“Mitch!” he yelled again. He seemed to be alone, but with the swirling snow I couldn’t tell for sure. He carried something over his arm, and I desperately hoped it was a coat.
He caught sight of me and dropped his hands. I approached slowly, though I was afraid I might freeze to death, and now that I was closer, I could see the coat.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, stopping a few feet from him. “I’ve been an idiot, and I don’t know what’s going on with me, but I’m going to fix it. Okay? I’m going to fix it.”
He kept his chin up, regarding me. A violent tremor ran shook my shoulders. My teeth knocked together as the storm raged on around us. We seemed to be trapped inside a bubble where the snow couldn’t reach, but that was still beyond cold.
He handed me the coat and helped me put it on when I couldn’t get my frozen fingers to work. “Everyone’s freaking out,” he said. “Your mom called the cops.”
“I’m fine.”
“Mitch,” Omar said. “You’re anything but fine.”
I couldn’t look him in the face. “I know. But I’m going to fix it.”
“Well, can you fix it somewhere where it’s warm?” He pushed me gently, and one of the fissures inside sealed.
“Mitch!” Dad came up behind me and threw his arms around me. “Omar, call Pam. Let’s get home, boys.”
I listened while Omar called my mom and told her I’d been found. I felt like I was an errant puppy, but I didn’t shrug off my dad’s protective arm around my shoulders as we picked our way through the snow.
With a week of Christmas vacation left, I went to work with Dad. It was early and it was a Monday, both of which combined to make me less than chipper as he whistled his way through green lights toward the hospital.
“Dr. Perez is very accommodating to get you in so fast,” he said, probably for the millionth time since Christmas Eve on Friday. “She is one of my oldest friends.”
I wasn’t sure what kind of response he was looking for, so I gave him nothing. We entered through a doctor’s entrance and wove through the halls to the main lobby elevators.
“She can help you.” Dad punched the button for the fifth floor—behavioral medicine. “But you have to let her.”
“I know, Dad,” I said.
He didn’t get off the elevator with me, but lifted his hand in a small wave, leaving me to walk toward Dr. Wendy Perez’s office by myself. The door said Family Therapy, but I would be the only one in our sessions.
“Anger management,” Mom had said, her chin held high. “There’s no shame in getting help.”
I’d agreed, because when I thought of how I’d lost control, how the world had gone white and soft, I got scared. Remembering the methodical drip of Omar’s blood into his stark, white mashed potatoes didn’t help.
I entered the office, and a lady rose from the desk. She wore a pristine smile on her face, her dark hair swept back to reveal sparkling, black eyes.
“You must be Mitch,” she said, extending her hand. “You look just like your father.” We shook hands, and I followed her down the hall to her office.
She settled into a chair, no notebook, no pen, no recording device. She gestured to the armchair across from her, and I took it.
“Mitch,” she began. “You can tell me anything you want. Anything. Just because your father and I are friends does not mean I’ll be telling him everything.” She spoke in a smooth, rounded voice that I liked. It soothed my nerves, though I could tell if she fired off something in Spanish, her children would listen immediately.
“Okay,” I said, mostly just to have something to say. I didn’t really want to talk, especially not at seven a.m. on a Monday morning. “Sorry you had to come in so early.”
She waved her hand as if swatting a fly. “Nonsense. I have a shower down the hall.” She smiled to let me know it was a joke, but I barely returned it.
“Why don’t we start with your girlfriend,” she suggested, but she wasn’t asking.
“Ex-girlfriend,” I corrected. The air whoosed out of my chest. There it was. Jade was my ex-freaking-girlfriend. My fingers automatically coiled.
“Ah, that makes you angry,” she said. “I can see it in every muscle in your body.”
I regarded Dr. Perez, deciding to take my mom up on her pleas. She’d begged me to talk to the therapist. “If you can’t talk to us, talk to someone,” she’d said.
“How do I make it go away?” I asked.
