Never Said by Carol Lynch Williams Page A

the bell rang. Making my way, slow as I could without seeming like a weirdo.
    And then it happened. Me standing in the hall, trying to calm my nerves. People racing. Passing me like ants going around a rock. The office was ten steps away by then and I was giving myself a pep talk. Ms. Cleland appeared, like magic, in the doorway.
    â€œWalk forward,” I said. “Take a step.”
    I forced my body to move. Stepped in the path of a train. Someone running straight into me. The flier crunched in my hands. His books went flying.
    â€œSorry. Sorry,” I said. “Sorry.”
    Ms. Cleland helped the boy gather his books. “That was some hit, Jackson,” she said, laughter in her voice. “And you, Sarah. Are you okay?” She offered to help me to my feet, but I ignored her. The floor was damp. Gritty. I stood. My ears rang. My shoulder ached. “I didn’t see him.” And ouch, I’d bitten my tongue.
    â€œI saw that.”
    Then I handed the paper to her. “I . . . I wanted to give this to you? For approval? To see what you think?”
    I’m glad that meeting Ms. Cleland (in the hall, not even planned, even though there was a huge wreck) is over. My heart pounded for more than half an hour after the fiasco. But the neck ache was worth it for Annie.

sarah
    I ’m not sure why my getting approval for Annie’s club makes me remember last summer and when she was madder than anything. Is it that she was a different kind of pain in the neck for me then? That she caused me real grief? The family too?
    No. It’s that I think summer is when I really saw a big change. The moment when things began to fall apart. And my wanting to help her now brings back the memory.
    At the time, I had no idea what was going on with Annie. Why she felt so angry. Why some days she was happy, giddy-in-love happy about some guy, and then all-of-the-sudden furious. The back and forth made me dizzy.
    This was a fury time.
    She bit everyone’s heads off for at least a week. Slammed doors. And when she didn’t show up for work, Mom had to run me in to take my sister’s place at Dad’s office.
    â€œThat Annie,” Mom had said, and we hurried to the city proper. She wore lipstick and there were dark circles under her eyes. “What are we going to do with her?”
    And it wasn’t like on TV where the mom is pretending to be sad or worried but is really happy, really proud and just wondering for the sake of some script. No. This was the real deal. A real question. Real heartbreak.
    The whole way to work I’d said, “I don’t want to do it, Mom. Please. Not the front desk. I can’t.”
    And Mom repeated, “What am I going to do with her? What?”
    I sweat handprints onto my shorts. Smelled of BO. Could have cried our whole way to drop me off (I did cry, later in the bathroom. Several times.).
    Looking back at it now, I have to wonder what it was like for our parents to have one daughter who hardly spoke and another who ran her mouth all the time. They wore two expressions. There was the one with me, the can’t-you-grow-out-of-this pose. The new look for Annie was to cringe anytime she came into the room. Who would she be today? What might she say or do next?
    â€œI don’t want to work the front desk,” I said when we pulled into the real estate office parking lot.
    Mom stared at me. Frazzled? Maybe. I bet she hadn’t heard a word I’d spoken.
    Our lives were twisting then, going this way and that. Annie was growing bigger. Heavier. And what Mom and Dad had taught us was normal — beauty queen, terrific college material, scholarships — seemed out of reach for her. She wasn’t their normal anymore.
    Usually Annie worked for Dad in the front lobby. Dressed up, complete with high heels. I only helped when Dad needed an extra hand, filing important paperwork. I kept to the back of the building, out of sight.
    â€œI