D A F F O D I L

[narcissus poeticus] ➳ sympathy.

WITH THIRTY MINUTES LEFT, I breezed out of the exam room, smirking as my classmates jotted equations or stared off into space at their desks. Every bit of chemistry I'd learned since Sunday morning oozed out my consciousness, reverting my brain to its usual state.

I still had three exams to go, but I was more than happy to tick one off the list.

Isaac didn't have any finals today, so he wasn't at school. Instead, he'd completely isolated himself to study for the math exam tomorrow. I wasn't sure if he would last that long, but for now, he wasn't even replying to my texts.

I didn't mind, because the previous night had given me plenty to think about.

Over dinner, Mom and Dad had interrogated him about everything, from his parents to his pizza-eating habits. We'd had a brief misunderstanding over the correct ways to hold forks and knives, but that had thankfully been the only cultural faux-pas of the night. 

Everything else had gone exceedingly well. 

I reeled through our conversations over and over again. Every time I hit replay, I heard Isaac tell a story about a stray animal, saw my parents' looks of approval when he mentioned non-profit work, and felt elation bubble up inside of me. I swore my feelings had taken on the colour and consistency of cotton candy. 

It took someone calling my name to shake me from my reverie. Leo stood by the school's exit, sporting a haircut he must've gotten after the last time we talked. That felt like eons ago.

"Hey, Ren," he repeated, walking up to me. He twisted his watch around on his wrist, creating an itchy-looking red band on his skin. "Have you seen Jackie?"

I shook my head. I was curious about how their friendship had grown since I'd introduced them as tutor and tutee, but not enough to ask. "I only came to school for the chemistry final."

"Yeah, me too. It was pretty easy," he said, instantly putting me at ease. Even when Leo was fidgeting, he couldn't resist talking about school and how good he was at it. I found it kind of endearing. "Jackie had an English exam earlier so I thought I'd catch her before she left, but I don't think she actually made it to school."

I paused. "That's weird." And by weird, I meant concerning. "Why do you say that?"

Leo cast his eyes to the ground. "Because of something I heard from my dad. If you see her, can you make sure she texts me back?"

I frowned. "Sure." I wanted clarification, but the fact his dad was a police officer intimidated me — made me feel like I couldn't ask what he meant by that. "Maybe we can catch up sometime?"

"Sounds good." His gaze flickered back to mine, and his lips tugged into a slightly less serious expression than the one he usually wore. I could tell he was trying to be casual, and that we were both dancing around the topic of how our friendship had withered away over the last several weeks.

But I meant what I'd said. Reaching out to Jackie over the weekend had reminded me what it was like to have friends. And beginning with Leo, I wanted to re-establish all the relationships I'd lost, including the ones I'd left in Kitchener.

Even if it didn't work out — even if everybody ignored me — I wanted to be able to say I'd tried.

Because apparently, I was a trier now. It felt nice to put effort into things, even when those efforts were fruitless. The rest of the way home, Leo's ominous wording lingered on my mind as I repeatedly texted Jackie, asking if she was okay.

There was no reason for her to not have been okay. But after fifteen minutes of unanswered messages, I hit the call button at the top of my screen. I held the phone up, lifting my free arm to keep myself balanced on my rolling skateboard.

Jackie's phone didn't even ring. Within seconds, a voicemail robot was buzzing into my ear. I stuffed my phone back into my pocket with a grimace, trying to just be thankful I hadn't crashed while skateboarding with my phone. 

I glanced around; I was basically the only person outside. The neighbourhood seemed even emptier than usual, and while these houses had never been beautiful, the streets were straight-up bleak today, like the big clouds in the sky had sucked a host of colour out of Newberry's palette. 

Something was off, but I couldn't put a finger on it. 

Neither of my parents were home when I arrived. I wandered upstairs and peeked into their bedroom to make sure. Mom's pajamas were strewn over the bed, which was strange since she usually folded and hid them away before leaving.

Dad had left some paperwork on the desk, though it wasn't a stack of science tests or worksheets to grade. Instead, the sheets were folded into threes — like letters — and some of them had been dog-eared multiple times, like he'd read them over and over again.

