Chapter 14: Packing the Blue Jeans
I laid my suitcase flat on the bedroom floor and didn't pack it right away. I just stared at it for a minute, breathing in the quiet. The house was empty except for the hum of the air conditioning and the faint ticking of the hallway clock. Dad had taken the twins to their trial afternoon program, Linda was out grocery shopping, and for once I had the room to myself without someone needing something from me.
The blue jeans went in first. I folded them the way I'd always folded them, smoothing the knees with my palm, making the crease sharp. Then the gray hoodie. I held it for a second longer than I needed to. It was frayed at the cuffs from where I chewed on the sleeve when I was nervous. I folded it in half, then in half again, and set it on top of the jeans. It felt strange to be packing things I'd worn almost every day to go live somewhere else.
On my desk, the envelope was tucked inside my chemistry textbook to keep it flat. I'd smoothed out the crumple as best I could, but the paper still had that soft, tired wrinkle from where it had been pressed against coffee grounds and junk mail in the trash bin. The blue seal was still intact. I didn't need it anymore - my counselor had the official digital copies, the housing deposit was paid - but I wasn't leaving it here. I slipped it into a manila folder and put it at the bottom of the suitcase, under the clothes, where it wouldn't bend.
I zipped the suitcase halfway and left it open.
The high school parking lot was half empty when I pulled in that afternoon. It was that strange August lull where the building is open but no one has to be there. Mrs. Alvarez was waiting for me in her office with the door propped open and a fan running.
"You're right on time," she said, pulling a stack of papers toward her. "Housing forms."
She spread them out and we went through each line. Emergency contact - I wrote Robert, then paused and added his cell. Roommate questionnaire - I checked the boxes for early riser and quiet after ten. Meal plan. I signed my name at the bottom three times, and each time my hand was steadier.
"You're all set," she said, sliding the copies into an envelope for me. "They've got you in the freshman dorm on the north side. Orientation packet comes next week."
I asked if she needed anything else from me and she said no, that was it. She looked at me over her glasses for a second.
"You did this, Maya," she said quietly. "Just remember you did the work."
I nodded because I didn't trust my voice. I carried the envelope out to my car and sat in the driver's seat for a minute before I started the engine, just holding it.
When I got home, Dad's truck was back in the driveway and the twins were at the kitchen table with juice boxes, quieter than usual. Dad stood by the counter with his keys still in his hand.
"How'd it go?" he asked.
"Good," I said. "Housing is done."
He gave me a small, tired smile. "The trial run went okay. It's that after-school program over by the elementary school, you remember? Three days a week until six. They've got two staff for twelve kids."
I looked at the twins. Lily was picking at the label on her juice box. Noah was watching us.
"Did you guys like it?" I asked them.
Lily shrugged. "It was loud."
"It'll take getting used to," Dad said quickly. He looked at me like he wanted me to understand he was trying. "It's not five days yet, and it's not cheap, but I talked to my manager about shifting my early shift twice a week. Linda's going to cover pickup the other days. We're making it work."
He wasn't asking me to fill the gap. That was the point, I realized. He was telling me the gap was no longer mine to fill.
"Thanks for figuring that out," I said.
He nodded, his shoulders dropping a little. "You just worry about your classes."
Later that night I found Linda in the laundry room folding towels. She had her short hair tucked behind her ears and she was wearing that same maroon blouse. We hadn't really talked alone since the meeting in the living room where Dad finally said I was going and that was final.
She didn't look up right away. I leaned against the doorframe.
"I packed most of my stuff," I said.
"Okay," she said, smoothing a towel.
"I wanted to say I'm not trying to make things harder for you and the twins," I said. My voice was even. I had practiced how I wanted to say it - not an apology, not a plea. "But I need to go."
She folded another towel and set it on the pile. Then she finally looked at me, her arms not crossed for once, just still at her sides.
"I know you do," she said after a pause. "I still think the timing is bad. And I don't think you understand what it's like to need help and not have it."
"I think I do understand that," I said quietly. "I just wasn't the help you got to decide for."
She pressed her lips together and gave a short nod. It wasn't warm and it wasn't forgiving, but it wasn't blocking me either. It was the most honest we'd been with each other in months.
"Be careful with your laundry up there," she said eventually, and it was such a normal, flat thing to say that it almost made me laugh. "Those shared machines will shrink everything."
May you like
"I will," I said.
I went back to my room and zipped the suitcase the rest of the way. The envelope was safe inside, under the hoodie and the jeans. The room looked emptier already, but not sad. Just ready.
