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Page 20
Page 20
My leg throbbed as Lila took another whack. Ashley blinked, obviously startled. “Excuse me?”
Lila cleared her throat. “What I think Echo meant to say was that we’re thrilled to be spending time with you because there’s an issue she needs to discuss. A girlie thing. You know, like a men-don’t-understand type of thing. See, over the past year her periods have become very heavy and the cramping has gotten worse. Right, Echo?”
“Ow,” I said plainly while trying hard not to blink my eyeballs out. I really stunk at this. She kicked me again. “I mean, yes. Lots of blood and cramps. Wow. Really bad cramps. Like cramps from Hades. Yeah, I really hate cramps. Cramps, cramps, cramps. ”
This time, Lila stomped on my foot. “As Echo’s best friend, I told her that she should talk to you. My mom put me on the pill when my periods became heavy. ”
Ashley’s face fell for a moment while she glanced back and forth between me and Lila. Which one would win out? The wife who knew my father would crush his BlackBerry in his hand if he found out his only daughter was on birth control, or the woman desperate to make herself feel better for ruining my life?
“Yes. Yes, Lila. You were right to tell Echo to talk to me. ” A small smile touched her lips, but her eyes still darted in worry. “How long has this been going on?”
Never. “Over a year. ”
“Why didn’t you come to me sooner, sweetheart?”
I shrugged.
Ashley took a long drink from her latte. “How are things going between you and Luke?”
Crap. “Ashley, can we focus on my period issues?”
Ashley’s eyes brightened. Guilt had won. “I have an appointment with my OB Monday. Why don’t you tag along and we’ll have her take a look at you and give you a prescription. I have an ultrasound scheduled. Your dad can’t make it and I was so bummed when we didn’t find out the sex last time. How exciting will it be for you to see your younger brother or sister?”
For a moment, I thought Ashley was going to break out into song. This time, instead of a kick, Lila reached under the table and took my hand. I squeezed her hand as I answered, “Yeah. That’ll be great. ”
NOAH
“Stop sulking already. If you would have screwed her when you first met her, like I told you to, you wouldn’t be twisted like a damn pretzel. ” Beth slammed her tray on the lunch table.
I pushed my pizza away and leaned back in the chair. So far, Echo had done little more than make fleeting eye contact with me today. Just like she’d said, she’d gone back to her life and, in theory, I’d gone back to mine. Problem? I didn’t like mine, not without her.
Isaiah placed his tray on the other side of me. “Let him be, Beth. Sometimes you can’t help who you fall for. ” Words of wisdom from the guy who ignored his feelings for Beth.
Beth scowled as she stabbed a fork into her chicken patty. She kept her hair in her face to hide the bruises the makeup couldn’t cover. “What’s eating you, Isaiah? You’ve been brooding almost as bad as Noah. Please don’t tell me you’ve fallen for some unreachable, stupid girl, too. ”
Isaiah changed the subject. “So, Beth, I heard Mrs. Collins called you into her office. ”
“What for?” I asked. Mrs. Collins messing with one of us was enough.
“I’m assuming one of my teachers turned me in when they noticed the bruises. I told her I fell down the steps at my dad’s house. ” She winked at Isaiah and the two laughed at their shared joke. Neither of them had any clue who their fathers were.
My heart quickened when I caught a flash of red entering the lunchroom. At the corner door farthest from me, Echo paused and performed a quick scan. She held her books tight to her chest, sleeves clutched in her hands. Our eyes met. Her green eyes melted and she gave me that beautiful siren smile. My lips quirked and I motioned for her to come over to the table. What the hell was I doing?
Beth had evidently become a mind reader. “What the hell are you doing?”
While watching Echo’s eyes widen, I quickly turned to Isaiah. “Would you like to work on a 1965 Corvette?”
“Do I want a million bucks? Hell, yeah. ”
“Got plans after school?” I asked. Echo glanced over to her lunch table and then back to me. Come on, my little siren. Come to me.
“We haven’t skipped in a while,” said Isaiah.
“I’m game,” said Beth. “And I don’t need the excuse of a car to skip. ”
“No skipping. ” I kept my eyes locked on Echo’s. She shifted from one foot to another. She needed a reason to come. I picked up my calculus book and showed her the cover. She exhaled enough that a couple of curls moved with her breath. Finally, my nymph approached.
“Hey. ” She spoke so softly I had to strain to hear her. Her eyes flickered from me to Beth to Isaiah, then back to me.
