Made For You

“I’m in room 406,” I say.

“I know.” He grins briefly. “The nurses didn’t tell me, but it was pretty easy to figure it out. Your door was the only one that stayed closed all the time.”

“I like my privacy,” I hedge. I’m not ready for total honesty.

“I still miss you.”

My anger rekindles at that. I cross my arms over my chest. “We go to the same school, Nate. I live at the same house. You even saw me the night before the accident.”

“What was I supposed to do? Walk up to you and the perfect people, and say ‘sorry I ignored you for years; I was stupid. Now, let’s go catch crawfish’?”

I remember Nate, super muddy on the bank of the creek, telling me that no one would even be able to tell we went into the water once we dried. I barely repress my smile before I say, “I don’t catch crawfish anymore.”

“You don’t read Andrew Lost or catch crawfish,” Nate says musingly. “Noted. What are we going to do when you get out of here then?”

I shrug, but I’m smiling at him as I do it. “Nothing, maybe.”

He frowns and stands up. “I get it if you don’t want people to know we’re talking again—or if you don’t want to talk to me. Piper and everyone would have fits, and Baucom probably wouldn’t like me being around anyhow.”

“It’s none of his business who I’m friends with. He doesn’t like Grace, either.”

Nate looks at me like he’s studying me, but I’m not sure what he’s hoping to see. It doesn’t matter though. I yawn suddenly.

“Past nap time?”

Without thinking I flip him off, and then promptly blush. “Sorry.”

“Maybe I’ve missed your temper, too.” He pauses and gestures at the wheelchair. “Do you need help back to 406 first?”

I shake my head. I hope I’m not blushing when I add, “But if my door’s open tomorrow, you can stop by my room.”

The smile Nate flashes my way reaffirms my earlier realization that he’s dangerous. All he says though is “See you tomorrow,” and then he’s gone, and I’m left staring after him, trying to remind myself that he doesn’t mean anything by it. But, somehow, even being friends with Nate is more than enough reason for me to smile so wide that the cuts on my face twinge worse than usual.

DAY 8: “THE MESSAGE” (#ulink_288b60ea-6f7b-576e-b4b0-101b226c6e60)

Judge (#ulink_288b60ea-6f7b-576e-b4b0-101b226c6e60)

I’VE FOUND HER, THE message. She is one of Them, not as bad as Piper but still one of the people who think they are superior. They live by class and name and none of it is real. They aren’t better than anyone else.

Eva used to know that.

I open the pages of the photo album that I keep on the shelf beside my bed. It’s one of those old-fashioned ones where the whole plastic layer lifts, and the photos are stuck in the pages. They sell them down at Harvey’s Sundries. I like it even though it’s old-fashioned. Not everything from the past is wrong—just some things. Caring whose family came first, worrying about what is owned by whom, those things are bad. Liking the simplicity of old-fashioned photo books is good. It’s proof that I’m reasonable: I don’t dislike everything that’s outdated. I run my fingers over the first page, seeing Eva stare up at me. She’s ordinary. That’s why she was made for me. We’re not like the ones who worry about status, not inside where it matters.

There are pictures of all of us from the time we were kids up to this year. She’s talking to other people in some of them, so I cut up a few pictures and arranged them so we’re close in every picture. That’s the way we should be. Later, if she heeds the messages, we’ll have new pictures where we are close like we should be.

Soon.

I feel a ripple of excitement at the thought of our future. When we were kids, I didn’t appreciate what a gift she was. I see that now. No one understands me like she does. No one else can. Only Eva.

Slowly, I turn the pages, watching Eva grow older, seeing her skirts change to jeans. She smiles with more restraint in the newest pictures, as if she’s pained by something. It’s how I look in pictures, too. I hate the rules of status we all have to live by in Jessup; rules ruin everything.

In one picture from a party at the start of this year, Eva looks free. She has her mouth open in a laugh, and her head is thrown back. Grace is at her side. That’s the secret in this one. Grace is someone the rules don’t understand. They don’t like her, but They don’t have a good reason to reject her—not if Eva Cooper-Tilling declares her worthy. Eva’s blessing would make the lowliest sinner worthy in Their eyes. Grace isn’t from here, isn’t even Southern, but she’s the one who walks at Eva’s side. Sometimes I think Grace is Eva’s Mary Magdalene, except that, unlike The Magdalene, Grace hides her impurity. I did one of those background checks they advertise online. I know enough about Grace Yeung to make friends with people on social media and check her out. I couldn’t let just anyone around Eva.

Grace isn’t as sweet as she acts. She’s redeemed now. Like The Magdalene, she’s stopped her whorish ways. She’s perfect to walk with Eva. She used to be a whore, but she’s been delivered from that; plus, she isn’t connected to any of Them. If the messages don’t help Eva see the truth, maybe Grace can help. I slide my fingertips over the picture of the two of them. I like the feel of the slick plastic of the picture album. It’s not the same as bare skin, but I can pretend for now.