Here by Denise Grover Swank Page B

first thing that pops into your head when you think about yourself?”
    “
This is stupid.”
    “
No, it’s not. It’s proven psychology. Besides, I’m not hanging up until you do.”
    I roll my eyes even if he can’t see it. I don’t really want him to hang up, but I’m out of my element here. “Okay.”
    “
Good, now don’t think about it. Just blurt out the first thing that pops into your head. One word that describes you. Go.”
    “
Artistic.” Where did that come from? Does drawing elaborate curlicues make me artistic?
    “
See? That wasn’t so hard. Okay one more. One word to describe you. Go.”
    I clear my mind. “Sad.” Oh, crap. Why did I say that?
    His end is silent except for the muffled cheers, which have become fainter. I’ve gone too far and scared him.
    After a couple seconds, he speaks. “I know.” His words are soft. “We’re going to fix that. Good night, Julia.”
    Staring at the TV with the silent phone to my ear, I’m sure I’ve just hallucinated a phone conversation.
    I settle on a show about picking wedding dresses, not that I have any desire to buy one. Watching people who are happy lets me pretend that happiness is possible for me too. I try to remember the last time I was happy and come up with nothing. Maybe it’s not a matter of whether I was happy or unhappy. Maybe it’s something more primal. Before, I existed. Now, I survive.
    I leave a note on the fridge asking to go to the library tomorrow afternoon then climb into bed and snuggle under the blankets. My mind drifts to Evan, wondering if I’m imaging things that aren’t there.
    I dream of him. We sit in a car, but it’s not his. This one is brown and more compact. He’s upset and I’m drowning in guilt.
    “
Jules, please don’t do this.”
    “
I’m sorry, Evan, but I have to.” My heart feels shredded and raw as I climb out of his car and into the driver’s seat of another I don’t recognize.
    Monica sits in the passenger seat and glares. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this. You need to think about someone else for once.”
    I’m startled at the sight of Monica and her mean tone. I partially wake up, feeling uneasy. Sweet Monica would never talk to anyone like that, especially me. Rolling over, I burrow into my pillow before my dreams resume with my usual snatches of the accident. At the end of the dream, when the familiar feeling of nothingness slips in, I sit upright in bed. Beads of sweat dot the back of my neck.
    Sleep remains elusive for the next hour as I struggle with my dreams. I understand the accident. It’s my way of dealing with my guilt, replacing me with Monica. But I don’t understand my dream about Evan.
    Dreams aren’t supposed to make sense. They’re just dreams.
    I can’t help trying to attach meaning to them anyway. They feel so real, like forgotten memories.

    The next day I sleep late and find Mom in the bathroom, sitting on the side of the tub, scrubbing the tile.
    “
I got your note about the library. I can take you when I’m done here. Besides, I have to take your dad’s laptop into the shop. It hasn’t been the same since all the electronics on this side of town acted weird last week. Who knew sunspots could cause so much damage?” She looks over her shoulder. “When do you want me to pick you up?”
    “
I don’t know yet. I guess it depends on how long it takes to catch up on my trig homework.”
    She stops scrubbing, her hand still on the tile. “I’m proud of you for making so much of an effort lately.” Blowing a loose stand of hair out of her face, she gives me a smile. “I want you to know how happy it makes me.”
    “
Thanks.” Shame burns my gut, embarrassed it takes so little effort to make her happy. I feel selfish and useless. “Want me to clean the toilet?”
    She’s taken by surprise. “Good heavens, no. I’m almost done.”
    I hang in the doorway, hesitating. Cleaning the bathroom used to be my job. Now nothing is expected of me.

    A