“Want to sit?” I asked, knowing the answer. By standing next to my table, she was breaking a hundred of her stuck-up little friends’ social rules.
“No, my friends are expecting me. ” She emphasized the word before purposely glancing over to the table of girls who stared at our interaction. Score one, Echo. I’d messed Saturday night up so badly she didn’t even consider us friends. Beth smiled and tauntingly waved at Echo’s table of gal pals. Echo cringed externally while I inwardly flinched.
“What do you need, Noah?” She stared at Beth while she asked and then let her eyes narrow on me.
“This is Isaiah. ”
She raised both eyebrows. “Okay. ”
“He’s going to look at Aires’ car after school. We can study at your house while he assesses what needs to be done. ”
Her face brightened. “For real?”
“What’s for real?” asked a familiar voice. Dammit—the overgrown ape. Just when I’d started to manipulate Echo back into my corner, her loser boyfriend swooped in and draped an arm around her shoulder.
Echo continued to beam. “Isaiah’s going to look at Aires’ car for me. ”
The corners of my mouth turned up as Luke’s turned down.
“When?” he asked.
“Today. After school,” answered Isaiah. He shifted in his chair to let Luke have a good look at him, earrings, tattoos and all his punked-out glory.
“Echo!” called one of her friends.
She glanced behind her, then rifled through her backpack. “I’ll be leaving after lunch for an appointment and won’t be back, but after school will totally work. ”
Echo bent over and scribbled her phone number on a napkin. Her shirt dipped, exposing a hint of her cleavage. The glare I gave Isaiah warned him off from looking and the smile I sent Echo’s ape boyfriend when she slid the napkin to me made the ape’s fist curl.
“My phone will be off,” said Echo. “But text me your number so I can give you directions. See you guys after school. ” She took a step, but Luke didn’t follow. “You coming?”
“I’m going to grab something to eat first. ”
Echo bit her bottom lip and stole a look at me before walking away. So I hadn’t screwed everything completely up. I had at least one more shot at Echo.
A chair scraped against the floor and Luke took a seat at our table.
“What is the deal with you popular people? Can’t you leave the losers alone?” mumbled Beth.
Luke ignored her. “We played basketball against each other freshman year. ”
Both Beth’s and Isaiah’s heads snapped toward me. I never discussed my pre–foster care life. I folded my arms across my chest. “Yeah. We did. ”
“I defended you and you kicked my ass. Your team won. ”
He brought up that game like it was yesterday. For me, it was eons ago. Those memories belonged to a boy who died alongside his parents in a house fire.
When I didn’t respond he continued, “You won that day, but you ain’t winning now. She’s mine. Not yours. Are we clear, amigo?”
I chuckled. “Way I hear it, Echo’s fair game. If you
Pushing the Limits, page 1 part #1 of Pushing the. Collins read the letter to herself while I secretly wished I would spontaneously combust. Pushing the Limits is a dark young adult romance with complex characters you can't help rooting for. 3 people found this helpful. Comment Report abuse. 4.0 out of 5 stars Angsty Yet Satisfying. Reviewed in the United States on January 13, 2016. Verified Purchase.
Echo
“My father is a control freak, I hate my stepmother, my brother is dead and my mother has … well … issues. How do you think I’m doing?”
That’s how I would have loved to respond to Mrs. Collins’s question, but my father placed too much importance on appearance for me to answer honestly. Instead, I blinked three times and said, “Fine.”
Mrs. Collins, Eastwick High’s new clinical social worker, acted as if I hadn’t spoken. She shoved a stack of files to the side of her already cluttered desk and flipped through various papers. My new therapist hummed when she found my three-inch-thick file and rewarded herself with a sip of coffee, leaving bright red lipstick on the curve of the mug. The stench of cheap coffee and freshly sharpened pencils hung in the air.
My father checked his watch from the chair to my right and, on my left, the Wicked Witch of the West shifted impatiently. I was missing first period calculus, my father was missing some very important meeting, and my stepmother from Oz? I’m sure she was missing her brain.
“Don’t you just love January?” Mrs. Collins asked as she opened my file. “New year, new month, new slate to start over on.” Not even waiting for a reply, she continued, “Do you like the curtains? I made them myself.”
In one synchronized movement, my father, my stepmother and I turned our attention to the pink polka-dotted curtains hanging on the windows overlooking the student parking lot. The curtains were too Little House on the Prairie with the color scheme of a bad rave for my taste. Not a single one of us answered and our silence created a heavy awkwardness.
