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Chapter 24— Make Things Right
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My name is not Jenny Tyler. If it were, this story would be over by now, and you’d be able to move on to some other trashy romance story and never have to think about me again. But that is not my name. And this is not that story. I used to think Jenny Tyler was just an idea, a fantasy, a shortcut. But it took my whole world collapsing in for me to realize just how wrong I’d been from the very beginning. Jenny Tyler was none of those things. She was a lie. She was a sick, twisted vision of what I could’ve been—of what I might’ve been if Anarchy Road had never come into existence. I thought that, by playing the part, I’d make my life in Plainview easier and less painful. I was wrong. And I feared I would never be able to fix it.
The days grew colder, and my cheeks flushed redder as I stood peering out upon that unassuming stone brick bridge tucked away between the Plainview suburbs and the park. What used to be the sound of river water babbling over smooth river rocks had fallen silent in the midst of the chilly Massachusetts temperatures. Chilly enough that I’d had to replace my sweaters with jackets and black turtlenecks. Now, the calm quietness of the river bridge was replaced with absolute silence that haunted me and left me alone with my thoughts. Christmas had come and gone, leaving memories of brief happy times in its wake. The presents were great and the food was delicious. But there was only one memory that truly stuck with me ever since.
Red and gold LED lights faded in and out of existence on our tree, hardly staying in time with the beat of “Blue Christmas” playing softly over the kitchen radio. My legs were tangled up in a knit blanket as my mother and I sat on our living room couch. My father had gone to bed, needing to get some rest before work in the morning. So, it was just Mom and I admiring the overly-decorated Christmas tree in the dimness of the night. Ever since my mother had discovered my eating problems again, I’d strangely felt more comfortable around her. Nothing was perfect. We still fought about school and stupid stuff like me sleeping in way too late on Sundays. But both of us were trying at least. Really trying. She wanted to help me. And I let her. I was following my dietician’s meal plan. And she let me find a new therapist. When we fought now, it wasn’t about me eating ice cubes for breakfast but instead about me not doing the dishes and her snooping in my room without my permission. Normal mother-daughter stuff. Of course, my parents had been pissed when they found out that my cover had been blown at school. But I guess it didn’t matter much since I wasn’t going to be sticking around long anyway.
I wondered why my parents let Rodrick come up to my room that day. They knew he was the one who’d found out about me. They knew he held all the power to rat me out to the public. “Small-Town Punk Rocker Scores With Rock Star Philadelphia Emmett”—it was a headline just waiting to happen. Maybe it’d be enough publicity to get Löded Diper off the ground.
I peered over at my mom sipping the tea still hot in her mug. She looked so calm and pleased—a look very rarely seen.
“Hey,” I spoke up, knowing quite well that this conversation wouldn’t go the way I hoped, “Do you remember that day before school let out for break? The day that Rodrick came by?”
She nodded. “I think so. That’s the tall one with too much hair, right?”
I smirked to myself. “Yeah…He said you guys let him inside. But I just don’t understand.”
She frowned and raised an eyebrow. “What don’t you understand?”
“I mean, he knows about me. He knows about Anarchy Road. I would think you and Dad would hate him.”
My mom chuckled into her mug and took another sip. “We don’t hate Rodrick, hun. And we aren’t worried about him either.”
“You aren’t?”
“No. You said it yourself. It’s been almost three months, and he hasn’t done a thing. And you haven’t gotten in trouble.”
Considering all that happened, maybe I should have.
“Besides,” she continued, “I know he wouldn’t betray you like that, Philly.”
I knit my brow, leaned forward, and asked, “What makes you so sure?”
A knowing smile slid across her face. And her eyes twinkled with a secret. “I was there Homecoming night when he came to pick you up. I saw the way he looks at you. He really cares about you, hun. He kept asking your father if he had his tie on straight. That kind of boy wouldn’t hurt you. Not for all the publicity in the world.”
That sort of thing should’ve made me feel better. I should’ve been smiling and thanking God for my luck. But instead, it only opened up a sinking, hollow feeling in my chest. My lips began to pout and twitch, and before I knew it, I was crying. Mom came over to me and wrapped me in a hug as I let out heavy, choking sobs. My shoulders felt so weak, and I felt so tired. Oh my god, I don’t want to feel this way anymore.
Mom hushed me and even began rocking me slightly as I caught my breath amidst the tears. The cavity in my chest had grown so large now that I was scared I’d cave into myself.
