Gravity

  There wasn't a sound.

  ###

  I was surprised to see Claire when I arrived home. The combined scents of bayberry room spray and strong cleaner met my nose. It had been drizzling outside again and my damp hair was frizzing from the chilly rain.

  "Hello, stranger. How was school?" she asked, her voice floating to me from the kitchen.

  "It was school. Same as always."

  "Very funny." She appeared with a glass of iced tea. "I mean, how have things been going? I haven't seen you that much lately."

  "Classes are fine," I shrugged my backpack off and sat down at the table. "I'm getting good grades so far, especially in English."

  "I'm expecting an A there no problem," Claire said dismissively, waving her manicured hand. "How about math?"

  "We had our first test on Monday. I got a C." I'd received the paper back just today, which dashed my hopes that I'd done well.

  She groaned. "Not already, Ariel..."

  "Mom, you know how it is for me."

  She bit the inside of her cheek in irritation. Whenever I slipped and called her by her parental title, it seemed to upset her. Every time she heard "mom" it made her feel old. Every time I had to call her Claire, I felt like a telemarketer.

  "Claire," I amended, "You know that I'm not good at math. I never have been, never will be."

  "You're so smart, Ariel. Don't make excuses. You could be good at anything if you just put in the effort and tried." She was getting dramatic with the hand gestures.

  "I do try!" I protested. She didn't look convinced, scoffing at me. "I studied for hours, I swear."

  "Cramming at the last minute is no way to study." She already had me all figured out, and there was no changing her mind.

  Pulling out a box of toaster pastries from the pantry, I popped two in the toaster and held the lever down, watching the wire coils glow orange.

  "You don't have to be so defensive," Claire said, following me into the kitchen. Our house was too small to adequately get away from her probing.

  "How am I being defensive?" I asked, rolling my eyes. I wouldn't have dared do it if she'd been aware. "I'm making a snack."

  "You're avoiding me. Like you always do when I try to talk some sense into you." She pulled a pitcher filled with iced tea and floating lemon slices out of the fridge and topped off her glass. "I just want what's best for you."

  "I know," I muttered, uncomfortable. Every conversation with Claire turned into drama; there was just no avoiding it. My toaster pastries popped and I took them out, biting into one and feeling the hot, gooey paste stick to my teeth.

  She grabbed her briefcase off of the counter, and was preparing to retreat into her office. I decided to bring up what Hugh and I had found in the basement, the file that had disappeared into Claire's possession. I hadn't had the guts or the opportunity to bring it up yet.

  "Have you used your exercise room?" I ventured.

  "No, I haven't had a chance."

  "Well, when Hugh and I were going through the boxes," I began, "I found one full of photos."

  "Photos of what?" She'd paused, and was gazing at me curiously, like I was a caged animal at the zoo whose door had been left open. Her iced tea was in one hand, briefcase in the other. I wondered what incriminating photos she thought might exist, then brushed off that disturbing thought.

  "Just you and Corinne. I can't believe how bad the fashion was back then." I was trying to make a joke, but my nervous giggling ruined it. Her face only grew more tense, hard lines etched between her brows.

  "The photos weren't what interested me, though," I continued cautiously. "There was a folder at the bottom with Grandma's name on it."

  "Mom's medical documents." A few drops of iced tea sprinkled on the tile, on top of the rose pattern like dirty rain. Her hand was shaking. "I took care of them."

  "Was there something wrong with Grandma? Hugh wouldn't even let me look at them." It intimidated me to confront her directly, but there was no stopping now. Still, I couldn't make eye contact, looking instead at the floor.

  "No. She was healthy up until she died," Claire said evenly. "Healthy as a horse. She swore by two gin soaked raisins every day. I think she would have lived to be a hundred if it weren't for the accident."

  Protesting too much. Far too much. The grandfather clock in the dining room ticked off seconds of loaded silence.

  "But..." I started.

  "Your father thought I'd want them for insurance purposes, Ariel. That's all. Now I'm behind on emails. Can we chat about this later?" Her voice was low and oddly cold.

