Author: Nyrae Dawn

Emery holds out her hand. “What’s your name?”

“Brynn.” I shake her hand.

“Hi, Brynn. Nice to meet you.”

Chairs line the wall beside me and she sits in one. When she does, her jacket pulls a little tighter and I see a bump in her belly. Not a huge one, but still, it’s obviously a baby bump. My hand finds my stomach. I don’t feel like I’m controlling the movement as it rubs the flatness there.

I could look like her right now. I had a life inside me. It hits me at the most random times—that emptiness. What really happened—what could have been. The depth of my loss and the track my life was on at sixteen years old. A track that would have been scary as hell, but one that I would have taken, even if I didn’t keep the baby at the end. After everything Mom and Dad went through to try to have a baby of their own, I couldn’t have had an abortion. But I didn’t have to. It’s gone nonetheless.

“I’m only five months, but I swear I think I look eight.” She touches her stomach, too, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I had a baby inside me like that, but now it’s gone.

My chest feels a little tight. “You… You don’t look eight months.” And she doesn’t. I can definitely see something’s there, but it’s not that bad.

Emery playfully rolls her eyes. “Okay, I feel eight months.”

I can’t stop staring at her. She can’t be any older than me. But she’s having a baby. Questions slam into my skull and I want to ask. It’s so hard to know what’s okay or not. It’s hard to make myself say anything because I don’t want to talk. Talking makes you closer to people and I’ve already lost Mom, Dad, Jason, my baby, my friends.

“You can ask, you know? I can practically see the questions in your eyes.” She shrugs.

Heat surges in my cheeks as anger and pain slam into me. I can’t stop thinking of all the things I lost and will never find again and she’s here and she has it and she’s okay. Normal, even though she’s pregnant and a teenager, just like I was. Why did I lose it all?

“I…I have to go.” Pushing to my feet, I walk out of the room. I’m always running away from people.

…

When I get home, Dad isn’t here. I kick off my shoes, step into my slippers, and go straight out back. My pottery room sits right across from the back porch like always, and everything inside pulls and tugs me to it. I want to go there so badly—to lose myself in something until I forget about everything else—but I can’t make myself do it.

I can’t make anything in that room ever again.

That’s when I hear music playing and I look over the fence and into the neighbor’s yard. Christian is sitting on his back porch, a guitar propped on his leg, his head down in concentration. His brown hair falls forward, creating that wall between us that I wanted earlier, blocking his eyes from me. I don’t know if I should be thankful his house is set a little higher than ours or not, because if it wasn’t, the fence would be another barrier blocking him from me.

My first thought is I want him blocked from me—need it. Just like everyone else, I don’t want to get close to him. Not when it risks losing some of those good memories.

My second thought is the most ridiculous thing: I didn’t know Christian played the guitar. Maybe he hadn’t when I knew him.

I turn to walk into the house when he says, “Hey to you, too.”

I almost keep going. God knows I want to, but for some reason, I stop. “I don’t feel like talking.”

“Huh…interesting,” is all he says before his fingers start gliding over the strings again.

My feet itch to walk away but instead I open my mouth and say, “What is that supposed to mean? ‘Huh, interesting’?”

He looks over at me, pushes his hair behind his ear, stands, and sets his guitar on one of the chairs. Then, he grabs the other one, walks over, puts it against the fence, and then stands on it, looking over at me. “Well, I guess it’s supposed to mean I find it interesting you told me you don’t feel like talking. Not too many ways to spin it, Bryntastic.”

Another random thought pops into my head—he’s different. I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, but he’s not the same boy I knew five years ago. Then I remember I’m not the same girl, either, and that urge to go hide out hits me again. “Why is that interesting?” Crinkling my nose, I realize I’m surprised I asked him a question.

“Because you don’t want to talk, but you took the time to tell me instead of just walking away. That’s what I would have done if I didn’t feel like speaking. Just walked away. My counselor would probably say that means you really do wanna talk. If not him, my mom would. She’s always saying stuff like that to me.”

My cheeks flush in annoyance. “What? Maybe I just don’t want to be rude? Don’t pretend to know me.” But we both know I don’t have a problem being rude lately. I’ve done it before by running away from him when he tried to speak to me.

Christian looks completely serious when he says, “I think it’s pretty safe to say I don’t really know you anymore, Bryntastic.”

His words slice into me, stinging when I know they shouldn’t. Or is it that they shouldn’t or I don’t want them to? “Why do you go to the community center?” It occurs to me that he can tell me to go to hell. That I just told him I don’t want to talk. And I probably deserve that.

Instead, Christian shrugs. “I used to have some anger management problems. Mom makes me go. She volunteers a lot and she’s always analyzing everything.”

I cock my head, looking for any sign of embarrassment from him at the way he just spit that out. Not as though it’s a huge deal, but he just says it likes it’s nothing. Anger management problems definitely don’t sound good, but there’s no shyness or anger when he admits it. It just is.

Then I stand there and wait for it. Wait for him to ask me the same thing. Why was I there? Why don’t I hang out with my friends anymore? Or he probably doesn’t need to ask, because he already knows.

