Infinite in Between

by Carolyn Mackler

  The freshman float rolled in front of them. And there, dancing and waving, was Whitney Montaine. She was wearing a low-cut black shirt, a beaded necklace, and a swath of leopard-print fabric tied around her waist.

  Whitney was in two of Gregor’s honors classes. He tried not to be obvious, but he watched her all the time. She was left-handed and wore gold earrings with the letter W on them and made a squeaky sound when she sneezed.

  As the float passed, Gregor raised one hand to wave at Whitney. For an amazing second it looked like Whitney was waving back at him. But then he saw her eyes moving over the whole crowd, smiling at everyone and no one.

  JAKE

  JAKE PULLED HIS shirt over his head. The locker room smelled like chlorine and cleaning fluid, but at least it was quiet. At least he was the only one in here. Jake had made a deal with the PE teacher to go to the art room instead of freshman gym if he swam laps in the pool during his first-period study hall. He just didn’t want to face the other guys in the locker room. For the last few weeks of eighth grade, after people found out what he’d said to Teddy, guys turned away from him when they changed, like they didn’t want him to see them in boxers. That made Jake feel like crap almost more than anything else. Almost. Losing Teddy’s friendship was worse.

  Just then the door to the locker room opened.

  Teddy.

  Jake quickly crossed his arms over his bare chest.

  “Oh . . . hey,” Teddy said.

  “Hey,” Jake managed.

  “What’s up?”

  “Not much. Just swimming.”

  Teddy wasn’t in any of his classes, but they said hi in the halls. Once, in the lunch line, Jake handed him a bag of SunChips and Teddy said thanks.

  “I lost my sweatshirt after football yesterday,” Teddy said.

  Teddy had gone out for JV football. Jake saw him wearing his jersey on the first game day. He’d painted his numbers in blue on his cheek. They were supposed to have done JV football together. Jake should have had numbers on his cheeks too.

  “Maybe check the lost and found bin?”

  “Yeah.” Teddy stayed in the doorway, his bag slung over his shoulder.

  Jake glanced at his T-shirt crumpled on the bench. He wished he could put it back on without seeming obvious.

  “How’s football going?” Jake asked.

  “It’s cool. We’ve lost most of our games, but whatever. We suck. I’m sure that’s my fault.”

  Jake laughed hoarsely. They’d done a football clinic together in junior high, and Teddy always said how much he sucked. Jake and Teddy had known each other since elementary school, but they’d gotten to be best friends through football. After practice they’d go to Teddy’s basement and share a beer. They hated the taste but wanted to build up tolerance for high school.

  “What’s up with you?” Teddy asked.

  “Not much.” Jake wished he had some great story to tell Teddy, but nothing was coming to mind. “I’m taking an art class downtown.”

  “Are you going out for Halloween?”

  “Probably not.”

  That sucked to admit. Jake’s middle-school friends had regrouped, and he hadn’t made any real friends in high school yet other than casual acquaintances from the art room. More than anything, he missed Teddy. Whenever he thought back to the bus ride home from Washington, DC, he wished he could take it back. He’d been sleep-deprived from the trip. He hadn’t been thinking clearly.

  “People are talking about this freshman slaughter thing that happens on Halloween,” Teddy said, “but they’re probably full of shit.”

  “Oh,” Jake said. “Good to know.”

  “Listen.” Teddy snapped his fingers a few times. He wasn’t looking Jake in the eye. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

  Jake’s heart started racing. Was Teddy going to apologize? It wasn’t like Teddy did anything wrong, though. Jake found out later that some girls had overheard him on the bus, and they’d told everyone. Jeez. All he wanted was to put his stupid T-shirt back on.

  Teddy hoisted his bag farther up on his shoulder. “I’m with Marin. We’re going out. Whatever.”

  “Marin Banerjee?” Marin was the girl who Jake had taken to the semiformal last year and kissed during a slow dance. Teddy knew this! Teddy also knew that Jake wasn’t into her.

  It wasn’t like he and Teddy had ever talked about how maybe they liked guys instead of girls. But they did things. A few times, when they were playing video games, Teddy had held Jake’s hand around the remote. And once, they were wrestling in the basement, and Teddy had stretched his body on top of Jake’s. They’d stayed like that for a long time, inhaling each other’s exhales.

