Even If We Break Page 2

  Liva lets go off me and steps back. Ever is directly behind her, glaring at me. Carter, frowning. Maddy, pale with worry.

  I’m reeling with fear and fury and hurt, and it’s so much, so overwhelmingly much, I don’t know how to deal with it but to sink down and sit and ground myself. Breathe until I get my equilibrium back and my hands don’t tremble with rage anymore. Wait until the anger—at myself, at Liva, at this cursed mountain—withdraws into the usual shadows.

  “I thought you were smarter than that.” Ever hands me a bottle of water out of their backpack. Underneath their words are others: I thought you were okay with this weekend.

  “I am.” For them, I am. Or I thought I could be, at least.

  As I catch my breath, I glance around at the group. We’re a collection of individuals, all of us broken, all of us fragile. But the thing that scares me most isn’t that I might break us apart further.

  It’s that I want to.

  Two

  Maddy

  Finn radiates pain. He’s so tense, it hurts to look at him. I wonder if he realizes it. In my experience, most people—most neurotypical people—don’t. Even if they’ll talk about nonverbal language and how important it is, they don’t realize how unconscious most reactions are and how much they’re sharing. But I do. You teach yourself how to read body language when winning a game—or navigating life—depends on it.

  With Finn, his tension is in the tight set of his jaw. The way his shoulders crawl up to his ears. The fingers that twist around his crutches so hard, they’ve gone almost as white as his hair. The shadows around his eyes. Right now, he’s the type of person I’d stay away from if I met them on the street, because whatever’s beneath the pain feels dangerous.

  I taught myself to be as fluent as possible in nonverbal languages because it’s the only way to understand what people aren’t saying, to carve out your space and claim it. It’s the only way I can feel like I know what’s going on.

  It’s the only way to lie convincingly too.

  Yes, I’m doing better since the accident, thanks for asking.

  Or:

  Oh, I’m absolutely looking forward to college after my senior year. It’s going to take some adjusting since I can’t count on a lacrosse scholarship, but I’ll figure it out. Now that I know how easy it is to lose something you care about, I plan to work even harder to succeed at whatever comes next. Life is short, you know? You have to make the most of it.

  Casual smile. Subtle nod. Relaxed posture. Make sure to turn toward the person I’m talking with, maybe mirror their posture. (Mirroring is a bit more complicated than literally copying someone’s body language, but it does put people at ease.)

  Maybe I should teach Finn some of the tricks. Because Ever’s nostrils are flaring, and they obviously don’t believe Finn’s okay.

  Finn hands the bottle back to Ever and scrambles to his feet. “Let’s keep moving, Ev.”

  “Fine.” They pack up and stalk toward me to offer me a hand. “C’mon, only a little bit farther.”

  I steel myself before I allow them to pull me up. I don’t like it when people touch me. I don’t like it when I’m observing a conversation and it suddenly turns to me. And I don’t like the sharp stab of pain when I rest my weight on my leg again.

  “We’re a bit of a mess, aren’t we?” I mutter. We all fall into formation as we keep moving down the path—Liva and Carter leading the way, Ever and me in the middle, and Finn behind us, quietly stewing.

  Once we’ve settled into a rhythm again, the pain in my knee goes from stabbing to nagging.

  “No more than we should’ve expected, I guess,” Ever says. They’re putting up a facade. Both Liva and Ever put a lot of work in this getaway, in different ways. “I just want this weekend to be good, you know? I want everything to go exactly right.”

  “Once we’ve found our way back into the game, it’ll be better,” I say. “I don’t think this weekend will fix everything, but it’ll be good to spend time together.”

  We’ve been playing this role-playing game together for three years now. We’ve overcome and adapted to Zac bowing out. We managed—sort of—without Finn. Returning to it now will be as natural as getting back on a bike. I hope.

  Ever draws the straps of their backpack tighter and straightens their T-shirt. They’re nervous. “You know, Liva and Finn are going to have to talk sooner rather than later.”

