After Dustin stormed off, Hugo was quiet. He was quiet for most of the lunch period. It wasn’t until he had eaten every last carrot stick and finished every last bite of turkey sandwich that he said, “I know where the Deep Downs are.”
“What?” Shirin cried. She jolted backward so fast that Alma had to grab her arm to keep her from flying off the bench. “You do?”
“Where, Hugo?” Alma asked after righting her friend.
“Up by Dustin’s house,” Hugo replied. “Dustin wanted us to go in them when we were much younger, first grade, I think. But I was—I was afraid. Cave systems are extremely dangerous.”
“We can go tonight!” Alma cried. “We have to go tonight!”
But Shirin and Hugo didn’t seem to share her eagerness.
“I’m not sure I can do that,” Hugo said.
“Yeah, me neither,” Shirin agreed. “Like Hugo said, caves are dangerous. And my parents are totally going to notice if we sneak out again so soon. Maybe we can just meet up at my house tomorrow after school and, like, make a plan?”
Alma didn’t want to plan. She didn’t want to wait.
But she knew they were right. Going into a cave system was a serious undertaking. And her parents already had noticed, and they hadn’t seemed to fully believe the story she’d finally stammered that morning about how she’d been out exploring the backyard.
So she agreed.
It was impossible to think of anything else though. They had water. They had wind. They needed earth and fire and the Starling. Water, wind, earth, fire, Starling. Water, wind, earth, fire, Starling.
“So, Alma,” her father began that night after dinner.
Water, wind, earth, fire, Starling, Alma thought. She kept her gaze on her half-eaten taco. She recognized the tone of voice. She knew what was coming. It was time for another Discussion.
But then her father said something he’d never said before.
“Your mother and I have been talking,” he said, “and we’ve decided that it would be a good idea for you to meet with a”—he paused and cleared his throat—“professional.”
Alma stopped her elemental recitation. She stopped staring at her taco. She looked up at her father, then her mother.
“You mean like the doctor I saw last time?”
Her father shook his head. “Not a medical doctor. A psychologist. Someone who can listen and give … advice, I suppose.”
“You give me advice,” Alma said. “You give me advice all the time. Constantly.”
“Maybe that’s true,” her father said. His voice was softer than it usually was, gentler. “Our advice hasn’t exactly been working, though, has it? You’ve been doing better … we think. But we’ve also been more worried about you. Well, we’ve been worried about you for different reasons. We’ve been considering this course of action for some time, and then we received a call from the school today. They also feel you would benefit from … those services.”
“We just think, Alma,” her mother began, her voice more serious than it usually was, less silly. “That things might have gotten…” She rolled her wrists, fingers outstretched, and bobbed her head back and forth, searching for the right words. “Beyond us.”
“They haven’t,” Alma said. “Things haven’t gotten beyond you. I joined the Astronomy Club, remember? I’m going places, remember? I’m acclimating!”
“You are,” her father replied, “in some ways. But in other ways…” He trailed off.
“It isn’t a punishment, Alma Llama Ding Dong,” Alma’s mother said.
“I’m not going to go,” Alma said.
“I’m afraid,” her father said, still gentle, “that you absolutely must. You have an appointment on Monday, in fact.”
“It isn’t a punishment,” her mother repeated, still serious.
Alma wanted to tell them that they were wrong about her. She wanted to tell them that she was already doing something, something important.
But she didn’t.
There were too many lies wrapped around those truths. She didn’t know how to untangle them.
And even if she could, even if she told her parents everything, she was sure they still wouldn’t understand. They didn’t seem to understand her at all anymore.
So she didn’t say anything.