  “Marin’s cool,” Jake said. “That’s cool.”

  “Yeah, she’s awesome. You’re really not going out for Halloween?”

  “I guess not. I don’t know.”

  “Well, see you around.”

  Once Teddy was gone, Jake realized that he never did come in and look for his football sweatshirt.

  NOVEMBER

  MIA

  MIA RUSHED TO her locker after last period, hugging her folders tight to her chest. It was Mr. Maguire’s fault that she was so late. Her earth science teacher was one of those cliquey teachers who buddied around with the popular kids. That morning he’d matched up everyone except Mia for the soil lab. By the time she worked up the nerve to tell him, all the dirt had been taken. She had to go back after school and sample the fungus levels, or Mr. Maguire said he’d dock it off her grade.

  Honestly, it wouldn’t have been a big deal, except Mia missed the bus and it was drizzling out, too wet to walk. That meant she’d have to take the late bus with the JV jocks who did afterschool sports. They weren’t teasing her this year or saying she was stoned, but she didn’t want to be alone with them on the bus either.

  Thinking about all this, Mia was in a lousy mood when she stood at her locker. She was just loading her notebooks into her backpack when she noticed that Kyra Bauersmith’s locker was slightly open. Kyra’s locker was two down, which gave Mia a front-row seat to Kyra and Brock’s daily makeout sessions. Kyra didn’t deserve someone like Brock Sawyer. But there he was, pressing himself against her melon boobs every morning.

  The hallway was empty. All Mia could hear was the distant clanking of the vending machine in the teachers’ lounge. She eased Kyra’s locker all the way open. Inside were lip glosses, a pack of gum, tags from expensive clothing, selfies of her with Whitney and other girls, and pictures of her and Brock together. Mia had been lusting after Brock Sawyer since middle school. Brock, with his amber-brown eyes and a playful dimple in one cheek. In eighth grade, she’d filled pages of notebooks with signatures like Mia Sawyer and Mia Flint Sawyer and Mrs. Brock Sawyer.

  Quick as lightning, Mia peeled a small photo of Brock from Kyra’s locker and slipped it into her backpack.

  In this universe, Brock was Kyra’s boyfriend.

  In an alternate universe, he belonged entirely to Mia.

  That evening the house was empty. Mia’s mom was on a business trip and her dad was at the gym. Mia did her homework and practiced piano for thirty minutes. Then she microwaved a pizza bagel, cut up an apple, and carried the plate to her room. She sat cross-legged on her carpet and found the photo of Brock in her backpack. It was a rectangular picture, like from one of those photo booths at the mall. It must have been taken over the summer, because Brock’s skin was as tan as a new penny.

  Mia had never stolen anything before. But she’d been doing some crazy stuff recently, like googling penis to see what would come back. And the other day, when Sophie wasn’t even around, she tried on her mom’s lacy nightie and posed in front of the mirror. She envisioned explaining all that to the principal if she got busted for stealing the photo, and it made her cheeks so hot she ran into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face.

  The next morning Mia jolted awake in bed. She had stolen a photo of Brock Sawyer!

  She showered, t
ugged on jeans and a T-shirt, and got out the pink Chucks from her uncle George. When he’d given them to her over the summer, they seemed too cool, like they were for someone who wanted to call attention to herself. But today she was ready for them.

  She was just approaching her locker when she heard Kyra’s voice.

  “Where’s my picture of Brock?” Kyra asked Whitney and this other popular girl, Laurel. “Who stole it?”

  Mia froze. Just before the bus had arrived, she’d put Brock’s picture deep into her jeans pocket. Maybe it was risky, but she liked having it near her.

  As Mia opened her locker, Whitney sidestepped out of the way.

  “How do you know someone stole it?” Laurel asked. “It could have fallen out.”

  “Yeah,” Whitney said. “Tape has a tendency to unstick.”

  Being so close to them was making Mia’s heart go wild. They were having this conversation about the photo because of her.

  “You realize that you two are the only people who know my locker combination,” Kyra said.

  “Are you accusing us of stealing?” Whitney snapped. “Why would I want a picture of Brock?”

  “Because you always get everything you want,” Kyra shot back. “And if you don’t get it, then you take it.”

  Whitney lurched back like she’d been slapped. “This is about homecoming queen, isn’t it? You’re still mad that I got it and you didn’t.”

