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At least he’d let go of Marcus in the process. The other cop pulled a gun on Marcus’s dad while the officer who’d been hit got to his feet.

Marcus’s dad clenched and unclenched his hands, like he was still deciding who to take his anger out on. Marcus yanked the bandanna from his mouth and rushed away from them, closer to me.

“Are you okay? ” I whispered, now that the cops seemed to have gotten control over the rest of things. They handcuffed Marcus’s dad and were reading him his rights.

Marcus kept his still-fearful eyes trained on his dad. “Yeah. But you should go, ” he said. “You don’t want to get caught up in the middle of all of this. ”

I shook my head. “I’m not leaving you alone, Marcus. ”

He finally broke his stare and turned to me. “You didn’t. You were here when I needed you, Loey. Now go home and be safe. Please. ”

The officer who wasn’t reading rights looked over at Marcus. Without giving me time to reply, Marcus nudged the door closed between us.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Because the Arts Club was only a couple of blocks away, I ran to see Armando. I couldn’t sit at home by myself right now, no matter how much Marcus wanted me to. My whole body was abuzz and I needed to do something to calm myself down. Armando could probably get ahold of Marcus’s mom to find out what was happening, and that, at least, felt useful.

I found the old man pacing the floor of his café.

“The police, ” I said, out of breath when he looked up at me. “I had to call them for Marcus. ”

Armando nodded like he already knew. “My niece call, ” he said, and I assumed he meant Marcus’s mom. “She call back to tell me soon. ”

An awkward silence followed where we looked at each other, then at the art on the walls. I had to avert my eyes from the Caravaggio with the man gripping the boy—it disturbed me even more now.

When the phone finally rang, Armando picked up on the first ring and nodded for several seconds, without saying anything. Why couldn’t Marcus have a slightly more animated uncle? How did I get involved with such a silent family? I paced again while I waited for him to get off the phone.

“Marcus fine, ” he said, with the first smile I’d ever seen on his face. “He go to polizia building. You go home and he call you. ”

* * *

I waited up most of the night, between staring at my phone, staring at my computer, and staring out my bedroom window in the far-fetched hope that Marcus might stop by at three a. m. I guess I nodded off, because when I looked at the clock, it was after nine.

I bolted out of bed and rushed for the computer. Still no e-mail. No phone call. Marcus was okay physically, but what else was happening? Was his mom blaming him? Was he blaming me?

After splashing cold water on my face and brushing my teeth, I raced out the door in the same clothes I’d worn yesterday. Dad’s car was gone, and I wondered, fleetingly, if he’d come home at all last night.

* * *

Armando stood behind his counter looking about as exhausted as I felt. “You hear something? ” he asked.

I shook my head.

We sat together for nearly half an hour. We were afraid to phone again, just in case Marcus’s dad was back at home. There was a scuffing sound when the door opened and we both looked up.

Marcus.

He wasn’t himself, I could tell that immediately. He was jittery and looked in all directions before finally walking toward us. Judging by his nervousness, I figured they must have released his dad. But how could Marcus be here, then? I walked right over to him to find out, but then hesitated, not knowing what to say. Not knowing all he had been through. “Are you. . . what happened? ” I asked.

“He’s gone, ” Marcus said, nodding, almost like he was convincing himself.

Armando seemed to recognize that we needed some time alone. He placed a hand on Marcus’s shoulder, and then headed out with the excuse of going to call his niece.

“Do you. . . ” I eyed him carefully. “Do you want to talk about it? ”

He looked out the window, which I assumed meant no, but then he turned back to me and said, “It’s. . . I know I shouldn’t be scared anymore, but—”

“Is he in jail? ” I blurted. Marcus was scaring me, too.

Marcus nodded. “Yeah. Turns out hitting that cop was the best thing he could have done, at least for us. He’s in custody. It’ll take some time for my mom to get used to things. She’s freaking out a little, but they have a counselor at the police station they brought in to talk with her. ”

“Freaking out how? ” If Marcus considered his jittery countenance even-keeled, I couldn’t imagine what his mom was like right now.