“Make what go away, Mitch?”
“This.” I indicated the air around me. “The anger. The fury. The, the—this.”
“Why did you two break up?”
“She thought I kissed another girl,” I said. “But I didn’t. I didn’t. That other girl kissed me, and it was nothing, and Jade just freaked out about it, and she’s so, so stubborn. She won’t even listen to me.”
Dr. Perez waited like I might go on. My chest felt tight. My breath came quick.
“What’s the other girl’s name?” Dr. Perez asked.
“Holly,” I clipped out.
“You’re pretty mad at her too, I see.” Dr. Perez cocked her head to the side, her eyes never leaving mine. I wondered if she could peel back the layers of my brain and find the rage, root it out, and heal me. Dad seemed to think she could. Drew had been the one to suggest therapy.
Dr. Perez asked more questions about Christmas Eve, about school, about track, about Lance, about Jade; I answered all of them. At the end of the hour, she leaned forward. “Mitch, I have some homework for you. I won’t see you for a week. By the next time we meet, you need to have apologized—personally—to Omar, Lance, each parent, Drew, Holly, and her mother. Everyone who was present at the Christmas Eve dinner.”
“What do I say?” I asked, finding it hard to swallow.
“You tell them you’re sorry for the way you acted. That you ruined their Christmas festivities. That you’re working to control yourself, and that you’d like their forgiveness.”
I nodded, wondering how I was going to do all that with Lance. He’d been gone when I returned home on Christmas Eve, and he never came back over.
“And,” she continued. “This thing with Jade is eating at you, I can see it. So you need to tell her your side of the story.”
“How? She won’t even talk to me.”
“Purge the story from yourself. Let her have all the facts, and then let her decide what to do with them.” She pointed one of her perfectly manicured fingernails at me. “That’s the trick. Letting her decide what to do with what you tell her.”
“How?” I repeated.
“You’ll know when it happens,” she said with a bright smile. “Now go on. Your dad is probably wearing a hole in my carpet with his pacing.”
By that evening, I had apologized to my family. Holly, Omar, and Lance had been strangely unreachable all day. After dinner, I called Omar, and he said, “No more apology necessary. You said it in the park, remember?”
I didn’t remember. So much of that night was blurred, unrealized behind the anger and cold. “Well, I just want you to know I’m glad you said something.”
“That’s what friends do,” he said. He cleared his throat and made an excuse to get off the phone, which was fine by me. I steeled myself and went next door. Mrs. Isaacson answered the door—thankfully.
“I’m so sorry about ruining Christmas dinner.” I hung my head. “I’m seeing a therapist now.”
A heart beat passed before she said, “Oh, Mitch,” and threw her arms around me. She held on tight for a few seconds. “Come in.”
“Is Holly here?” I asked as I crossed the threshold into the house. “I’m supposed to apologize to her too. I mean, I need to apologize to her too.”
“She’s upstairs.” She closed the door behind me. She must’ve realized how awkward that would be, because she called for Holly to come down.
She did, her hair wild and flowing over her shoulders. I shuffled my feet near the piano where I was standing. “So, I’m sorry I ruined dinner by punc
hing Omar. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Definitely not,” Holly said.
“The blood didn’t go well with the beans.”
She folded her arms. “And I definitely didn’t like listening to your mom cry when she called the police.”
This wasn’t working. “I’m seeing someone.”
“I heard,” Holly said, everything about her boxed up tight. “Therapy once a week for a while.”
“At least until February or so,” I said.
“Well, don’t be a stranger.” She half-turned toward the kitchen as the microwave slammed shut. “Looks like Mom’s got dinner on. I’ll see you, Mitch.”
I left her to her microwaved dinner, wondering if our conversations would always be so strained.
“Nothing I can do,” I muttered to myself as I dashed through the chill and back to my house. Holly had my apology. It was up to her to use it how she wanted. That’s what Dr. Perez would’ve said.
On the first day back to school in January, I had auto repair, my new class for the second semester.
