Huh. How about that. “I guess you can tell him I’m home and go to bed.”
“Whatever. I still have to finish my homework since I couldn’t focus, thanks to you.” He shoulder-checks me as he leaves. “Enjoy getting reamed out. You deserve it.”
I sit on the couch with Mom and fold my hands. I’m not going to enjoy it, but he’s right. I deserve it.
“So,” she says.
“I’m sorry I didn’t answer your texts and calls. But I need you to please stop making me feel like crap for having emotions.”
Her mouth opens and then closes. She wasn’t expecting that.
“When you do that, everything gets worse. I feel rejected and alone and like you don’t want me around. And then it just feeds on itself and makes me feel like crying even more.”
The anger melts from her face. “Honey, I—”
“I’m sorry I hid all this dog stuff from you. It was important to me and I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
She grimaces like she’s mad at herself. “Where’s the dog now?”
“I went to drop her off with someone who can take care of her. I’m going to tell Doctor Snyder I was keeping her in our old tent, and that she escaped and I can’t find her.”
Mom presses her lips together. “I’m not wild about you lying to him. But I see your logic.”
“Why does it have to be about logic? Why do emotions never get to play into it?”
She sighs. “I told you, honey. You’re so—” She reconsiders. “I just don’t want the world to hurt you for being vulnerable.”
“Are you trying to hurt me to toughen me up? Because that makes me feel guilty and wrong and bad. I need you to stop project-managing my feelings.”
She smiles ruefully. “Believe it or not, parents don’t know what to do in every situation the minute they have kids. We’re human too. We mess up.”
“Dad said that too.” I take a deep breath. I don’t want to tell her this, but secrets are exhausting and I’m wiped the hell out and don’t want to carry it anymore. I tell her about Grace being there when Ash and I biked to his apartment.
“I know about Grace.”
I jerk my head back. “What?”
“She worked at that big ad agency where your dad and I met. She’s a graphic designer. Really good one, actually. Now she’s a single parent of a kid who has medical problems. I’m not . . .” She leans forward with her elbows on her knees, and I see what she was saying about parents being human too. Not having all the answers.
It makes me feel connected to her.
“I’m not thrilled about the situation,” she says. “But your dad’s a good listener, and she needs a friend.” She shrugs. “I like her. Despite everything. She’s a good person with too much on her plate.”
I don’t know what everything means. I don’t think I want to. But I’m glad Mom knows what’s going on. That it’s not a big ugly secret Dad expects me to keep for him.
“I love you, kid.”
“I love you too, Mom.” It comes out rusty, and I realize I haven’t said it in a while. “I’m really freaking tired. Is it okay if I go to bed?”
Her face goes stern. “There’s going to be a consequence for this.”
“I know.”
“I’m not sure what it’ll be yet. Something that fits the crime of making me lose my mind with worry.”
“We could adopt a dog and you could make me take care of feeding and walking her and everything,” I suggest.
“Don’t push your luck.”
“Just a thought.”
“Get to bed. Of course you pulled this on a weeknight.” She yawns and rubs her head like she has a headache. “A few hours of sleep is better than none.”
We stand up. “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out. I just wanted to make sure the dog was okay.”
“I know. I get it.” She hugs me quick and lets go. “Stop growing, will you? You two have been shorter than me your whole lives, and now . . .” She swats at my arm. “I’m not used to this.”
“Tell me about it. My feet are so far away it’s like they belong to somebody else.”
“Go to bed. Off with you.” She shoos me down the hall. “Brush your teeth first. Your breath stinks like hamburgers.”
I hope Ash didn’t think so. “Sure, Mom. Good night.”
She surprises me with a hug-tackle from behind. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” she says in my ear. Then she kisses my head and pushes me toward the bathroom. “Good night, Danny.”
Mitch comes into my room a few minutes after I turn off my light. “I heard what you said about that Grace lady.” He sits at the foot of my bed. “What do you think’s gonna happen?” His voice is small in the darkness.