“They’re suggesting we move to a different apartment, which will probably cost more. The money’s the thing she keeps coming back to, so I said I’d get a job. ” He looked around the cafe. “You know, a real job. ”

A small sound escaped my mouth, but I bit my lip to quiet it. This wasn’t the end of the world. I knew Marcus and I could still see each other. The important thing was that he was safe. But it was still just. . . sad.

“When I was twelve, ” he started without any prompting, “my dad was beatin’ on my mom. I came in and screamed for him to stop. ‘Just stop it! ’ I yelled. You know what he did? ” Marcus didn’t wait for my answer. “He grabbed me and tied me to one of our kitchen chairs. He used his old fishing rope and it took about ten seconds of struggling for it to break through my skin. ”

I almost couldn’t bear to hear it, but I knew Marcus had to get this out. How many years had he been keeping it all to himself? I gripped the sides of my chair beneath me to keep strong.

“He beat the crap out of my mom, right in front of me. She had blood coming out of her mouth and her ear. He slapped her, threw her, kicked her. ” Marcus said the words evenly, but I could tell how much talking about it affected him. “I swore I would get her out of there—one day. She lay on the floor and I thought she was dead, and I still have nightmares of seeing her there. But the more I cried, the more he beat her. Eventually I just shut up. I stopped crying and stayed perfectly still. When he directed his attention to me, I was glad. I was ready for my beating. I could take it. I wasn’t dreading it; I was waiting. ”

My hands cramped from holding on so hard to the chair—at hearing his story and knowing that Marcus had kept it all to himself.

“My dad kicked my chair over. Then he walked out the door. That was all he had for me, and that almost made it worse. ”

Marcus doesn’t like to fight back, was all I could say to myself, over and over again. Marcus doesn’t like to fight back. I remembered when Marcus had gotten mad at me for talking back to the jocks at school, and tears rolled down my cheeks. He must have been terrified all the time. I put my hands over my mouth and blew into them. I needed the release.

Marcus reached over and grabbed my hands. He held them from across the table.

“Don’t cry, Loey. ” I couldn’t believe he was consoling me. “Now he’s gone. ”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

When Mom first got home, she didn’t say much about her trip to California. We sat down for dinner that night, without Dad and Claire, and then Mom started to fill me in.

“You know Claire’s only gone for a short time, right, Loey? ” She never called me Loey, and it was enough to make me squirm. “She just needs a little help to get her nutrition sorted out. Then she’ll be back and we’ll try to get her college registration set for next fall. Maybe you girls can even go somewhere together. ”

Mom certainly had it all worked out. I wondered if Claire knew about Mom’s plans. Or if Claire was aware she’d flown all the way to California for a bit of “nutritional counseling. ” Last I’d heard, she was bumped to the top of the list because of her severe health problems. Mom’s plan would have sounded great if I believed a word of it.

* * *

Later in the week when the phone rang, I could tell from Mom’s tone that Claire was on the other end.

“Oh, honey, is everything okay? How are you doing? Are they treating you well? ”

I puttered around the living room, tidying up the magazines on the coffee table. Mom would probably talk Claire’s ear off for a good twenty minutes, but I hoped to say hi for a minute. Life wasn’t the same without Claire around. Our house was too quiet and felt like it was missing a limb. Or an organ.

Suddenly Mom thrust the phone in my face.

“Honey, it’s Claire. She wants to talk to you. ”

I grasped the phone and put it to my ear before Mom had even let go.

“Uh. . . hi, ” I said into the receiver, turning my back to Mom. I couldn’t believe Claire had asked for me after how cold I’d been when she left.

“Oh, Loey, I just needed to hear your voice. ”

It was exactly how I felt, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I still hadn’t thought of what I should say, so Claire continued, “It’s not so bad here, Loey. They’re teaching me so much about my habits and my body image. ”

I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me, and said, “Oh yeah? ” in as peppy a voice as I could muster. But Claire seemed willing to carry the conversation all on her own.

