Rules We're Meant to Break

by Natalie Williamson

  “Hey, listen,” Jordan says once everyone’s calmed down. “You guys doing anything after this? Cory’s having people over. You should come hang out for a bit.”

  “Um.” I glance at Cory to see if this is true, even though I’m not planning to say yes. He nods. So weird. “Sorry, but we already have plans.”

  “Oh,” Jordan says, the smile slipping off his face. “All right.” Behind him, his friends exchange confused glances.

  “Flexible plans,” Hannah says, and I shoot her a look over my shoulder to tell her to shut up. Going to this party would break more than one rule, so movie night it is.

  “Not really,” I hiss, and Hannah frowns.

  “Bummer,” Cory says, looking between me and Hannah and Jordan like he’s not sure what’s going on. “Maybe next time?”

  “Maybe,” I agree, grabbing for Hannah. “See you guys later, okay?”

  “Yeah,” Cory says, his brow furrowing a little. Behind him, the corners of Jordan’s mouth are turned down and he’s looking at his feet. “See you.”

  “Bye,” I say, tugging Hannah’s arm to get her moving. I need to get out of here ASAP, because if we stay much longer I won’t be able to handle it. She’s narrowing her eyes at me now, so not the glowing version of herself she was earlier tonight when Elliot was holding her hand. But she lets me pull her away.

  * * *

  I’m anxious and jittery all weekend, and though I try to tell myself it has nothing to do with what happened after the game on Friday and everything to do with my worry about KU, I know that’s total bullshit. I can’t stop thinking about Jordan’s expression when I told him we had other plans. How disappointment was written all over his face. The knowledge that I hurt his feelings makes me sick to my stomach, though I refuse to examine the reasons why too closely.

  I feel guilty enough about how I handled everything that on Sunday night I do something I’ve never done before: text Jordan about something unrelated to studying.

  Hey, sorry again that we couldn’t come to that party. Hope you got some good celebrating in.

  I regret it as soon as I hit send, because what kind of idiot texts an apology about a party two days later? But before I have a chance to get too worked up about it he texts me back and I’m scrambling to unlock my phone so I can read it.

  No big deal. It was a last-minute thing.

  It sure seemed like a big deal from his reaction, but maybe I was imagining things.

  I still feel bad, I tell him, because it’s true and because for some reason I really need him to know this.

  This time it takes him a long time to answer, and when he does, it’s only one word: Don’t.

  Somehow, that makes me feel even worse.

  seventeen

  Tuesday night before dinner I’m in my room browsing pet friendly apartment complexes in Lawrence when my phone dings with an email notification. I glance over at the screen, expecting it to be junk, and freeze when I see that it’s from KU’s Office of Admissions. It takes about ten seconds for this to sink in, and then I unlock my phone at warp speed and pull up my email app, holding my breath while I wait for it to load.

  Dear Amber, the message starts. We are pleased to inform you that—

  I stop reading and sit bolt upright on my bed, letting out a shriek of delight. From her spot in the closet Buffy startles at the noise and barks at me like, Mom, what are you doing??? Which only makes me laugh.

  “We got in, Buffster! It’s all happening!”

  She starts barking at me again, this time happy and joyful because of my tone, and jumps up on the bed so that she can get her face as close to mine as possible. I jump with her, which she totally digs, and for a minute it’s just jumping and barking and laughing and joy.

  But then the sound of footsteps interrupts my celebration, and I flop into a sitting position as Mom and Kevin come rushing into my room.

  “Amber?” Mom says, casting a frantic look around. “Is everything okay?”

  “We heard yelling,” Kevin adds.

  Buffy lets out a loud wuff that makes both of them start, and I laugh.

  “I’m fine. Everything’s great, actually!” I scramble off my bed and clutch my phone to my chest, hesitating for only a second before handing it over to my mom. “See for yourself.”

  She takes it from me and starts to read, her eyes scanning the screen. But Kevin, who is leaning in beside her, figures it out faster, because after about two seconds he looks back at me. “You got in to KU? That’s amazing!”