  “I know.” I bite my lip and glance at Liva’s proud posture as she’s leading the way. “That’d be good.” They wouldn’t even have to mend things forever—just for this weekend.

  None of us know what happened with Liva when Finn got beaten up. She was there, but wasn’t part of it—she wouldn’t be part of it. But she hasn’t found a way to talk about it with any of us, even me. And none of us have figured out a way to talk about it with Finn. We just know that ever since that day, there is bad blood between them, and it’s threatening to push all of us apart.

  We used to meet up every week, but since February, we’re happy if we make it once a month. And Finn hardly showed up for any of the games.

  I reach up to curl my hair around my fingers before I realize the long black locks are gone. Cut off in a fit of wanting, and needing, and different. No more “Maddy, the injured lacrosse player,” no more “Maddy, who got trapped in a burning car,” no more “Did you know Maddy is actually special?” No more pain. No more uncomfortable layers and masks that I never wanted to begin with.

  The corner of Ever’s mouth pulls up. “I like the hair.”

  “Thanks.” I hate it.

  And I’m not the only one. When Liva showed up at my house yesterday without warning—while I was trying to make cookies for the weekend—she very nearly strangled me.

  “If you told me you planned to get a haircut, I could’ve changed your costume,” she snapped. “You should look like an inquisitor. You need to do the magisterium proud.”

  I didn’t get a haircut per se. It wasn’t a particularly well-planned decision. It just happened. It just happened. With scissors and hair clippers in front of a bathroom mirror, in a haze.

  I felt a flash of something like satisfaction at her obvious disappointment, even if I’d shared that disappointment only hours before.

  Liva shook her head. “I like things to be pretty. I want us to look pretty. It’s the last time we’ll be together like this.”

  The few words fell heavy between us and remained there. She sat at the kitchen table and took out her sewing kit, every movement measured and careful, like mine once were. “You used to understand how much this means to me.”

  The words were soft enough that I wasn’t sure I was meant to hear them. Her shoulders dropped, and she kept her eyes on her designs, while my cat leaped on the table and curled up on one of the pieces of fabric.

  It was true. Once upon a time, I would’ve consulted Liva before making any changes to my appearance. After all, Liva practically pops up when you do a Google search for the societal standard of “beauty” as I’d always been taught: long, wavy blond hair, pale blue eyes, translucent white skin, cheekbones sharp enough to cut. Liva won WyvernCon’s costume contest three years in a row. She was born to be a famous costume designer or a set designer. And she shines when she’s creating. Once upon a time, I would’ve gone to her first because I loved looking beautiful too.

  But that was Maddy-before-the-accident.

  Maddy-after-the-accident was about to mess up her fourth batch of cookies.

  I kept trying. Less chocolate, more nutmeg, more cinnamon, octagonal-shaped, like a twenty-sided die. But none of the cookies darkened to a crisp gold. The kitchen started to smell more and more acrid, leaving me increasingly out of sorts. I had only ever been able to approximate Nan’s recipe, but whatever secret ingredient she used eluded me. It’s patience, my lamb, she’d tell me. Or trust. Or love. Or something else b
oth intangible and immeasurable that left me feeling antsy and on edge.

  I reached my arms behind my head and popped my elbows, and tendrils of pain tickled down my arms. Not bad enough to hurt, just there enough to remind me of my body, my here.

  Right after the accident, the physical pain was the worst. My knee felt like it was four times the normal size, and my leg could barely bear weight. But it didn’t stop there. It gnawed at me from the inside out, as if my knee had melted to the bone in the fire and continued to burn, even when there was no fire in sight. With every passing day, it left me more ragged and uncertain, until I didn’t just struggle to understand the world around me—I struggled to understand myself.

