I stuff it all back into the box.
Spend the rest of the day
ordering and reordering
my source material
—every photo and caption—
figure out the story I want to tell.
WATCH
Monday,
my project is done.
It is big.
The words next to
the images
small.
I feel people
watch me
cradle the folder
through the entrance to school,
hold it close to my chest
as I walk down the hall.
In history,
Ms. Marshall reaches out
when I hand in my project.
I’ve never been this proud
of schoolwork before.
My hands shake
as I
let
go.
AT LEAST
Mr. Chapman says
what I already know:
a lot is riding on my history project.
I tell him I’m not through
trying—
with history, yes,
but also math
science
English.
2.7 GPA preferred.
I have to get into IAA.
On my way out
of his office
I turn on my mind-camera,
view its slide show:
I am in a photography room
in a new school
surrounded by kids
like me
printing, critiquing, scanning
click, click, click.
WHAT BELONGS
Thursday is Thanksgiving.
As soon as break begins,
Dad has me clean out the fridge
in preparation
to make room for the turkey.
My tasks:
Pull everything out.
Wipe down each shelf.
Wipe down every jar.
Check each expiration date.
Put everything back that hasn’t
spoiled.
He doesn’t look at me
as he preps food in the kitchen
but I still can’t help but think
if Dad were inside my head
if he could see my mind-camera
he would understand
that I’ve been working hard
working toward something real.
That my dreams are something worth
hanging
on to.
That he shouldn’t
give up on me.
SENDING
That night,
Silas wishes me
a happy early Turkey Day,
asks
how I’m doing
will he ever see me again
now that I won’t be in
photo class?
Now that I’m eternally grounded?
I tell him of course he will.
He asks if I can send him a photo
of myself
for the time in between.
I have a feeling he wants
something sexy—
I send him
my bare shoulder,
the end of my hair
crossing over it.
He sends me back
a picture of
just his lips.
IN THE AIR
Thanksgiving,
Ellery FaceTimes me.
Been a while since we’ve really
talked,
she says.
Between school and relationships.
Now she’s in Savannah.
She says being there on Thanksgiving is fine
but nothing compared to
St. Patrick’s Day when
they dye the river green.
Says she visited the school where her parents met:
Savannah College of Art & Design.
“Maybe one day, we can go there for college.
We can be in art classes for four years
together.”
I tell her nothing would be better.
Picture myself there with her
instead of stuck in my room,
alone.
We are standing near a green river
painting colors in the air.
The whole city cheering us on.
The Monday after break,
after a perfectly cooked turkey
by Holly & Mom
after exchanging only
a few words with either of them
after hours
days of
doing chores
or homework,
Ms. Marshall
hands back our reports.
Linc,
Your photographs are beautiful.
However, as I said before, it seems as though you have let the visuals guide your project, and as a result, they manage to really overtake the content of your argument. I can tell how hard you worked on this, and I appreciate your effort here and your passion, but I still think you have missed something fundamental on how to organize an argument. This reads more like a creative nonfiction piece than a history essay. Please see me after class and we can talk further.
C+
CLARITY
I race out of class
without a word to Ms. Marshall.
I put everything I had
so much of
myself
into that project.
But now,
walking the hall,
lugging my prints,
Ms. Marshall’s words ringing in my ear
it has never been clearer:
I cannot stay
I do not belong
I have to get out of
here.
NOTHING & EVERYTHING
As I walk down the hall
the lockers shake
rattle
tremor.
My mind shoots out the question:
Is there any way now I could get a 2.7 GPA?
But then—
the sight of
Ellery crying
pulls me back
into this moment.
I follow her
down the hall into
the bathroom.
“What happened?” I ask.
She says
after she got home from Savannah,
she and Taryn
got into a huge fight.
“It seemed like it was about nothing,
but then I guess it was about everything.”
I circle my arms around her.
She cries and cries.
LOOKING DOWN
She says there’s no way
she’s going to class.
Can I come with her?
//Cut?//
I look down at my project.
My C+.
Look at my best friend,
who has believed in me.
No matter what.
It doesn’t take me long to decide.
I follow her out.
PASSES
We go to Ellery’s house.
Her parents out at work.
She cries more.
To distract her,
I show her my photographs,
then she’s
crying
about how beautiful they are.
“I applied to IAA.”
“The art school? Your parents let you?”
“They don’t know.”
Her eyes get wide
she squeezes my hand
passes me a spoonful of peanut butter
in chocolate sauce.
We face the TV,
pass the spoon
back and forth,
turn the volume up.
NOT SURPRISED
When my phone rings,
I know what it means.
I’ve been caught.
Again.
No getting out of it this time.
I pick up.
Dad says
we have an appointment
me
him
Mom
with everyone at Ketchum in the morning.
I need to come home.
~~~Right away.~~~
I tell him there were reasons.
I promise.
This time he’ll agree
my behavior was justified.
He says I seem to have
so many excuses lately.
We will talk more later.
I hang up
watch myself vanish
into Ellery’s mirror.
