One
JADE
The world feelsquiet in a way that scares me.
It’s late morning, but my room is dark. I haven’t opened the curtains. I haven’t moved much. I’m lying on my side, curled toward the wall like if I face anything else, I’ll break again.
My hair brushes my cheek when I breathe.
Short. Strange. Too light.
Every time I lift my hand, I expect the old weight… and it isn’t there.
Shani swept most of it into a trash bag last night, but there are still pieces on the bathroom floor. Strands that used to be part of me.
I keep seeing them.
I keep hearing myself say “Cut it off.”
I keep hearing the scissors.
I pull the blanket up to my chin and squeeze my eyes shut.
I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know who to be.
I can’t go back to school tomorrow. I can’t walk through Royal Oaks with that many eyes on me. I can’t breathe under all those voices and whispers and articles and?—
A soft knock thuds against my door.
I don’t answer.
The door opens anyway.
Aunt Susan steps inside, breathing harder than usual. Like she rushed here. Like she’d been pacing in the hall, trying to figure out what to say.
Her eyes land on me in the dim light.
“Oh, Jade,” she whispers.
I don’t move.
Not because I don’t want to.
Because I can’t.
She sits on the edge of the bed, hands clasped in her lap like she’s afraid to touch me without permission.
“I don’t know how to parent,” she blurts out.
Her voice cracks.
“I’m an aunt. I’m supposed to buy you sweaters and make pancakes when you visit. I don’t know how to do… this. I don’t know what to say when the world hurts you like this. So I need you to tell me. Tell me what to do.”
She looks so desperate, I almost sit up just to lie to her. But I can’t do that either.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
