Amy takes me to my first therapy appointment Wednesday after school. Dr. Jacinto’s fluent in ASL, which is a big step up from my last therapist. Then again, she’s also a lot more direct than my last therapist. By the time our hour’s up, I’m wrecked, not from listening but simply from thinking so hard. It’s like someone pulled my brain out of my nostrils.
“How was it?” Amy asks as we head to the car.
“Good.” I think. Dr. Jacinto asked me a lot of questions. Stuff about school, and my parents, and Jasmine, and Liam, but also stuff I wasn’t expecting—like how it felt that my family still hadn’t learned to sign.
I didn’t even know how to answer that one. But it left me feeling weird and unsettled.
“You need anything on the way home?” Amy asks. “Want some Dairy Queen?”
“I’m good.”
Amy’s quiet again for a while. But then she says, “I know you probably just talked a lot to your therapist, but I’m here for you if you need anything.”
“I know you are. Thanks.”
As I sit on my bed, organizing brackets for the Mario Kart tournament, my phone buzzes. I grab it so fast I accidentally fling it off my bed. I scramble to find it. Is it Liam?
But no. It’s Denise. She never texts me unless it’s an emergency.
Hey Jackson. This is Denise.
Just wanted to check on you. You doing okay?
I miss seeing you around!
Tech starts soon. But I guess she doesn’t need my help.
I'm doing okay. Thanks
I'm glad to hear that.
Give me a shout if you need anything.
When do you hear about
your portfolio review?
Not until May
Okay, keep me posted!
I nod, even though there’s no one to see me, my chest going all warm. I miss Denise too.
I get off the floor, scoop up my overturned notebook—a tiny spiral-bound one—and find Jasmine hovering in my doorway.
We haven’t talked much, aside from the bare minimum that goes with sharing a house and, crucially, a bathroom. I’ve been taking the bus in the mornings, riding home with Bowie in the afternoons, so we’ve been able to mostly avoid each other.
It’s so awkward even Dad has taken to asking what’s going on between us, but I haven’t told him. I don’t think Jasmine has, either.
She looks at me, a slight frown creasing the corners of her mouth.
“What?” I ask. “Dinner?”
“Can I come in?”
I blink at her. What could she possibly want?
But I guess my not saying no quick enough counts as a yes to her. She steps in, closes the door, and sits on the edge of my bed. I stay standing.
“Did you need something?”
“How was therapy?”
“Private.”
“Okay.” She tucks her legs up underneath her. “You probably heard I got a week of detention.”
I hadn’t heard that. “For what?”
“For putting up your lists.”
“Oh.”
I guess that’s good? Though a week’s detention hardly seems fair for imploding my life.
Though maybe I did that to myself.
“I heard you got kicked off the play.”
“What did you think would happen?”
“I don’t know.” She puffs up her cheeks, then exhales. “I’m sorry about that.”
I stare at her.
It’s a little late for sorry.
“I was so mad at you. Like, madder than I’ve ever been in my life. You hurt me, Jackson. What you and Liam did really hurt.”
“He didn’t do anything except break up with you,” I say, feeling suddenly defensive of him. “It’s my fault.”
“He and I talked a bit.”
That’s more than I’ve managed. I gave up on texting him, and the one time we made direct eye contact at school, he got a panicked look and turned the other way.
Dr. Jacinto thinks I need to give him space, and she’s right. But I miss him so much it’s turning me inside out.
“Jackson?”
“Huh?”
“I said, I talked to Liam.”
“Okay.”
“He apologized to me for . . . well. Everything.”
“Everything?”
“For dating me when he liked you. For thinking things would just magically work out. For dropping me once he realized you and Bowie weren’t together.”
I wince.
“Somethingsomething, that was a really shitty thing to do.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I am too.” She takes a deep breath. “I could tell you liked him. And I started to wonder if he liked you too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Learning sign seemed like a lot for someone who was just a friend.”
“Or a sister,” I mutter before I can stop myself.
Jasmine stares at me for a long time. So long I start feeling awkward.
“So what now?” I ask.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m still mad at you. For a lot of stuff. You could’ve been honest from the start.”
“Yeah. I could have. I didn’t . . . I’d never felt like that before. About anyone. It took me a while to figure out. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”
“I understand.” She traces patterns across my comforter. “I’m not saying I forgive you. But I didn’t mean to mess up your life.”
“You didn’t. I’ll be okay.”
“Good.” She stands, fiddles with the hem of her shirt. “You don’t have to keep taking the bus. I can give you a ride.”
“I’ll think about it.”
She shrugs.
“I do love you, Jackson. Even when I want to kill you.”
I snort.
“I love you too.”
And for the first time in a long while, my sister smiles at me. It’s small and uncertain but it’s a start.
Maybe we’ll be all right after all.