The Tension of Opposites by Kristina McBride Page A

to—”
    Elle’s mother cleared her throat and sat up straighter in her chair. “Elle will be going back to school in a few weeks. Isn’t that good news?” Her voice was high pitched and a little shaky.
    â€œYeah. I’m flat-out giddy,” Elle said under her breath.
    â€œTessa, I was thinking it might be nice if you could drive Elle to school.” Elle’s mother looked at me, her chest puffed out from holding her breath.
    â€œI’m not going to school with her,” Elle said. “I’ll ride the bus.”
    I heard Coop snicker, part of a joke that none of us knew.
    â€œYou,” Elle’s mother said, her voice taking on the authoritative tone from years ago when she’d caught Noelle and me watching an R-rated movie, “will not be riding the bus.”
    â€œDidn’t you know?” Coop turned a bitter smile toward Elle. “Pendeltons don’t ride the bus. It’s not safe.”
    â€œGive me a break, Mom.” Elle flung her fork onto her plate, and it clattered noisily. “It’s not like I’m going to be kidnapped again. Jesus.”
    â€œYou, young lady, will not speak like that in my house.” Mr. Pendelton’s deep voice boomed from his mouth. “You should thank God for bringing you home safely.”
    â€œIs that what you think?” Elle stared at her father, her eyebrows pulled tightly together. “That God brought me back? God had nothing to do with it, Dad. And sometimes”—Elle stood from the table and threw her napkin on top of her manicotti—“I wish I hadn’t had anything to do with it, either.” She turned and ran from the room.
    We all listened in silence as her feet rumbled up the steps. I watched the bright tomato sauce soak into the cloth napkin and hoped it wouldn’t stain and be a permanent reminder of this disastrous meal.
    â€œAnother peaceful dinner at the Pendelton household.” Coop looked at me. “Aren’t you glad you came?” He raised his eyebrows and sighed.
    â€œI think I’ll go up,” I said softly. “If that’s okay.”
    â€œI’m guessing it can’t make matters worse.” Elle’s father took a sip of his wine and placed his glass on the table. The thick red liquid swirled around the inside of the wineglass until it lost momentum.

    I didn’t knock. I just walked in. She didn’t hear me at first, and I stared at her for a minute or two. She was on her bed, propped against a pile of pillows that was stacked against her headboard. The white eyelet canopy that her parents had given her for her tenth birthday was still suspended above her bed, making her seem innocent and untouched. With one hand, she was writing furiously in a spiral notebook that she balanced on her lap. With the other, she wiped tears from her cheeks.
    It shouldn’t have surprised me to see her crying, but it did. She’d seemed so hardened that I’d thought the only emotion flowing through her was hostility. I felt a little sick as I realized that she might be struggling with feeling anything real again after shutting down for the last two years.
    She looked up. Her face was red and splotchy, her eyes slightly swollen.
    â€œYou okay?” I asked.
    â€œDo I look okay?”
    I started to turn away and then forced myself to keep facing her. This is Noelle, I reminded myself. The girl who has been your best friend since before you knew what it meant to have a best friend.
    â€œNo. You don’t.”
    â€œWell, I’m not.”
    I looked away, finding the cold stare of her eyes too oppressive. The room seemed to be floating in the past. Except for the clothes piled on the plush carpet, which were larger and more grown-up, it hadn’t changed one bit since the last time I’d been here. The butterfly border still fluttered around the top of the walls, the lavender paint still made me feel as if I were