“I don’t know.” I really don’t. And I’m way too tired to think about it.
“Do you think we should worry? I mean, I never stop worrying about them getting divorced. But do you think we should like . . . worry harder?”
I laugh, but not in a mean way. “Doesn’t matter how hard you worry. Trust me.”
He gets up to leave, but stops at my doorway and turns. “I’m sorry I’ve been a jerk since Cole’s party,” he blurts. “And that he dumped you as a friend and that I roped you into that thing with Fiona.” He starts to step out.
“I’m sorry too.”
He turns back but doesn’t come in.
“I didn’t realize kissing Fiona would be such a big deal,” I say. “I didn’t want her to think I thought she was gross or something.”
“I guess it would’ve been awkward if you refused,” he says stiffly.
“I didn’t think about it from your perspective. Same as I didn’t realize how much it bothered you when me and Dad did stuff without you. I get it now. I hope you can forgive me for being short-sighted.”
We’re quiet for a few moments.
“Well,” he finally says. “I hope you can work stuff out with Cole. Like if that’s a thing you want to do, if you don’t hate him for ditching you or whatever.”
“Thanks. I hope so too.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
He lurks for a few more seconds. “Don’t pull that again. I was totally freaked,” he says. Then he hightails it out of my room before anything gets touchy-feely.
I fall hard into sleep.
31
Remix
Ash
Thursday morning, even though I’ve only had a few hours of sleep, I get up early. I want today’s outfit to reflect where I am: still at least half dude, but on the way back to girl. A mix. In the crossfade where both are true.
It doesn’t feel bad, or like an airport. Or a turtle.
In fact, I like it here.
I do about ten wardrobe remixes before settling on a pair of ripped black jeans, the knockoff blue Doc Marten boots I got from Goodwill, a sleeveless pink blouse with a lacy collar, and an unnecessary but cool wallet chain. I thicken my brows with an eyeliner pencil and tie my hair back, then look in my full-length mirror.
I look like five different styles had an argument and nobody won. But it feels fun and quirky and totally me right now.
At school, I head to my locker. Bella is there waiting. My stomach dips when I see her, but I walk over with my head high. I didn’t realize till now that I’m taller than her. “Can I help you?”
“I, um.” She looks down. One sneaker-clad foot is over the top of the other. She mumbles something I can’t catch in the loud hallway.
“What?”
She meets my eyes. “I said I’m sorry. I just wanted to find my dog.”
I blink.
“I shouldn’t have threatened to out you or whatever.” She looks up and down at my outfit and smiles faintly. “One of my friends showed me your Insta last night and . . . well, I listened to your song.”
A smile stretches across my face. “You did?”
“Yeah.” She seems to relax now that she doesn’t think I’m going to yell at her. “It’s really
good. It made me realize I was, like . . . in tunnel vision, or whatever. Just focused on Chewbarka instead of seeing the big picture.” She looks down the hallway.
“Okay. That’s cool.”
“Yeah, so the big picture, I mean, if Chewbarka’s safe, and okay . . . that’s what matters. I mean it sucks that—” She bites her lip. “That my dad did what he did. That sucks and I’m so freaking mad at him. But I’m glad somebody, whoever it was”—she gives me a hard look—“is taking care of her.”
“She’s in a great place,” I say.
“Do you think you could tell me—”
“I can’t, really. I’m sorry.” I’m not the one who gets to decide this. If Daniel wants to tell her, he can.
She gives a frustrated sigh. “Right. Well.” She nods and then starts to walk away.
“Hey, Bella,” I call after her. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
I shrug and smile. “I needed a kick in the pants.”
Zoey watches me walk into our English classroom. She comes over and sits backward in the desk in front of me. “Is that song you posted last night the one you were writing for my band?”
Jeez, has the whole school seen it? “It was. But I guess it wasn’t a good fit.”
Jordan comes in. “Dude! That song was fire!”
I grin at her. “Thanks.”
