“It’s not him.” I stare at the text, the bouncing making my head pound. “Enough with the basketball.”
Shane catches the ball midair and asks, “Who is it?”
“Ray.”
“I thought you guys weren’t talking.” Shane sits on the basketball like a little kid. Saying Ray’s name reminds me of the way she used to look at me last year, her eyes locked into mine. But then Dad left, and she stopped coming around, stopped answering texts, which was almost worse than Dad leaving because Ray never gave me a reason. After a couple weeks of radio silence, I decided I was over being left and broke it off completely. I glance at the text again, then erase it and shove the phone into my pocket. I don’t see the point in responding to a girl who bailed when I needed her most.
“We’re not,” I say, but Shane’s not listening. He’s staring at his own phone, his eyes fixed on the screen, like John Bonham rose straight out of his grave and asked him to take his place behind the drums on a Zeppelin reunion tour.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Shane stands, shielding his phone against his chest.
“Who’s texting you?”
Shane turns his back to me, but I reach around him and grab his phone, reading the screen.
Stevie
Hi Shane, it’s Stevie. Any chance you can help me with All-State?
Shane
Hey Stevie Nicks
Stevie
Don’t start
Shane
Don’t stop … thinking about tomorrow
Stevie
Groan. Eye Roll
Shane
Okay. Okay. I’m officially done with the Fleetwood Mac references, promise. And I can help with All-State. You just need the right audition piece.
Stevie
Thank you. Done eye rolling. Is All-State that easy?
Shane
Easier
Stevie
Maybe for you. How’d you get in freshman year anyway?
Shane
Jedi mind tricks
Stevie
Never seen Star Wars
Shane
Forget it, not helping you
Stevie
For real?
Shane
Kidding! But it’s gotta be on Wednesday. On the days we don’t have band practice I volunteer with the EMT squad after school.
Stevie
Wednesday it is!
Heat rises to my face, like the time Dad asked Shane to head backstage with him at the Foo Fighters show instead of me. Even though I was psyched for Shane, it still sucked. Dad and Shane disappeared behind a black curtain, Shane getting to meet one of his idols, while I was stuck with Mom waiting on the other side. Dad could only bring one person backstage and he chose Shane.
“How does she have your number?” I ask, handing Shane his phone.
“I don’t know. Band list? Everyone has everyone’s number.” Shane shoves the phone in his pocket without texting Stevie back.
“Ask her to come to your party.” I pick up the ball and pass it to Shane. He wraps his arms around it like a bag of groceries, narrowing his eyes.
“You don’t have the guts to ask her out again yourself?” He takes a shot and misses, the iron hoop vibrating.
“Of course I do.” I grab the ball and throw it at him.
“Uh huh,” Shane says, dribbling a steady rhythm, seeing right through my bullshit.
“But you’re the one throwing the party. Can you just invite her?” I ask, my voice pathetic.
“I’ll text her now,” Shane says, biting away a smile as he taps out a message. I steal a peek over his shoulder.
Shane
I’m having a party at my house Saturday night. Only people from band. You in?
Shane and I watch three little dots appear on the screen. I elbow him and he elbows me back until another message appears.
Stevie
In. See you then.
“Happy?” Shane asks, shoving his phone back in his pocket.
“Thanks,” I say as Shane sinks a basket. I know that penny landed on heads, but I also know Shane’s putting aside his own feelings for me. Regardless of how this plays out, Shane’s legit, the one person who always has my back. “I owe you one.”
CHAPTER 5
Stevie
A willow tree presides over our front lawn, branches bending toward the earth. I’m underneath the green dome, fading sunlight cutting through the leaves, like the inside of a kaleidoscope. Of all the places I’ve lived, underneath this willow is the best spot in the world. Ever since we moved here in the beginning of the summer, I’ve sought refuge under this tree. Tonight is no different. I pull my headphones on, blocking out the birds chirping their goodnights. My favorite album, the one Sarah calls old-people music, slides through the tiny speakers and into my ears. My parents think I’m already at Shane’s party, but I needed to come here first to slow the somersaults in my brain. I stretch my legs as the first track of Ten calms my body, Eddie Vedder’s low growl replacing my racing thoughts, the driving chords somehow relaxing my muscles.
