Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
It’s supposed to help with her independence.
It also means we can text each other.
Which is good, because sometimes she needs me and not everyone understands. It makes me anxious when I can’t be there to calm her down. I know what it’s like to be trapped in my head, unable to get away from all the spinning negativity. Once I’m in the spiral, it’s hard to get out.
On the way to hockey practice, my phone pings, so I flip it over and check the screen. It’s Lavender.
I used to have a photo of her attached to her contact. It was her at Queenie’s, our therapist, working on one of her pieces of art. Her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail, and she was wearing a dress she made. Her expression was fierce with concentration.
I changed it to an infinity symbol and switched her name to a boy’s because I don’t want my parents to know how much we message each other. I don’t think they’d like it, since it’s every day. I erase all the messages after we’re done chatting, because my mom and dad check my phone sometimes and go through all my conversations with friends. Most of the time, I talk about hockey and school, but with Lavender it’s different. We talk about other stuff, and I won’t betray her trust, because she confides in me.
She tells me how sometimes River makes things hard for her. Or how everyone is so protective. I’m protective too, but Lavender doesn’t seem to mind as much with me.
When she first got her phone and my dad saw how much we were messaging, he sat me down and talked to me about how Lavender is still mostly a little girl, and I’m a teenager, and I’m starting to grow up, but she’s not there yet. I didn’t want to hear it, even though I know he’s right.
Lavender and I have always been close, and I don’t want anyone to take her away from me, so I promised him it wasn’t ever like that. I told my dad she’s like my little sister, only she doesn’t annoy me like Aspen.
I understand why he’s worried, though. Sometimes at hockey practice, the older boys who play before us talk about their girlfriends and the stuff they do.
Maverick kissed Abby Saunders at a party last month, and her braces cut his lip. But he still said he’d do it again anyway.
I’m too focused on hockey to deal with girls right now. Lavender is the only girl I like hanging around with, and she’s the only one who really gets me, just like I get her. I don’t understand most girls. Or most people. I don’t like having to pretend I’m interested in what someone is saying, and most of the time people like to fill the silence with nonsense.
Lavender doesn’t have a lot to say when we’re in big crowds, but when we’re alone, or with people she’s comfortable with, like her cousins, she’s animated and fun and funny and introspective.
My mom says she’s going to be a knockout when she’s older and finds her confidence. Secretly, I don’t know if I want that to happen, because then she might not need me anymore.
Lavender is what my mom calls an old soul. She sees people for what they are, and she feels everything really intensely. I think it’s why she has such bad anxiety attacks—the kind that make it impossible for her to get words out, because the fear chokes her.
I know how to make that better. Not even Queenie is as good at calming her down as I am. Or River. And if I’m honest, I like that Lavender relies on me. I like that she needs me, that I’m the only person who can fix things for her when she’s out of control. It makes me feel like I’m actually in control, because most of the time my head is a big, jumbled, uncomfortable mess.
The only time I really get any peace is when I’m on the ice, or when I’m helping Lavender. Occasionally my sleep is peaceful, but lately I’ve been waking up from dreams that make me feel bad, even though I don’t have control over my thoughts when I’m unconscious. I never tell Queenie about them. Or anyone. I know they’re wrong, so I keep them to myself.
Sometimes my sessions with Queenie overlap with Lavender’s by a few minutes, and I get to see what she’s been working on. Mostly I’m early because the possibility of being late stresses me out, but it also gives me a glimpse inside Lavender’s head, which is a fascinating place. She’s brilliant; not in the same academic way I am, but she understands the world on a different level.
I understand logic and math and reason. She understands people and feelings and emotions. I don’t know which one of us is more tortured because of it.