  “An opera cape,” Liva said after a long silence. “I’ll change your cloak into an opera cape. You know, with one of those high collars? It’s far better than a hood. It’ll bring out your eyes and your pixie cut.” She’d already laid out the design of my cloak across the countertop, a pencil at the ready. “I may have to change the shoulders a bit so you won’t look like a 1950s Dracula, but you don’t mind that, do you? I’ll keep the length because I know you like it.”

  I turned away from her and tried to rescue the cookies that had managed to blacken despite my careful watch. “Sure, do what you think is best.”

  “What is best?” The kitchen door slammed against the wall and a five-foot-ten-inch perfect storm blustered into the kitchen. Sav. All smiles and muscles and long black hair. She had a ball clamped under one arm and was furiously texting a friend with her free hand. As of next season, she’d be the new defender of Stardust High School’s lacrosse team. After I tore my ligaments, she took over my place in the team and in my other friend group—and kept it.

  “Still training?” The words bit more than I’d intended.

  She collected food from various cabinets. “Just finished up. I need to prepare for camp next weekend. Lacrosse season doesn’t end because school’s out. You remember, don’t you? I only have a few weeks left to get in perfect shape to impress the girls from out of state.”

  Those words bit more than she probably intended too. Sav worried about my injury. She was with me every day when I was in hospital. And she couldn’t help it that she had a neurotypical flair that I never possessed. But every jab felt like pain, regardless. Lacrosse was what had given me meaning, what had made every day a little bit brighter, and now it was gone.

  “You’re going to do your role-play thing again this weekend, right?” Before she slipped out again, cheese and vegetables and a container of hummus balanced on a plate, Sav glanced at Liva’s work. “Cool. I can’t wait to hear the stories. I hope it’ll be great. Also, Mad, if you try another batch of those cookies, save me some?” With a teasing grin in my direction, Sav pulled the door shut behind her, and her voice echoed in the hallway. “They smell delicious!”

  Before the accident—BTA—I didn’t know anger and pain could feel the same. I didn’t think physical pain and emotional pain could simply be extensions of each other. Now, I could hardly separate the two. And I wanted to crash my fist into a kitchen cabinet or my knee into a chair. Find a more harmful way to stim. Either make the pain worse or make it go away.

  Instead, I swayed back and forth and started batch of cookies number five, only to find the dough confused and the cookies burned again before I realized what had happened. I couldn’t even remember putting them in the oven.

  “Maddy?” Behind me, Liva was packing up her design. Smile tight. A frown across her brow. “I need to stop by Ever’s, so I’ll finish the cape at home.”

  “Maddy?”

  I thought I’d answered her.

  “Maddy?”

  Ever’s voice draws me back to the present. I blink and see them stare at me, shoulders hunched inward, head to the side.

  I blink again and clear my voice. “Sorry, zoned out, I guess.”

  One of the reasons why I actually hate the haircut is because I can’t hide behind my bangs anymore, so I can’t glance at Ever and the rest of them to orient myself. I can only stare around me in wonder. We’re nearing the grove where the cabin is. I feel like I missed the entire second half of the walk up. My knee screams at me, but even that didn’t draw me from my haze.

  My hands curl into fists inside my pockets, my fingers grazing what’s inside.

  I need to be careful of these moments. They’re happening too often, and I feel like I’m losing myself.

  Ever reaches out a hand to me, but right before touching my arm, they hesitate and keep a careful distance between us. “You know you can talk to us if you need to, right? You can talk to me.”

  What would I say? I lost the place where I didn’t have to think about who I need to be, a place where rules were clear and I excelled at them. I lost nearly everything I care about by simply trying to stay afloat, and this weekend, I’ll lose the rest. “Thanks.”

  “I’m just saying…when the others go off to college, we’ll still be here. We won’t have the game anymore, but we don’t have to lose each other. You can talk to me. You can trust me.” They stare away from me, toward the grove and the cabin, which is still nothing more than a large shadow amidst the trees.

  Like with Finn, I don’t think Ever realizes quite how obvious their body language is. In-game, their poker face is fantastic. Here, they’re broadcasting their nerves. Their worries. And the fact that they’re lying through their teeth right now.