“You looked worried when I left, and I just wanted to make sure you knew I was okay. They say that if I gain a proper body image and learn how to think in terms of a healthy lifestyle, I won’t need to be here too long. ”

I wondered about her stomach problems, but she hadn’t talked to me this nicely and openly in so long, I didn’t want to say anything that might change that. Besides, if they were talking about sending her home, she must be physically healthy enough.

“That’s great, Claire. ” A smile spread across my face. Mom was following me around trying to figure out what we were talking about. I’m sure Claire said the words “body image” thirty times in our short conversation, and soon, because someone else wanted the phone on her end, it was time to go.

Mom’s shoulders slumped when I said good-bye and hung up. “Oh, um. . . ” I motioned to the handset. “She had to go. ” To try to brighten her mood, I added, “It sounds like she’s doing really well, though. ”

Mom changed the subject, I suspected because she felt jilted. “I’m off this weekend, Loann. Why don’t we go shopping for school clothes. ” It sounded like more of a decision than a question.

“I’m working with Marcus. ”

“Can’t Marcus hold down the fort for one day, honey? ”

Who knew how many shifts I’d have left working with Marcus? Every day for the past week, he had been applying for different jobs around town. We didn’t talk about it much, and I sure wasn’t about to talk about it with Mom, who already seemed to have a problem with him. “It’s really busy on weekends, Mom, ” I said. “This is my job. ” And besides, shopping? She didn’t even try to pick an art gallery, or a restaurant, or something I would like.

She sighed loudly. I felt bad for her, I really did. But she’d never acted chummy with me before, and I wasn’t about to play fill-in for her favorite offspring.

I skirted up the stairs before she could try to make me feel guilty.

* * *

After Marcus had opened up about his dad, he and I talked a lot more at the Arts Club. Never around other people, but the moment we were alone, it was as if that one incident had been a lump he had cleared from his throat.

“I can trade a guy down the street: some lawn mowing and odd jobs for his old Camaro. ” Marcus still didn’t talk about his parents very often, but he liked to talk about cars. That subject he could utter two or even three sentences in a row about. I wasn’t into cars, but I let him go on because I liked the sound of his deep voice, and his face lit up when he talked about them, as though he’d brought in half of the sunshine from outside.

He kept on about this Camaro. Apparently it didn’t run, so I thought he was crazy to use up all his extra time on it. I tried to keep my mouth buttoned shut, but the arguments came tumbling out anyway. “Why waste your time? Don’t you think you’re going to be busy enough with another job? ”

Of course, what I was really thinking was: Do you think you’ll still have any time left for me?

“I can fix it, Loey. I know I can. ”

“Whatever. ” I shrugged. “Suit yourself. ”

At least I could be honest with Marcus. He knew I didn’t agree, but if he really wanted to do this, he would. And we’d still be friends.

We always would.

Marcus told me a little about his new job, a graveyard shift stocking shelves in a local supermarket. The good news was, if he felt like missing out on sleep, we’d still be able to see each other sometimes.

“What do you think you’re going to do after graduation? ” I asked. I’d honed my skill at finding nontouchy subjects to talk about, but when he hesitated I realized I hadn’t really thought about school. Could he go back to school while working graveyard shifts?

“Well, work on cars, I guess. ”

“Yeah? What kinda cars? ” I asked a little too quickly. Was he going to fix up cars because he wouldn’t have a diploma? My anger rose up toward his mom again for letting him make these choices. He was only seventeen!

“Classic cars, if I had a choice. Rebuild some old Chevys to blow away anything you see around nowadays. . . but most likely I’ll work on cars that people can’t afford to take to a real mechanic. ”

“Why don’t you just become a real mechanic? ” I knew I was pushing him, but if no one else was around to do it, I kind of had to, didn’t I? A guy walked through the door but stood several feet away, perusing the menu.

Marcus scoffed, apparently not noticing our customer. “Oh, come on, Loey, can you see me down at Alec’s Automotive? If you think I get teased a lot now. . . ” he trailed off.

It was the first time he’d acknowledged the ribbing he’d gotten at school. I knew Marcus was probably right and I looked toward the guy at the counter to avoid admitting it.