“I’m so tired…” I moaned, “I’m so tired…I w-wish I…”
“Honey, what is it?”
“I just—” I sniffled, “I can’t do it any-y longer.”
“Do what?”
“This!” I cried, another sob cutting me off. “I don’t want to pretend anymore. Everything w-with the band and school. I just…Everyone wants m-more than I can give. I know you want me to be the perfect daughter and…and be this huge star…And I’m trying so h-hard…I just—” I sobbed louder, “I just don’t think I can do-o it.”
I fell into a chorus of sobs and whines and pushed my face into my mother’s shoulder. She held me so tight that I could feel her heart beating. The moment went black as I let myself fully sink into the cavity in my chest. I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t keep lying and pretending to be more than what I was. I loved music because it made me feel alive—it was freeing. But now, because of Anarchy Road, I’d never felt more trapped.
“Shhh,” she hushed quietly, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
It went on this way for several minutes longer, me wailing like an infant on my mom and wishing the world would go away. Finally, after I began wiping away the tears, she pulled me up and bore her eyes straight into mine. There was no mistaking the realness in her voice or the stiffness in her lip.
“Philly, you listen to me. There is nothing in this world that means more to me or your dad than your happiness. You have to know that. I know you love the band, but don’t think for a second that I want you to sacrifice your sanity for the sake of a few platinum records. It just isn’t worth it.”
She held my hands in her own and spoke slowly but sternly, “I’ve always wanted what was best for you. And from the moment you first heard that one Fleetwood Mac song, I knew music spoke to you in a way it never had with your dad. I thought the band would give you that chance to have the spotlight and live your dreams. I just…I guess I just didn’t realize what else it would put you through. I know it hasn’t been easy with the concerts and the studio hours and your anorexia. And I shouldn’t have made you hide yourself. I just see you accomplishing all these things and working so hard that I forget about what matters most—your happiness. I should have known. I should’ve done better. I’m so sorry, sweetie.”
I lifted my head and saw her head now ducked and a single tear trickling down her cheek. Her hold of my hands had loosened.
I had never had the best relationship with my mother. Half of the time we were fighting, and when we weren’t, it was the unspoken parts that hurt the most. But something had changed over the past few months. Not like a reset button had been uncovered but like someone had flipped to a clean fresh page in a journal full of angry doodles and complicated scribbles. It was difficult to describe, I guess. And maybe it was alright if we weren’t perfect. She was here. She was crying with me. It was everything I needed to start again.
I slipped my hand back into hers and squeezed it so as to grab her attention again. Both of our eyes were pink, beginning to puff, and still glistening with tears. But I wore a small smile. My heart felt like a new shade of bright, summer green.
“Thank you,” I murmured. “Thank you.”
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149Please respect copyright.PENANAvlS6BalCKi
Standing over the stone and brick bridge overlooking the near-frozen river and feeling the winter chill raise goosebumps on my knees strangely calmed me. As many layers as I put on, nothing seemed to keep out the bitter chill or the sleet floating down from the gray skies. My lips were chapped, and my hands were dry and nearing numbness. I thought maybe I’d be fine leaving my gloves in my car. I thought wrong.
I kept checking my phone, knowing well that no one would be reaching out to me. No one had been for weeks. It seemed that the only person still eager to even speak to me was Valerie. And, recently, she was so absorbed in her guitar practice and this new Weezer-based cleanse of hers that we hadn’t spoken much.
A part of me ached to make things right. Maybe there still was time to fix the mess I’d made and not be the cause for someone else’s therapy. The smarter part of my brain reminded me that I would only be here for another month. And most of that time would be spent in the hallway shadows and at home. I was as good as gone come February. Why bother anyway? Still, I wasn’t ever really known for being a genius.
I opened my contacts on my phone and scrolled till I found the right name. I had to make things right. It was there, lit up and glowing on my screen. My finger hesitated over the screen. The burning nerves in my stomach climbed up.
No, I ground in my brain, I have to make things right.
Then, the phone was ringing and my shaky fingers no longer had a chance to wimp out. For several seconds of anxiety-filled anticipation, I wondered if the line would pick up. Maybe not. Maybe it’d be easier to close that door and forget. I’d understand. I nearly closed it myself.
“Hello?” Angie said.
Without thinking, I sucked in a breath, cold and frigid in the air. Why suddenly did it feel like years since we last spoke?
“A-Angie?” I sputtered, kicking myself for my shaky voice.