  I nodded, feeling numb. There would be no later; it was just a graceful dodge, permanently shutting down the topic. She swept out of the room, and I heard the office door shut.

  The spilled iced tea was drying on the floor in sticky brown splotches. Looking at them reminded me of her shuddering hand. Grabbing a dishcloth, I scrubbed the floor vigorously until the spots were gone.

  ###

  I convinced Claire to give up control of the computer after dinner. Instead, she sat down in front of the TV, a blank look on her face and a glass of red wine beside her. I wondered what I'd stirred up to upset her. Maybe it was just work and had nothing to do with my questions. But I doubted it.

  The years were long gone when I could just sit down and have a heart to heart with my mom. I didn't know if things would ever be that way between us again, and that thought made me sad. Though not as much as perhaps it should have.

  In the office, the only light came from a Tiffany-style table lamp on a standing shelf full of office supplies. Three file cabinets filled with every important and unimportant record of our lives sat beside a spacious desk with a hutch.

  I pulled the rolling chair out and sat down. I didn't bother with Jenna's profile, for once. I'd told my parents that I needed the computer for homework, but instead I went to a search engine.

  Ghosts, I typed in, knowing that was as vague as it got. But I had to start somewhere. I scrolled through the results. Movie titles, grainy amateur videos, and stories from olde England and Scotland, about cursed castles and crumbling graveyards. Interesting, but not what I as looking for. I narrowed my search to Real life ghost sightings.

  I found a few sites, but most of them seemed to be written by people who were loopy, the kind that appeared on old psychic commercials promising to tell your future for $5.99 a minute after the first five minutes free.

  Then I clicked on a site from a medical journal. Hallucinations and paranoia were listed as symptoms of psychosis.

  "Hearing voices, hallucinations, seeing things that aren't there," I read aloud. "Vivid dreams, trouble identifying reality." Anxiety had crept up on me again.

  I closed that window down and opened another. I'd always heard that crazy people didn't know or even suspect that they were crazy. But maybe that was just another of those things people said to make themselves feel better.

  Checking my email, I didn't find much. I was the recipient of the world's most creative spam, however. Many princes offered me a million dollars if I would be so kind as to send a bank account number.

  I thought back to the week after Jenna disappeared. Claire and I had been standing in the kitchen, much like we had been today. The door had been open, letting in the smell of hot July sunshine and joyriding car exhaust. Hot dogs were cooking outside, and the sound of Hugh scraping the grill had set my teeth on edge.

  "I don't believe her," I said, referring to Jenna's mother, Rachel.

  "She says it's all there in the emails," Claire said. "Jenna was planning to go out of state. She was talking to some college guys there." She stared down the bridge of her nose at me. "Have you two been hanging out with older men?"

  "No! Of course not! What are you even talking about?" I couldn't stop scratching a spot on my wrist, the spot around my hair tie. It itched relentlessly.

  "Are you telling the truth? Because if you're lying..."

  "I'm n
ot lying!" I burst, fed up with Claire's accusations. "It doesn't matter because you're just going to assume I am. You never believe me."

  I turned away, unable to look at her, her milky eyes so full of mixed emotions. She always found a way to blame things on me or my actions. Like I wasn't caught in an ocean of guilt already.

  "Can I see the emails?" I asked.

  "Why?" Claire's voice was tired. She stirred mayonnaise into the potato salad she was making, her shoulders sagging.

  "Because it doesn't sound right. Jenna may have been acting distant lately, but she wouldn't up and run off. I've been saying that from day one."

  "Jenna was obviously troubled," Claire said resolutely.

  "You barely knew her," I said angrily. I felt a familiar stab of loyalty for Jenna, the urge to protect her honor. "I want to read these emails."

  "Rachel said she printed them off and turned them over to the police. And she's also hinted that you and Jenna were bad for each other. I don't think it would be a good idea."

  No amount of pleading with either my mom or Rachel, who would barely talk to me, would give me a glimpse of the emails. I didn't know if I believed Rachel's claim or not; I didn't know what to believe, like I'd told Claire.