  I slowly unclench my hands and wrap my arms around my torso. “I know, and I appreciate that. Let’s get through this weekend first, see how everything goes.”

  They nod. Then a hesitant smile breaks through on their face. “You do have a murder to solve, after all.”

  I plaster a smile on my face too. Nod in the direction of the cabin. “So here’s hoping we will. And that we’ll survive the weekend in the process.”

  “I hope you mean in-game.”

  “Well, we do have a cabin in the woods. Isn’t that asking for trouble?”

  Ever hikes their backpack a bit higher up their shoulders. “Ah yes, the oh-so-idyllic, ultramodern cabin of the Konig family. Ghost stories aside, the only trouble we can get into is accidentally locking ourselves in or out. Liva allowed me to set up here yesterday, and it may be the most high-tech cabin I’ve ever seen. Stray bears couldn’t make their way through those doors, they’re all so well locked.”

  “Liva’s dad is always worried about her safety.” I hate those locks. Still, the smile comes easier this time. Ever’s right. The cabin is a modern fairy-tale sort of place, and over the years, Liva and her parents kept refurbishing and modernizing it. BTA, and despite all the ghost stories, Liva and I spent countless nights here. She told me she’d keep me safe from the ghosts.

  Now, I need to survive the weekend on my own terms.

  I never did bring the cookies.

  Three

  Liva

  From the outside, my cabin looks like any other in these mountains. Endless logs and a small, well-crafted porch with a door that leads to the large living room spanning pretty much the entire first floor, aside from the narrow kitchen at the back. A wooden staircase winds its way up to the second floor, where small guestrooms line the hallway, with a single decently sized bathroom at the back. It was built for simplicity, but my family added a sense of modernity.

  But most of that is hidden away. It’s not until you get close that you can see that the door, with cute wind chimes hanging in front of it, is reinforced and the windows are insulated. And inside, everything from the heating to the kitchen appliances runs on fully automated systems.

  What can I say? Mom liked luxury when she still came up here, and while Dad despises unnecessary expenses—or emotional expenses—he always did everything for her. Now Mom spends most of her time in Miami, and the cabin is all mine. I take better care of it anyway—well, except for the road leading up here. I respect the histo
ry of this place. With a little help from the internet and Dad’s credit card, I redesigned the large living room and kitchen after Mom left, bringing in all the original elements again, like the comfortable couches around the electric fireplace and the thick rugs.

  I reorganized the five bedrooms, giving them all their own subtle themes. Forest lodge. Seaside mystery. Haunted mansion. Lava flow. And my room, of course. I stayed here long weekends with Maddy—and with Zac back when he wasn’t an arrogant ass yet and we were still dating. By the end of it, he knew this place as well as I do. (Although as far as Dad was concerned, those weekends were spent with Maddy too.)

  Being here feels like coming home. And I love inviting others to the cabin and allowing them to appreciate the luxury too. If only because it’s interesting to see how they react to it.

  I go to unlock the door, and Maddy eyes it with suspicion. We visited right after Dad had everything installed, and the wires tripped, locking us in for almost an entire day before help could come. It was Zac, of all people, who got my SOS first and who managed to hack through the door.

  He’d smirked once he got us out. “You should know better than not to have an exit strategy, Liv. Before you know it, you’ll get caught in someone else’s game.”

  Now, once the door opens, Maddy breezes through, barely glancing at the living room before making her way upstairs. She’s always had the same storm-blue room. Even if Maddy’s changed since the car accident, that hasn’t.

  Carter comes up next to me outside the front door.

  “This place is beautiful,” he breathes.

  I feel a flash of satisfaction. “Thank you.”

  When he looks at me, he looks almost hungry. He’s not in love with this cabin; he’s in lust. “I can’t believe you don’t spend every weekend here.”

  I shrug. “I’ve considered it, but I do have to put in my assistant hours at the company. You know how it goes.”