front seat pa.s.sengers. I don't want to listen. I want to be left alone. I don't want to drink in beautiful scenery. I don't want cheering up. As if we're on the same page, the weather is hazy and gray. I approve.

Even Amy gives up and lifts the car rules, and they leave me alone.

There's no line at the ferry, and we're able to pull on right away.

We park and wander to the seats on the top. Clouds drizzle. I hunker down under my hoodie, half listening to Amy telling a family of four about the whales we saw on our trip out. Adam sits behind me, and I feel him watching me.

I'm glad Amy's able to carry the conversation because I'm not ready to be pulled from my mood. I want to stay the center of my own universe for a little while longer, relis.h.i.+ng my negativity, bathing in it. I make up speeches to say to Bob and my mother- words I worry I'll never be brave enough to deliver.

”You okay?” Amy says.

sixteenthings.indd 203 9/9/13 2:21 PM.

J a n e t G u r t l e r I stare at her. Bob didn't call or anything before we left. My mom even stopped texting. ”No.”

”Well, say something then,” she says in a voice that implies she's fed up with me. ”Get it out.” Adam nods in agreement.

I squint at her. ”I hate him!” A blackness that's nibbling at my soul pours from my mouth. People turn to stare. I sound ridicu- lous, but Amy is right. I don't want to keep the negativity inside anymore, afraid it will take over completely. ”I hate him. I hate that he didn't even bother to call me before we left. ” I shake my head.

Why didn't he bother to call? Am I really that bad?

A mom sitting close on the bench opposite us puts her arm around her little girl, pulls her closer, and narrows her eyes at me. A breeze fills my nose with the smell of salt water. ”He's an a.s.shole,” I say.

The little girl peeks out from under her mom's arm to stare at me.

Her eyes are wide.

The rush of anger dissipates, and I'm left with disgust. Even this little girl can see the blackness in my soul. She's right. It's me. It's always been me.

Adam reaches for my arm but I pull away.

”You okay?” he asks softly.

”No. I'm not.”

I have to get my head clear somehow. I have to face my mom.

There's a lot I want to say to her now. But for the life of me, I don't know how to say it without being swallowed by my own self- loathing.

”Hey!” Adam shouts.

204.

sixteenthings.indd 204 9/9/13 2:21 PM.

1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e My eyes pop open and I'm surprised drool is gobbed up on the side of my mouth. I sit up and glance outside. I didn't even realize I'd fallen asleep. We're surrounded by familiar Was.h.i.+ngton scenery, trees and gra.s.sy hills. The winds.h.i.+eld wipers are on, but the rain is more of a dribble. There's a country song playing low on the radio.

”Did you see that guy?” Adam is saying to Amy.

Amy's eyes are on her rearview mirror. ”You mean the creepy hitchhiker.”

”He didn't look creepy. He looked like he was in trouble. And it's wet out there. We should go back and see if he needs help.” Adam turns to me. ”Are we in a dead Wi- Fi area?” He glances at Amy.

<script>