Aftercare Instructions Read online

  I imagine Mr. Lombardy as a cartoon rhinoceros with a little monocle in addition to the mustache, asking me that same question with a British accent. Are you ENTIRELY to blame?

  I don’t answer.

  Mr. Lombardy shifts his head back and forth between us, like he’s writing his verdict via psychic wave.

  A string dangles from Ms. Karen’s skirt, and I want to yank it. Unravel everything.

  “In that case,” he says, “Ms. Stilton, you may go to the nurse and get those scratches on your neck cleaned up. Then return to class.”

  “I’m not suspended, right?” says Vanessa.

  “No. You are excused. Ms. Johnson, you can go with Ms. Karen into her office, and we’ll call your parents to pick you up from school.”

  Ms. Karen clears her throat and glances my way. I don’t blame a rhinoceros for not remembering my dad is dead and my mom is not much better off. They have other things to worry about. Like avoiding poachers. And eating grass.

  Vanessa stands, looks me straight in the eye, and says, “You’ve lost it. I’ve tried so long with you, Genesis. But you’ve lost it.”

  I fold my arms. Channel emotionlessness. Be one with the chair beneath me.

  “You have no idea,” she says. When I don’t answer, she stomps out of the office.

  “My mom is at work,” I tell Mr. L. “I can take myself home.”

  He shakes his head and fills his cheeks with air, then waves his hand toward Ms. Karen to say that she should deal with this.

  Suspended for three days. As if the kids at this school don’t have enough to say about me already. Now I’m suspended and who knows how long it’ll be until they find out about the other thing. If Peter tells Vanessa, I’m done for.

  “Sit down, Genesis,” she says when we make it to her office.

  Ms. Karen has the kind of fluffy couch you get swallowed up by, with lots of colorful pillows. I’ve had to come here once a week since sophomore year. Anyone who has experienced death has to. Only one other kid at this school has lost a parent, though. Frederica Thompson. Her mom died of breast cancer. That sounds so much easier to deal with. All she got was sympathy. Not judgment for drug use or for how selfish that is with two kids and a wife to take care of and all. I told Frederica that once, and now she won’t even look at me. I guess it was insensitive. One other kid lost a brother in a car accident. The drunk driver who hit him died too. If that driver had kids in this school, they might know how I feel. Except the only person my dad killed was himself.

  “Ms. Karen, I really have to go to the bathroom.”

  I imagine myself bleeding all over those fancy pillows, but she doesn’t let me go. And it takes me fifteen minutes to convince her I don’t feel like talking today, and that as soon as I’m back from suspension I swear I’ll tell her what’s going on with me. I have to assure her it’s all personal stuff and nothing to do with my living situation. Mom is fine. She works now. She takes care of herself now. I’m not the only one doing things anymore. I know she doesn’t love her job, but I know it’s good for her to get out of bed every day and go somewhere.

  “And how is your sister?”

  “She’s fine, I think.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  What kind of question is that? “Of course I miss her.”

  “Does it still seem like the right thing that she went to live with your grandparents and you didn’t?”

  How many times and how many different ways has Ms. Karen asked me this question? How many ways can I tell her my mom needed me? That there was no choice? I was determined not to lose her too. And that might have happened if she lost everyone.

  I’ve tried:

  1. She doesn’t get along with my grandparents. The fighting would have killed her, and I don’t need another dead parent. (Sorry! I cope with sarcasm!)

  2. My dad was the only person my mom ever loved. She loves us, but theirs was that extra-something love. The kind that completes. That love left when he did. Part of her soul left. Part of her died. We had to keep some of the floor under her. (Not grounded in reality, said Ms. K.)

  3. We have help. The grandparents give us financial support, and Aunt Kayla came over every single day, usually with Delilah, for a whole year. She didn’t miss a day. Not holidays, not birthdays, not even something as mundane as a Tuesday. Never. She kept us keyed into the real world, in sync with the calendar that we had temporarily forgotten how to read. (No response, but I thought that was a positive sign.)

