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Authors: Delilah S. Dawson
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decorated for little kids, but it always made us giggle, and Carly loved their fries. I didn’t even know collard greens and lemon chiffon pie were on the menu. It’s more of a burger place. Not that it matters—I’m going. The dream felt so real, and I trust Carly, even in my nightmares, whatever that means.
In seventh period Baker leans over again, just like he did yesterday. But before he can ask for a ride, I whisper, “Do you really have to ask, fool?”
He grins, and even without his makeup he looks like he’s up to no good. So low I can barely hear it, he says, “I’m glad you’re back.”
We walk to the car after class, side by side but with space between, just like Carly is still there. As we drive out of the parking lot, I say, “So what did I miss yesterday after I ran out?”
“Oh, the usual,” he says, leaning back to stretch, one arm going slightly behind my seat. “Jasmine’s overacting, Nina’s constant primping, Devon bumping into things because his jester hat covers his eyes. And Rosewater yelled at Tamika about ruining her costume, and Tamika took off bawling for the dressing room. I haven’t seen her today at school, either. She must have been really upset.”
“She ruined her toga being nice to me,” I say. “That sucks. Was Rosewater mad at me?”
“Well . . .” He rubs his hair until it stands up all crazy as he stares fiercely out the window. “Pretty sure that her anger transferred to me after you left and I told her off.”
I look at him and smile, a little shy and a little sly.
“You didn’t mention that part yesterday,” I say.
“You seemed weird. Kind of scared. I didn’t want you to worry.” Angry pink splotches burn to life high on his cheeks. “I mean, where does she get off, talking to you that way? It’s none of her damn business. She just likes drama.”
“Actually a helpful trait in a drama teacher,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. I’m not sure what to do with this new, moody version of Baker. He was always a straight-up clown before.
“At least she can’t fire me,” he says with his old, playful grin. “You can’t ban Caliban.”
“True,” I say. “You always were a son of a witch.”
We both laugh, and I glance in the rearview mirror, half expecting to see Carly sitting there, in her favorite spot in themiddle of the bench. She always preferred riding bitch. She said it was because it was named after her, but I think she just liked being able to wrap her fingers around both headrests and crack jokes about my driving. Whenever she rode in the front seat, she slammed her foot down whenever I was supposed to brake, and I would snap at her about maybe getting her license one day and having a NEW DRIVER sticker on her own damn bumper. The longer I go without meds, the more my throat aches with missing her. Baker turns and glances at the empty seat and sighs.
“Remember when Carly said she was going to make herself disappear?”
My head whips around, and tears sting my eyes. “Baker, don’t.”
“No. I’m going to. I’m sick of not talking about her.” The bucket seat creaks as he leans back hard. “We were what, seven? She told us she was a wizard, and she could disappear. And we thought she did.”
“She was hiding in the goddamn closet, and you know it.”
“Yeah. But for the first couple of minutes, I really thought she’d done it. I thought she was magical.”
“What’s your point?”
His head bounces off the headrest in rhythmic futility. “Every now and then I think, Maybe she’s just in the closet. ” He sniffles. “I know you’re not ready to talk about it. But I needed to say it. I miss her every single day.” His head rolls, his eyes boring into me. “I missed you, too.”
There’s something tentative about the way he says it. Like it’s a question and not a statement, like he can’t be sure of anything. It’s a feeling I’m familiar with, and I reach out to hold his hand. Maybe he feels as
In seventh period Baker leans over again, just like he did yesterday. But before he can ask for a ride, I whisper, “Do you really have to ask, fool?”
He grins, and even without his makeup he looks like he’s up to no good. So low I can barely hear it, he says, “I’m glad you’re back.”
We walk to the car after class, side by side but with space between, just like Carly is still there. As we drive out of the parking lot, I say, “So what did I miss yesterday after I ran out?”
“Oh, the usual,” he says, leaning back to stretch, one arm going slightly behind my seat. “Jasmine’s overacting, Nina’s constant primping, Devon bumping into things because his jester hat covers his eyes. And Rosewater yelled at Tamika about ruining her costume, and Tamika took off bawling for the dressing room. I haven’t seen her today at school, either. She must have been really upset.”
“She ruined her toga being nice to me,” I say. “That sucks. Was Rosewater mad at me?”
“Well . . .” He rubs his hair until it stands up all crazy as he stares fiercely out the window. “Pretty sure that her anger transferred to me after you left and I told her off.”
I look at him and smile, a little shy and a little sly.
“You didn’t mention that part yesterday,” I say.
“You seemed weird. Kind of scared. I didn’t want you to worry.” Angry pink splotches burn to life high on his cheeks. “I mean, where does she get off, talking to you that way? It’s none of her damn business. She just likes drama.”
“Actually a helpful trait in a drama teacher,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. I’m not sure what to do with this new, moody version of Baker. He was always a straight-up clown before.
“At least she can’t fire me,” he says with his old, playful grin. “You can’t ban Caliban.”
“True,” I say. “You always were a son of a witch.”
We both laugh, and I glance in the rearview mirror, half expecting to see Carly sitting there, in her favorite spot in themiddle of the bench. She always preferred riding bitch. She said it was because it was named after her, but I think she just liked being able to wrap her fingers around both headrests and crack jokes about my driving. Whenever she rode in the front seat, she slammed her foot down whenever I was supposed to brake, and I would snap at her about maybe getting her license one day and having a NEW DRIVER sticker on her own damn bumper. The longer I go without meds, the more my throat aches with missing her. Baker turns and glances at the empty seat and sighs.
“Remember when Carly said she was going to make herself disappear?”
My head whips around, and tears sting my eyes. “Baker, don’t.”
“No. I’m going to. I’m sick of not talking about her.” The bucket seat creaks as he leans back hard. “We were what, seven? She told us she was a wizard, and she could disappear. And we thought she did.”
“She was hiding in the goddamn closet, and you know it.”
“Yeah. But for the first couple of minutes, I really thought she’d done it. I thought she was magical.”
“What’s your point?”
His head bounces off the headrest in rhythmic futility. “Every now and then I think, Maybe she’s just in the closet. ” He sniffles. “I know you’re not ready to talk about it. But I needed to say it. I miss her every single day.” His head rolls, his eyes boring into me. “I missed you, too.”
There’s something tentative about the way he says it. Like it’s a question and not a statement, like he can’t be sure of anything. It’s a feeling I’m familiar with, and I reach out to hold his hand. Maybe he feels as
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