I went to my room. Unlike my parents, I'd put some effort into decorating. A row of tiny plants lined the windowsill; Isaac had drawn smiley faces onto their pots with a Sharpie last night. Framed paintings hid the cracks in the walls, and my pale pink curtains fluttered softly as I sat on my bed and leaned against the wall.

I opened my laptop. Because I'd been studying, I had no less than fifty tabs open. I closed each of them in turn before coming upon the very last tab, one I'd opened forever ago. The video of Isaac stealing Doug Merritt's sign.

Even though it was paused, a lump rose to my throat as I pictured pressing play again.

It made me feel so helpless. Newberry was smaller than even a dot on a map, but I was even smaller, and there was absolutely nothing I could do to convince this town that Isaac was a decent person, undeserving of internet humiliation. And I knew this video was a chip on his shoulder, a symptom of a reputation that often preceded him. 

Unable to resist, I clicked the link to Doug's real estate website. 

Even though seeing his professional photo grin at me through the screen would only make me feel worse, I needed that reminder of how much I hated him. I needed that excuse to mutter curse words under my breath, to dream up impossible ways for me and Isaac to put an end to his cruelty. I was obsessed with the thing I hated the most, driven by the same compulsion that made it hard to look away from a trainwreck. 

But the website never loaded.

I refreshed and double-checked the address. I even tried spelling it with .com instead of .ca, and typing Douglas instead of Doug. But all I found was the same empty white space that had once been filled with pictures of houses for sale.

Holding my breath, I refreshed the Youtube video. It was gone. And searching for Doug's Youtube account brought nothing up.

I was so dumbfounded that I lost track of time. It wasn't until my parents got home, slamming the door behind them that I bolted from my seat on the bed and almost dropped my laptop on the floor. The 404 page was still on my screen, blank as the list of explanations I'd been able to come up with. "Mamãe? Dad, is that you?"

"We bought dinner, sweetheart," called my mother. Dad grumbled something and it echoed off the kitchen walls. I rushed downstairs to meet them.

Dinner, as it turned out, was takeout from one of the local diners. I started to help them unpack the Styrofoam boxes, but keeping busy didn't quell my curiosity. My parents rarely went out together, and they hadn't mentioned anything about this last night. And while Dad was dressed normally, Mom wore a blouse I hadn't seen in months. 

"What's happening?" I blurted out. The last few hours had been strange past the point of asking specific questions. Mom smiled tiredly, the gesture deepening the creases in her face.

"Neither of us went to work today. We spent our day in the city," she said."We had to talk to a lawyer."

It had been a long time since I'd heard the word lawyer. I generally associated it with the painstaking insurance claims my parents had made shortly after the fire. We'd gotten less out of the process than we deserved. I didn't like to think about it, but I knew my parents were still stressed about our finances.

"Is this about the house?" They exchanged a look, forcing me to press further. "The old house?"

The last part seemed to surprise them. Dad reached around me to squeeze my arm, and my stomach dropped. "There's been an investigation into Doug Merritt and his sales," he said, "including the way he sold us this house."

"Victor, don't be dramatic." Mom slapped him on the shoulder, then turned to me. "We did nothing wrong, Ren," she clarified. "But people in this town have had their suspicions about the way Doug runs his business for years — suspicions we had no idea about. This morning, the papers made a public release about a private investigation that's been going on for months."

"I don't understand," I said, staring at them both. "Is he... does he cheat people out of money? Or..?"

"He's been known to favour his buyers in negotiations — illegally," said Dad. "And according to the release, he's also being separately investigated for committing financial fraud."

My eyes widened. "I think he deleted all of his social media accounts today."

"That's a smart move." He snorted. "If I were him, I'd go into hiding the second the presses said a bad thing about me. Newberry has a mob mentality, and big stories like this are so few and far between... I'm guessing everyone in town already knows. He might've even gotten death threats by now."

"I'm surprised you didn't know about this, Ren," Mom piped up. "Don't the kids at school talk about these things? Surely none of them like Doug, either."

