Hold Still by Nina Lacour Read Free Book Online Page A

in the middle of strangers. I didn’t feel like a kid in high school. I was anyone I wanted to be.
    We started dancing, real jumpy and twirly, to these British rock bands we hadn’t heard before. At one point we danced our way back over to the edge of all the people, and a waiter came by with a tray of champagne. Ingrid grabbed two glasses before he could take a good look at her, and we drank them down fast. It didn’t make me drunk, exactly, I mean it was only one glass, but it did make me feel a little bit dizzy, and that made the dancing even more fun. And then, after we had danced through about five songs straight, a new song started, and as soon as the man started singing, with this voice that was urgent and calm and passionate all at once, I froze. I stood in the middle of all the dancing strangers and I just listened.
    It was the moment I realized what music can do to people, how it can make you hurt and feel so good all at once. I just stood there with my eyes closed, feeling the movement of all the people around me, the vibration of the bass rise through the floor to my throat, while something inside me broke and came back together.
    When the song was over I grabbed Ingrid’s hand and pulled her out of the crowd, over to Amanda, who was standing with the DJ, handing him CDs and telling him which tracks to play. These huge speakers were next to them and I could feel the bass pounding through me.
    What band was that? I shouted.
    The Cure, Amanda shouted back. Like them?
    I nodded. I wanted to say, I love them, but the word felt too simple.
    Amanda put the CD back in its case and handed it to me. Take it, she said. It’s yours.
     
     
    A couple hours later my paper is finished. Through my car window, I can see the lights are all off in the house. My parents must be sleeping already. I guess they’re used to me being out here now. I cross the path toward the house, stop at the pile of wood. I run my hands along a plank at the top.

16
    I wake up before my alarm this morning, roll over, and shut it off. It took forever to fall asleep. I kept thinking about that night. After that were months that Ingrid was alive but not really awake. She would still draw in her journal and hang out with me and laugh sometimes and everything, but now, looking back, I know that she did it all automatically. The way you brush your teeth and eat breakfast. You don’t really think about it; your mind is other places. It’s just something you do to get ready for something else.
    I pull out Ingrid’s journal, and I’m pretty sure that I deserve to, seeing as it’s only six forty-five and already a bad day. But when I open it everything just gets worse.

17
    Obviously, I skip photo this morning.
    I sit on the path behind the apartments, pathetically alone, and wait for 8:50 to come. I turn my back to the buildings and look at the hill and the trees. I start to count the trees. Then, without really realizing it, I start to think of one thing I did wrong for each tree I look at. Wide oak—I didn’t tell anyone when Ingrid cut herself. Baby oak—the time I told her I was getting sick of hearing about Jayson’s arms and his blue shirt. Tall tree with bare branches—the way I would leave when she got depressed and stopped talking. I should have stayed. I should have just sat quietly, so that she knew I was with her. Pine tree—the afternoon I lied and said that I didn’t feel like hanging out with her every single day, when really I just didn’t want to steal nail polish from Long’s because I felt so shitty the one time we did it. I could tell she was about to cry, even though she turned around and left. That was the day she got caught with eyeliner and hair dye stuffed into her backpack. I pick out a smaller pine for not being there to get caught with her. Then I look out to where there’s this huge group of trees in the distance, and I count those for all the times I called her some name, or told her she was being