  4. It wasn’t too much of a strain on me. I kept up my grades, even when I had to miss a lot of class. Isn’t that how you people measure everything? By how well we keep our grades up? (That’s an oversimplification, she said.)

  5. No one knows her like I do. That’s especially true now that he’s gone. I think I just knew she had to stay, and that Ally needed more guidance. And who better to provide more guidance than the two people who were champing at the bit to mend the mistakes they made with my mom? Ally would become what they hoped my mother would. (She thought that one was very insightful. So did I.)

  Anyway, now Ally gets to live in New York City and go to school where there’s some excellent junior scientist program. Her interests have expanded beyond bugs. She’s into chemicals and chemical compounds. And forensics.

  “When is the last time you saw her?”

  “It’s been a little while. We’re probably due up for a dinner.”

  “That would be wonderful. Do try to arrange that.”

  “Okay, Ms. Karen.”

  She had wanted students to call her by her first name. Thought it would help us open up to her and be on the same level. But the administration didn’t let that one slide. She compromised by putting the Ms. in front. I don’t mind Ms. Karen really. She means well. Being up in everyone’s business is her job, I guess. I think it’s getting to her, though. She always looks tired. And her clothes hang off her frame in wrinkles and clumps. It’s kind of like we’re sucking the life out of her.

  I have to convince her I’m perfectly fine to walk home in this weather. That the long walk will actually do me some good. She lets me go, but puts her hand on my shoulder before I’m out the door.

  “Genesis, something isn’t sitting right here. I don’t see you as a fighter. At least not physically. I want to know more about your motivations. I know you’re suspended, but I want you in here first thing in the morning to talk. I’ll send you home after that.”

  On my way out of Ms. Karen’s office, I look down at her couch expecting to see a blood spot, but there’s nothing there.

  After a quick trip to the bathroom, when I’m finally outside I open my phone to call Peter. He’s listed in my favorites, of course. Mom, Peter, Rose, Delilah, Aunt Kayla, Ally. Do I have to take him off now? How exactly am I supposed to proceed? How is a person supposed to move forward when they’re still spinning from being left behind in the first place?

  He’s in class, but I want to leave a message. The air stings my bare hand.

  “Look, Peter, I’m not trying to be a psycho or anything…” I mean, I guess I’m not. Though I do feel kind of totally psycho. “I’m just, honestly, super confused. I think after a year and a half, you owe me some kind of … I don’t know … explanation or…”

  I switch hands and ears and shove the frozen hand in my pocket.

  “I got suspended today. I’m sure you’ll hear all about it. Anyway. Call me. Please.”

  I can’t say good-bye. I just can’t. With my hands in my pockets and my hood up, I walk straight toward the ocean.

  At the beach, the sun is at war with the clouds, glaring brightly through them, then retreating to the gray. I walk to the old dock and sit on one of the trunk-like poles poking out from the sand. The snow has been washed away by the tide. There are hundreds of shiny black mussel shells and a flock of seagulls swarming them. One seagull pecks at a Styrofoam cup before he squawks and cuts into the seafood buffet line.

  I try to breathe in the scents around me, but it�
�s like everything, even the air, is frozen and empty. In the summertime, it smells like sunscreen and hot dogs. Girls tie their hair in knots on their heads and untie the backs of their bikinis to avoid tan lines. I like to sink my toes into the wettest part of the sand. Peter used to look for new freckles on my skin after a trip to the beach and kiss each one.

  You two are not meant to be, Genesis. Just face it. Vanessa’s words. Is that true? Does all the good stuff get erased when problems come? Were we not fixable? Do we not get to try anymore?

  I fight the urge to call Peter again. I want to be the one to tell him about what happened in the bathroom today, but that’s not my job anymore. I’m now a girl who gets in fights and gets suspended. Peter never liked those girls.