BLURRY
Before I leave,
Ellery gives me a long hug.
Tells me she’s sorry
she made me cut.
I tell her no,
we did it together.
A long walk home,
still lugging my photos, my essay.
Text Silas
I messed up.
Dad meets me
at the front door.
Before he can say anything
I tell him
after all that work,
a C+.
And Ellery needed help.
I followed my gut.
He doesn’t speak at first,
just closes the door behind me.
Takes off his glasses,
rubs his eyes.
Then,
“I’m sorry about your grade
but that doesn’t excuse you cutting school.
I’m worried about you, Linc.
Worried about the choices
you’ve been making lately.”
This didn’t feel like a choice,
I want to say.
It felt clear,
necessary,
right,
just like when I shoved
Stefano
enrolled
in photo class
sent in my application.
I look down at my hands
try to see each finger individually
but all they do is blur.
SWALLOWS
Lying in bed,
waiting for Silas to text back
heart rushing
unable to sleep
listen to the cars
picture myself jumping into one
riding it into the night
away
from what will happen tomorrow
away
from a life that doesn’t feel like my
own.
I dream until
I hear Mom come in late
she and Dad murmuring
through the wall.
Then she opens my door
mouth puckered tight
eyebrows scrunched
if she sees me
see her
she doesn’t say.
Just turns and leaves.
TIME-LAPSE
All four of us are silent
in the cab
on the way to school.
The rush of the city flies by
faster than it should.
I am trapped
in a time-lapse
photograph.
As Mom, Dad & I walk
out of the cab
down the street
through the door,
as Holly leaves us for Stefano,
I hang my head low,
walk past all my choices,
in s l o w – m o t i o n
down the hall.
FADING
We sit in the principal’s office.
Mom still hasn’t looked at me.
Dad’s hand rests on her knee.
Me, alone, in a chair.
The principal doesn’t waste any time,
says
my time at Ketchum
is over.
Between my low math and science grades
academic probation
recent suspension
and cutting school yesterday,
they have no choice but to expel me.
No one says anything about all my hard work
my attempts to improve.
The room becomes a box.
All the sides fold in.
Everything fades to black.
AS, IN, STILL
I tell them:
I’m sorry
for being such a disappointment
as we leave the room
as we get the books from my locker
as we walk back down the hall
in the cab back home
in through the gates
in the foyer of our house
but Mom
still doesn’t speak a word to me.
GHOSTS #4
All day
I
am
a
ghost.
I
move
from
room
to
room
but
no
one
talks
to
me
knocks
on
my
door.
The
house
so
quiet
I
wonder
if
I
have
actually
disappeared.
TUMBLEWEEDS
Shame
fear
keep
tumbling in like
weeds
in a desert.
Stuck. Sweating.
I am so stupid
comes first, then:
Does getting expelled
mean I have no chance
of getting into IAA?
Could my portfolio still
be enough
to win them over?
Hope is thin,
a mirage of water.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The weeds keep rolling in.
On a loop.
No sign of rain.
APPARITION
Ellery sends me “I’m sorry” GIFs
to try to make me laugh.
I send her back a laughing emoji
but don’t even crack a smile.
Silas finally texts, says,
Hey, you ok?
I ask
if he’s ever been expelled.
He says no
but almost.
I ask him how he feels about
having a girlfriend who has.
He says he can’t wait
to celebrate with me
when I get into IAA.
It isn’t the answer to my question
but it makes me feel
like I haven’t
vanished completely.
V
IRTUALLY
Later that night—
Dad comes in.
Says I’m joining a cyber school
until they can figure
something else out.
I tell him maybe I already have.
I tell him I never belonged at Ketchum.
That I know it was wrong to steal money for the photo class
but I only did it because it’s somewhere I belong.
He says he doesn’t want to hear it.
You lied.
Stole.
Betrayed our trust repeatedly.
So I don’t tell him the rest.
But Dad’s not finished.
He says he knows I’m sorry
but sometimes words mean less than actions.
That I need to show them I’m sorry,
show them I can do better.
“Can you do that?”
My mind flashes again to IAA—
that’s the place for someone like me
a place I can succeed
a place I can make them proud
so I say to him, “Yes, I can.”
IF I AM
Holly knocks quietly.
Asks if I’m okay.
I stay silent.
“Can I see your project?”
“Whatever. I guess,
if you feel like it.”
I know she’s only asking because
she feels sorry for me
because she feels bad about ratting me out,
robbing me of my dreams.
But she looks through each photo, delicately.
“They’re so beautiful,”
she says.
If I wasn’t disappearing, I might almost smile.
IN HER HANDS
I go to the kitchen
for some water
see Mom
head in her hands,
Dad beside her.
Empty drinks on the table.
It isn’t even Sunday.
They don’t say anything
as I pass
but I know
I am
the object
of her grief.
Click/
click/
vanish.
IN, OUT
Thursday morning,
they’re all around the kitchen table.
Getting ready for school and work.
Dad talks logistics
tells me