My father’s BlackBerry vibrated. With exaggerated effort, he pulled it out of his pocket and scrolled down the screen. Ashley drummed her fingers over her bloated belly and I read the various handpainted plaques hanging on the wall so I could focus on anything that wasn’t her.
Failure is your only enemy. The only way up is to never look down. We succeed because we believe. How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
Okay—so that last one didn’t make the wall of sayings, but I would have found it amusing.
Mrs. Collins reminded me of an overgrown Labrador retriever with her blond hair and much too friendly attitude. “Echo’s ACT and SAT scores are fabulous. You should be very proud of your daughter.” She gave me a sincere smile, exposing all of her teeth.
Start the timer. My therapy session had officially begun. Close to two years ago, after the incident, Child Protective Services had “strongly encouraged” therapy—and Dad quickly learned that it was better to say yes to anything “strongly encouraged.” I used to go to therapy like normal people, at an office separate from school. Thanks to an influx in funding from the state of Kentucky and an overenthusiastic social worker, I’d become part of this pilot program. Mrs. Collins’s sole job was to deal with a few kids from my high school. Lucky me.
My father sat up taller in his seat. “Her math scores were low. I want her to retake the tests.”
“Is there a bathroom nearby?” Ashley interrupted. “The baby loves to sit on my bladder.”
More like Ashley loved to make everything about her. Mrs. Collins gave her a strained smile and pointed to the door. “Go out to the main hallway and take a right.”
The way she maneuvered out of her chair, Ashley acted as if she carried a thousand-pound ball of lead instead of a tiny baby. I shook my head in disgust, which only drew my father’s ice-cold stare.
“Mr. Emerson,” Mrs. Collins continued once Ashley left the room, “Echo’s scores are well above the national average and, according to her file, she’s already applied to the colleges of her choice.”
“There are some business schools with extended deadlines I’d like her to apply to. Besides, this family does not accept ‘above average.’ My daughter will excel.” My father spoke with the air of a deity. He might as well have added the phrase so let it be written, so let it be done. I propped my elbow on the armrest and hid my face in my hands.
“I can see that this really bothers you, Mr. Emerson,” Mrs. Collins said in an annoyingly even tone. “But Echo’s English scores are close to perfect….”
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And this was where I tuned them out. My father and the previous guidance counselor had this fight my sophomore year when I took the PSAT. Then again last year when I took the SAT and ACT for the first time. Eventually, the guidance counselor learned my father always won and started giving up after one round.
My test scores were the least of my concerns. Finding the money to fix Aires’ car was the worry that plagued my brain. Since Aires’ death, my father had remained stubborn on the subject, insisting we should sell it.
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“Echo, are you happy with your scores?” asked Mrs. Collins.
I peeked at her through the red, curly hair hanging over my face. The last therapist understood the hierarchy of our family and talked to my father, not me. “Excuse me?”
“Are you happy with your ACT and SAT scores? Do you want to retake the tests?” She folded her hands and placed them on top of my file. “Do you want to apply to more schools?”
I met my father’s tired gray eyes. Let’s see. Retaking the tests would mean my father hounding me every second to study, which in turn would mean me getting up early on a Saturday, blowing the whole morning frying my brain and then worrying for weeks over the results. As for applying to more schools? I’d rather retake the tests. “Not really.”
The worry lines forever etched around his eyes and mouth deepened with disapproval. I changed my tune. “My dad is right. I should retake the tests.”
Mrs. Collins scratched away in my file with a pen. My last therapist had been highly aware of my authority issues. No need to rewrite what was already there.
Ashley waddled back into the room and dropped into the seat next to me. “What did I miss?” I’d honestly forgotten she existed. Oh, if only Dad would, too.
“Nothing,” my father replied.
Mrs. Collins finally lifted her pen from the page. “Ask Mrs. Marcos for the next testing dates before you go to class. And while I’m playing the role of guidance counselor, I’d like to discuss your schedule for the winter term. You’ve filled your free periods with multiple business classes. I was wondering why.”
The real answer, because my father told me to, would probably irritate multiple people in the room so I ad-libbed, “They’ll help prepare me for college.” Wow. I’d said that with all the enthusiasm of a six-year-old waiting for a flu shot. Bad choice on my part. My father shifted in his seat again and sighed. I considered giving a different answer, but figured that reply would also come off flat.