  What if I had kept the baby? Lots of girls do it and still finish high school and still go to college. I could have done it. Would we have gotten married? Would a baby have glued us back together? Mrs. Sage could have forgiven my dark past, and she could have babysat when I had to go to night school or whatever. Maybe the baby would have helped my mom get through whatever she needs to get through. Maybe it would have been just what she needed. Or this, the worst thought: What would my dad do if he knew what Peter did to me?

  I can’t do that to myself. Ms. Karen says it’s not healthy to think like that.

  If keeping the baby meant holding on to Peter too, why do I only feel relief? I can’t come up with an image of holding a little baby that we made together, and watching it grow up and learn from us. It wasn’t the right time for us. It should never have happened. And he agreed; I know he agreed. So why did he leave?

  I am too cold to keep stationary so I head back toward town, but not before drawing a P in the sand with my boot and watching the ocean lick it away.

  Should I feel sadness? The only sadness I feel right now is because I lost Peter somewhere in this. And he’s already moved on? Is that what I’m supposed to do?

  My phone vibrates in my pocket again. My heart stops and I stiffen.

  Not Peter.

  Delilah.

  I should be used to it not being Peter by now.

  “Hey, cuz,” I say, catching my breath.

  “What up, cuz.” This, her usual greeting.

  “Not much.”

  “You disappeared.”

  I guess that explains things. I’ve disappeared. I’m not here anymore.

  “Genesis?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you distracted or something?”

  “I’m just wandering around.”

  “I talked to Rose.”

  I know what this means. Rose, who seems to be able to keep her mouth shut about things like the fact that Vanessa and Peter might be getting together, but thinks it’s her responsibility to inform my cousin of anything going on with me, has spilled the beans.

  “Hello? Genesis, can you please talk to me right now?”

  “I’m sorry. Did she tell you everything?”

  “Yes.”

  There are things going on inside of me, they’re kind of like earthquakes, or hailstorms. I can’t break apart, though. I can’t cry while I’m walking down the street.

  “Are you okay?”

  There it is again. That fucking question. How am I supposed to know?

  “I got suspended today.”

  “What?”

  I laugh. Like, deep-from-my-guts laughing. It cascades out of me, scaring a dog passing on his leash, which makes me laugh even harder. I can hear Delilah trying to get my attention, but I can’t stop. Laughter and tears, and I can’t remember why I’m laughing, which is also absolutely killing me.

  And then I stop.

  Take a deep breath. The air is an icicle jammed up my nose. Like a freak with a nail.

  I’m silent.

  “Gen? Are you there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What the hell happened?”

  “I guess it all caught up to me or something.”

  I fight winter for more breath.

  “What did you get suspended for?”

  A few giggles escape like bubbles floating to the surface.

  “What?” she asks.

  “Well, I sort of attacked Vanessa in the girls’ bathroom.”

  She snorts.

  “Yeah, you remember Vanessa? My old best friend? She’s totally seeing Peter already.”

  “What!?”

  I’m laughing again, but absolutely fucking nothing is funny.

  “That’s fucked up.”

  “What? That I did that?”

  “No, that she did that.”

  “She’s…” I don’t know how to finish that sentence. What is she? I don’t really know. In a way, once upon a time, I wronged her too. But that was totally different. Wasn’t it? I messed that up. I wasn’t straight with her about what was going on. I know it broke her apart, and I ignored that. “I don’t remember much. I do know I was clawing for her throat.”

  “That’s, um, weird? And kind of gross.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Oh, Genesis.”

  I shake my head.

  “Are you okay? Does your mom know you’re suspended?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t called her. I guess the school probably did.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Maybe.”

  “What do you need?”

  “I don’t really know.”

  “Well, I’m headed back to Jersey now. I want to see you.”

  “You are?”

  “Yes. They asked me if I’d read at Café Solar, and I haven’t seen my mom in a couple weeks, so I’m coming home for a long weekend.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yeah. Interested? It’ll be mellow.”