  “It is, isn’t it?” I say, and it hits me that I’m glad he’s here for this moment, because he is genuinely excited for me.

  “Yes,” he says, beaming at me. Then he turns to my mom. “Claire, this calls for a celebration, don’t you think? I was going to make tofu stir-fry tonight but maybe we can order takeout instead? Amber, what do you want? Pizza? Chinese?”

  “Um, I don’t know,” I say, a little overwhelmed by his enthusiasm, and by the fact that he’s willing to ditch a tofu dinner for me. “Maybe we could do Emperor’s?” Emperor’s is like a faster version of hibachi, and their fried rice is amazing. Mom and I used to get it pretty often, but we haven’t since we moved in here. It’s way too much grease for Kevin’s usual diet.

  “Done,” Kevin says without hesitation. “What do you want? I’ll go pick it up.”

  I rattle off my usual order and watch as he carefully makes a note of it in his phone.

  “Got it. Claire, anything in particular you want?”

  Mom shakes her head. “Surprise me.”

  “Okay. Be back in a little while.” Then he turns and leaves, tapping out something else on his phone as he goes. As he starts down the stairs I hear him say, “Cam, you like the steak and shrimp from Emperor’s, right?”

  “Amber, honey,” Mom says, drawing my attention back to her. She’s smiling at me, but I can’t help noticing that her smile is nowhere near as joyful as Kevin’s was. “This is wonderful. I’m so proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  She holds out my phone and I take it back, watching her warily and waiting for the other shoe to drop. And I’m not disappointed, because after a second she clears her throat and says, “Did you check your financial aid package yet? The email mentions logging into the portal to see what aid you were awarded.”

  There it is. I shake my head. “Not yet. You guys came in right after I opened the email.”

  “Ah. Well, let’s check then, okay? I promised we could talk about Lawrence when we had numbers to look at, so let’s see if we do.”

  “Sure,” I say, even though I don’t want to. I’m worried that no matter what I find in the portal it won’t be enough, and I’d like to hold on to this happiness for a little bit longer.

  But it’s rare that Mom actually wants to talk about college stuff, so I guess I should take advantage of this moment while I have it. I grab my laptop off my desk and settle back on my bed, where Buffy is calm and curled up now after all the excitement. It only takes me a minute to navigate to the right page and log in to my account. It takes about thirty seconds after that for me to realize I was right: what I got in grants and scholarships isn’t going to be enough to convince her. It will barely cover tuition and books. I’d have to take out loans to cover room and board. Not to mention food and vet bills and incidentals.

  “Can I see?” Mom asks when the pause has stretched out for too long.

  I hand the laptop back to her without a word and then reach for Buffy, needing the comfort of her presence right now.

  “Is this per semester or per year?” Mom asks, taking a seat in my desk chair and leaning closer to the laptop screen.

  “Per year.” I don’t manage to look away in time to miss her frown.

  “Amber,” she starts, and that one word is enough for me to know what she’s going to say. It doesn’t make sense for you to go. We can’t afford it. What would you do with Buffy? Wichita State offered you almost twice as much, which would really even out
to more if you live at home.

  But I don’t want to hear any of that right now. I don’t want to talk to her at all. So I get up, reach around her, and snap my laptop shut.

  “I changed my mind,” I say, not meeting Mom’s eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this right now. I need to take Buffy for a walk before dinner anyway.”

  “Amber,” she says again, and this time her tone is sharp. But I’m already stuffing my feet into shoes and motioning for Buffy to follow me.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be back in time to eat. I promise not to mess up family dinner.”

  Then I rush out of the room, Buffy hot on my heels.

  * * *

  Kevin and Cammie are at the kitchen island pulling takeout boxes out of plastic bags when Buffy and I get back from our walk. Kevin looks up and smiles as I close the door behind me.

  “There she is!” he says. “KU’s newest incoming freshman. I might have gone a bit overboard with the food, so grab a plate and take a little of everything, okay?”

