How to Say I Love You Out Loud by Karole Cozzo Read Free Book Online Page A

on my heel, and snatch one of the ribbons out of Leighton’s hand. I hurry toward homeroom, hastily tying the bow into my hair,
ignoring the curious stares from my teammates.
    I close my eyes as I walk, trying very hard not to envision the hurt, confused expression that likely replaced Terry’s smile.
    It’s Friday afternoon when the third almost incident happens. I’m not being particularly careful, because it’s Friday afternoon and I just need to grab a forgotten textbook
from my locker before saying “adios!” to school for the weekend. The final bell has rung and several juniors and seniors are loitering in the junction between hallways, making plans for
the weekend.
    My brother rounds the corner, heading in the direction of the boys’ bathroom, surprising me. Anne trails him closely, ensuring his trip to the bathroom occurs without incident. He is
wearing his gym shorts, despite the unseasonably cool fall weather, and his headphones. Even with the headphones in place, I watch as his hands fly to his ears, the noise of other teenagers
socializing around him still loud and unpleasant.
    Phillip doesn’t notice as heads turn in his direction; he never does. He just continues on his course, shaking his head and making little grunting noises as he attempts to block out his
surroundings.
    I am frozen in place—a deer attempting to camouflage itself among the foliage—as Phillip comes closer and closer.
    But there’s no cause for my worry.
    Phillip’s eyes meet mine briefly as he passes, but he looks right through me. His conceptualization of the world is black and white, and to him, Jordyn belongs at home. He does not expect
me here, and there is no sign of recognition; my presence doesn’t spark the hint of a smile.
    A surprising pain grips my chest.
    As much as I didn’t want my brother to call attention to me . . . it hurts that my brother didn’t even recognize me.
    I mean nothing to him and have no impact on his world whatsoever. I might as well be another stranger, whose only purpose in life is to irritate him. I might as well be an object.
    As I hurry toward the door, I find myself thinking of the pictures in our family photo album, the ones of my nearly two-year-old self seated in an oversized armchair, a swaddled newborn bundle
placed very carefully in my arms. In the first picture I’m a combination of petrified and shell-shocked. But in the second picture I’m smiling, bending forward so I can gently plant a
kiss on my baby brother’s head.
    I guess I’d decided pretty quickly that having a sibling might be a pretty cool thing. I guess I inherently knew how to love my baby brother.
    As it turned out, I never really got a brother at all. Sometimes being reminded of this can leave me feeling very sad and alone, even when I’m struggling to acknowledge that that brother
exists in the first place.
    It is Monday morning, forty-six days left according to my countdown, when disaster strikes.
    I am unprepared, not expecting it. It’s Monday morning, after all, and my guard is down after two weeks of near incidents that never amounted into anything more.
    Nothing about the meltdown should have surprised me.
    Phillip hates Monday mornings as much as the next person . . . and ten times more than that. After hiding out in our house all weekend, having to return to school pisses him off royally.
    Anne is absent, and there is a substitute, a tall, dark-haired male, in her place. Phillip hates substitutes. He hates unfamiliar, unexpected faces barging into his personal space. Men in
particular seem to set him off.
    And at 10:02, when the hallways are filled with students transitioning between classes, the vice principal decides it’s a stellar time for an unannounced fire drill.
    Bright red and white lights flash like strobes from the top corner of every hallway. Then there’s the noise, a piercing, persistent, drawn-out
bleeeeeeep
that just won’t
stop. It hurts my ears, it’s so loud and