Fault Lines (15 page)

“Which one?” I say, jumping up to tiptoe behind him and look out. “Ugh. I can’t believe he brought Taylor.”

She sits on the outer edge of the row, next to Mike, with Bobby on the other side of him. Surprisingly, Dad is in the row in front of Mom, and he’s turned around in his seat talking with everyone.

“Ten minutes!” the stage director yells, making me jump.

“You nervous?” Mrs. Luna says from behind us. I have no idea when she walked up.

I say, sarcastically, “Never!” at the same time Ricky says, “Totally.”

She laughs and hands him an origami paper crane, similar to the hundreds folded by the backstage crew for handing out to audience members at the end of each night’s show – only hers is made of shiny, golden paper. A keepsake. “I hope this helps you find peace,” Mrs. Luna says, flashing a brilliant white smile and walking away to get in place for the show.

“Time to get ready,” I say, starting offstage.

“Here,” Ricky says, sticking the crane in front of me. He scrunches his nose quickly two times to push up his glasses. “For helping me so much.”

I hesitate. Don’t know what to say. It wouldn’t be right for me to accept it after being so mean to him that day. “I can’t.”

“I want you to. I couldn’t have done it without you.” He tilts his head and gives me a pretty-please look. “Thank you, Dani.”

He’s waving it now, so I take it in both hands.
I’m sorry
, I think to myself, but I don’t have the courage to say that. “Thank
you
,” I respond, hoping he knows that I’m grateful to be forgiven. Then, what the heck… “for forgiving me. You’re very sweet, you know that?”

Sometimes you have to make things right. You have to choose it. Right doesn’t always win by itself.

The lights go down. We walk off stage left. Into darkness and moving shadows and giggling, whispering voices. I bump into someone. The stage lights fade in. Todd. He’s grasping my arms to keep us from running into each other again.

Awk. Ward.

We haven’t spoken since I got arrested. We barely make eye contact. Now we’re staring. Trying to think of—

“Break a leg tonight,” he says, dropping his hands.

—The most generic thing possible to say.

“Thanks.”

I don’t expect him to apologize for abandoning me with all the consequences. I knowingly took the fall by myself. But it would be nice if he at least asked how community service was going. Or school. Or packing for my family’s move in three weeks. Anything to make conversation.

I guess it’s up to me. I’d like some closure to this friendship so it doesn’t feel like it does now – like it never happened. But I don’t know what to say.

I open my mouth to say
Goodbye
and flee the moment, when the opening scene’s recorded music starts to play, a simple percussion beat with one flute and some sort of reverberating string instrument. The curtain opens. Maddy and Isaac begin.

I can take a cue.

Maybe this moment isn’t an ending. It feels like a beginning.

I hold out the golden origami crane to him. He smiles but doesn’t reach for it. I nod and lift my eyebrows to say
Won’t you take it?
So he does. He glances at me and nods his head a couple times, then looks back down at it.

I’m not sure, but I think he understands the message I’m trying to send: I’m not broken anymore. I don’t need to place blame or seek revenge. I’m finding my way back to hope.

now

A sharp wind bites at my face. Not a lovely day for a walk. Swirls of snow blow across the deserted park road where in a few months people will be out running or playing tennis on the courts. But for now summer seems a long way off, like February might never end.

I turn off the road and slide through a cut in the fence that surrounds the golf course. It’s a straight shot to my old house. Just up the hill ahead, I’ll be able to see it through the bare trees. My boots crunch on patches of white. Not much snow – a dusting – but dry and cold.

Moving day.

Tomorrow a different family will live in the only place I’ve ever called home.

I’ve had a few months to get used to the idea, but it hit me like a punch to the gut when we drove away with the last load of stuff a few hours ago. I couldn’t figure out why I once again felt like crying and screaming and hitting something. I had to get out of the new apartment, crowded with boxes and junk.

It’s a struggle to keep my sadness from turning into anger like before. The knowing part of me, my personal dog trainer voice, tries to keep up.
Call Justine
, it said.
She’s willing to listen, she wants to help, so let her.
Lean on the people who love you, and you’ll feel better.

We live in the apartment complex across the street from Parkside. Mom says it’s only temporary – until we get back on our feet – but at least it’s close enough to walk to the old neighborhood. I called Justine, and her mom said she could meet me halfway.

I’m glad, because walking in these big, gray, empty spaces outside has given me a chance to think. I’ve figured out a few things.