I recognized the guy waiting. His name was Ethan, and we’d been in the same art class last year. He’d sat in the back with the other jocks, whom I suspected only took art as an easy elective.

“Hi, ” I said when I made it over to the other side of the counter. “Can I help you? ”

“Hi. ” He smiled. “Loann, right? ”

I felt a little shy that he knew my name. It wasn’t like I’d ever talked to him. Or most guys at school, for that matter. Marcus hadn’t come over to help take his order—not that I needed help with only one customer—but it still seemed odd and made me wonder: Had Ethan ever teased Marcus? He was part of that popular jock crowd.

I took Ethan’s order, then headed back toward the coffee urn to fill a cup for him.

“So what’ve you been up to this summer? ” Ethan asked.

“Not much. ” I tried to sound more casual than I felt, talking to a popular guy. “Working lots, ” I said, motioning around me.

He nodded. “Yeah, I probably should’ve gotten a summer job. ” There was a pause, but he didn’t add why he hadn’t or what he had been doing with his time. “So I heard some of the grads are having a party this weekend. ”

“Huh. ” I didn’t know what kind of a reaction he was looking for. Did he want me to be impressed? “Are you going? ”

He nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I just stopped in. . . I thought. . . you. . . might want to go. ”

He stopped by here for me? Was he serious? How did he even know I worked here? Claire had been invited to lots of parties during high school, and I was certain she’d have been invited to this one had she not been out of town. But this was so whacked. He was inviting me?

I glanced over at Marcus and wondered if he’d heard our conversation.

“Um, thanks, but I’m busy this weekend, ” I said.

Ethan shrugged. Smiled. He was kind of cute, with his reddish hair and a ton of freckles. And he’d just invited me to a party. A party put on by last year’s grads!

“Well, maybe another time, then, ” Ethan said.

I watched him go, still not quite believing what had happened.

“You’re not going? ” Marcus said, now beside me, breaking me from my daze.

I shook my head. Was he suggesting I should? “I, uh, thought we’d do something this weekend. ”

He looked away, his lips pursed. “I have to work at the grocery store this weekend, Loey. It’s training. ” He practically gritted the words out.

It took me a second to understand. He was jealous. And he was afraid that if he wasn’t around, I might start hanging with someone else. Another guy.

“I don’t want to go to a stupid party. ” I scoffed. It was part truth. Even if I went with Ethan, I knew I’d be way uncomfortable.

My words were enough to make Marcus’s lip twitch up a bit.

But mine twitched down. Because I didn’t want to be alone all weekend either.

CHAPTER THIRTY

On my way to the café the next day, I stopped at the Walgreens drugstore on the corner. As I was about to walk inside, I stopped and stared down at my roll of film. I had several that I wanted to develop so I could have something to show Mr. Dewdney when school started, but the ballet photo was on this roll. And the one of Claire suntanning in our backyard. I suddenly couldn’t imagine offering those negatives of Claire to the local photo workers for them to gawk at. I shoved the film back in my pocket and dropped down onto the curb, feeling embarrassed, like I was concealing a full roll of porn.

Should I just throw the whole container in the garbage? Someone could still find and develop it. Why had I bothered to snap those pictures, anyway? And how could I destroy just the two shots?

I was at odds with myself. I still wanted to see the pictures, even if it was kind of sadistic. I needed to remember the hurting Claire, the messed-up Claire, but also the beautiful Claire. Because you couldn’t always see all of her intricacies without a frame to hold her still.

* * *

“So I have some pictures I’d like to develop myself, ” I said to Marcus before even saying hello when I arrived at the Arts Club.

“Yeah? ”

“I just don’t know. . . um, where to get any more chemicals. ”

Marcus stared out into the alleyway. “Beats me, ” he said. And that was all he said.

He wasn’t much help.

Then again, I wasn’t that truthful.

* * *

Between Marcus’s new job and his car repairs, I spent most of the next week alone at the Arts Club. And worse, when Marcus made it in, he was either too tired to talk or we seemed to have nothing to say. Grocery stocking didn’t exactly make for riveting conversation.

