Chapter 21

On Sunday afternoon I sat in my bedroom, staring out through the closed window. The trees looked like broccoli that had gone bad and dropped all of their broccoli parts.

There was an "Animal Hoarders" marathon on Animal Planet. It was my favorite show 'cuz it always made me cry. I didn't always feel things the way they were supposed to be felt, so sometimes I had to use things outside of my own body.

But I didn't wanna cry right now. I didn't wanna think about all of those poor little kitties or the sting of Quinn's kiss or the heat of Santana's or where the hell she even was right now. Was she okay?

I clicked the TV off and planted my face in my palms. I breathed in the moist condensation of my breath. I breathed in strands of my hair.

"Brit-Brit!" Brosnan struck me on the shoulder with one of her notebooks.

"What?" I shouted, looking up. "Stop the violence!" I grabbed the book from her hand and slapped it down on my lap. It was open to a block of sentences.

"Can you read it?" my sister asked softly, her face falling into pink shame.

I sighed, rubbing my cheeks with both hands.

"It's a letter for school." Another quiet line. "I just wanna make sure all the words are right. We're getting pen pals from Germany."

I looked up into her wide eyes. She hadn't combed her hair today. Her clothes were wrinkled and there was a blotch on her chest. Dried purple grape juice.

"Yeah, sure," I answered, giving her a smile. I dropped her notebook on my desk, stood up from its chair and ran a hand through her dirty-brown waves. "This looks terrible, Bros. Just like snake hair. I know Mommy told you to brush it this morning."

"Yeah, I know," she said, hanging her head.

I was staring at my sister when she called, my cat-head phone ringing across the desk like a siren, his crazy black eyes lit up and dancing.

"Hey," Santana said.

She sounded so close, like if I breathed too hard I might be able to feel her skin there next to mine.

"Hey," I said back.

"Brit!" Brosnan interrupted, banging my side with her fist.

I shooed her away. Her bare feet shuffled out of my bedroom and down the corridor. I closed the door.

"How'd you get my number?" I asked.

"We called it. Thursday night, remember?" Santana's laugh on the other end of the line vibrated. "You're in my phone now."

"Oh..." I answered.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Really? I thought for sure you'd be practicing some sweetass dance moves for a Rachel-Finn duet."

"No," I said sharply. "Why are you always talking about Glee Club? I do other things too."

I heard her suck her breath back into her throat. "I know," she muttered.

"Sorry," I apologized. I curled my finger inside the twisty cord of my cat phone, wrapping it around my skin until a red line appeared. "Are you okay?" I asked. "You didn't come to school again."

"Yeah, I had like a million better things to do."

"Oh..."

Better things to do. Like cry yourself to sleep. Like tell someone about your mom.

"Do you wanna hang out?" Santana asked. "Let's go somewhere. I don't wanna be here at my house."

"What, right now?" I ran a hand over my sister's notebook. Her handwriting was so broken and dark and all over the place. It was a total mess.

"Yeah, now! I have a surprise for you and, no it doesn't involve any form of alcohol or me forcing you to do body shots off of my hot stomach. Although, now that you mention it..."

"That's not funny," I interrupted her.

She sighed. "Look, Brittany, I know this is totally lame of me to admit- and I'll go all Jackie Chan on your ass if you tell anyone- but I don't have any other friends. Just you." Her voice dropped away into a low rasp. "So please come with me."

I paused, staring at the room around me:

Brosnan's notebook. The first paragraph read: "Hi! My name is Brosnan Pierce and I'm 8 years old. I live with my mom and dad and awesome big sister in Lyma, Ohio. We have two cats named Charity and Lord Tubbington. Charity is normul size but Lord Tubbington is very very fat becuz he loves cheese."

The patchwork quilt my aunt had made. My stuffed cat named Mucho Bucho. My white sneakers set perfectly in front of my closet. My old Cheerios outfit still hanging from the closet door, the too-tight top and the little red skirt that Quinn used to slip her fingers under as I moaned into her neck.

"Okay," I said to Santana. "I'll tell my mom."

"She's not working tonight?

"No, she's off."

"Cool," she replied. "Meet me at the park in like an hour. At our slide."

Our slide.

"Yeah, okay."

"See ya, Brittany. And thanks," she added.

She hung up before I had a chance to reply. The cat's eyes went dead.