Mrs. Collins perused my file. “You’ve shown an incredible talent in the arts, specifically painting. I’m not suggesting you drop all of your business courses, but you could drop one and take an art class instead.”
“No,” my father barked. He leaned forward in his seat, steepling his fingers. “Echo won’t be taking any art classes, is that clear?” My father was a strange combination of drill instructor and Alice’s white rabbit: he always had someplace important to go and enjoyed bossing everyone else around.
I had to give Mrs. Collins credit; she never once flinched before she caved. “Crystal.”
“Well, now that we’ve settled that …” Ashley and her baby bump perched on the edge of the chair, preparing to stand. “I accidentally overbooked today and I have an OB appointment. We may find out the baby’s gender.”
“Mrs. Emerson, Echo’s academics aren’t the reason for this meeting, but I understand if you need to leave.” She withdrew an official letter from her top drawer as a red-faced Ashley sat back in her seat. I’d seen that letterhead several times over the past two years. Child Protective Services enjoyed killing rainforests.
Mrs. Collins read the letter to herself while I secretly wished I would spontaneously combust. Both my father and I slouched in our seats. Oh, the freaking joy of group therapy.
While waiting for her to finish reading, I noticed a stuffed green frog by her computer, a picture of her and some guy— possibly her husband—and then on the corner of her desk a big blue ribbon. The fancy kind people received when they won a competition. Something strange stirred inside me. Huh—weird.
Mrs. Collins hole-punched the letter and then placed it in my already overwhelmed file. “There. I’m officially your therapist.”
When she said nothing else, I drew my gaze away from the ribbon to her. She was watching me. “It’s a nice ribbon, isn’t it, Echo?”
My father cleared his throat and sent Mrs. Collins a death glare. Okay, that was an odd reaction, but then again, he was irritated just to be here. My eyes flickered to the ribbon again. Why did it feel familiar? “I guess.”
Her eyes drifted to the dog tags I absently fingered around my neck. “I’m very sorry for your family’s loss. What branch of the armed forces?”
Great. My father was going to have a stinking coronary. He’d only made it clear seventy-five times that Aires’ dog tags were to stay in the box under my bed, but I needed them today—new therapist, the two-year anniversary of Aires’ death still fresh, and the first day of my last semester of high school. Nausea skipped and played in my intestines. Avoiding my father’s disappointed frown, I took great pains to search my hair for split ends.
“Marine,” my father answered curtly. “Look, I’ve got a meeting this morning with prospective clients, I promised Ashley I’d go to her doctor’s appointment and Echo’s missing class. When are we going to wrap this up?”
“When I say so. If you’re going to make these sessions difficult, Mr. Emerson, I will be more than happy to call Echo’s social worker.”
I fought the smile tugging at my lips. Mrs. Collins played a well-choreographed hand. My father backed down, but my stepmother on the other hand …
“I don’t understand. Echo turns eighteen soon. Why does the state still have authority over her?”
“Because it’s what the state, her social worker and myself think is in her best interest.” Mrs. Collins closed my file. “Echo will continue therapy with me until she graduates this spring. At that point, the state of Kentucky will release her—and you.”
She waited until Ashley nodded her silent acceptance of the situation before continuing. “How are you doing, Echo?”
Splendid. Fantastic. Never worse. “Fine.”
“Really?” She tapped a finger against her chin. “Because I would have thought that the anniversary of your brother’s death might trigger painful emotions.”
Mrs. Collins eyed me while I stared blankly in return. My father and Ashley watched the uncomfortable showdown. Guilt nagged at me. She didn’t technically ask me a question, so in theory, I didn’t owe her a response, but the need to please her swept over me like a tidal wave. But why? She was another therapist in the revolving door. They all asked the same questions and promised help, but each of them left me in the same condition as they found me—broken.
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“She cries.” Ashley’s high-pitched voice cut through the silence as if she were dispensing juicy country-club gossip. “All the time. She really misses Aires.”
Both my father and I turned our heads to look at the blond bimbo. I willed her to continue while my father, I’m sure, willed her to shut up. God listened to me for once. Ashley went on, “We all miss him. It’s so sad that the baby will never know him.”
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And once again, welcome to the Ashley show, sponsored by Ashley and my father’s money. Mrs. Collins wrote briskly, no doubt etching each of Ashley’s unguarded words into my file while my father groaned.
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“Echo, would you like to talk about Aires during today’s session?” Mrs. Collins asked.
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