Page 57 of The Beta Test

He hesitates a beat. “No.”

I nod slowly. Somehow this all makes sense. Braden left. Dad’s leaving. Why would I expect anything different?

My chair makes a horrid squeaking sound across the hardwood floor as I pop up from my seat. Everyone’s attention snaps to my face.

“Well, thanks for this lovely family dinner. Let’s never do this again, ok? And Dad, I hope you enjoy your new life without us. Great talk.”

I snap up three more cookies from the plate and head straight for the stairs, intent on locking myself in my room for the rest of the night. Will this day ever end?

“Avery—” Dad calls, but my feet are already bounding up the stairs two at a time, heart nearly pounding out of my chest. The bedroom door barely clicks shut and locks before his footsteps reach the landing. With my back against the door, my body slides down into a boneless heap. My head thuds softly against the wood as my eyes fall closed.

The heavy thud of Dad’s steps in the hallway tightens my stomach. The last thing I want to do right now is talk to him. Feelings are spiraling out of control—words seem outside the realm of my abilities, and that’s putting it mildly.

The gentle tap comes, vibrating against my back. It’s not soothing.

“Avery? Can we talk?”

A pause.

“I’m sorry for how that went down there… that didn’t go how I planned.”

Another pause.

Tap, tap, tap.

“Avery, can you hear me, sweetheart? Please, open the door so we can talk.”

A deep breath, held tight. My eyelids squeeze impossibly tighter, like I can shut out the world if I close them hard enough.

A shuffle from downstairs, then the heartbreaking sound of Hunter crying. His words are impossible to make out, but his small voice mixes with the steady tones of Mom’s.

Dad shifts in the hallway—probably looking down the stairs—then returns.

“I love you, Avery. We’ll talk tomorrow, ok?”

Then he’s gone.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The evening wears on. I hear the murmur of voices and the vibrations of steps in the house below me—my family going through the motions of nightly routines. Or maybe there’s more tense conversation between the three of them. I don’t know. For the past two hours, I’ve been lying on my bed staring at the swirling textures lining the ceiling. Instead of my mind turning them into happy shapes like fluffy lambs or cotton candy, I see nothing. There’s nothing there except bumps and ridges in the white plaster. As the sun sets and the room grows darker, there’s eventually nothing at all. The blackness settles over me like a cold, heavy blanket. My heart pumps blood and my lungs expand with each breath. Electrical pulses run through my nervous system making it all happen. But my mind is blank. Maybe that's a mercy. What has thinking ever fixed?

Eventually, the thoughts start. The relief of nothing dissolves into barbs of little somethings. But I can’t stop it.

Braden. Just thinking of him sends a fresh pang of pain through my chest. I turn on my side and curl into myself. My gaze reluctantly moves to my vision board, barely visible now in the low light. The MIT logo that was hanging at an odd angle before has now completely fallen, lying on the desk like discarded garbage. What an apt image. Braden tossed me away with the same casual cruelty gravity treated my dreams. At least the board can’t experience the burning happening within me now.

My eyes wander to other papers pinned there. The sparkle star stickers I’d been so pleased with reflect the ambient light from the window, but I don’t need to see well to know what’s there. I know it all by heart: swim captain, valedictorian, scholarships.

What’s the point of it all?

Dad’s leaving, Braden left, my hopes have all fallen off a cliff—straight into an abyss of mediocrity and failure. And worse. The comfort I used to have at home has been snatched away. My parents care and they love me—I KNOW that—but everything feels as stable as shifting sands.

How am I supposed to navigate the constant disappointments? I used to talk to Jenna about everything, but now I just… can’t. And I know it’s my fault because I feel like I’m holding so many secrets inside that I might explode, but what else am I supposed to do? Why would I want to tell everyone that my boyfriend ghosted me, I’ve failed at everything, and my parents are getting divorced? I might as well wear a shirt that has ‘FAILURE’ emblazoned in bright red letters. If I ever leave my room again.

Tim the Beaver gazes back at me, his eyes a cruel, glinty black. Where his gaze used to bring accountability and steadiness, it now feels full of judgment. Like he knew I’d fail.

How is it possible that I was laughing the day I’d won him at the fair? Laughing feels like something that’s done now. Avery James no longer laughs. She doesn’t smile. And she certainly doesn’t need a planner because her plans go nowhere.

Then I think of clear blue eyes.