On my next day off, I figured he’d be sleeping, but my doorbell rang and there he was.

“What are you doing here? ” I asked, trying to subdue my joy. He should’ve been sleeping. I knew that.

He put down a big box on the floor of our foyer and I saw the gallon jugs sticking out. The developing supplies, from the art room. “How did you get those? ” I asked, incredulous.

He shrugged. “I had to track Mr. Dewdney down through the school, ” he said. “I asked if we could borrow them until school starts. ”

As if Marcus didn’t have enough to do these days. Without even thinking about what I was doing, I threw my arms around him. He stiffened. Hesitated. And I almost pulled away.

But then he wrapped his arms around me and relaxed a little. It had been a long time since we’d touched. I wanted to let him know that I liked this. That I didn’t want to push him away.

We stood there for a long time without moving a muscle. I think we were both afraid of where this might go. Even though I knew Marcus would never hurt me the way Josh had, I still had a push/pull going on inside of me. I’d stopped thinking about Josh completely until I saw him downtown at a distance last week, but the hurt—the paranoid self protectiveness—still rose up at the thought of being close to anyone.

Marcus was so much taller than me, but somehow it felt like we fit. I kept reminding myself it was him. He was safe.

“It was the least I could do, ” he whispered, and his voice was enough to make my insides settle.

The phone rang, feeling like a fire alarm in the quiet. Before I could think of what I was doing, I pulled away and rushed to check the display on the handset. It wasn’t Claire, so I let it ring.

“It’s probably for my parents, ” I said. When Marcus looked around, I added, “Who are both working today. ” I could tell by our sudden discomfort, it wouldn’t be easy to get close again.

He bent down, and it wasn’t until then that I saw what else was in his box. A folded-up sheet of black plastic, some rubber trim, and a red lightbulb.

“What’s all this for? ” I asked.

He looked up at me with a smirk. “We’re building a darkroom, of course. ”

It hadn’t occurred to me when I first saw the solutions that there wasn’t much I could do without a darkroom. But Marcus, the brains of this operation, led the way through the house, checking each room until we ended up in our basement bathroom.

When I first walked in and saw the Glade air freshener on the back of the toilet, a new thought hit me about Claire: Had she been throwing up down here?

But I quickly cleared that thought. She was away getting better now. I didn’t have to keep thinking about the past.

Marcus and I covered the bathroom window with black plastic, dug an electric heater out of the garage, attached the rubber trim for the bottom of the door, and screwed in the red lightbulb.

He hadn’t been over for a while, but with no one home, he seemed comfortable enough. It felt good to be working at something with him, and the more relaxed things became, the more hope I had that we might hug again. If not today, one day.

“It’ll be nice to be able to work at this again, ” I said quietly in the dark to him as we developed my first roll. “I’ve missed you. ”

“I know. ” His hand fumbled onto my arm. It was a sweet moment, until he added, “I’d probably miss me too. ”

I elbowed him in the ribs until he squawked. As much as I felt disappointed by him breaking the moment, it came with a certain amount of relief. We were such good friends, and the thought of changing our relationship didn’t quite feel safe, but in a way that had nothing to do with Josh or what I’d been through. Maybe we just weren’t ready for that. I wondered if Marcus felt the same way.

He switched to the regular lightbulb and pulled a magnifying glass from his box of supplies. “I couldn’t haul the enlarger all the way over here to make prints, ” he said.

“No, this is awesome, ” I said. But my mouth snapped shut when I saw the negative of Claire on the side of the stage. Now I couldn’t blame it on the lighting, or my blurry eyes, or my oversensitivity to what anyone else in the crowd might have been thinking. The sharp edges on the negative only emphasized her sharp edges. Her bones sticking out, her ribs, her gaunt figure staring back at me.

“Wow, ” Marcus said, and it was the first time I could recall anyone saying “Wow” about my sister in that tone. I was tempted to throw my hand over the negative, but it was too late. Besides, if I could let anyone see this, it would be Marcus.

