How to Save Your School From Soul Stealing Demons

CHAPTER NINE

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 20TH
5:45PM
THE RIVERA'S DINING ROOM

Mom asks me how school was as soon as I get home, and I can tell from her expression that she knows about Greg before she says anything. Plus, she's wiping the kitchen counters like her life depends on it, and the living room looks even neater than when we first moved in. She always cleans when she's stressed. "I saw the news right after you left for school."

"Yeah. It was... weird." What I wish I could say is how hard it was. How much it reminded me of my first day back to Darwin after Miguel died. But we don't talk about that stuff, and I wouldn't even know how to start. So Mom goes back to cleaning, I keep quiet, and that's as far as the conversation goes.

Dad doesn't mention it at all when he comes home, even though I overhear Mom asking him if he heard while she makes dinner, and his gruff noise of confirmation in response. I wonder if they'll talk about it more later, or if they don't discuss death with each other, either.

It's frustrating, having this huge thing looming over our heads and being too scared to acknowledge it. When we sit down to eat, I can't stop wondering how they can act like what happened to Greg didn't happen. How can they sit there and ignore it? And expect me to do the same?

I want to protect myself from the pain of what happened as much as they do. But maybe I never asked to deal with it this way, completely on my own. I never asked for every aspect of my coping to be up to them, but they went ahead and took control of it anyway. They scheduled the therapy without asking me if I wanted it. They decided when I'd go back to Darwin. They planned the move. They set the unspoken rule that we don't talk about what happened, that I'm apparently supposed to have all my mourning under control by now.

But I don't. I don't, and this whole thing with Greg has made that more obvious than ever. I still miss Miguel, I'm still not over the accident, and Mom and Dad are still pretending not to notice. No fancy therapy tips are going to help, and I know that there could be a thousand more miles between here and Houston and I'd still feel the same.

"So." Dad clears his throat, but then pauses.

This is it, I think, watching him cut into the asparagus on his plate. He's going to say something about Greg, or ask me how school was, or if I was able to handle the news okay.

"You feeling ready for tryouts?"

My fork hits my plate with a sharp clatter. "One of my classmates is dead and you're asking me about baseball?"

My stomach drops like a brick as soon as the words are out of my mouth—did I really just say that? The silence that falls over the table is deafening. Mom and Dad share a glance, but say nothing. With a sigh, Dad continues to eat.

What's wrong with me? Miguel never would have snapped like that. And he wouldn't have been sitting here blaming all his problems on Mom and Dad, either. What happened to Greg isn't their fault, and neither is the fact that I'm not adjusted enough to handle it.

No matter how bizarre Bradford is shaping up to be, I need to stay on track. I can't let myself get caught up by what happened—not when I'm supposed to be making all this easier for them. Not when I need to atone for what I did.

"I'm sorry," I blurt, keeping my eyes on my plate. "I..." The only excuse I have is that things were hard today. But if they expect me to be able to handle this type of thing, then saying that would only make things worse. "School's a little stressful lately, is all. I didn't mean to... But, yeah. I'm ready for tryouts, definitely."

"That's good," Dad says. And that's that. Nothing more. No lecture, no forgiveness, no acknowledgment that it ever even happened.

I push the rice on my plate around and wonder why I wish they would've done anything other than ignore it.

diego snapped 😳... and then immediately un-snapped LOL