She was quiet for a moment. Maybe she’d hung up. “What do you want?”
“I didn’t think you’d pick up,” I said.
“Should I not have?”
“No, that’s not…” I sighed and pressed a cold hand to my forehead. “That’s not what I meant.”
She was quiet again then muttered, “Why are you calling me?”
“Angie, I fucked up. I did. I shouldn’t have lied to you…Seems I have a track record of that.”
“What?”
“Nothing…just…just that I’m a terrible friend. I’ve been so self-centered and shady. And I just wanted to say sorry. Sorry for everything.”
Now, she went silent, and I was two seconds away from biting my nails down to the bone.
Finally, she spoke up louder. “I talked to Rodrick.”
I almost shit bricks. My breath caught in my throat, and I swore I made a groaning noise from my end. This was it. This was my execution. I was dead.
“I went over to Greg’s house to hang out, because, y’know, I realized I had no other friends. And Rodrick was there. I wanted to tell him what you said. I wanted him pissed at you. But he beat me to it. He told me everything.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“You lied about much more than your old school. He said you were the singer of some big punk rock band. I didn’t believe him at first, but then he showed me this poster in his room. I mean, who are you? Philadelphia Emmett? What?”
“Yes,” I croaked, finally finding my voice buried in the rocks inside my chest, “I am. I’m not Jenny Tyler. It was a persona my band and my mom had to make for me when I first came here. And, Angie, you have to believe me, I didn’t want to lie to you. I wanted the chance to be myself around you. I just…I just wanted to be your friend. But you’re so real, Angie. You’re kind. You’re creative. And you’re so down to earth and such an amazing friend. And you and Jeremy? He’s, like, ridiculously lucky to have you…You deserve so much better than me. You and Rodrick both do.”
A quietness passed over the phone. I gripped the railing with my other hand and released a sigh that clouded the air around me. My heart sank into the earth as I said, “I know nothing I say will excuse what I did. It’s selfish and cruel and fucked up. I know that. And I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But, well, my band is leaving in a month to go on tour. And you won’t have to see me around Plainview anymore. But I just wanted for you to know the truth and to know that I’m so sorry. You’re one of the only people who smiled at me when I thought I was completely alone. So, thank you…I guess. Okay, I’ll go.” I began pulling away from the phone.
“Wait,” she said.
My phone hovered over my ear.
Angie was quiet for several more moments. And I nearly thought she was ready to tell me off. When she finally spoke again, her voice was like a glass shield, just waiting to be broken. “Um, when I went to tell Rodrick everything you said…about you pitying him and stuff… I didn’t. Believe me, I wanted to. But I just…didn’t. Then, Greg told me how you stood up for him in front of Kurt and how you helped Rodrick with his dyslexia and all that. And I guess I realized maybe you weren’t a completely terrible person.”
I held in a breath. “Angie, I’m so sorry.”
I heard a small smile over the phone as she replied, “I know. And I guess I should apologize, too. I wasn’t completely honest either…” I cocked an eyebrow as she continued, “When I said I moved from New York because I didn’t like the city, I was lying. It was because I was diagnosed with social anxiety in middle school and my mom wanted me somewhere a little quieter. Before you, I couldn’t even look at guys without panicking. But I shouldn’t have relied on you for everything with Jeremy…So, I guess we’re both kinda broken.”
I weakly smiled. “I guess we are.”
Angie was quiet again. But this time, I could feel warmth in her words and in her voice. She spoke with the same kind of concern and compassion about her that I’d grown fond of. “So, you leave in February, huh?”
I shut my eyes and huffed a frustrated sigh, wishing something would change, wishing that I could step out of my own messy life for just a day. “Seems so.”
“Well,” Angie offered, “maybe if you’d be willing to actually show your face around here, you’d want to come to a party?”
“Party?”
“Yeah, Jeremy’s parents are going to Cancun, and he’s throwing a New Year’s party at his place. I’m kinda helping him throw it.”
“I don’t know, Ang…”
“Come on, your apology would mean so much more to me if you came. Besides, aren’t rockstars supposed to be the best at partying?”
I smirked. “That’s the 70’s kind.”
“Whatever. Will you come?”
I smiled to myself and thought. I’d be gone in February. None of it would matter. Plus, it’d be a great opportunity to say goodbye to Angie once and for all. She deserved that much. I could hear her eager anticipation on the other end and imagined seeing her smile again. Seeing my friend smile again.
“I’ll be there.”
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