Page 24 of The Moment I Knew

I stared at the various shades of blue, not really seeing anything. I had completely forgotten about telling her I wanted to paint my room. That was back in the summer, before Dad left. It was supposed to be a project that Dad and I were going to do together and then mom was going to add little details around my light switches and doorframe. It was a family project, but now we weren’t a family anymore.

A lump appeared in my throat. I wanted to tell her to just forget about it, and I didn’t want to do it, but she’d already gone out of her way to find these paint chips, so I couldn’t shoot her down now, could I?

“I’m not sure,” I stammered out. “Tell you what, I’ll tape them up in my room and see what I think over the next couple of days.”

She smiled and ran a hand over my hair. “Sounds great. I just know you haven’t been yourself the last few months, so I thought maybe this would brighten your spirits back up.”

I cleared my throat, hoping the emotion coating it would go away. It didn’t. Suddenly my backpack and the boxes inside it felt even heavier.

“So, how was your day, honey?”

“It was great, actually,” I said, making a split-second decision about what I was gonna say. I set my backpack on the counter to give my arm—and conscience—a break from the weight of it. “I, um, won this contest at school. It was this essay thing… and the prize was,” I hesitated for a second and then forced myself to say, “It was a new iPad.”

Mum whirled around in surprise. “What? Really? I can’t believe your siblings didn’t mention that.”

“Oh, it was specific to the Student Council,” I said, waving it off. It hadn’t occurred to me that all my siblings probably would have heard about it if this had been an actual contest. “And it wasn’t just Parkhurst, it was all the private schools in the area.” I swallowed again and then forced myself to open the bag and pull out the tablet.

“Oh, that’s so wonderful. Congratulations,” Mum said, coming over to give me a kiss on the head.

I felt like I should keep making conversation, felt like I should stay down here and try to act as normal as possible. But my insides were currently quickly going through my outside. So I stuffed the tablet box back in and said, “Anyway, I should get started on my homework.”

“Maybe break in the new tablet,” Mum suggested with a grin.

“Uh-huh,” I said quickly. “I, uh, I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Don’t forget the paint samples!”

“Right.” I snatched the samples off the counter, lifting them between us with a forced smile I hoped she didn’t notice. And then I practically booked it upstairs. It probably looked suspicious as heck, but oh well.

For a moment, I was worried I was going to have to repeat this entire conversation with Ainsley, who would probably see through my lies even better than Mum could, but when I got upstairs, Ainsley’s music blasted so loud I could hear the lyrics clear as day through her door. Still, I paused outside her door and pressed an ear to it. It was hard to hear over the deafening music, but I swore I could hear her busy chatting on the phone as well. Before she could fling the door open and catch me standing there guiltily, I quickly stepped away and ran to my room, breathing a sigh of relief as I dropped onto my desk chair.

I wasn’t sure when I became somebody who lied to my family, but I had to say, I was not enjoying it.

nine

I only made it half an hour before Ainsley’s music gave me a headache. I tried knocking on the door—which obviously went unheard—and texting her to turn it down—which went unnoticed as she continued her phone call. Thankfully the library was much quieter so I could focus on homework and my moral dilemma with the new tablet. A few students were scattered at tables, heads bent over their books. Good. I slid into a seat near the back, unpacked my books, and set my new tablet down carefully, like it might bite me if I moved too fast. I slipped my over-ear headphones on—actual, full coverage, the good kind. It was a vibe. A ritual. I queued up my playlist and tapped play.

Sound exploded into the room.

Heads lifted. People glared at me. The librarian appeared out of nowhere, finger already halfway to her lips. The universal sign of you messed up.

My face went hot instantly. I fumbled for the tablet, hands suddenly useless, pausing the music like it was a bomb about to go off. “Sorry,” I mouthed. She nodded and drifted away, and the room settled back into stillness.

I sat there for a full minute without moving, like if I stayed perfectly still I could undo what had just happened. My headphones rested around my neck now, useless and uncharged, their padded cups warm against my skin like they were judging me. I kept imagining the music starting again on its own, betraying me a second time, so I slid the tablet a few inches farther away just in case.

Okay. No music. Fine.

I opened my book again and forced my eyes back to the top of the page. The words were familiar—I’d read them before, multiple times, even—but now they felt exposed, naked without the buffer of sound. My pencil hovered, waiting for my brain to catch up.

Someone coughed.

I jumped, the pencil jerking and leaving a dark slash across the margin. I stared at it, annoyed, then carefully erased, the soft rasp of the eraser suddenly the loudest thing in existence. I paused, erasing slower, then stopped altogether when I realized I was holding my breath.

Every page turn sounded like a shout. Someone’s pen clicking three tables over drilled straight into my skull. The HVAC hummed—low, constant, impossible to ignore once I noticed it. My own breathing felt too loud, like I was doing it wrong. I shifted in my chair, the tiny squeak echoing in my ears, and froze, heart thudding, waiting to see if anyone would look up again.

I tried reading out of spite then, like I could force comprehension through sheer determination. I underlined a sentence. Wrote a note in the margin. Read it again. Nothing stuck.

The clock on the wall ticked. Once. Twice.