10

Becca

We waited in the special room for five hours, with Nurse Julie checking in every now and then. Dad continued to watch TV and Mom stood at the window drinking coffee. She had the pot gone in the first sixty minutes. I made her another pot and then drank juice boxes and played solitaire on my phone.

My head raced and I went over every possible scenario of what could’ve gone wrong. Or was it just an accident? Possible; not likely. I thought about phoning him, but decided against it. It was too risky.

Mom and Dad released frequent sighs and odd moans, but otherwise, it was silent. We were scared to talk, to move. It was becoming unbearable, trapped in this small room with my parents.

Just when we thought we couldn’t last another minute, Julie came in with the news that Brit was out of surgery. She lead us to her room; my family practically tiptoeing the entire way. We moved slow, cautious, none of us really wanting to see what was going to happen next.

In a small, white, and far-too-bright room, my sister was on the hospital bed propped on a pillow, tubes taking over the upper half of her body. It was difficult to comprehend. Brit’s head was bandaged, and from the looks of it, most of her hair had been shaved off. Her head was tiny wrapped up that way, like the end of a Q-tip.

We moved around her bed and just stared. Tears fell from my parent’s eyes, dotting Brit’s sheet in wet, misshapen spots. My sister—my vibrant, loud, crazy sister—was so quiet. So still. The scents of antiseptic and death filled the air, and I just wanted to leave.

The surgeon told us the surgery went as well as could be expected, but there were no guarantees. Her injuries were severe and we wouldn’t know how badly her brain was damaged until the swelling went down and she woke up. If she woke up.

That’s when I started saying my goodbyes.

I had to say them each day over the next month.

Despite what my parents wanted to believe, Brit was gone. She wasn’t coming back to us. And all I could think was someone had to take the blame.

Travis Kent.

Gamer geek Travis Kent.

Brutally intense Travis Kent.

Possessive and dangerous Travis Kent.

My secret boyfriend Travis Kent.

Sister-hater Travis Kent.

I met Travis at the end-of-year Skip Day. I never went to these things, but Brit needed a ride home and I’d already taken all my finals so my schedule was pretty open. Plus, my summer tutoring gig was a few weeks out and frankly, I had nothing better to do.

That year, Skip Day was at a park. People were playing Frisbee, lying out in the sun, dancing, and getting high. Typical. Brit had decided to do the latter. Usually she stuck to alcohol, so I’m not sure why she had the sudden urge. I also didn’t really care.

The smell of pot gave me headaches and stoned people made me irritable, so I declined to go along with it. Trouble was, not a soul from my ASP group was in attendance—nobody I even knew casually. I was on my own.

I grabbed a book from my summer reading list, aka ten books every college freshman should read. I’d have mine read before junior year even started. I found a comfortable spot under a tree, opened Wallace’s Consider the Lobster, and began to read the collections of essays that would supposedly help me become a more accomplished critical thinker.

I hadn’t finished the first page before Travis showed up. He was always quick to make a move. Though I had no idea why he’d chosen me that day.

Travis Kent was hard to explain. He was a geek, a gamer, and a bad boy all rolled in one. He had a few friends, but mostly kept to himself. I knew his name because we’d had a class together the year before. I’d watched him even then. Most girls did. While he was still considered a bottom-feeder, he made good eye candy. He always looked nice. He wore the standard dark jeans and T-shirts—except his were pressed, with no holes and rips. Built of lean muscle, he seemed taller than he was. He had what Dad would call a presence. He wore his hair long and secured it in a low tail, showing off his deep blue eyes. Yet, with all of that, he still couldn’t climb the social ladder. He was like one of those creatures in the wild that keep the animals at bay with a built-in defense mechanism. I never found out why that was.

“Are you actually reading on Skip Day?” he said, taking a seat next to me.

“It would appear so.” I answered his stupid question without looking up from my book.

“Isn’t that defeating the purpose of this event?”

“Not sure that I care. I’m only here to give my sister a ride, anyway.”

He was either bored or looking for someone to bother, and I was not going to be his afternoon entertainment, so I continued to ignore him as he chattered on.

“And you’re not interested in partaking in the festivities over there?” he asked, motioning to my sister and her friends surrounded by a plume of smoke.

“Not my thing.” I finally looked over at him, and when I did, I no longer seemed to mind the interruption.

“Hmm.” He scratched his invisible chin-stubble. “What is your thing?”

That’s when I got it. He was into me. Maybe. Possibly. It was the very first time a boy had taken interest in me without the promise of Brit Waters’s attention. It felt … unreal. Nice. Wonderful. Which is precisely why I shouldn’t have trusted it.

Still, I allowed it to go on. I let him flirt, and sit under my tree, and feed me treats from his not-so-picnic picnic basket. I let him in.

Thankfully, he left before Brit came back all pie-eyed—though not before making plans for the next day. Those plans lasted most of the summer.

Though he was the one to approach me, Travis was just as secretive about our relationship as I was. It made me feel safe. Special. Plus, I was thrilled to have something that was mine and mine alone. Travis’s little brother would occasionally see me come and go, but we were never introduced. I never met his dad; we never went out with his friends; and we never talked in school.

It was our secret.