Chapter 25

Another day passes, filled with enough uncomfortable moments to make food poisoning sound fun by comparison. Trying to maneuver in the shower with my throbbing ankle wrapped in a plastic bag, my toes so swollen that they look like fat little sausages, my ribs making me feel like a cracked porcelain doll, and all this compounding the impossibility of finding a sleeping position that doesn’t ache.

Even though it would be easier to keep taking the pain medication, I’ve committed to doing my best with just aspirin. Yes, it hurts. God. It hurts. But I’d rather not take the chance that the medication will fasten a hold on me. And there’s something satisfying about giving the middle finger to the pain. “Come at me!” I want to yell. “Is that all you got?”

Besides, I’d take twice as much physical pain over the emotional ick with my sister. It sounds cliché, but I can literally feel the tension in the air. Like it’s thicker, tainted with some kind of toxin, and once it enters my lungs, it contaminates me too. It feels as if I’m trying to fit into someone else’s skin—two sizes too small and unbendable. There’s nothing I want more than to shed myself and slither away.

I find myself texting Micah. The world has frozen over. Saff is the ice queen.

It takes him about ten minutes to respond, during which I gaze longingly at the chipped lavender polish on my sausage toes. My tender ribs won’t let me bend down to them to apply even a single coat.

My phone message dings in. As long as we’re talking ice cream, I’ll take cappuccino chip.

You are irritating. I can’t help but smile.

True. But ice cream is the best remedy for misery.

Can’t you just let me be miserable?

Negative.

I resist messaging back, just to punish him, but a few minutes later he sends me a new one. You back to school yet?

Still home. May stay home forever. Tee wanted me back today. It’s been almost a week. She says it’s time.

I can pick you up this afternoon after fifth period. I have a free sixth.

If you insist . . . I make a feeble attempt at grooming: brushing my hair and my teeth, changing my clothes and applying a thin layer of rose lip gloss.

Micah texts me when he arrives. He circles behind the car, opens my door, holds my crutches, and supports my arm as I climb in. He jiggles the keys until I click my seat belt.

“You’re being kidnapped,” Micah says, turning the key in the ignition.

“Hmm. You might need a dictionary. Because number one, I am going with you willingly and number two, I’m a freaking adult! Why does no one remember that?”

Micah laughs. “I keep telling my mom that too. She says that she’ll treat me like an adult next year when I start college and I’m living on my own.” He pulls away from the curb slowly. “Have you heard back from your top schools yet?”

That too-small skin feeling creeps back over me. “I missed the deadlines to apply.”

He brakes abruptly. “You what?”

“Hey, hey! Safe driving, buddy! You’re the responsible one, remember?”

“Sorry. I just—are you serious?”

“Yeah. I uh . . . I don’t know.” I don’t have any explanation worth saying. “I screwed up, I guess.”

He drives in silence for a little while. “You can always go to a community college for a couple years and then transfer to another school. You didn’t miss the boat for that. And it’s way less expensive anyway.”

“Yeah, or I could get a job at Yogurt Dream. Work my way up to manager. Live off the free fro-yo.” I lean my head against the window. It feels cool to the touch.

“Cayenne.” Micah readjusts the rearview mirror. “This is gonna sound cheesy and maybe presumptuous, because I know you’re six months older and all, but I have to say it.”

“Shoot.” I tilt my head toward him so that I can kind of see him, even with my forehead resting on the window.

“I don’t think it matters what your plan is. Plans change all the time. Did I tell you I only got a partial scholarship to Cal, instead of a full one like I hoped? I’m gonna apply for another one, but I might still be in debt up to my eyeballs by the time I finish. So obviously, planning doesn’t guarantee anything, and we always have to deal with curveballs. But you gotta have a plan. You gotta start somewhere.”

I slump, as much as I can with stretched-taut skin. “Where exactly is that ice cream? I’d like a quart. All for me.”

We both order double scoops. Me—mocha almond fudge and pecan with pralines. Him—cookie dough and birthday cake. I tease him about ordering kiddie flavors, but he tells me I’m just jealous, and maybe I am. I do like cookie dough.

He drives me to his house afterward. When we pull up, Fletcher’s car is parked in the driveway. I turn to Micah, confused. He holds up his hand and says, “I wasn’t joking about the kidnapping thing. You and your sister have to patch things up. I’m in cahoots with her boyfriend to orchestrate a sappy reconciliation. He brought her here after her last period.”

“I cannot believe you said cahoots.”

“So you’re okay with sappy reconciliation?”

“Oh is that what you said? I got stuck on cahoots.”

“You must be delirious. The ice cream went straight to your head.”

I groan. But secretly, I’m relieved. I can’t stand much more of this fake sugar-cookie Saffron. Makes me feel like Mary Poppins has taken her body hostage.

Micah boosts me out of the car and helps me hobble into the house. Saff is perched on a kitchen stool, and Fletcher stands behind her rubbing her shoulders. As we step through the door, I watch the sweetness melt right out of her and drip all over the floor. She twists back to glare at Fletcher. “What is this?”

