about.â
âOkay, Louis. Just know that Iâm here. Or whatever. If you want to talk. Or whatever. I donât even care.â
She ate another tater tot.
I found myself thinking about what Austin might look like. The University of Texas had a campus there and thatâs where I would go. If I decided to go. I mean, I hadnât decided yet. I had never even been to Texas.
I wondered if it could possibly be hotter than Los Angeles in the summer.
I wondered if I could possibly move so far away from home when even normal things like sleeping and washing dishes were sometimes hard for me.
I didnât know.
But I did know that no, Texas couldnât possibly be hotter than Los Angeles. Any hotter than this and weâd be burned alive.
SEVEN
Frances
A fter I took the photograph of my mother from Aunt Florenceâs photo album, I went home to take a shower. I always took really hot showers and I always forgot to turn the fan on beforehand, so the bathroom filled up with steam and my grandpa yelled at me because the wallpaper was peeling off and I was going to cause a mold outbreak. My skin turned bright red and my fingers wrinkled and Grandma Doris complained about the hot water bill.
âIt doesnât pay itself, you know,â she always said.
But Grandpa Dick had been a colonel in the army, so I know theyâre fine with money. His pension is absurd. My grandmother carried Chanel handbags and wore Pradasunglasses. But all her clothes came from T.J. Maxx, so I guess it evened out.
I took an extra-long shower and toweled off in a bathroom cloudy and wet. I made a circle in the mirror, wiping away the condensation with the palm of my hand. I looked tired and red. I wrapped the towel around me and opened the door. Steam poured into the hallway.
âFrances, really,â my grandmother said. She was standing at the top of the stairs, clucking her tongue.
âYou told me my mother lived in Florida,â I said.
âThatâs hardly related to our water bill,â she replied. But she left me alone.
I went into my room and thatâs when I noticed the picture of my mother was gone. I had put it on my pillow and now it wasnât there.
I touched the spot where it had been and it felt warm but that was probably because the sunlight streamed in through the window and fell across the bed like an invading army of light.
I got dressed quickly. It was June and hot but the muggy, thick air couldnât make it into our house. Grandma Doris apparently didnât care as much about the electricity bill; we had central air and it was always blasting.
I sat on my bed and opened my laptop. I checked TILTgroup first. After the pen-stabbing incident I had been sent to therapy, where my therapist told my mother I should also be utilizing support groups. Since my motherwas generally insistent we do everything we could possibly do in the name of my mental health (which seems ironic now), she signed me up for my very own TILT account. At first I used TILTgroup for weekly guided-support groups, but now it was more like a habit. I never attended group sessions anymore. I only had a few people I private messaged, and I only really liked Bucker. We had clicked from the beginning, from one of my very first sessions. Most of the other kids there just wanted to talk about their tragedy. They were less like overcomers, Bucker had said once, and more like dwellers. When Bucker talked about his tragedy, he was really talking about his sister, and he was never weird about it. I liked that. He didnât give up his whole life because something shitty happened to him. He didnât surrender his identity to TILT just because some therapist had asked him to. I hoped I was like that too.
TILT.
Tragedy Inspires Love and Togetherness
We found other possibilities for the acronym:
Totally Ignorant Losers Talking
Translucent Illusions Leaving Town
I signed in and went to my messages.
Just one from
âOkay, Louis. Just know that Iâm here. Or whatever. If you want to talk. Or whatever. I donât even care.â
She ate another tater tot.
I found myself thinking about what Austin might look like. The University of Texas had a campus there and thatâs where I would go. If I decided to go. I mean, I hadnât decided yet. I had never even been to Texas.
I wondered if it could possibly be hotter than Los Angeles in the summer.
I wondered if I could possibly move so far away from home when even normal things like sleeping and washing dishes were sometimes hard for me.
I didnât know.
But I did know that no, Texas couldnât possibly be hotter than Los Angeles. Any hotter than this and weâd be burned alive.
SEVEN
Frances
A fter I took the photograph of my mother from Aunt Florenceâs photo album, I went home to take a shower. I always took really hot showers and I always forgot to turn the fan on beforehand, so the bathroom filled up with steam and my grandpa yelled at me because the wallpaper was peeling off and I was going to cause a mold outbreak. My skin turned bright red and my fingers wrinkled and Grandma Doris complained about the hot water bill.
âIt doesnât pay itself, you know,â she always said.
But Grandpa Dick had been a colonel in the army, so I know theyâre fine with money. His pension is absurd. My grandmother carried Chanel handbags and wore Pradasunglasses. But all her clothes came from T.J. Maxx, so I guess it evened out.
I took an extra-long shower and toweled off in a bathroom cloudy and wet. I made a circle in the mirror, wiping away the condensation with the palm of my hand. I looked tired and red. I wrapped the towel around me and opened the door. Steam poured into the hallway.
âFrances, really,â my grandmother said. She was standing at the top of the stairs, clucking her tongue.
âYou told me my mother lived in Florida,â I said.
âThatâs hardly related to our water bill,â she replied. But she left me alone.
I went into my room and thatâs when I noticed the picture of my mother was gone. I had put it on my pillow and now it wasnât there.
I touched the spot where it had been and it felt warm but that was probably because the sunlight streamed in through the window and fell across the bed like an invading army of light.
I got dressed quickly. It was June and hot but the muggy, thick air couldnât make it into our house. Grandma Doris apparently didnât care as much about the electricity bill; we had central air and it was always blasting.
I sat on my bed and opened my laptop. I checked TILTgroup first. After the pen-stabbing incident I had been sent to therapy, where my therapist told my mother I should also be utilizing support groups. Since my motherwas generally insistent we do everything we could possibly do in the name of my mental health (which seems ironic now), she signed me up for my very own TILT account. At first I used TILTgroup for weekly guided-support groups, but now it was more like a habit. I never attended group sessions anymore. I only had a few people I private messaged, and I only really liked Bucker. We had clicked from the beginning, from one of my very first sessions. Most of the other kids there just wanted to talk about their tragedy. They were less like overcomers, Bucker had said once, and more like dwellers. When Bucker talked about his tragedy, he was really talking about his sister, and he was never weird about it. I liked that. He didnât give up his whole life because something shitty happened to him. He didnât surrender his identity to TILT just because some therapist had asked him to. I hoped I was like that too.
TILT.
Tragedy Inspires Love and Togetherness
We found other possibilities for the acronym:
Totally Ignorant Losers Talking
Translucent Illusions Leaving Town
I signed in and went to my messages.
Just one from
Similar Books