  I'd always had the sneaking suspicion that Jenna's mom didn't like me. Even as a little girl, I felt like she was uncomfortable with me in her house, eating peanut butter and jelly at her table. She had a glossy, fake grin whenever she spoke to me, the kind that made her look permanently constipated. Jenna avoided the issue whenever I'd ask, which only made me more sure that Rachel disliked me.

  During the search party, Rachel and Jenna's father, Joe, paid no attention to me. They had spoken instead with Becky and Sarah and their families, even though I was Jenna's best friend. The adults had conversed over my head in the dark, flashlights bobbing around us like falling stars. I wondered if they wished I'd been the one to vanish.

  CHAPTER 8

  LUCKILY, NO ONE cared about my Henry fixation in school. There was other news for everyone to gossip about instead: a little girl had gone missing at the bus stop on Friday. It wasn't a normal thing for children to go missing in our area. Hell had good neighborhoods, where people didn't always lock their doors and they knew all the neighbors on the block by name.

  At lunch, Theo and I passed by Becky's table. Becky and I made eye contact, but when she saw Theo, she no longer looked welcoming. I ushered Theo away before she noticed Becky's unfriendly glare. We looked over the crowded commons, but the tables were full as usual.

  "Maybe we should skip lunch?" Theo said, fidgeting nervously. Random chunks of her hair were braided and tied with pastel bows.

  "I'm not giving them the satisfaction," I said resolutely, gripping my tray.

  I marched back to the far wall of the expansive room and sat down. Theo joined me on the chilly white tile. It was my official dismissal from my old friends, but I knew our connections had been severed long ago.

  ###

  In art, the assignment was to sketch a realistic portrait of our seatmate. Theo offered to go first, which was good since I was very nervous about even attempting to draw her. I felt like it would be an insult. As she outlined a vague oval of my face, we made small talk.

  "I think I'm going to fail geometry this year," I said.

  "Hold still," Theo admonished me. I tried to freeze, but my head kept shaking. "Why is that?"

  "This morning Mr. Vanderlip kept me after class to lecture me about my abysmal quiz score."

  "That's no good," Theo said sympathetically. I wondered if she realized how gracefully her hand moved as she drew, making it look effortless. "I'd offer to help, but I don't do that great in math myself. I usually pull a little over a C. It's still early, though...."

  "Here's me donning my pessimist hat. It's this early, and I'm already doing that badly." I blew up my cheeks and let the air out. Telling Theo made me realize how serious it was.

  Henry sauntered past our table then, causing me to straighten my spine. I'd gotten to the point where I could identify him just by seeing his cavalier walk in my periphery vision. He started digging in the supply cabinet behind our table.

  "You still have plenty of time to pull up your grade, storm clouds," Theo said with a lopsided grin. She pushed her pencil against my cheek. "Stop wiggling."

  "Sorry." I tried even harder to sit still, but the shaking vibrated in my chest. Henry being so near made it impossible to focus. My eyeballs were practically magnetized to go towards him.

  "You're tilting your chin too much now. Tilt it back down." This time she pushed her pencil gently against my skull.

  "He told me I should get a tutor," I said, maneuvering my head as she'd requested. "But I don't know where to find one. And I have no cash. My parents could afford it, I guess, but I don't really want to ask them."

  "Maybe ask one of the seniors?" she suggested. She shut one eye and held her pencil vertically up to my nose.

  Suddenly, Henry came around and put his elbows on the side of the table across from me. He leaned his face in his hands, fists squishing up his cheeks. I tried to ignore how cute it made him look, blood thundering in my ears.

  "May we help you?" I asked, and Theo snickered.

  "I couldn't help but overhear," he said.

  "You couldn't help but eavesdrop," I corrected.

  "Call it what you want. But geometry is my second favorite subject, right up there next to physics," Henry explained, face still propped up by his hands. "If you ever need any help, I'd be happy to offer my qualified services."

  He grinned at me, turning his charm up another notch. Not like he needed any help.

  "You want to be my tutor?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. The day was suddenly veering off into the bizarre.