"I had an exam. And I have an exam tomorrow too..." I trailed off, not wanting to explain why I had spent the last few hours trying to find a trace of Doug Merritt on the internet instead of studying for math. "I don't really listen to the gossip anyway."

"Oh, of course. Well, let's have dinner so you can get back to studying." Shooting me a grin, she grabbed one of the takeout boxes from the counter and set it down at my place on the dining table. Dad followed suit, grabbing a handful of forks and knives from the kitchen drawer.

But I stayed rooted to my spot, unable to tear my feet off the floor.

"Are we in trouble?" I asked. "Why did you guys need a lawyer?"

Dad frowned, placing several napkins on the circular table. "We wanted legal advice." Both of us could tell that was an insufficient answer, though. "Because we are among Doug's clients, we're probably going to be questioned about his actions by the Real Estate Council. We needed to clarify some things before that happened."

That still didn't seem to be the whole story. Mom sighed. "Just tell her."

My father studied me as I made my way over to the table, the three of us standing at the points of a triangle. Dread coiled in my stomach, drilling pits that quickly filled up with fear. But I still managed to guess what he would say before he said it.

"Jackie has nowhere to go." He glanced at the ceiling, as though he was praying this would be okay. "Her mother thinks it would be demoralizing for her to witness what her father is going through, but her eldest brother is involved in the scandal as well, and her other siblings are too young to take care of her.

"We wanted to take her in for the time being, just until Doug sorts things out and their family regains their sense of purpose. We had to make sure this wouldn't present a conflict of interest, since we would be testifying against the Merritts if their situation ever came to that."

Dad met my gaze. "But we have eyes, Renata. We can see you don't like that girl as much as everyone wants you to."

Guilt hit me harder than I had ever expected it to. It felt like a huge weight had been removed from my shoulders, only to immediately be replaced by a lesser, sharper sort of pain. Like someone had injected remorse into my arteries with a blunt-tipped needle. 

"No, I — I want to be friends with her." I dragged in a breath. "Please take her in, if that's her only option."

"You're our first priority," Dad reiterated, moving towards me. "We care about that girl, but we would never force you to live with someone you can't stand."

His eyes flitted to the necklace on my neck, and his voice dropped to a gentle murmur. "We know you're upset that she knows about the fire. If she's going to remind you of everything that's happened, we can make other arrangements..."

"I think I've moved past that." That was the truth. "And Jackie needs our help."

Both of them looked at me for a second with looks of total disbelief. Then Dad's expression softened, and Mom disappeared behind the arms of his large sweater as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a hug. 

His embrace was comfortably tight, and I got the feeling that I had just made him happy. Mom poked her head out from behind him to give me a twinkling look, beaming through her round cheeks with the sort of proudness that I saw from her often, yet never got tired of.

"I knew you'd be okay, Ren," she said softly, smiling, and for a moment I completely believed her. 

But then I realized I wasn't okay. Not yet.

I wanted Jackie to live here because she deserved better than her awful father. I wanted to be her friend because we both needed one. Even though the parallels were obvious, none of this had anything to do with the fact that Anthony's family had taken me in six months ago. 

But I knew that's what my parents were thinking.

And I needed them to stop thinking that.

I disentangled myself from my father's arms, gazing at the grease-laden dinners going cold on the table. I expected a chill to run through my bones at the thought of what I was about to do, but my body was warm. 

Why wouldn't it be? I still had blood running through my veins, and that was just one of the many reminders of my parents' affections in this room. They were on my side, and they always had been. Always would be.

I had not been bled dry. 

My pulse did not race. My skin did not prickle.

I was not afraid. After all, the boy who had broken me was far, far away, and I had full reign over which parts of the past I would allow to control me. I could reduce my humiliation to a dinner conversation if I wanted to. 

And I did. Mom's forehead creased inquisitively, but I only motioned for my parents both to sit down. My heart threatened to drop as she lowered herself into a chair, but I kept myself lifted. And when I spoke again, it became hard to believe that gravity had anything on me. 

"There's something I have to tell you," I began, swallowing hard as we took our places around the table. We were three points of a triangle, arranged into an unbreakable circle. "It's about Anthony."