Zoey gives Jordan the stink eye, then turns back to me. “So what are you, then?”
“What do you mean?” I know what she means. I just want to make her say it.
“Are you a girl or a boy?”
I show her my fingernails. “Both. Obviously.”
She rolls her eyes. “I mean what’s in your pants?”
Jordan looks uncomfortable. “Uh, Zoey, that’s kinda—”
“Armageddon,” I say, then laugh at Zoey’s annoyed face. “I don’t ask you about the shape and size of your junk, so keep your questions out of mine. It’s super rude.”
Jordan covers her mouth to hide a laugh.
“You’re a major disappointment.” Zoey stalks over to her seat.
Jordan shakes her head as she watches Zoey walk away. “That’s the opposite of punk solidarity.” She lifts an eyebrow. “What do you think about forming a new band?”
“Not a girl band?”
“A band that dresses however the heck we want and plays good music. Regardless.”
“I’m so in.”
Toward the end of English, I text Daniel. Bella apologized. What do you think of telling her where Chewbarka is? I don’t think she’ll tell her dad. She’s super mad at him. But I’ll keep a lid on it if you want. It’s up to you.
He texts back just before the bell rings. If she swears she won’t say anything to him, and you trust that she’s telling the truth, I’ll trust your judgment.
A bubble of happiness rises in me. Great! Maybe we can all visit Chewy this weekend.
I’d like that so much, Daniel says.
In the cafeteria, Bella is eating with a group of kids by the door. I wave at her, then go sit by Griffey.
“Oh, look. You’re you out loud.” He grins at my outfit.
“I couldn’t live with the thought of boring you to death. It weighed on my conscience.”
“As it should’ve.”
I do a double take. Bella’s coming over with her lunch tray.
She nods at Griff and sits down. “I’m sorry I threatened your friend,” she tells him, way more easily than she apologized to me this morning.
Griff shrugs. “Tell Ash that.”
“I already did.”
I nod to back her up.
“Righteous,” Griff says. “I’m sorry people were garbage to you on social yesterday.”
Bella sighs. “I kinda deserved it.”
“No, you didn’t,” I say. “Nobody deserves that when they’re freaked out about their dog.”
She gives me a grateful smile.
“Listen,” I say. “If I tell you where your dog is, will you tell your dad?”
“You’re kidding, right? He literally tried to kill my dog and then lied about it. He’s at the top of my shi—” She glances at the lunch monitor. “Uh, my crap list.”
“I figured. Just had to check. So . . . Chewbarka is with a lady who fosters medical rescue dogs. I think we’re going to visit her this weekend. Do you want to come if we do?”
Her whole face brightens. “Are you serious?”
“Serious as a penguin in a tutu. I mean yes, actually. I’m serious.”
“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” It’s like beams of light are shooting out her eyes. “Gimme your phone. I’ll put in my number. Which day are you going? What time?”
“I don’t know yet.” I hand over my phone and she types it in. “My mom said she’ll drive us.”
“Who’s us?”
“You know Daniel Sanders?”
“Mitch’s twin? The moody photographer kid?”
“Yeah.” I think of Mitch as Daniel’s twin, not the other way around. “Daniel’s . . . well, he saved her life. It’s a long story. He should be the one to tell you.”
“Then I owe him big-time!”
Bella sits with us for a while. She and Griffey talk about how Bella has trouble in band because she’s more focused on showing feeling when she plays than on the sheet music and hitting the exact right notes. Griff says he gets that, but that you can show feeling better if you understand the mechanics of the song. We talk about music and dogs and music again and the school dance and music again, and it’s . . . surprisingly nice.
She might even turn out to be a friend.
When Bella gets up to go back to the kids she was sitting with before, I give her a smile and a wave. I love how my life has gotten remixed in the last few weeks. This new song is hella good.
32
Both Can Be True
Daniel
Ash messages me after school Thursday while I’m taking down the tent. They ask if I want to come over for dinner tomorrow.
