Saccades Project

I’d made it halfway down the stairs when she called my name.
One second, I told Knox, heading back to her room, knocking on the door. What’s up? I said, poking my head.
No, it’s just . . . I’m sorry, but sometimes it’s hard to be around you.
Why? I said. It took me a moment, because it hurt. I didn’t know what she was saying, but it really hurt my feelings.
Because I feel . . . because sometimes I wish I were you. I wish I had your problems, she said. I was, most of all, that I was free to fuck up my life, hurt myself anytime I please, be a girl.
Now you’re being mean, I said. Why?
Why? Did you . . . she said, laughing. Did you just ask me why?
No. I didn’t. I take it back, Mel. I didn’t ask you anything.
Take back your taking it back, she said.
No, I don’t take back my taking it back.
Thee . . . I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.
Because you wanted to hurt my feelings for some reason. Maybe just to see if you could. You’re more a girl than you know: congratulations, I said. See you later, I said, closing the door, and she called my name, telling me to wait, saying please, but I was too angry.
Thea, what’s wrong? Knox said, seeing my face, walking back downstairs.
Nothing.
What did she say?
Nothing.
Seriously, what’s wrong? he said, trying to give me one of those earnest father-daughter looks.
Hmm. Well, let’s see . . . my boyfriend’s missing and might be dead; I have telepathic conversations with a girl who’s never spoken a single sentence; I was just voted America’s number one porn sweetheart by TMZ; and to top it off, I’m now failing chemistry. It’s official.
Really? Like, failing failing?
I put up my hand: I don’t want to talk about it, okay, I said. The point is, my life, Knox. That’s what’s wrong: my life.
I see your point, he said, scratching his hair brow with his index finger, not knowing what else to say. Can I give you a ride home?
I guess, I said, shrugging and sighing, and then he opened the door and I followed him to the car.
Can I ask you something? he said, waiting for me to fasten my seat belt.
I just looked at him, like, let’s have it.
How . . . like what’s the reception range with you two? How far can you hear her?
I don’t know, really, I said, thinking about it. I mean . . . I don’t hear her in my room, for example, when she’s home and I’m there. I guess I’ve never really thought about it that way, but I think I have to be in the same with her or pretty close. Or at least in the same range as you’d need to hear somebody. Thank God, I said.
Why’s that?
You don’t understand what it’s like. It sounds so cool, right, but the problem is you can’t plug your ears with both fingers. You can’t turn it off like a switch. There’s no escape, you know what I mean? If I had to hear her all the time, I’d lose my mind, I said, and he looked at me, about to say something, but not. Again, yes, I said, rolling my eyes, looking out the window.
I didn’t say it, he said.
That’s what she said, too, I said, leaning against my door, and with that, Knox turned over the ignition, pulling out.