I stayed after to talk to Mr. Roskelley, and I told him I’d read a few of the brochures and asked him for more information on the car repair and cabinetry programs.
He nodded, as close to a smile as I thought he could manage on his face. “How about this?” he asked. “I can give you some real-life experience now.”
“In class?” I asked. We’d spent the period talking about what we’d be doing during the semester, and all of it sounded amazing. Fixing fuel lines, rebuilding engines, and diagnostic work.
“No, real-life,” Roskelley said. “My son-in-law owns a shop. He’s looking for some part-time help.”
“Like, a job?”
“Like a job,” Roskelley confirmed.
The elation I felt chased away some of the hollowness in my chest. “Well, I can only work after school…” I didn’t mention the weekly therapy sessions that ran through February.
“Weekends?”
“Saturdays,” I said. “My dad probably wouldn’t like it if I worked on Sunday.”
“James isn’t open on Sundays.”
I smiled. “Great. What do I do?”
He scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Give him a call today after school. Tell him you’re my student. His shop is over by the mall.”
“Great,” I repeated, taking the slip of paper. “Thanks, Mr. Roskelley.” I left, feeling lighter than I had since Thanksgiving.
The floating feeling only lasted through lunch, because then I had to see Jade in English lit, where she ignored me as fully as ever. I didn’t know if she’d gotten my texts or if she’d blocked my number by now.
I pulled out my phone and sent her the next installment in my confessions. Part three: I didn’t tell you about the kiss because it would’ve ruined Homecoming for Drew. I’m sorry I chose her over you, but she’s my little sister, and Homecoming really meant a lot to her.
She didn’t move a muscle, though I saw her phone flash on her desk—so she hadn’t blocked my number. The bell rang, Mrs. Nordstrom trilled something about the promise this term held, and I buried myself in a book so I wouldn’t glare in Jade’s direction. Dr. Perez was right. I just needed to get my side of the story out. Jade could do what she wanted with the information.
I forced her from my mind, feeling a tiny crack in my heart evaporate as I did.
32
“I got a job,” I told my family at dinner that night. Holly had joined us, something Mom had warned me about when I got home from school. I felt like I was moving backward. Forget the molasses, I was rolling downhill in the girl department. I’d apologized to Holly, but we still weren’t really on speaking terms.
“A job?” Dad asked.
“Yep,” I said, cracking a smile for the first time in a while. “I’m going to be working at Dunfey Motors.”
Mom’s eyebrows rose toward her hairline, and she exchanged a glance with my father. Drew remained silent, but Holly said, “That’s awesome, Mitch. I bet you’re really going to like that.”
I beamed at her, noticing her quick smile. “Yeah, I think so too.” Had she always looked at me like that?
“When did this happen?” Dad asked.
I yanked my gaze from Holly, expecting Dad to start lecturing me about dating my best friend. “What?”
“The job?”
“Oh, that.” I laughed a little and wouldn’t look at Holly or Drew. Of course Dad wasn’t asking me when I had started noticing that Holly wasn’t my skinny stick-figure best friend. “I talked to my automotive teacher today, and he gave me James Dunfey’s number. He’s my teacher’s son-in-law, and he offered me the job over the phone. I’m going over there tomorrow after school.”
Mom nodded, and nodded, and nodded. “Where’s over there?” she asked.
“By the mall,” I said. “I’ll figure out my schedule tomorrow, and don’t worry, I won’t let it interfere with my schoolwork.” Though I knew that wasn’t what my parents were worried about, even though they should’ve been. I hadn’t exactly been a stellar student in December, and I was still paying for it in the gradebook.
They thought if I started fixing cars, I’d never go to college. So what if they were right? Was not going to college the worst thing on the planet? I didn’t care if it was, because it didn’t feel like it was.
“Or your therapy,” Dad said, pointing his fork at me.
“Dad,” I moaned, glancing at Holly. “I know.”