Heck yes, I write. But I might be grounded. I’ll let you know.
Before I collapse the ceiling of the tent, I place the lock of Chewbarka’s fur and the lock for Vlad the Rapid on its floor. I arrange them diagonally and snap a photo using the grid. I’m sure Braden will make fun of me tomorrow when I present my picture of a dog’s butt hair, but who gives a dang? I know what matters to me. And Ash will get it.
That’s really all I care about.
That night, I ask Mom if I can go to Ash’s for dinner. I expect a no, since she hasn’t yet told me my consequence. But she surprises me by saying yes.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because restricting your social life isn’t good for you.”
“In that case . . . can I meet Cole on Sunday afternoon? He said he was available and I need to tell him I’m sorry.”
Mom tilts her head. “I never understood what happened with you two.”
“Chalk it up to me being too focused on myself. Plus, well . . . girls.”
Her smile is warm. “You’ve got a busy mind in that head of yours. I’m glad you’re making new friends. I’d like to meet Ash sometime. Your dad seemed impressed.” Then she tells me that she doesn’t want to punish me; she just wants to know she can trust me not to lie to her. My “consequence” is that I have to go to volunteering with her for the next month, and we’re going to go to lunch afterward each time. Just us. She says she feels bad that she’s been working so much, that she wants to connect better with Mitchell as well and they’ll do something together too. She says spending time with the less fortunate helps you know what’s important in life.
It’s not the worst consequence. In fact . . . I’m kind of looking forward to it. The same way I’m looking forward to meeting with Cole and offering him a real apology.
It won’t be easy. I’ll probably cry.
But I cry because I care. And I think he understands that.
Before I go to bed, I text Dad my rule-of-thirds assignment with the two
locks. I like how “lock” can mean different things, I write. Like you’re hiding something away, or like you’re keeping it safe and close to your heart.
Good photo, Dad answers. Thought-provoking and nice. Nice composition too. He asks if I’d like to go to a park on Saturday morning and take photos together.
How about we go to Mitch’s swim meet? Sitting on metal bleachers for two hours smelling chlorine doesn’t thrill me, but this could go a long way toward patching things up. Then maybe we can go to IHOP. He’s always starving after a meet.
Dad’s response is immediate: I’d like that.
I get to photography class a few minutes early on Friday, and I’m surprised to see Ash is already there too. I keep sneaking glances at them while I unzip my bag and get my folder out. I’m pretty sure they’re wearing mascara and maybe eyeliner, but they still look boyish in their sleeveless Tony Hawk T-shirt and black pants with cargo pockets. I’m not sure what it means that I can’t stop looking at them, if it means anything other than . . . well, than Ash is really nice to look at when they smile. And like . . . every other time. Nice to look at in general, no matter where they might be hanging out on the gender spectrum. They look up from writing something in their study planner and meet my eyes.
I never knew a smile could make me feel so seen. So appreciated and understood.
I hope Ash feels that way too when I smile at them.
The second the bell rings, Ms. Bernstein flips on the projector. “Thank you to everyone who submitted their photo via Google Classroom as instructed,” she says. “I’m still waiting on a few of you, so please submit it now so we can get rolling. We’ll start with table one. I’ll display your photo and you’ll come up and tell us why you picked your subject and why you arranged it how you did. Lauren, come on up.”
My stomach flutters at the thought of standing in front of everyone and explaining my photo. I glance around table four. Fiona tugs at her right earlobe like she does when she’s nervous. Braden’s chewing a wad of gum like he’s trying to pulverize it with his teeth. The only one of us who doesn’t seem nervous is Ash.
My nerves ease off as kids take turns. Some of the photos are good—like one that shows a colorful pile of miscellaneous Legos next to an assembled Lego car arranged on a big green Lego board—but some are downright awful, like a picture of a bag of cheese puffs and a can of Coke on a cafeteria table. That kid obviously did his an hour ago.
Both Can Be True Page 20