  “I’m already downtown. I could kill some time instead of going home.”

  “Yeah?”

  Delilah’s been reading her poetry and stories at Café Solar since she was fourteen. She’s sort of our small-town celebrity. Or at least everyone thinks she’s going to be our claim to fame when she writes some bestselling novel or something. I love watching her read.

  “I’ve got to stop home real quick, but I’ll try to come early and hang out with you.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “And I have some good news to share with you,” she starts, but I get a call-waiting signal. Heat rises inside my chest. Like burning. I look down to see it’s still not Peter, but Rose.

  “Rose is on the other line, Delly. Can I just see you in a little bit?”

  “Uh … okay. See you in a bit.”

  I consider letting the call go to voice mail. I think I’m trying to be mad at her right now. I am mad at her. I think. Yeah, that wasn’t cool not to tell me what was up. She can’t be a selective big-mouth; she has to tell me when something like that could affect me.

  I answer.

  “What the hell, Genesis?” she says in her highest register. I have to move the phone away from my ear.

  “Um, I could say the same?”

  “Genesis, seriously, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what I heard. I thought it would blow over. Can we please move past that so you can tell me what the fuck happened in the bathroom? And where the fuck you are? I’m at your house with your homework. Ms. Karen tracked me down and asked me to bring it by your house, but she wouldn’t tell me anything. All I’ve heard is what people are saying. That you are out of your mind.”

  Beware of Genesis. Don’t fuck with Genesis. I catch my reflection in a window and want to pop my collar like a tough guy. “Did you see Peter when you went in for my homework?”

  “You have to answer my questions first.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “What happened, Gen? I’m worried about you. Like, worried about your mental health.”

  “Rose, I’m fine. I’m downtown. Del is reading tonight at Solar.”

  “Oooooohhhhh gawwwwd,” she says, extending both words into about sixteen syllables. “What’s the theme tonight? I can’t take it if she talks
about being burned to death again. That was too intense.”

  “I don’t know. But probably something like that. Want to meet me there?”

  “I guess so. I’m supposed to, uh, meet someone tonight.”

  “What? Like a date?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Who’s your next victim, Rose?”

  “Oh, not important. You’ll meet him tonight.”

  “Okay.”

  Mystery man. Great. Maybe that will take some of the focus off me for once.

  “Hey, can I do anything for your mom while I’m here?”

  “Is she home?”

  “No.”

  “She’s fine. She doesn’t need anything.”

  I think.

  I hope.

  I can’t really care right now.

  ACT 1

  SCENE 7

  (This scene takes place in the school hallway again, only this time it’s empty. GENESIS and PETER walk slowly.)

  PETER

  We’re not headed for Ms. Karen’s, are we?

  (Pause)

  (GENESIS doesn’t answer.)

  PETER (CONTINUED)

  You’re unpredictable, aren’t you?

  GENESIS

  I’m ready.

  PETER

  What?

  GENESIS

  You said whenever I’m ready.

  PETER

  I remember.

  GENESIS

  I’m ready.

  PETER

  Yeah?

  GENESIS

  Yeah.

  PETER

  Well, then I think I’m supposed to kiss you.

  GENESIS

  I think that sounds right.

  PETER

  We may get caught and sent to the principal’s office.

  GENESIS

  You ever been before?

  PETER

  I haven’t.

  GENESIS

  Me neither.

  PETER

  Worth the risk?

  GENESIS

  Yes. Yes. Absolutely yes.

  (They kiss. Slowly at first, and gradually more intensely.)

  (Lights fade.)

  TALK TO SOMEONE IF YOU EXPERIENCE FEELINGS OF DETACHMENT

  After a couple hours, when I’m totally defrosted and on my third chai latte, Rose blows into the café and scans the room with giant eyes. She passes quickly over the bearded man playing sad songs on his guitar, through the sea of mugs, mismatched armchairs, and mason jars with candles. Then lands on me.