The worry stone and an old copy of Treasure Island were all I had left when I came home. Taller, thinner, darker. In cutoffs because I had grown and my jeans were way too short now. Pinstripe painter's jeans now ragged shorts, pinned up tight around my waist, covered by my pink halter. Hair tangled into a low braid. White at the end and frothed caramel at the top and I have to focus very hard not to curse when I speak, because I get used to giving Lochlan my uninterrupted stream of consciousness whether he likes it or not and I've picked up some rather colorful phrases along the way. I've picked up two other languages and I know how to do teardown on five out of the seventeen rides. I know how to lie and I know that you can speed a Ferris Wheel up until the screams come out involuntarily.
But it isn't safe, like so many things.
I know now that Caleb is evil and I know that Loch is somewhat either prevented from or unwilling to stand up to him and I don't know why for either but I know that I'll never go back to the Midway show, maybe someday we will do something else but for now I'm sort of glad to be home even though everything is different. The sky looks different in the colors it shows. Food tastes different, as if I don't need flavor anymore and everything I draw is dark and angry.
I don't speak until I'm spoken to. I'd rather read or just sit with my headphones on and stare out the window. I go out with Lochlan for more milkshakes or sometimes to the movies but he always has a ton of homework and I've been failing math all through junior high and should be doing homework but I've lost interest.
Chris sits with me sometimes on Saturdays and tutors me in math when I wait outside the shop for Lochlan to be finished work and he asks me what happened that changed so much this time and I just say nothing and ask what's different. He tells me I'm moody but I tell him I'm just tired.
I should tell him I need help with this but I don't.
I should tell somebody something but I can't.