Fletcher slides his hand from her upper shoulders down to her arms. “Well, basically, you’re miserable. And clearly Cayenne is miserable. And that makes me miserable. So it’s time to fix this.”

“Plus I figured you might want to finish watching your mom’s videos,” Micah points out, dragging another stool near Saff’s.

I totter over and ease myself carefully onto the stool, trying not to jostle my sensitive ribs. The way I’m moving, I probably look a hundred years old. Micah bites his lip, like he might crack up.

“This isn’t funny,” I say.

“It’s a little funny.” He gets a regular chair, so that my butt sits on the stool and my broken ankle rests at an angle on the chair below. Saff’s expression remains flat, but her eyes have softened a tiny bit.

“So we’re going to be held hostage until we make up?” I ask, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Micah nods. “In your condition, you won’t get too far if you try to leave on your own.”

“This is true.”

“So we just have to secure Saffron. I have some rope in the garage.” He says this with a totally straight face, but his voice betrays him, the humor cracking through.

“Oh, shut up.” Saff rolls her eyes. “I’ll play nice. Promise.”

“Do we have to stay in here to supervise?” Micah asks.

“No,” we both say at the same time. “Jinx,” I add softly.

Micah and Fletcher leave the room, grabbing sodas and a bag of chips for sustenance on their way out. “We only have enough food and sugary beverages for an hour,” Micah warns. “So talk fast.”

I don’t bother messing around, just get straight to the point. “Hey, Saffron, I’m sorry. I know I screwed up. I understand why you’re mad, but . . .” I trail off.

She stares me down, and just when I’m feeling myself melt under the heat of her gaze, she speaks. “I’m more hurt than mad. Listen—if you’re gonna treat your life as so disposable, I’ve got to distance myself. I’m not doing it to be mean. I’m doing it because I can’t lose another person I love.” Saff looks away, picking up one of the apples in Alicia’s fruit bowl and examining it carefully.

I remember what I said to Axel before our last jump. That my biggest fear is losing someone I love. “I feel that way too. I guess up until this accident, I felt like I’d rather be the one to go.”

“But why does anyone have to go, Cay? We’re young. We have our whole lives ahead of us.” She shifts the apple back and forth in her hands like it’s a baseball.

I scramble to explain myself. “I’m not saying I want to die soon. But when I do die, I want to feel like I really lived.”

“So that equals ignoring safety signs on cliffs and breaking traffic laws?”

“Maybe,” I say. Saff groans and turns her head away. Her frustration triggers a word tornado in me. “Well, it’s not up to you. Who I am and what I do—you don’t get to decide for me. I’m my own person and you can’t control me.”

The word tornado must be contagious, because Saff snaps back. She’s not yelling, but there’s fury under her words. “This is not news to me, Cayenne. I have never in my life been able to control you, or even influence you. You don’t care what I think. You don’t care if what you do hurts me. Cayenne Silk cares about one person and one person only. Herself.”

“There you go again. Thinking you know better.” The words spew from some deep dark place in my core, and I can’t stop them. “I think you actually like it when I screw up because then you can be the good one, the trustworthy one.”

“This is pointless.” Saffron stands up to leave. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to this. I give up. I’m not going to try anymore. It’s too hard.” She moves toward the door, each step writing me off as a lost cause.

“Wait.” Something desperate pulls at me. She turns, wary. “I’m sorry, Saff. I didn’t mean to flip into attack mode.”

When she speaks again, she’s totally matter-of-fact, maybe even robotic—and it kills me. “Cayenne. I’ll always love you because you’re my sister.” It’s weird to see someone say the word “love” with zero emotion linked to it. “But I can’t count on you and I can’t invest my time and my heart in you . . . unless you can promise you’ll take care of yourself. I know you think I’ve got it all together. But I’m on the edge too. It just looks different in me. I’m not going to sign up to be hurt and abandoned over and over again.”

The stool underneath me is turning into quicksand. “I’m gonna wear my seat belt from now on. I promise.” I sound pathetic, backpedaling like this, but bravado clearly hasn’t gotten me anywhere. “And I’m going to be more careful in general.”

“You’re throwing promises around all over the place. Words are meaningless unless there are actions attached to them.” She pulls back and I wonder if she plans to pelt the apple at me. Instead she sets it back in the bowl. “Fletch said you promised the girls you’d never die.”

“I didn’t mean for it to come out quite like that. But what I meant is that I’ll do better. I never promise anything, Saff, you know that. So that means I’m serious about this.” My words are frantic, like I can somehow stop sinking into the quicksand if I get her back on my side. “I can’t stop being me. But I can try to be my best me.”

“Show me.” Saff says, her voice strong. She fiddles with the hem of her oversized T-shirt. “I know you mean well, Cay, you always have. But nothing you say right now will be enough on its own. I can’t start counting on you again until I see the difference. So let’s give it some time.”

“That’s fair. I guess.” My foot is going numb, all tingly and prickly, but the sinking has slowed. “Are we good now?”

“We’re as good as we can be. I’m willing to try.”

“Micah!” I holler. “We’re besties, we love each other forever, and we’ll live together with our cats until we’re ninety-nine. Now help me up!”