“Cute slippers,” he says, surprising me because it’s completely out of the blue. “Do your PJs have a bushy tail, too?” He’s got that same half smile on his face from earlier. That flirty, I’m-a-hot-boy-who-can-have-any-girl-I-want look, and I’m suddenly annoyed again. I hate that cocky-guy look and that cocky-guy grin and I will not be pulled into that trap again.

“Cute way to try to look at my ass.” I let one of my brows raise, a little swell of pride in my chest that I’m calling this how I see it.

“Hey, it’s a good line, and I don’t remember you being such a grump.”

A grump? A grump? His words make me stifle a laugh. A sarcastic one, sure, but a chuckle all the same. “Bad job at your analysis. This is not me being grumpy. That’s a whole lot worse.”

Christian shifts on the chair a little, then pulls his sleeves down to cover his hands. “Observation, not an analysis.”

My porch light flickers a little but stays on. Think, think, think! The urge to get the best of him simmers inside me. I used to be pretty good at getting in the last word. “I… Whatever.” Awesome. I rocked at that. Not.

“I would say I know you are but what am I, but then, that doesn’t make much sense, I guess. It would be right along the same lines as whatever.”

I search my brain for more silly sayings, not letting myself overthink what I’m doing. “I’m rubber, you’re glue.” A grin pulls at my lips.

“Gummy bear?” he asks.

I wait for the punch line before I realize he’s really asking me if I want some candy.

Christian pops a few into his mouth.

Gummy bear? Talk about a subject change. I’m at a loss for words. First, I’ve never known a guy who carries gummy bears in his pocket and second, weren’t we just having this strange, immature sort of witty-banter thing going on? But then…this little flash of a memory spouts in my head. That sugary smell when we danced. The box of… “You used to eat Jujubes, didn’t you? I remember you always had a box of them with you.”

He shakes his head. “Nope. It was Dots.”

“Oh yeah!” I laugh. “Dots. I remember now. I…” I bought a box of them. I put them on my desk so he’d see them, think we had something in common, and fall madly in love with me. My cheeks burn. Wow, I can’t believe I did that. Mark that on my ever-growing list of things I will never again do for a boy.

“You what?”

So not going there. “Nothing. So what’s up with the candy?”

After shrugging, he pops a couple more into his mouth and then says, “Sweet tooth, I guess. What’s your vice?”

His question comes out of nowhere. Most people I know wouldn’t ask something like that. “Umm, I don’t know. I guess I don’t have one.”

Christian snickers. “Not possible. You can borrow mine till you figure yours out, if you want. Gummy bears make the world go round and all that.”

“Oh my God.” His words are so ridiculous I can’t stop myself from laughing. Hard. Like real, loud belly laughs. I’m almost not sure it’s me at first. “Gummy bears make the world go round? I think you’re pushing it a little. Or a lot.”

“No way. Have you had these things lately? They’re pretty good. The world would be a much better place if everyone chilled out and indulged in a gummy bear every now and again.”

“Yeah, might be the answer to ending world hunger.”

“Screw that. It’s the answer to world hunger and peace.”

Another spontaneous laugh jumps out of my mouth. A second later, Christian is doing the same.

“Brynn!” My head turns toward the house as Dad steps outside, frowning. “What are you doing? Who are you talking to?” His voice is firm, holding a sound of…something, I don’t even know what it is, but I’ve never heard it directed at me before.

“Nothing… No one.” Which is stupid because it’s obviously someone and he’s hanging over my fence with a mouth full of gummy bears. Dad’s head is so red it looks like it might explode.

“I brought dinner. Time to come in for the night.”

Time to come inside? It’s seven o’clock and I’m in my backyard. “Umm, okay?”

Dad’s eyes cut toward Christian, who just pops a few more gummy bears like nothing is going on.

“It’ll get cold, Brynn,” Dad reminds me. His eyes dart toward Christian, glaring. Then they find me again and he’s looking at me the same way.

“Yeah…okay.”

“Catch ya later, Bryntastic.” Christian jumps down from the chair, heads back to his porch, and picks up his guitar again.

Dad stands there, waiting for me to go inside, which I do. He follows me. “Who is that?” he asks, his voice still tight. I turn to see him lean against the kitchen counter, still not looking like the easygoing dad I know.

“Christian, a guy from school.”

“Well, I don’t know if I want you out there talking at night. I’ve never even met the kid.”

“Huh?” I don’t have to finish my thought when it all comes slamming back into me. Jason. What Dad thinks. “Oh my God. Do you think I’m out to have sex with our neighbor now? I screwed up once and now you think I’m trying to get with every boy in sight?” My eyes sting, but it’s nothing compared to the pinch in my chest.

“What?” Dad has the nerve to sound surprised. “No, it’s not… I trust… It’s them.”

“Yeah, obviously.” It’s then I know I was right. He doesn’t believe me. He thinks I lied, that I knew about Jason all along. That’s probably why he let the case go so easily, why he’s even quieter with me. Why he struggles to look at me, and…and probably wishes he and Mom hadn’t chosen me. “I’m not hungry.”