What we can’t guarantee, though, is that the place is surveillance-free, so we say nothing as we troop into the house, each of us peeling off to our own rooms.
The curtain is open in mine, and I’m not sure the last time I looked out the window next to my desk. I drop the two bags of stuff I brought back with me on the bed, then halt, not sure where to start. Should I boot up my computer and see what new malware was installed while I was away? I wiped the thing clean, so there wasn’t anything to find besides term papers and some mild porn. Had to make it believable so nobody would look deeper.
In the end, I put away my clothes, all the lightweight options I picked up looking strange next to my sweaters and hoodies.
At the bottom of the bag, I pull out my winter gear, unused for so long I’m not sure it still fits. And pulling on my coat, I find my shoulders are broader than they were last year. Another change. Another thing about this life that doesn’t fit.
A knock on my door has me turning, Jansen hovering there. “Hey,” he says, tugging on the long braid that falls over his shoulder. I’ve pulled my own longer hair into a low ponytail. Another change.
“What’s up?”
“Have you told your family that you’re back yet?”
I shake my head, words hard to come when a wave of conflicting emotions floods me.
“Me either. But we should, right? Soon?”
“Yeah. We probably should.”
He comes in, flopping into my computer chair, his gaze locked outside my rarely open window. “But what do I say?”
The owner of whatever bugs that are here knows we didn’t study abroad, so what I’ve got to say is an open secret. “It sucks, but you lie. You lie so hard they won’t think about questioning it. Otherwise, they could be at risk.”
“I know that, but it’s just,” he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his frame taking up more of my chair than it did last year. “It feels dirty. Wrong. I’ve already hurt them, I know it, and this just feels like I’m taking a lighter to all the trust they’ve ever put in me.”
I fold onto the bed, the feeling he’s describing the cousin to the mess I’m holding inside. “Then tell stories, true stories about what you’ve been up to. The place doesn’t matter, the memories do. And those are true.”
“So, lie, but fancier?”
“Basically, yeah.”
He drops his head in his hands, his breath pained.
Another thing that’s changed. Jansen still jokes, still tries to keep the mood light, but when he thinks nobody’s looking, he’s more like this. Broken, jagged, barely holding on.
He’s a reason to come back that’s bigger than missing our families. We need to get him more help than we could in Mexico. And just as important, we need to free ourselves from Trips’ father before the chains get any tighter around our throats.
Jansen pops to his feet, pacing, his old phone in his hand. “How do I get this to work again?”
“It’s gone, man. You’ll have to use the burner for now. At least until I get us new phones.”
“Gone? Even the photos?”
The burner is full of shots he’d taken over the last few months, but he won’t tell anyone why he’s suddenly so keen on collectingmemories. “Those are backed up and connected to your email, but I unlinked the number from the account when we left.”
“Oh thank God.”
I want to ask, but sometimes, it’s better not to. “I’ll see if we can get our old numbers back when I get new phones.”
“Buddy rule.”
“I know. You game?”
He stares down at the old phone. “You know what? I can call later. Yeah. Let’s go shopping.”
And there it is—the razor’s edge we’re going to be walking until we’re free. Knowing who we could be, the life we could have, but having to cram ourselves back into tiny boxes of expectation, hemmed in by rules and fear.
We’re either strong enough to make it through or totally fucked and we don’t even know it.
