The Map from Here to There by Emery Lord

Author:Emery Lord [Lord, Emery]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781681199382
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2020-01-08T18:30:00+00:00

That Saturday, I allowed myself to truly lounge with my friends. We were marathoning reality TV before Tessa left to meet Laurel for a concert downtown—tickets they’d had for months now.

“I can’t believe you let us watch this in your presence,” Kayleigh told me, gesturing to a talking-head shot of someone explaining her side of the story.

“Well,” I said, “it may not be scripted, but the narrative is certainly sculpted by producers, you know? And the nature of that is so dynamic, because—”

Kayleigh held up a hand to stop me, or so I thought. But she nodded toward Morgan, who was scrolling her phone with a darkened expression.

“Morgan?” I asked. “Is it a college e-mail?”

She held up one finger, silencing us as she finished reading. I truly feared she might launch her phone into the McMahon family fireplace.

“Well,” she said, sitting up. “The school board e-mailed me back, just completely dismissive. Do you know how long Gabby and I spent laying out the argument for more effective health education? There’s not even a mention of us being a topic at a future meeting. This is egregious.”

“Those a-holes,” Kayleigh said.

“Listen to this.” Morgan’s eyes scanned the screen, filling with fire as she reread. “ ‘It was very sweet of you to compile resources relevant to Indiana’s policy, but …’ I’m sorry, very sweet of me?”

Tessa retracted her chin, offended. “What a condescending dick.”

“Right?” Morgan said. “Sweet? Like I’m some sugary little cake?”

Kayleigh considered this. “I could make that happen. A simple round buttercream with some petal-tip florals. And, in bright pink letters, REVOLUTION.”

“I couldn’t even eat it! I’m supposed to ‘watch my blood sugar’ now,” Morgan said in a mimicky, nasal voice. Her doctor appointments continued to be a frustration, to say the least.

Tessa pointed to the kitchen. “Wanna get into my dark chocolate supply?”

Morgan didn’t seem to hear her, irises wild. “They’re elected officials; they have a responsibility to the district. This e-mail is insulting. I sing in freakin’ church choir with one of them!”

Tessa looked startled by the fervor, but I understood. If Morgan could pry community change out of her diagnosis, it would be okay. It would have meaning—a story with a good ending.

“Ugh,” Morgan said. “What do I do now?”

“Be mad,” I said. “Vent to us. Take a breather. You’ll come up with something.”

“I guess. Because this is just …” She looked around, like Jesus himself would materialize in her room with soap for her mouth. “Horseshit. This is horseshit. Right?”

“This is a giant pile of horseshit,” Kayleigh said. I nodded, as high and low as my neck would allow.

“Do you want to punch this pillow?” I asked, offering one.

“No, thanks.” She sighed, though, prolonged and heavy. “I need to, like … go out or something. Burn off some energy.”

Truthfully, my own instinct, after that night at my dad’s apartment, was to let loose a little. All year, I’d been trying to manage my schedule, to multitask, to out-effort my problems. It wasn’t working, so why not

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