The Words We Keep - Softcover

Stewart, Erin

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0593487036 ISBN 13: 9780593487037

Verlag: Delacorte Press, 2022

Inhaltsangabe

WINNER OF THE SCHNEIDER FAMILY BOOK AWARD FOR TEENS!

A beautifully realistic, relatable story about mental health—anxiety, perfectionism, depression—and the healing powers of art—perfect for fans of Girl in Pieces and How it Feels to Float. Whatever you struggle with, you are not alone and you are already enough—just the way you are.

It's been three months since The Night on the Bathroom Floor--when Lily found her older sister Alice hurting herself. Ever since then, Lily has been desperately trying to keep things together, for herself and for her family. But now Alice is coming home from her treatment program and it is becoming harder for Lily to ignore all of the feelings she's been trying to outrun.

Enter Micah, a new student at school with a past of his own. He was in treatment with Alice and seems determined to get Lily to process not only Alice's experience, but her own. Because Lily has secrets, too. Compulsions she can't seem to let go of and thoughts she can't drown out.

When Lily and Micah embark on an art project for school involving finding poetry in unexpected places, she realizes that it's the words she's been swallowing that desperately want to break through.


"A tender, heartfelt, and realistic look at mental illness, familial love, and finding your voice."—Kathleen Glasgow, New York Times bestselling author of Girl in Pieces

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Erin Stewart grew up in Virginia and now makes her home in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains with her husband and their three children. Erin loves using her background in journalism to research and write fiction based on real life. A heart failure survivor and adoptive mother, she believes life throws plot twists and people in our path for a reason--always. She is the author of the acclaimed YA novel Scars Like Wings. Visit her at www.erinstewartbooks.com or on Twitter/Instagram @Erin_N_Stewart.

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prologue

I find my sister’s hand beneath the waves.

“I’m scared.” My voice is small, carried away by the water—and so am I.

The ocean tugs me farther. We’re too far.

But Alice reaches out to me.

“Take my hand,” she says. “We’re on an adventure.”

And because I’m six and she’s my much wiser and braver eight-year-old sister, I believe her. I let her convince me we’re deep-sea explorers, returning from an expedition. I let her lead me, even though salt water fills my mouth, my ears, my everything.

We fight against the waves, hand in hand.

And then I’m on the sand. Dad’s swearing. He’s pounding on my back. He’s yelling my name so loudly, it hurts my head.

Lily. Lily. Lily.

I’m choking, spitting out the ocean.

Dad falls to his knees, and he’s hugging us, so tight I almost pop, and we’re huddled on the beach, and he’s crying, and I think they’re happy tears, but it’s hard to tell.

“It’s okay, Dad,” I say, my voice stronger on land. “We were on an adventure! We were so brave!”

This only makes him cry harder, and Alice is crying, too, which makes no sense because she’s the bravest one of all.

Ten years later, I’m by the shore again. Alone this time.

No deep-sea expedition. No adventure.

Just the crash of the waves and a stopwatch and the thud-thud-thud of my feet on the pavement.

A text from Alice lights up my phone: Lily. Where are you?

I don’t answer. I’m in the zone, pushing a little faster.

A little farther.

A little better.

Until my muscles are spent, and I turn toward home.

I find her on the bathroom floor. She reaches out to me, razor loosely in hand, words repeating on her lips:

I’m sorry

I’m sorry

I’m sorry.

I stand, frozen, paralyzed by the sight of blood draining from her wrist, pooling on the tile.

Help me, she says.

In slow motion, I wipe her with a towel. Try to stop the blood. Find the source. But my shaking hands make it worse. Bright red on my skin. Smeared on the floor.

Help me.

But I don’t know how. I barely know her, this lesser version of my brave big sister.

“Dad!” My voice echoes in the room, shrill and panicked and unfamiliar.

He finds us there, her head in my lap, her blood on my hands, waiting for someone who can fix this.