Sarah always convinced me to go to parties, pulling a cut up concert T-shirt over my head, the kind she made look cool with a pair of scissors and beads, and practically pushed me out the door promising a night to remember. It’s going to be epic, she would always say, even if it was only a few people from the band playing Fortnite in someone’s basement. With her by my side, I wasn’t the kind of girl who hides under trees.
But I haven’t heard from Sarah since the first day of practice, my last video chat request sitting unanswered in my phone for three days. I begin to doubt if I was ever best friends with Sarah, Krystal, Emily, or Nicole. Maybe I was a filler, a pit stop, a girl they played Barbies with when they were little. Even so, I long for the way Sarah’s able to transform me, temporarily fearless and carefree, so I text her again.
Me
How’s Seattle? I’m heading to a party. Wish you were with me.
A tidal wave of relief washes over me when three dots appear on the screen, a lifeline to my past life.
Sarah
Party? Do tell. Sorry I’ve been MIA. My mom’s been on my case.
I’m not sure her mom is a good enough excuse for slacking on texts. But I push past my annoyance because I’d rather have a fading best friend than no friend at all.
Me
A band party. What’s going on with your mom?
Sarah
It’s too much for text. I’m sorry I haven’t called you back. The time difference sucks.
Me
Yeah
The time difference sucks. The distance sucks. Being far away plain sucks.
Sarah
Why are you being weird?
Me
I’m not being weird. And anyway, you can’t read tone over text.
Sarah
I can with you. Is there a guy?
Me
No
Sarah
There is! Who is he?
I stare at the screen, shaking my head. Night falls around me, the remaining light slowly dimming into darkness, as Eddie sings about his whole world turning to black.
Me
This guy Drew.
Sarah
He sounds hot.
The thought of Drew makes me feel off balance, like standing in an elevator that shoots up fast. Drew on the curb outside of school, the light falling around his shoulders, his eyes boring into me, my stomach in a back handspring, definitely not sticking the landing. Excitement bubbles in my gut, a can of soda cracked wide open. I inhale the humid air, then breathe it all out, trying to be the kind of girl who doesn’t get nervous for high school parties.
Me
You’re impossible.
Sarah
You love me. But seriously why are you texting with me right now? Get to that party! You’re not having a Stevie moment, are you?
Me
No. I’m fine.
Sarah
Turn o
ff Pearl Jam and GO TO THE PARTY!!
Me
How do you know I’m listening to Pearl Jam?
Sarah
Because you’re always listening to Pearl Jam. JUST GO.
I stand and slide the headphones off, stuffing them in my bag. I pull apart the branches and step into the moonlight. The air is thick, like the clouds are about to burst open and unleash a downpour.
Me
Going.
Sarah
It’s gonna be epic. Text me later. xoxo
I shove the phone in my bag and head over to Shane’s. My eyelids are heavy, an unwelcome side effect of the insomnia that’s plagued me since we moved to Seattle. It only intensified after we settled here in New Jersey. I pray the eyeliner and mascara hide the dark circles that make me look older than I am. It’s not that I don’t want to sleep. I want nothing more than to get a solid eight hours, but my head hits the pillow and my thoughts are like a thoroughbred gunning for the finish line. Thoughts of never getting what I want before we have to move and start over again.
Before I know it, I reach Shane’s house, only a few blocks over from mine, surrounded by manicured hedges. The Aladdin genie sits between two grooves at the top of an intimidating gate, his silly smile welcoming me. I press a button on a call box and a fuzzy voice asks for my name. When I reply the gate slowly swings open, revealing a long, winding driveway, lined with purple and pink hydrangeas. My flip-flops smack the asphalt, bringing me closer to Shane’s house. But this isn’t a house. The structure that looms before me is an estate, a castle even. Something you would see in a Disney movie with gray stone covering the entire façade. My heart jackhammers against my chest as I pick at my thumb. I smooth down my hair and urge myself to continue walking instead of bolting. It’s gonna be epic.
Before I reach the front door, a Ray LaMontagne song and the steady bounce of a basketball catch my attention. “Be Here Now” floats through the air, soft like a breeze. I follow the music back through the gate, across the front yard, and to the driveway next door. Drew sinks a basket, grabs the ball, positions it against the night sky, and launches it at the net. I stop short, almost tripping over my flops. He misses, the ball banking off the side of the backboard, crashing to the ground, and knocking over a stack of red Solo cups like a set of bowling pins. Drew takes another shot, humming softly to the song playing from a phone balanced on the hood of his Jeep. He sings a line as he dribbles the ball, a beat to his melody. My breath catches. He sounds like Ray LaMontagne, or maybe like James Bay. I’m starting to feel like a creeper, so I step closer to him and clear my throat. The basketball drops from his hands and rolls down the driveway, slamming into the mailbox.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask, but really what am I doing out here, stalking him on his driveway?
“I live here.” He gestures at his house, which is surrounded by a never-ending wraparound porch, all white posts and wooden rocking chairs. The lights are off, like his entire family went away on vacation. “What are you doing here?”
“Shane’s party.” I state the obvious. “But I heard your music. I didn’t peg you for a Ray LaMontagne fan.”
Drew hops on his car, his boots banging against the metal. He turns the music off and pats a section of the hood, scooting over for me.
“His voice is cool.” He shoves his phone in his sweatshirt pocket. I climb up and lean back on the windshield, dropping my bag next to the tire. The clouds move fast, revealing stars, then hiding them again. “He never sounds like he’s trying too hard, and yet his voice is so stripped down and real. It almost feels like you know him.”
“You sound like him,” I say, and Drew’s eyes shift to the sky as he tucks his hair behind his ears.
“I wish.” His eyes, dark like the night, meet mine. “But thanks.”
“Why aren’t you inside?”
“I was for a while. Shane needed more cups.” Drew gestures at the plastic cups, still toppled over at the edge of the driveway. He leans on the windshield, so close to me our shoulders touch. “Was about to head back. But I needed a break. Do you ever feel like that? Like all the people, some party, is just, I don’t know, tiring?”
All the time. And it’s not only at parties. At school, in class, at lunch, wherever I am, it’s always like I’m trying, like I’m a cheesy fluorescent billboard begging for someone to see me. I always blamed it on the impermanence of my life, but maybe it’s an excuse I give myself for never belonging. Someone like Ray wouldn’t care about moving. She’d fit right in wherever she landed.
“Yeah,” I say, glancing at Shane’s house, music spilling from the windows. I don’t want to go inside. Drew clasps his hands over his stomach and sighs, flashing me the Roman numerals tattooed on his wrist, the symbols clear.
“Eighteen?” I ask, my finger almost grazing his skin. At first he says nothing, his eyes fixed on the clouds. I never have the right words, especially in moments like this one. Sometimes it’s like my mind is a blank piece of paper, but I don’t have a pen. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s for October eighteenth.” Drew shifts his gaze to me, a hint of gratitude playing in his deep eyes, a prelude to the story he launches into.
“It was the start of eighth grade, the first real fall day. Shane and I were super into skateboarding back then.” Drew shakes his head and laughs a little. “Wannabe punks I guess. Anyway, we were at the skate park in town, messing around, trying to one up each other. A bunch of the guys from my grade were there. I was showing off, trying to copy this Shaun White double mctwist trick, which was stupid. I didn’t think it through.” Drew fidgets with the ropes on his wrist. He won’t look at me.
