The Release

She tried to check her feed. Nothing. In that moment, more than any other, Lucy felt her brain grow fuzzy from the realization that she was cut-off. There was no way to co

She hurried back over to her pants and found her phone in working order, but empty. Void and lifeless. Not a message, not single a notification. And to top everything off, her battery life was diminishing fast. With a fast-building fury, Lucy tossed the phone to the couch and let out a primal growl.

It was then she heard the journalism door slide open. In the silence of the morning, it was impossible to disguise the subtle squeak and she spun her head toward the sound and eyed a tentative Salem poking her head through the doorway, the rest of her body planted in the hallway. Salem’s eyes were wide with worry, but Lucy recognized the look—it was not the fearful expression of someone expecting to find a dead body, but the hesitant mien of someone who was guilty and afraid of being yelled at.

“Good morning,” Lucy said, her words clipped and dripping with as much sarcasm as she could muster. She would not yell at Salem, but she didn’t feel like acting particularly warm toward her either. Salem looked behind her, nodded to an unseen lurker and then ventured inside—she was frowning as she walked back over to the couch. Her clothes were wrinkled and her hair matted in the back; her lips were void of her trademark lip-gloss. Salem collapsed upon the couch and leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Her hand found an errant thread, and she began to pull at it mindlessly.

“I’m alive,” Lucy said. “Not what you were expecting?”

Salem’s face collapsed and she tipped her body over on the couch and she let out a giant, far-reaching wail. Lucy rushed over and sat herself down beside her and stroked her hair. All her plans for stoic and coldhearted responses leaked out of her and Lucy felt only compassion for her crying friend. It was, she supposed, a consistent reaction based on the last few days; there was comfort in knowing what was expected of her.

“Lo siento. Lo siento,” Salem said over and over. She sat up and her eyes were bright red, a thin stream of snot dripped from her right nostril and she let it fall until it passed her lip. “Forgive me. Please?”

Lucy looked down. Then she took Salem’s hand and held it. “I didn’t leave this school for you. I stayed with you.”

“I know, I know,” Salem said. “I was afraid. I can’t lose you Lucy don’t you see? I’ve got nothing else.”

She sat up. She had wrapped the thread around her index finger until the skin around it turned white.

“Yesterday, when I woke up, my dad was just hovering over my mom. He was just screaming at me and screaming and I didn’t understand. And I ran to call 9-1-1 and the recording said that the hold time was over an hour to reach a dispatcher,” Salem looked at Lucy, pleading. “He wouldn’t let me near her. All I wanted to do was just touch her...feel her for myself. But he just grabbed me and shoved me.”

She grabbed her shirt and lowered it over her shoulder, exposing her collarbone, where a deep purple bruise in an abstract shape materialized. When she was sure Lucy had seen it, she pulled her shirt back up, hiding the pain. Knife wounds, colorful bruises: Salem’s adventures seemed so violent compared to her own. Here was her friend and every comfort in her life had been violated.

“Whatever happened to you yesterday…you didn’t see your own parent scared, Lucy. I could just see it all over his face, this fear...this total fear. And I said, ‘Papa, que pasa? Que pasa?’ And he just sat down. In the middle of the floor. Sat down. He sobbed and sobbed because she was already gone…Lucy…there was nothing we could do. She was gone and he thought I was next. But dear God, I wasn’t next. And there’s no way you can understand that.”

From somewhere outside, they heard a crash and a boom. The boom shook the school and the leftover plastic on the skylight rattled.

The girls jumped. Lucy picked the sweatshirt up off the ground and wrapped it around Salem.

“I was afraid.”

“I know,” Lucy answered.

“Don’t let me watch you die.”

“That’s out of my control.” Lucy didn’t say it meanly, but she realized as the words left her mouth that it was the truth. Nothing was safe.

“I can’t watch you die,” Salem said and she grabbed Lucy’s hands.

“I’m not going to die,” she said and she smiled to help cover the unease she felt in saying it out loud. She wondered if it was like birthday wishes: Saying it out loud ruined the chance of it happening.

“It’s just us now,” Salem continued. “It’s always been us and now it’s just us.” Then she looked over to the wall and smiled. “Well, us and Grant Trotter.”

Lucy leaned her head back. “Strange,” she muttered. “Grant Trotter.”

“Strange,” Salem echoed.

In a swift motion, Salem tucked her feet up under Lucy, co

It was an apology.

Lucy accepted and she reciprocated by lifting her right leg and laying it over Salem’s body. She reached over and tried to untangle a mass of her hair with her fingers, but she didn’t get very far; her fingers latched themselves into Salem’s waves and got stuck, so she released her grip and then tried to smooth her own hair instead.

“And where is Grant?” Lucy asked. “And how long did I sleep? Did I miss anything?”

Salem gave a half-chuckle and closed her eyes. “Did you miss anything?” She repeated the phrase, amused. “Let’s see…Kelsey asked Domo to the prom and that made Kevin Yourn, you know, from ninth grade bio, really mad because he’d been pla

“You don’t say.”

“Mercedes works at Safeway and told me that she ran into Mr. Russo there and he had Magnum extra large condoms in his cart.”

“That’s really gross.”

“And…I know this is going to come as a huge shock,” Salem said in a calm voice, “but I spent the night with someone last night.”

“I’m riveted.” Lucy didn’t even blink.

“It’s not what you think,” Salem continued with a sly smile.

“It never is.”

“Lucy,” Salem said, her voice changing—softening, switching, allowing the genuine to poke through. “I think I could like him someday. When everything calms down. When I can get my head straight, you know?”

“Sal—”

“No. I’m just saying it out loud. I know it doesn’t mean anything.” She closed her eyes and put her head against the back of the couch. “I think he’s a good guy.”

“Yeah, I know,” Lucy answered and grabbed Salem’s hand. “So, if you two didn’t come back here last night…where’d you go?”

Salem’s eyes opened. “You know that little teacher lounge across the hallway from here? The not-so-secret secret one?”

Lucy nodded.

“Unlocked. And there are couches and a mini-fridge. Bottled water in there too. Not much. We worked for a bit last night trying to get it situated as a more permanent hideout. Even started the morning with coffee and some stale crackers.”

The news that Grant and Salem had let her sleep in a cold drafty room while they waited for her imminent demise by equipping a more suitable living space across the hall created a heavy cold ball in the bottom of her stomach. She tried to look excited, but she could tell her mouth was drawing into an inadvertent frown. Salem noticed.

“We thought we’d let you sleep. I didn’t think it would be all night,” she replied in a quiet voice.

“It’s okay,” Lucy said. She gave up the moodiness as quickly as it had arrived. There was no way it would do them any good.