The Jodi Picoult Collection #4 Read online

  I’ve got to go. The words were in my mouth, smooth and round like cherry pits, but what came out was this: “I could help you.”

  • • •

  Stupid, stupid, stupid ass. That’s what I kept telling myself I was, once the back of my truck was loaded with three sheets of pressure-treated plywood and carpeting and I was headed to Piper Reece’s house. There was no real explanation for why I hadn’t simply turned my back and walked away from her except for this: in all the years I’d known Piper, I’d never seen her as anything but confident and self-assured—to the point where she was too sharp, too arrogant. Today, though, she’d been completely flustered.

  I liked her better this way.

  I knew the way to her house, of course. When I pulled onto her street, I experienced the slightest panic—would Rob be home? I didn’t think I could handle both of them at once. But his car was gone, and as I turned off the engine, I took a deep breath. Five minutes, I told myself. Install the freaking GFCI and get out of there.

  Piper was waiting at the front door. “This is really so nice of you,” she said as I stepped inside.

  The hallway hadn’t always been this color. And when I walked into it, I saw that the kitchen had been remodeled. “You’ve had some work done in here.”

  “Actually, I did it myself,” Piper admitted. “I’ve had a lot more time lately.”

  An uncomfortable silence settled over us like a shroud. “Well. Everything looks completely different.”

  She stared at me. “Everything is completely different.”

  I jammed my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “So the first thing you have to do is cut off the power at the circuit box,” I said. “I’m guessing that’s in the basement?”

  She led me downstairs, and I switched off the breaker. Then I walked into the kitchen. “Which one is it?” I asked, and Piper pointed.

  “Sean? How are you doing?”

  I deliberately pretended to hear her incorrectly. “Just taking out the busted one,” I said. “Look, it’s that easy, once you unscrew it. And then you have to take all the white wires and pigtail them together into one of these little caps. After that, you take the new GFCI and use your screwdriver to connect the pigtail over here—see where it says ‘white line’?”

  Piper leaned closer. Her breath smelled of coffee and remorse. “Yes.”

  “Do the same thing with the black wires, and connect them to the terminal that says ‘hot line.’ And last of all, you connect the grounding wire to the green screw and stuff it all back into the box.” With the screwdriver, I reattached the cover plate and turned to her. “Simple.”

  “Nothing’s simple,” she said, and she stared at me. “But you know that. Like, for example, crossing over to the dark side.”

  I put the screwdriver down gently. “It’s all the dark side, Piper.”

  “Well, still. I feel like I owe you a thank-you.”

  I shrugged, looking away. “I’m really sorry this all happened to you.”

  “I’m really sorry it happened to you,” Piper answered.

  I cleared my throat, took a step backward. “You probably want to go down and throw the breaker, so you can test the outlet.”

  “That’s all right,” Piper said, and she offered me a shy smile. “I think it’s going to work.”

  Amelia

  Okay, let me just tell you that it’s not easy to keep a secret in close quarters. My house was bad enough, but have you ever noticed how thin the walls of a hotel bathroom are? I mean, you can hear everything—which meant that when I needed to make myself sick, I had to do it in the big public restrooms in the lobby, which required sitting in a stall until I could peek left and right and not see any other pairs of shoes.

  After I’d gotten up this morning and found a note from Mom, I’d gone downstairs to eat and then found you in the kids’ area. “Amelia,” you said when you saw me. “Aren’t those cool?” You were pointing to little colored rods that some of the kids had affixed to the wheels of their chairs. They made an annoying clicking sound when you pushed, which to be honest would get awfully old awfully quick, but—to be fair—they were pretty awesome when they glowed in the dark.

  I could practically see you taking mental notes as you sized up the other kids with OI. Who had which color wheelchair, who put stickers on their walkers, which girls could walk and which ones had to use a chair, which kids could eat by themselves and which needed help being fed. You were placing yourself in the mix, figuring out where you fit in and how independent you were by comparison. “So what’s on the docket for this morning?” I asked. “And where’s Mom?”

  “I don’t know—I guess at one of the other meetings,” you said, and then you beamed at me. “We’re going swimming. I’ve already got on my bathing suit.”

  “That sounds kind of fun—”

  “You can’t come, Amelia. It’s for people like me.”

  I knew you didn’t mean to sound like such a snot, but it still hurt to be cut out. I mean, who else was left to ignore me? First Mom, then Emma, now even my little disabled sister was dissing me. “Well, I wasn’t inviting myself,” I said, stung. “I have somewhere to go anyway.” But I watched you wheel yourself into the pack as one of the nurses called the first group of kids to head toward the pool. You were giggling, whispering with a girl who had a bumper sticker on the back of her chair: HOGWARTS DROPOUT.

  I wandered out of the kiddie zone and into the main hallway of conference rooms. I had no idea what presentation my mother was planning to attend, but before I could even think about that, one of the signs outside the doors caught my attention: TEENS ONLY. I poked my head inside and saw a collection of kids my age with OI—some in wheelchairs, some just standing—batting around balloons.

  Except they weren’t balloons. They were condoms.

  “We’re going to get started,” the woman in the front of the room said. “Hon, can you close the door?”

  She was, I realized, talking to me. I didn’t belong here—there were special programs for siblings like me who didn’t have OI. But then again, looking around the room, I could see there were plenty of kids who weren’t as bad off as you were—maybe no one would know my bones were perfectly fine.

  Then I noticed the boy from yesterday—the one who’d come over to get that little girl Niamh when we were still registering. He looked like the kind of guy who would play the guitar and make up songs about the girl he loved. I’d always thought it would be amazing to have a guy sing to me; although what on earth could he find interesting enough about me to write a song about? Amelia, Amelia . . . take off your shirt and let me feel ya?

  I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me. The boy grinned, and I lost all sensation in my legs.

  I sat down on a stool beside him and pretended I was far too cool to notice the fact that he was close enough for me to feel his body heat. “Welcome,” the woman at the front of the room said. “I’m Sarah, and if you’re not here for Birds and Bees and Breaks, you’re in the wrong place. Ladies and gentlemen, today we’re going to talk about sex, sex, and nothing but sex.”

  There was some edgy laughter; the tips of my ears started to burn.

  “Nothing like beating around the bush,” the boy beside me said, and then he smiled. “Oops. Bad metaphor.”

  I looked around, but he was very clearly speaking to me. “Very bad,” I whispered.

  “I’m Adam,” he said, and I froze. “You’ve got a name, don’t you?”

  Well, yeah, but if I told it to him, he might know I wasn’t supposed to be here. “Willow.”

  God, that smile again. “That’s a really pretty name,” he said. “It suits you.”

  I stared down at the table and blushed furiously. This was a talk about sex, not a lab where we got to do it. And yet, no one had ever said anything to me even remotely resembling a come-on, unless Hey, dork, do you have an extra pencil? counted. Was I subliminally irresistible to Adam because my bones were strong?

  “