This Is Where It Ends - Marieke Nijkamp Page 0,1

can do for you but what you can do for you.”

Trenton holds the microphone loosely while she scans the crowd, as if memorizing every single face. So many students come and go, leaving nothing but the faintest impression, names scratched into desks and graffitied onto bathroom stalls, yet she knows us all.

All our hopes. All our heartbreaks. All our sleepless nights.

Her eyes linger on me, and my neck burns. I reach for the chair to my right, but it remains as it was when the assembly started. Empty.

To my left, Sylv groans. “After all these years, you’d think she’d come up with something more original.”

“Don’t you want to be the best you can be?” The words come out harsher than I intend.

She grumbles.

In truth, Sylv will have plenty of colleges to choose from. She’s a shoo-in for all her dream schools. And I should be happy for her. I am happy for her.

But for me, college is the only way out of this misery, and Dad sure as hell isn’t going to pay my ride. Not to study dance. “Look what happened to your mother,” he’d say, as if I haven’t counted the days, hours, minutes since Mom’s accident. “Dance took everything from her. No daughter of mine is going into that business. Not if I can stop it.”

So he tries to stop me—every day. And with Mom gone, there’s no one to stop him. Not from drinking. Not from hitting me. There’s no one to keep our family from falling apart.

I grip my crumpled coffee cup, grab the threadbare denim messenger bag from under my seat, and block out Ty’s voice in the back of my mind. My brother would tell me that Principal Trenton’s words are truer than I think, that the world is at my fingertips and it’s up to me to make my future the best it can be.

I tried that and I lost. Now I’d rather escape.

• • •

SYLV

I sink deep into my seat and glance at the empty place next to Autumn. He’s not coming after all. He’d have been here by now. He won’t come. I’m safe here.

He won’t come.

The knot in my stomach unfurls and recoils with every twist and turn of my mind. I could ask Autumn about Tyler, but she’s lost in memories. Today is two years since the accident. She refuses to share her grief with me—or anyone. Even when she smiles, she isn’t the girl she used to be.

And I miss her.

Some days, when she thinks no one is watching, she still moves across the floor as if she’s flying. La golondrina, Mamá used to call her. The swallow. All grace and beauty. When Autumn dances, all her worry falls away and she shines.

I wish she could dance forever.

Madre de Dios, how I wish I could watch her dance forever.

Instead, it is another Monday. Life goes on. The assembly is over, and Autumn holds herself ramrod straight. I’m the only one who knows she’ll fly out of this cage and leave us all behind as soon as she can.

Meanwhile, next period is the last review for my AP U.S. History midterm, and I haven’t even touched my books. Mamá had another one of her bad spells over break. We were supposed to go into town together last Saturday, but when Abuelo brought the car around, she barely recognized him. She didn’t want to leave the house. She didn’t understand where we were going. I sat with her for hours, talked to her—listen, Mamá—told her the stories that wove our family around her. She was disoriented for days afterward, and I can’t shake the feeling that with every day that passes, she slips away like starlight at dawn.

At least history suits me. You already know if those stories will end happily.

CJ Johnson

CadetCJJ

Sleeeeeeeeepy #OHS

10:01 AM

Jay Eyck

JEyck32

CadetCJJ #snodaylikeasnowday

10:01 AM

CJ Johnson

CadetCJJ

JEyck32 Bailing on assembly to sleep?

>_> #morelikehungoverday

10:01 AM

CJ Johnson

CadetCJJ

Claire_Morgan Can I order one of the freshmen to bring me coffee?

10:02 AM

Chapter Two

10:02–10:04 A.M.

TOMÁS

I reach for the bowl on top of the desk and pop a few mints into my mouth. Far peeks around the principal’s door. When he gives the all clear, I open the filing cabinet again. I haven’t lost much work. Just time.

Principal Trenton may still live in the pre-digital era, but she’s like a cyborg. She always speaks until ten sharp, leaving five minutes for announcements before the bell. By the end of the assembly, everyone has to run to make it to class on time for third period.