Love Lies Beneath by Ellen Hopkins Page B

back
    into the ignorance of slumber,
    but a jolt of frustration has jump-started
    your brain, and once the words
    have coalesced, they repeat themselves,
    a stutter: It’s a long, long way to June.
    There is no detour except to rise.
    But this day brings a singular
    reward, for in the frozen
    night, a fog has lifted, crowning
    barren branches with tiaras of ice.
    Against an azure mantle, they shimmer
    in soft December sunlight, dazzle
    cynical eyes, then melt like memories.
    Upon the hoarfrost, you spy a flutter
    of rust and fix your gaze on
    the feathered enigma—a robin, huddled
    in the cold white snare. Framed by the tangle,
    he is a picture of despair and you wonder
    why a creature capable of flight
    would choose to stay and weather winter.

Fifteen
    I expect to find Mel sitting in front of the fake fire, comfortably reading or watching TV. Instead, she’s pacing. “Oh, thank God,” she says when I totter through the door. “You’re back early. I didn’t want to call and bother you if you were having a good time, but . . . Wait. What happened? Why are you back early? It didn’t involve pepper spray, did it?”
    â€œNot even. It involved snow. You do realize it’s dumping outside, right?”
    â€œIt is? I mean it flurried a little up on the mountain, but when I got the text I came back down to try and manage a little damage control. Is it supposed to quit?”
    â€œI don’t know. Why? And what text? Mel, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” There are, like, five conversations going on at once, and they’re all coming out of Melody’s mouth.
    She flops on the sofa, crestfallen. “It’s Kayla. She’s having an episode.”
    â€œEpisode?”
    â€œSometimes she goes a little off the deep end. She’s threatening suicide.”
    â€œBecause of her boyfriend?”
    â€œHe’s not her boyfriend anymore. But no, he’s not the reason. Apparently, she’s getting a B minus in American History, despite massive extra-credit work, and she’s certain her GPA will condemn her to community college.”
    This is keeping my sister away from the latest HBO miniseries? “But she’d never do something so extreme over something so not extreme. Right?”
    â€œI don’t know,” she admits. “Sometimes I worry she inherited the family gene. ”
    â€œYou mean Mom’s BPD.”
    She nods. “It often manifests in late adolescence, and she seems to demonstrate some of the symptoms, including over-the-top reactions to relatively insignificant things. Not to mention relationship problems. I feel sorry for Jeff.”
    â€œJeff?”
    â€œHer last boyfriend. They were together almost a year.”
    â€œThe ‘squeaky little a-hole’?”
    â€œIs that what she called him? He’s such a nice young man. She just kept seeing things that weren’t there.”
    â€œYou mean, like ghosts?”
    Mel rolls her eyes. “No. Like disrespect or inattentiveness.”
    That does sound like our mother, who demanded respect and attention. “Has she seen a therapist?”
    â€œYes, but don’t tell Graham. He insists she has no problems beyond the usual female kind. BPD is difficult to diagnose correctly, and is often confused with other things. Not only that, but medications are hard to get right, especially in teenagers. Antidepressants can actually exacerbate suicidal thoughts in young people. Anyway, if it’s okay with you and we can travel safely tomorrow, I’d like to cut our vacation short a day. What do you think?”
    Oh, great. Extra time at the Schumacher abode, while their oldest daughter flips out and has a giant meltdown over a B minus grade, and her father just nods and says whatever. I seriously must rehab the knee while I’m there so I can get myself home ASAP. “If that’s what you need to do. Not like I’ll miss a