  I nod in response to this and bend down to unclip Buffy’s leash, because I can’t trust myself to speak right now.

  To buy myself some more time to calm down, I feed Buffy and refill her water bowl before going over to get my own dinner. Cammie is lingering near the crab rangoons, and she gives me a cold look when I reach over to grab one.

  “What?” I ask, pulling my hand back.

  She shakes her head and snatches her plate off the counter.

  “There’s a KU game on tonight,” Kevin says, “so I thought we could eat in the living room. What do you think, Claire?” he adds as Mom comes into the room.

  “That’s fine with me,” she says, avoiding my gaze.

  Glad for a reason to escape the kitchen, I load a few scoops of chicken fried rice onto my plate and then head into the living room, settling on the floor at the far end of the coffee table so I don’t have to worry about balancing my plate on my knees while I eat. Buffy, who has already scarfed her food down, settles in beside me, resting her head on my leg.

  Mom and Kevin and Cammie join me after a few minutes, and Kevin hurries to get the game pulled up so we don’t miss anything. We’re playing Florida, and Kevin gets super into it, yelling and cheering when we make a good play and cussing when we don’t. The first time he drops the f-bomb I have to do a double take because I’ve never heard Kevin say that before. Even when he was putting those shelves together for Mom. He doesn’t notice my glance, but Mom does; she’s got a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, and she flashes a hopeful smile in my direction that I ignore. Cammie is rolling her eyes from her spot on the love seat, but she’s smiling too; she looks happier than I’ve seen her in a long time. Until she notices me looking. Then it’s back to the ice-bitch expression from the kitchen earlier.

  Whatever.

  We’re up by eleven at halftime, and Kevin is so pumped that he waves off my attempts to help him take our plates into the kitchen.

  “We’re celebrating you tonight, remember? That means no dishes.”

  And with that he sweeps off into the kitchen with the stack of dirty plates, reappearing a few minutes later with clean forks, a stack of small plates, and napkins piled on top of a box from the bakery.

  “A celebration wouldn’t be complete without dessert,” he says, grinning when he sees my expression. He passes out the plates and forks to all of us, opens up the box to reveal my favorite of Mom’s sheet cakes. “Dig in.”

  I glance at my mom, surprised, because there’s no way Kevin would have known to get this cake if she hadn’t told him. But she’s busy cutting slices for all of us and arranging them just so on the little plates and doesn’t notice me looking.

  “I think we’re gonna win it,” Kevin says fifteen minutes later, after we’ve all eaten two slices of cake and the game has come back on again.

  “Yeah?” I ask, scratching a spot on Buffy’s shoulder that makes her lean into my hand.

  He nods. “I’ve got a good feeling. Man, I wish I could be there right now. You ever been to a game in Allen Fieldhouse?” I shake my head. “Oh, that’s a crime. It’s the best place in the world to watch basketball. I can’t even describe it.”

  “When’s the last time you were there? College?”

  “Oh, no. Ellen and I used to split season tickets with the Kleins. We’d go to three or four games a year. Wouldn’t we, Cam?” Slowly, Cammie nods. Kevin grins at me, not seeming to notice the stricken look on his daughter’s face.

  “Oh,” I say.

  “You know,” Kevin says, turning to my mother now. “I might need to talk to Oscar about splitting the tickets again next year. We used to go in on them together with a friend of ours from college who still lives up there. What would you think about that, Claire? We could go visit Amber. See a game.”

  Mom shoots him a tight smile. “That could be nice. If that’s where she goes.”

  “Cam,” Kevin says, twisting around so he can look at her, apparently unaffected by Mom’s strained tone. Or by her implication that I won’t be in Lawrence next year at all. “What do you think? Would you want to go see some games next year?”

  “It could be fun,” she says, her voice hesitant and unsure. She looks like she wants to agree but doesn’t know if she should.

  “It’s just an idea,” Kevin says, his voice slipping into soothing territory. “Something to think about. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Cammie says.