Dad scoops her up. Carries her, legs limp, blood dripping like a fairy-tale crumb trail down the stairs. He puts her in the car. Drives her away.

I clean my sister’s blood off the tile. Off the carpet. Off me.

In the sink, the red spirals away, but not the echo of her whispered help me. It fills my head, and I want to drown it out with screams. But I can’t. I need to be strong. For Alice. For Dad.

So because I can do nothing else, I make her bed

over

and over

and over.

Sixteen times.

Until it’s perfect.

And when the sheets are straight, corners military tight and pillows fluffed, I rip it apart.

Just so I can put it back together.


chapter 1 

Two months after the Night of the Bathroom Floor, it comes to my attention that I’m losing my shit at an alarming rate. 

I use the term losing metaphorically, of course, because I’ve decided going insane is a process, and not a singular event, despite our eloquent idioms. 

Snapped. 

Meltdown. 

Off the deep end. 

But there is no lightning bolt of insanity. It’s more like a drizzling leak you don’t even notice until you’re gasping for air, suddenly and irrevocably aware that you’ve drowned in your own thoughts.
 
I wonder sometimes if that’s how it felt for Alice. I haven’t had the chance to ask since Dad drove her away in the middle of the night and shipped her off to Fairview Treatment Center. Sure, I could send one of the ten billion emails I’ve started and deleted, or I could go with Dad and my little sister, Margot, to the weekly family visitation days, but that’s a big fat no. 

It’s not like I don’t want to see her, but I definitely don’t want to see her like that, with all the other “troubled teens” at a place, according to the website, that promises to fix my big sister with horseback riding and trust exercises on the main lawn. 

So until next month when Alice comes home from psych-ward sleepaway camp, I won’t know if we’re on the same slow train to locoville. All I know is that I, Lily Larkin, at the ripe old age of sixteen, am losing my freaking mind.
 
“Just relax.” Sam slings her violin case onto the desk next to mine, doling out the same advice she’s given me since we were freshmen. “That little vein on your forehead is getting angry.” 

“Relaxation will not help me ace this,” I reply without looking up from my notecards, where I’ve written each line of my poem for today’s presentation. 

Sam plucks the cards from my hand. “As your best friend, it is my sworn duty to save you from yourself.” 

I swipe at them, but she karate chops my arm and sticks the cards into the back pocket of her jeans. 

“It’s just one grade. So chill, Lil.” 

“It’s never just one grade,” I say, rubbing my temple to momentarily release the tension wrapping my head. Note to self: I have got to get more sleep. “Not all of us can have your raw musical talent.” 

Sam’s mouth falls open as she holds up her fingers, three of them wrapped in Band-Aids. 

“Hello? First-chair bragging rights come with a price, too, you know.” 

“So don’t tell me it’s just one grade or one solo or one anything. It’s a never-ending domino effect to success, and if one piece is off, only the slightest bit not perfect, the whole thing goes to hell.” 

Sam frowns. “Depressing.” 

“But true.” 

It doesn’t help that we’re in the honors track, which means our dominos have to fall at a much faster rate. No breaks. No breathers. Just piece after piece, falling perfectly into place. Oh, and if you don’t “specialize” in something like violin or swim team by the end of elementary school, what are you even doing with your life? 

“So maybe just take it down from hyperdrive,” Sam says. “Do you see anyone else freaking out?” 
On cue, Kali plops down next to me, buried in her own notecards. Once upon a childhood, Kali was my go-to bestie, until it became clear in middle school that we were much better suited as frenemies. We’re both word nerds and we’re always pitted against each other in writing contests and class rankings, so now we’re still friends but more the keep-your-competition-close variety. 

“You ready?” Kali asks without looking up. 

As if I didn’t stay up until two a.m. writing these poems--and rewriting them. Every time I thought I was done, there was a smudge or weird spacing...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Delacorte Press
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2022
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593487036
• ISBN 13: 9780593487037
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 400
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar