“If you’re grounded, why am I here?”
“You’re not Drew,” I say quietly, my nerves igniting at the mention of his name. I look down and realize I’m picking at my cuticle.
“I heard about the beach,” Shane says, avoiding my gaze. All at once I’m desperate to know more. Being with Drew is like being on the best vacation, one with vast ocean views and beaming sunshine. Because when I’m with Drew it feels like everything could change for me. I don’t think about my family’s lifestyle, in fact I don’t think about the future at all. I want the moment to stretch out forever, to live my whole life on that deserted beach, or beside him in his car. But at the same time, I know how much it hurts to leave. And in this case, I wouldn’t recover like I usually do. I couldn’t pack away all my feelings about Drew, even if I tried.
“What did he say?” My heart rams into my chest, like a bull attacking a red cape.
“Well it’s Drew, so he didn’t say much. But he’s happy. Happiest I’ve seen him in a while.”
I could spontaneously combust right here in front of Shane, little Stevie pieces flying around my room. I could scream at the top of my lungs out my window. But I don’t do any of that.
“Cool,” I say instead. One word, because if I say any more I won’t be able to hold it in.
“Anyway,” Shane says, standing and shoving his feet in his sneakers. He slings his backpack over his shoulder, still avoiding my eyes. “I should get going. I’ll see you at the game tomorrow.”
We do this awkward back and forth dance where I think he’s going to hug me, but then he backs off, instead patting me on the arm.
“Thanks again for all your help,” I say as he fumbles with the zipper on his backpack.
“You’re welcome.” He shoves the drumsticks inside the zipper, but they fall out, crashing to the floor. “Sorry,” he says, grabbing the sticks and putting them in his pocket. “So yeah … I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You said that already.” I smile at him and he smiles back, and we stand here for a beat until he cracks his knuckles. It’s like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands when he’s not holding drumsticks.
“Okay so I’m really going to go now.” Shane backs out of my room until he reaches the doorway. He taps the doorframe before saying, “Um, okay … yeah … later.”
“Bye,” I shout to him as he heads down the stairs and out the front door. All at once I’m desperate to talk to my old friend Sarah about my new friend Shane, to tell her about Drew and the beach, to get her advice on all the exciting things happening for me in this town. I grab my phone, texting Sarah, hoping this time she’ll respond, even though I know she’s three hours behind and still in class.
Me
How was the first week of school? Are you okay? Haven’t heard from you.
But my phone stays silent, my past life slowly slipping into a memory.
CHAPTER 8
Drew
I grab a bouquet of pink carnations from the passenger side of my Jeep, my eyes landing on a penny in the middle console. The penny. I freeze, my grip tightening on the flowers. I tell myself it’s not a big deal, that it has nothing to do with my feelings for Stevie. Even so, guilt courses through my veins and I think about fessing up. Maybe she would understand. Would she? I shake it off and hop out of the Jeep. My button-down hangs over my jeans and I hastily tuck it in as I make my way to Stevie’s front porch. The outdoor lights are on even though the sun is still shimmering low in the sky. I wipe my feet on a black and brown mat that says Welcome. I feel anything but. My heart shakes the rest of my organs with its incessant pounding. The doorbell chimes as I push it, followed by footsteps and the door swinging wide open, revealing Stevie. Gray sweatpants hang on her hips, a tight blue tank top hugging her body. I breathe through my nerves and hold out the flowers.
“Hey,” she says, taking the carnations from me and pressing her nose to the petals. Then she smirks. “These aren’t for me, are they?”
“For your mom,” I say. “Does she like carnations?” I glance over Stevie’s shoulder expecting to see her parents right behind her, but the hall is empty.
“Couldn’t hurt,” she says, waving me inside. The house is quiet, kind of like mine, but with less stuff. “But they’re not home. My mom’s out with my little brother. My dad just called and said he got stuck at practice … again.”
“Oh I guess I should—”
“No, stay.”
“But aren’t you—”
“They won’t know.” Her lips curl up on one side and I’m done for. I know I’m doing the wrong thing, but no way am I turning around and heading home. She sets the flowers down on a table by the front door and reaches for my hand, pulling me into a living room. A laptop is open on the coffee table, a screen frozen on a YouTube video. One quick glance and it’s obvious what Stevie’s been watching. It’s what our entire school has been watching ever since the afternoon football game. Stevie’s eyes shift to the computer screen, then back to me.
“I think it’s gone viral,” she says, and I don’t doubt it. When Ray took the field and got into position with seconds on the clock the crowd lost it, screaming and waving blue and gold banners. Her blond ponytail peeked out from underneath her helmet as she charged the ball like a complete badass, punting it straight through the goalposts, clinching our first win of the season. She ripped off her helmet, curtseyed, and blew a kiss. Typical Ray. I have to admit, I was happy for her. But I’m not about Ray anymore, not even close. The only girl I want to talk about, the only girl I even want to think about, is Stevie.
“I was more interested in watching another girl during the game,” I say as I close the laptop.
“You were watching me?” Stevie’s left eyebrow raises in the most adorable way.
“Couldn’t help it,” I say.
“Maybe I was watching you too,” she says as we settle into a plush couch directly across from a TV that’s playing a cartoon with talking dogs. Stevie points the remote at it and zaps the screen to black.
“Joey’s favorite show,” Stevie says, tucking her legs underneath her. “I can’t wait for you to meet him.”
“Me too,” I say, knowing how important Joey is to Stevie. The other day at practice she pulled a blue Thomas train from her bag as we were setting up. She placed it in my palm and told me Joey hides his favorite toys in her bag so she doesn’t forget about him during the day. Yesterday a plastic Paw Patrol figure hitched a ride with Stevie’s books. Her entire face lit up as she explained the dalmatian’s name is Marshall and he’s a firefighter. I wonder what it would be like to have toys hidden somewhere for me, tiny reminders that someone’s always in my corner.
When I was younger I pretended a stuffed elephant was my brother, even called him Brother E and carried him around everywhere. I wished for a sibling, especially when Dad and Mom argued or Dad was away for work. But as I got older I learned wanting something doesn’t mean you get it. So I stopped dreaming of the day my family would make some you’re gonna be a big brother announcement. I don’t even know what happened to Brother E.
“Do you ever wish you had a sibling?” Stevie asks, reading my mind, knowing me in this moment almost better than I know myself.
“When I was younger,” I say, then remember the real reason I stopped thinking about a sibling and smile. “But in kindergarten Shane moved next door and I didn’t need a sibling. Shane’s better than a sibling.”
“Because you chose each other,” she says, picking at a beige Band-Aid on her thumb. I cover her hand with mine and her cheeks flush. “Sorry, worst habit.”
“Why do you do it?” I ask, thinking if I knew her reasoning I could somehow help her stop.
“Half the time I don’t realize I’m doing it,” she says. “But I guess it’s kind of like a release. It usually happens when I’m nervous.”
“Are you nervous now?” I ask, as I fidget on the couch, my body sinking into the cushions. I tuck my hand under my leg as my breath becomes sha
llow. I’m the one who’s nervous. So fucking nervous.
“Yeah, but good nervous,” she says softly. “Are you?”
“Yeah.” I barely get out the words. “Good nervous.”
Stevie’s eyes are like molasses, and before I realize I’m doing it, I reach out and put my hand through her hair. I can’t stop myself for another second and lean in and … my phone dings, snapping me out of the moment. It dings again. I sigh, pulling it out of my jeans.
Dad
Something came up. Not going to make it to your show tonight.
My body folds in on itself, a tire deflating. That’s it. That’s the whole text. No I’m sorry. No I love you. No I’ll make it up to you. Just Something came up. Dad making an appearance tonight was like a door opening, a possibility to have him back in my life. It was never about him thinking we’re a quality band or wanting to sign us. I never cared about all that. I wanted Dad to see what he’s missing out on by running around the city with his assistant. I wanted him to realize he messed up and that I’m worth coming back for. Well, fuck him and fuck me for believing he would show.
“What is it?” Stevie says, her hand on my shoulder. I flip the phone so she can read the text because I can’t tell her. A golf ball lodges itself in the back of my throat and my eyes burn with tears demanding to be let out, but there’s no way in hell I’m crying right now. Now way is Dad getting the best of me.
“I’m so sorry.”
Stevie says the words I’ve been longing to hear from Dad. I can’t look at her. She cups my face in her hands and pulls my gaze to meet hers. I close my eyes and swallow all the bullshit down so it doesn’t seep out. “Drew.” She runs her hands through my hair, her lips landing on my forehead.
I force my eyes open and take in a deep breath before I say, “I never want to be like him.”
“You’re nothing like him,” she says. “At least the guy I see. The guy I’m starting to know. You’re nothing like your dad.”
My mind shifts back to the penny taunting me from inside the Jeep. For the first time, I feel like I’m lying to her, even though that coin toss isn’t technically a lie. But it feels like a secret now, and it feels wrong. My mouth falls open to tell her as I rub my sweaty palms on my jeans, but no sound comes out. She deserves to know the truth, but if I tell her, she’ll end this, or worse, she’ll hate me.
She kisses me, and I kiss her back to make all the noise in my head disappear. Everything about her is soft and real and the more I kiss her, the more I want her. My hand slides down her back as she pushes herself closer to me, undoing the buttons on my shirt one by one. I’m losing all sense of control.
“Is this okay?” I ask, out of breath.
“God yes,” she says, laughing and pushing the hair out of my eyes. We’re a tangled mess of limbs sinking deeper into the couch. Laughing and kissing, then kissing and laughing.
“Stevie!” booms a voice from across the room.
I jump, rolling off the couch and smack onto the floor. I stand, straightening out my jeans, and come face-to-face with Stevie’s dad. His hands are on his hips and he glares at me from under a Jets baseball hat. Beads of sweat drip down his temples and his face drains of color as he eyes my chest.
“You need to button your shirt and leave,” he says, his eyes still on me, burning holes into my skin. My shaking hands fumble with the buttons and I can’t get this damn shirt closed fast enough.
“Dad!” Stevie stands, her face flushing as her fingers comb through her wild hair.
“Now.”
“No,” she says, stepping closer to me.
“I don’t want you seeing him anymore.” He’s got a few inches on me easily, plus a lot more muscle than my skinny frame has to offer. I back up, bumping into the coffee table.
“Sir, please,” I croak out, my heart annihilating my chest. “My intention was to come here and meet you—”
“I was the one who told him he could stay. He wanted to leave when I told him you weren’t home, I swear.” Stevie’s voice trembles even though she’s yelling. “If you would let him explain. Let me explain.”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Caleb says, the tips of his ears flushing red, his eyes searing into me. “Drew, go home,” he says with a finality that makes my heart shrivel up and drop through my feet. I can’t let Caleb take us away from each other, and yet, I’m under his roof totally disrespecting his home. The only decent thing to do in this moment is leave.
“I should go.” My voice is hoarse. I trip over the corner of the rug, then steady myself. Caleb signals at the door. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry,” I say, but he doesn’t respond.
“It’s not your fault,” Stevie says, but she’s wrong. I head for the door and say I’m sorry one last time before I find myself alone on her front porch. Always alone.
CHAPTER 9
Stevie
OCTOBER
A long yawn escapes my mouth, the kind that stretches your lips wide. Racing thoughts flood my mind, making it impossible to power down. It’s been a few weeks since that afternoon with Drew and Dad won’t look at me, like I’m a stranger living in his house. It’s just as well because he’d see straight through my lying eyes. He’d realize I’m not his perfect daughter, that I’m sneaking over to Drew’s house every week when he thinks I’m practicing for All-State with Shane. Instead of running through my audition piece in Shane’s studio, I’m in Drew’s bedroom, his arms around my waist, his lips on my neck.
Around midnight, my eyes burn, refusing to close. I finally let my insomnia win and head downstairs. The house is dark and still, except for colors flashing from the flatscreen in the den. Dad points the remote at the TV, rewinding a play from practice and jotting down notes on a legal pad balanced on his lap. He wears the plaid pajama bottoms I gifted him for Chanukah last year, the ones he dubbed his house pants, the most comfortable pants in the known universe. Dad watches the play again, shaking his head. I try to suppress it, but another yawn falls from my mouth, making Dad jump.
“Stevie girl, you scared me,” Dad says, pausing the video, greens and blues falling on his face. “What are you doing up? It’s late.”
“Can’t sleep,” I say, desperate to talk to Dad like I used to.
When I was little, I would tell him everything, even the bad stuff, like when kids made fun of me for wearing a Jewish star necklace. Baba got it for me and it was all gold, with tiny diamonds at each of the six points. The numbers tattooed on Baba’s forearm had fascinated and scared me when I was small. But as I grew I came to understand all they symbolized, and what that meant for my family. Her strength is the reason we’re all here, and when she gave me that necklace I couldn’t wait to show it off at school. Except the other kids didn’t get it. It was foreign and weird and by the end of the day I took it off and stuffed it in my bag. That night I told Dad everything and sheepishly pulled the necklace out of my bag, the star dangling from my finger. He hugged me tight and fastened the gold chain around my neck.
“We’re stronger than them,” he said, looking me straight in the eye. “You’re stronger than them.”
I wore that necklace the entire year, ignoring hurtful comments, and Dad was right. I was stronger than their meaningless words. Just like Baba.
But tonight, in our den, with the Jets’ football practice on pause, I wonder if Dad still thinks I’m strong, or if he thinks of me at all.
“Want me to make you tea?” he asks, his eyes fixed on the screen. He doesn’t ask me why I’m not sleeping or what’s wrong. It’s like he’s afraid of the answer.
“I’m sorry about everything,” I say, stepping between him and the TV. More words dance on the tip of my tongue but remain tucked safely inside my mouth. I’m sorry I’ve been lying to you. I’m sorry I’ve been sneaking around. You think you know me, but you don’t. He fiddles with the remote, staring at my bare feet. “But Dad, if you got to know Drew, you would see he’s not the reckless guy you think he is.”
“You know how I f
eel about him,” Dad says, clicking the practice back on. “It’s late. Get some rest, okay?”
As I creep back upstairs I feel so far from the strong girl who proudly wore a Jewish star in a school full of ignorant kids. Each move depleted my chutzpah, as Baba called it, all the best parts of me left behind, scattered in towns across the country. And now, I’m sneaking around behind my parents’ backs and lying to them like a coward.
* * *
Last night’s conversation with Dad sits heavy in the folds of my brain, taking up space. Shane flicks on the mixing board as I throw my black bubble vest on one of the chairs, feigning interest in this practice session. I unfasten the buckles of my sax case as Shane clicks on his Mac, pulling up my audition piece, the one I can’t seem to get right. Every time I sit down to play, my fingers don’t listen to my mind and then my mind gives up and wanders to that afternoon with Drew, and every afternoon with him since. Gray soundproof foam covers the walls, and when Shane speaks, his voice sits suspended in the air.
“How long do you and Drew plan to keep this up?” he asks, not in an accusatory way, just questioning my intentions.
“I don’t know,” I say as I fit together the pieces of my sax. “Thanks for covering for me … for us.”
Worry seeps from Shane’s hazel eyes as he paces the recording studio, sidestepping his drum set and pulling out my sheet music. He pinches the bridge of his nose, something Drew does when he’s tired, and I wonder which one of them started that mannerism and which one copied it. Shane tugs on the brim of his EMT hat and merely says, “He’s my best friend.”
Shane continues pacing and throwing empty soda cans into a garbage bin under the mixing console. He takes off his hat and Frisbees it onto one of the cymbals. His hair sticks up in every direction.
“It’s been a few weeks of this,” he says, turning to me. “Do you really think you should be lying to your parents?”
Shane thinks it’s wrong to sneak around, a cheapened version of what Drew and I could be. He thinks I should come clean and talk it through with Dad, to really talk, not the poor excuse for a conversation we had last night. Shane’s urged me to be truthful every time we sit down to practice and every time, I give him the same answer.
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