“I never made it one full twist around and flew completely off the ramp, crashing to the ground. That was the last thing I remembered, the sound of my body crunching against the pavement. When I woke up in the hospital, Shane was the only one there. My parents hadn’t even gotten there yet. The doctors said Shane called the ambulance and knew enough not to move my body. I shattered a few bones in my back and a couple in my neck. They said I was lucky. A few more inches and I might have been in a wheelchair or … you know.”
Drew finally looks at me, his eyes ablaze. He sits up, leaning to me, the strings of his sweatshirt grazing the hood of the car. His lower lip juts out slightly and curves into a disbelieving smile.
“It was the best day.”
“The best day?” I tilt my head, trying to fathom how almost dying could be the best day. If I almost died, I’d want to erase the entire day from my history and pretend like it never happened. At sleepaway camp one summer I fell out of a canoe, right in the middle of river rapids. I hadn’t yet learned to swim, but a counselor dragged me out of the water. I remember thinking it. You could die. And the thought alone, even though I was safely in my counselor’s arms, sent the shakes down my entire body.
“A few inches saved my life. And Shane knew enough to know what to do. So yeah, it was the best day. The luckiest day. Even if I don’t act like it most of the time, I try to remind myself of that feeling—the euphoria of a second chance. Easier said than done though,” Drew says, raising his eyebrows.
Maybe Drew’s way is better. To think of the most terrifying moments of our lives as the best ones. To realize you didn’t die that day. That you’re still here.
“Eighteen is the numerical equivalent to the Hebrew word chai,” I say. “It means life.”
“I didn’t know that,” Drew says. Chills fly across my skin as our eyes connect. He glances at the tattoo. “Life. That’s exactly what that day means to me.”
“Do you still skateboard?”
“Nah, I lost interest after that day. I know, get back on the horse and all that. But really, some horses aren’t worth riding. Shane stopped skating too.”
“Is that when he started volunteering with the EMT squad?”
“Yeah, it’s his thing. Besides drums. Smart as hell too. It’s kind of annoying,” he says with fondness. “I
bet you’re smart too. Shane says you share some honors classes.”
“Honors English, history, and chem,” I say, smiling. “But there are a lot of different ways of being smart.”
“That’s what Shane says.” Drew glances over his shoulder. “Speaking of Shane…”
“I guess we should head over,” I say with absolutely no conviction, because I would much rather stay here than make pointless conversation with people I hardly know.
“What I really feel like doing is heading down to the shore. Perfect night for it,” Drew says, gesturing at the sky.
“I’ve never been.”
“The beach at night is…” Drew says, gazing out at the neighborhood. He clears his throat. “The world, my world at least, always feels like a series of random events. But when I look at the ocean, especially at night, it feels like there’s a synchronicity to things, like maybe the answers are out there somewhere.”
Drew shakes his head, smiles to himself, then turns to me and says, “Kind of corny, huh?”
“No,” I say, my voice a whisper, wanting more than anything to see the ocean through Drew’s eyes. “It sounds perfect.”
“When’s your curfew?”
“Way too early.” I probably have a couple hours, but the shore is far.
“Another time.”
“Let’s go,” I say, the words surprising me as they tumble from my mouth and hang in the air. Crickets chirp around us, almost like a tiny chorus chanting go, go, go.
“You sure you won’t get in trouble?” Drew hops down from the hood and unlocks the door.
“Nah, my parents are probably busy with my little brother,” I lie, and for this split second in time, I don’t feel remorse. “They won’t even notice if I’m late.”
* * *
I’m going to get in so much trouble. My nails dig into the upholstery as my heart pounds against my chest. I’ve never missed curfew. Not once. Drew turns on the ignition, and the Jeep roars to life, vibrating beneath me. One wrist rests casually on the steering wheel, and his jeans are so ripped it looks like the bottom half might fall off. He turns to me, shaking hair out of his face.
“You sure this is okay?” he asks, pulling out of the driveway.
Where It All Lands Page 5