  "Sure, why not? Plus it would require some of that closeness you so desperately want." He sucked his cheeks in, then smirked at me.

  "What are you—you're the one said that, not me," I said, flustered. I shifted on the art stool. Funny how the only times I felt abashed around Theo had to do with Henry Rhodes.

  "Relax, I'm teasing." He stood up, rapping his knuckles on the table. Up close I noticed how beautiful his hands were. Rigid veins trailed like rivers beneath his unmarred skin. Really, he had beautiful everything.

  "If you can handle being around me for long without wanting to run far away, it might help you out," he said.

  "I don't know if that's possible," I said dryly. Although I was attempting to tease back, I could feel my pulse race in a peculiar way. Unlike the first day I'd met him, now his attention wasn't so unwanted. It still made me self-conscious, but I also felt giddy.

  Henry lowered the already deep register of his voice to a throaty whisper, his gaze capturing mine. "Maybe I won't let you run away."

  My chest tightened, my breath catching. I had no idea what to say. I couldn't look away from him.

  After a second, he broke into his usual smile, his eyes softening. "Okay, that was too big bad wolf, huh? I try for cool and it comes out corny."

  "It was a bit corny," Theo said. I'd almost forgotten she was sitting beside me, that we were in the middle of school. Henry laughed, clear as a bell. It hadn't been the least bit corny to me.

  "I'd be grateful not to flunk," I piped up. I really did need the help. So what if it came from someone cute? It didn't make the potential knowledge any less useful. As long as I could focus enough on the math to retain it.

  "Good. Here's my number." He flipped to a blank page in my sketchbook and scribbled the digits upside down, so that they were right side up for me.

  "Text me when you figure out a good day and time. You can have me whenever you want."

  His last words were the last straw. My mind was officially blown. He picked up the reference book he'd gotten out of the supply cabinet and returned to his seat. I felt like I'd just been dosed with tranquillizers. A heady sensation of giddiness sped up my torso.

  I ran my in
dex finger over the penciled numbers, not believing they were real. The graphite smudged. Theo whacked me on the arm, knocking me out of my reverie.

  "Ow."

  "He totally wants you, you know that right?" Her voice was high and excited. "What I just witnessed was basically verbal foreplay."

  "He does not want me!" I said in a loud whisper. The girls at the next table glared at us; I tried my best to smile so that they would look away. "He's just kidding. Lainey has him tightly ensnared in her web."

  I wiggled my fingers like spider legs. "If I lay so much as one finger on Henry, that finger is as good as torn off."

  Henry put one knee on his seat, kneeling as if ready to propose. He looked back at me and quickly flicked his eyebrows up, smiling again as he shifted and settled the rest of the way down.

  Theo rolled her eyes and started putting the finishing touches on my picture. "Yeah, you keep on denying it, Ariel."

  The whole walk home, I debated my interpretation of the scene between Henry and me. With Jenna no longer around, it was possible that I was gullible. She had always been my logic, offering me advice that was usually solid.

  What other interpretation was there? Like Theo had said, he seemed to be very obvious about liking me. But I'd never had boys interested in me before. Not like I was hideous or anything...more like invisible. I didn't try to look airbrushed, and boys normally considered me one of them.

  Claire was standing in the living room all dressed up when I arrived. She was wearing her best red dress, which I'd only seen to my recollection twice before. She looked fantastic, the color brightening her dull, office-pale skin. Rhinestone earrings dangled from her ears.

  "You look pretty. What's up?"

  "Go up and ask Hugh," she said with a secretive smile. "It's his news. Oh, and ask him for my necklace, too, the one that matches these earrings."

  I went upstairs to my parents room at the end of the hall. I rarely ventured to the second story, except on laundry day or to talk to Hugh in his studio. Across from each other were Hugh's studio, smelling of paint and varnish, and the guest room. Along the walls, monochromatic art that Hugh had painted for my mom years ago was displayed.

  In his room, Hugh was trying to fix the crooked knot in his tie, studying himself in an antique mirror next to the armoire.