  Mom doesn’t say anything and neither do I. But while she probably stays quiet because she doesn’t want me to go to Lawrence next year, I stay quiet because I’m too busy thinking about how to make sure that’s where I end up. I’m not naive enough to wish for the whole family trip to a basketball game, because I know better than to think Mom and Kevin will for sure still be together a year from now. But me living in Lawrence, going to school where I want and doing the major I want, and watching a basketball game at Allen Fieldhouse? That’s a reality I can picture. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure it happens.

  eighteen

  At lunch on Thursday I get a voice mail from Stephanie asking if I can come into work after school.

  “Sean called in sick so I need another body on the floor until seven thirty or so. Also Mia called in a panic earlier today asking about scheduling an emergency session with her pup. Something about family coming into town this weekend? Anyway, she asked for you specifically, so I thought I’d check. I know you have something else on Thursday nights though, so I understand if you can’t do it.”

  I chew on my lip as I listen to Stephanie’s message a second time. When I agreed to tutor Jordan on Thursdays I made sure I’d always have those nights off, but technically I have enough time to fit in a shift before I go to his house. Tonight will be the first time I’ve really seen him since the game and our awkward text exchange on Sunday, so it might not be a bad idea to have a distraction before we’re face-to-face again. The money wouldn’t hurt either. I’ll need every penny I can get for next year.

  Got your message. I can do it, I text her.

  Thanks, kid. See you then.

  * * *

  “Okay,” I say, glancing up at Mia, who is struggling to restrain a very excited Ringo. We’ve managed to curb his jumping habit, but he still has endless amounts of energy and erratic leash manners. Right now he’s doing little hops in place and keeps straining toward the end of his leash to get to me and Buffy, who I ran home to grab after school today since I don’t want to go to Jordan’s without her. “The first thing we need to do is get him to sit. Ideally his right shoulder should be touching your left leg, so that when we’re ready to start walking he’ll step out when you do.”

  Mia nods, gathers the leash into her hands more firmly, and says, “Ringo, sit.”

  Ringo sits, but he doesn’t stop moving. His whole body wriggles and his front paws tap tap on the ground, like he’s a little engine that’s idling, waiting for driver Mia to step on the gas. He’s so cute I want to laugh, but I don
’t let myself. “That’s great! Now, remember when we start, to step with your left foot first. That way he’ll take it as his cue to go and you’ll be a step ahead.”

  “Got it,” Mia says. She looks down at Ringo, who looks back up with a doggy version of a smile. Then she looks over at Buffy and me. “How’d you get her to be so good again?”

  “Practice.” I smile as I think of the last time someone asked me something like that. “And we started with things like this, just like you. You ready to go?” Mia nods, so I take a step forward and say, “Buffy, heel.” She does easily, falling into step beside me, and behind us I hear Mia give Ringo the same command.

  We get about halfway around the little training space before I hear Mia say, “Ringo, sit.” I turn just in time to see Ringo plop his butt down on the floor, back to his idling engine pose, and Mia gives him a click. She notices me looking and shrugs a little, blushing. “He started to pull forward again.”

  “You did exactly right. We’ll let him calm down, and then start up again. You first this time.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” I reach down to scratch Buffy behind the ears. She is, of course, already sitting at my side, shoulder brushing my leg. What an angel dog. “You’re doing great, especially with a munchkin who has so much energy.”

  “Thanks.” Mia beams at me. Then she takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and says, “Ringo, heel.” I tell Buffy to do the same, and we start the process all over again.

  By the end of the hour, we can make it two laps around the room before Mia has to stop and make Ringo sit. This is a huge improvement, and I tell Mia so as the four of us walk up to the front doors. “You’ve got a good one on your hands. Just keep practicing, and before you know it you’ll be able to teach him how to chill.”

  “I don’t know.” Mia shakes her head and smiles as she looks at Buffy, who is unleashed and sitting patiently by my side. “We’ll see. Anyway, thanks for squeezing me in today. I feel a lot better about having him around my mom this weekend. She’s not a dog person, so I don’t want her to hate him on principle just because he’s jumpy, you know?”