First things first, the obvious: Of course I’m upset about leaving my house. It’s where I lost my first tooth and climbed my first tree. It’s where we buried my Guinea pig and made a rock headstone for him. It’s where Mike taught me to pitch, and I showed Bobby how to slide without scraping his leg. It’s where we jumped in leaf piles, raced wagons, ran through sprinklers.

Leaving that house feels like separating from a part of me. Mom said we don’t lose those memories, that they’ll always be with us, and I hope she’s right.

But even if I box up that sadness and set it aside, there’s more to be packed.

I miss Barney like crazy. And I still miss Dad. It’s painful every time I have to call him with some news from my life or leave him after a weekend visit.

Admitting this makes me a total divorced kid cliché, but if I’m going to be honest I have to say it. Here goes: I hoped my parents would get back together when my dad started a new job a couple weeks ago.

The thing is, he’s back in a quality control management position, and he says he’s making more money than he did before. His patience and persistence paid off, he says. I guess I wished he’d put those qualities to use getting Mom back. But clearly that won’t be the case.

Dad helped us move today, but he didn’t stay after the unloading was done. I asked if we could all go out and get something to eat, and he said no. My face must have shown my disappointment, because Mom made a point to hug me after he left. Then she held my face in her hands and said, “Your dad and I will find our happiness apart from each other, but we both love you very much.”

That’s when I realized once and for all they’re not even trying to save the marriage.
He’s never coming back.

My face feels hot – maybe from climbing this hill, maybe not. I rise to the top where a thin strip of trees divides this part of the golf course from the fairways that bump up against my old back yard.

My breath catches in my chest. In the distance, I see Justine. On a leash ahead of her, trotting and sniffing the air, is Barney. So happy to be out for a walk.

My heart warms. I lean against a tree and watch them. They haven’t spotted me yet. Standing up here, on higher ground, spying on the two of them from a distance, I almost feel like I’m the grandmother again from
A Thousand Cranes
, flying with Sadako over the spirits of a thousand years and looking down in wonder.

I loved playing that role. It didn’t bother me at all having to hold hands with Maddy during the play, because up on stage I didn’t see the ex-friend who dumped me for the popular life. And I no longer was the girl with the temper who let her grades tank and got arrested from her parents splitting up. When I looked at Maddy, all I saw was Sadako, a scared little girl who needed help getting through some seriously rough stuff. I got to be the calm, strong grandmother offering guidance and wisdom.

Barney just about pulls off Justine’s arm when he sees a squirrel run across the sixth green and down an embankment to dig in a sand trap. She drops the leash, and he sprints off. I laugh as the squirrel hears, looks, darts away, and Barney does a 180-degree turn in the sand trap to continue the chase.

He’s prancing about all zig-zaggy, and I’m grateful.

You still get to see him. He’s happy. There’s no fighting anymore.

I step out from the trees, into the open. Justine sees me and waves. “Barney, look!” she calls, pointing at me, but he runs toward her not understanding what she’s saying. “Look, it’s Dani!”

I don’t holler at all, just wait, grateful too for Justine – who never gets jealous of me and Barney loving each other, because that’s the kind of friend she is.

“Go get the squirrel!” Justine shouts at Barney, knowing that will make him look around in search of it. His head turns this way and that, until his gaze lands on me, and all motion stops.

His entire body – ears, head, tail, everything – springs to attention.

We look at each other for a second like we’re the only two beings on earth. Then he charges forward, galloping so fast the wind blows his ears back.

We meet like two long-lost lovers who never expected to see each other again, laughing and jumping for joy and hugging and kissing sloppy wet smacks on the mouth.

I realize how lucky I am. In moments like this, with Justine and Barney, I’m able to feel happiness again. I can look around and count my blessings and accept that it’s enough, even if it’s not everything.

I hold on tight to what is right with the world.

About the Author

Brenda Ortega grew up in Michigan, the fifth of six children, sandwiched in between two older brothers and one younger one. Brenda was a classic tomboy who loved to play baseball, hockey, and basketball, go fishing, and climb trees. But she harbored a secret: She liked girly things too. At the age of six, she convinced her mom to buy her a pair of white, zip-up go-go boots, which never saw the light of day. She only wore them in her bedroom, where she was free to model-walk down the runway, strike a pose, dance. Now she celebrates her inner quirks and writes novels that explore the contradictions, the struggles, and the triumphs of being human.

Brenda’s debut young adult novel,
The Twelfth of Never
, was named a 2014 B.R.A.G. Medallion Honoree. Midwest Book Review called it “a riveting good read from beginning to end… Very highly recommended.” Buy it at Amazon Books:
http://tinyurl.com/Twelfth-of-Never

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BrendaOrtega.com