“Yeah. I, uh, kind of didn’t want anyone at Walgreens to see this, ” I said finally.

Marcus nodded. “You’re a good sister. ”

I stared at him. “No. ” I blinked to clear my eyes. “I’m not. ”

Marcus put a hand on my shoulder, probably to try to reassure me, but I couldn’t concentrate. I studied the picture, looking for a clue as to what had happened to my beautiful sister.

“Do you think the clinic will help? ” Marcus rubbed a slow circle on my back.

“It has to, ” I replied too fast. “She’ll see a doctor and a counselor regularly when she gets back. ” I hoped it would be enough, but how would I, or anyone else, tell if it wasn’t? She’d been so good at hiding her problems before. The thought sickened me and I couldn’t concentrate on developing.

After Marcus left, I trekked up to my bedroom to grab my shoe box full of photos.

I dug out one from the spring, of Claire finishing her homework on the living room floor. Then I pulled out a grad print of Claire and Jasmine in the backyard. I added the suntanning negative. I laid the shots out on my bed and stared down at the three very different girls in front of me. I felt like I was seeing my sister as a stranger for the first time.

It wasn’t just the skinny arms and legs. Her ribs. Her now-frizzy hair. Deeper, in her eyes, it was as though she’d lost something of who she used to be.

Or maybe she’d lost everything.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The next time Claire called, I picked up the phone right away. In fact, since finding the air freshener downstairs and studying her pictures, I’d kept the phone beside me, waiting for her call.

“Loey! ” she said in her usual bright tone.

“How are you? ” I asked right away, and after she’d raced on a bit with her peppy reply, I interrupted. “Are you really okay now? Really? ”

She paused and then her voice dropped to a deeper, more somber octave. “I’m getting better. But it takes time, Loey. ”

I had to know more. “Th-That time. . . ” I stuttered a bit on my words, but she waited. “That time you were throwing up in our bathroom. . . ” Part of me was afraid she’d deny it, so I raced on. “Was that the only time, Claire? ”

She hesitated again. “No, it wasn’t, Loey. ” I waited for her to tell me about the downstairs bathroom. It would at least make it easier to believe she was being honest now. But instead she said, “I started when I was thirteen. But I’ve only been doing it daily for the last year or so. ”

I gulped. Thirteen? Daily? I blinked hard. “Oh, Claire. ” How? When? Why didn’t I know? All my questions caught in my throat.

When I didn’t say anything else, Claire filled the uncomfortable silence. “Things are going really well here, Loey. They’re teaching me a lot, and I get to come home really soon! ” By the end of her sentence her voice had regained its chipper tone.

I couldn’t smile. I could hardly breathe.

I purposed to stay home more and talk to Claire each time she called, and soon I realized I was happier when she didn’t talk about the past. Instead we discussed our futures: school, college, jobs. Each time I spoke with her, she sounded better, like her old self. Healthy. Happy. I lay on her bed most times when we were on the phone, and it helped to bring back some of the better memories of the two of us, even of our family when we used to be more of a tight unit, rather than all of us going our own directions. I thought about family vacations, Claire and I laughing ourselves silly in a game of hide-and-seek. What Claire had gone through was an unfortunate route to get my old sister back, but I was happy she was back just the same.

Claire had been gone for almost three weeks, and I had dwelled almost solely on when she would be home again so we could work together to get our family and ourselves back to normal, but at the end of August, I suddenly had something more urgent to think about.

Senior year.

On our first day back, Marcus and I met at the Arts Club so we could walk together. Dark circles rimmed his eyes like a boxer. He looked awful.

“Did you have to work all night? ” I reached up and ran my fingers through his hair to try to straighten it a bit. I’d never felt his hair before, and it was so soft and silky. He bent over so I could reach better and I lifted my left hand to fix the other side.

I didn’t want to stop, and when I noticed his eyes were closed, I suspected he didn’t want me to either. I wanted to run my hands down onto his face. His neck. I was trying to work up the courage when he stumbled toward me.

He straightened abruptly and I pulled my hands away.