I spent the evening talking with Drew and Holly, doing homework, and laughing. By the time I collapsed in bed, I realized I hadn’t thought about Jade for hours.
It felt good at the same time it hurt.
The next morning, I spun the combination on my locker as Lance arrived. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” I said, completing our conversation. With the start of second semester, we didn’t have any classes together. I was supposed to apologize to him too, but I hadn’t. Dr. Perez had let it slide at yesterday’s therapy session.
I sighed. “Look, man,” I said. “I’m sorry about Christmas Eve. I was way out of line. I’m sorry I didn’t come over during the break.” I glanced at him, seeing the hollowness he carried, feeling it the same way I had after our punishing run. “Come for dinner tonight.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, but his mouth remained tight and flat. He looked at me until I felt uncomfortable.
“What?” I asked.
“Remember how I said I had something to tell you?” He swallowed hard, like maybe his next words would be hard to scrape out.
“Yeah.”
He watched a group of giggling girls pass us. He didn’t flash his sexy smile, and that was when I knew I was going to hate what came out of his mouth.
“I may have given Holly the idea that if she and I hooked up, it would drive you nuts.”
Well, he was right. “May have?”
“I did. I told her that if we acted like a couple, you’d get real jealous.”
I frowned, trying to see his side of this whack reasoning. “But you knew—”
“I know what I see,” he said. “I saw you falling for that girl. And she’s all wrong for you.” That muscle in his neck twitched like it did when he talked about his dad. He raised his hands in placation as if he knew what I was thinking. “I’m not judging you. Jade is a seriously hot—” He cut himself off and sighed. “I’m just saying she’s not into you, Mitch. Only the idea of what you could become. But you need someone who accepts you for who you already are, not what they can mold you into.”
I didn’t know what to say. Had Jade molded me into New-Mitch? Or had he grown out of my increasing frustration over Drew and Omar, and Greg and Holly, and the debate over whether I’d go to college or not?
Lance shoved his hands in his pockets. “So there you go. Holly told me about kissing you at Homecoming. I suggested that we put on a good show for you, see how you’d react.”
A surge of anger shot to my head, and Dr. Pere
z’s advice about how to handle these rushes bounced through my mind. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Did I pass your little test?”
He blinked-blinked. “Yeah, as a matter of fact, you did.” He removed his hands from his pockets. “You showed Holly that you care about her.”
“Of course I care about her,” I said. “I’ve always cared about her.”
“At least you’re admitting it now.” He grinned, the sly smile I was more accustomed to. “You notice she’s all grown up yet?”
“No,” I said petulantly, but in fact, I had. More than once.
Lance laughed and then he raised his fist for me to bump. I did, and added, “Maybe.”
“Of course you have,” he said. “She didn’t spent every dime she had on that Homecoming dress for no reason.”
The bell rang, and we left my locker and headed to class. “Where are you going to college?” I asked Lance.
“Florida,” he said. “Got my acceptance call last week.”
“Congrats, man,” I said.
“What about you?”
I shook my head. “Not sure if that’s the path I’m taking.”
“Well, I know the guy from Florida wants you. It’s only a couple of hours to the beach, and you know what that means.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Chicks in bikinis.”
I sighed, somehow enormously happy to be walking next to Lance as he talked about girls.
After school, I stared through the windshield at the sign that read Dunfey’s Motors. The building was nice enough, made of gray brick with four bay doors, all of which were currently closed. The wipers squeaked across the glass, clearing it of snow as I sat in the warm car. For some reason, I was nervous to go inside.
I imagined the smell of motor oil and dirt and sweat that would permeate a place like this, and somehow that calmed me.
One step in the front door, and that expected motor oil smell hit me. I breathed in deep, further quieting my fears as I went through the lobby—assorted chairs with a table between them that held various magazines—toward the counter at the back of the room. The two people in the room glanced at me as I passed. Three computers ran the length of the counter, with a pricing board behind them.