  “Guys, chill,” Laurel said. “I’m sure you can find the picture.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” Kyra slammed her locker. “I’m going to my dad’s office. Come on, Laurel. We’ll see what he says.”

  “You’re seriously going to involve the principal in this?” Whitney called after them.

  Once Kyra and Laurel were gone, Whitney pressed her thumbs to her temples. Mia stared into her locker.

  “You probably think we’re dumb,” Whitney said.

  Mia shook her head quickly.

  “We are dumb,” Whitney said. She flipped her long braids over her shoulder and started to walk away, but then she turned back. “I like your Chucks, by the way. Cool color.”

  Mia skipped homeroom. She hurried through the hallways and down the stairs to the basement. She checked that no one was coming and then opened the door to the fire extinguisher cabinet and reached for the hidden envelope. Mia pulled the photo of Brock out of her pocket and tucked it inside with the letters from freshman orientation.

  ZOE

  A WEEK BEFORE Thanksgiving, Zoe finally got the text she’d been waiting for. She had a window seat on the school bus and was listening to music, watching the sunrise, trying to block out the world. That was Zoe’s mission these days. She’d wear her noise-canceling headphones the whole way to school, eat lunch in an empty study hall room, and take a nap as soon as she got home.

  The text was from Max, her mom’s manager. Okay, it was almost the text she’d been waiting for.

  Can you talk to Sierra at four p.m. today? Eastern time. I will arrange the call.

  Zoe peeked at the guy next to her to make sure he didn’t see that and start gossiping about her. He’d introduced himself as James on the first day of school. He was a junior with lots of zits and a knobby Adam’s apple. He’d told Zoe that he failed his road test, which was why he was on the bus.

  Yeah, Zoe wrote back to Max. Four is good.

  Zoe clutched her phone in her lap. She hadn’t talked to her mom in three months. Jane had told her that the rule at Sierra’s “place” was no outside contact. Zoe knew what place meant. It meant rehab, but no one was saying it.

  Zoe could see that the guy next to her was talking to her. She pushed her headphones down onto her neck.

  “I was saying that I like your phone,” James said to her.

  “Thanks.” She hoped he wasn’t trying to start a conversation. She didn’t think she could do that right now.

  “Is that the new one?”

  “Not really,” Zoe said. She stared out the window. It was going to be hard to make it until four o’clock.

  Zoe slid an English muffin into the toaster and was just opening the fridge for jam when Jane walked through the door, home early from work. For a second Zoe was embarrassed to be helping herself to food. She still felt like a guest here.

  “I wanted to get a jump on Thanksgiving cooking,” Jane said. Her eyes darted to Zoe’s phone on the counter, which made Zoe suspect she was there to make sure things went smoothly with today’s call. Even though Max had texted Zoe to set up the call, Jane seemed to be talking to him quite a lot. It was Jane who told her that Max said her mom was returning from Arizona in two days. Also, Jane and Max had decided that Zoe would fly to LA for Thanksgiving then come back to Hankinson to finish up the fall semester. Over Christmas break she was moving back to California for good.

  The toaster popped, which made Zoe jump. She reached for a butter knife but accidentally dropped it onto the floor.

  “You can help me cook if you want,” Jane said, bending over for the knife. “After your call.”

  “Okay . . . thanks,” Zoe said.

  At four on the dot Zoe’s phone rang. She was sitting on her bed, examining her toenails. On both big toes she still had a smudge of purple from the pedicure she got on the last day she and her mom were together.

  “Mom?” she asked hoarsely.

  “Zoe? This is Lani,” a woman’s voice said. “I’m your mom’s counselor. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Lani spoke slowly, like Zoe was a preschooler.

  “I’m about to put your mom on,” Lani said. “I’ll be on the call too. Your mom is excited to talk to you, but she’s still vulnerable. I’m sure you understand. Let’s be strong for her.”

  Before Zoe had a chance to ask what that even meant, Sierra said, “Hey, Z. How’s it going?”

  Zoe’s eyes welled up. She tried to say hi back, to sound strong, but she felt like crying.

  Lani jumped in. “I know this is hard for both of you. It will be wonderful to see each other at Thanksgiving next week.”

  Zoe wiped her eyes. “Will Lani be there?” she asked her mom.

  “No,” Lani said. “I won’t.”

  “Are things—” Zoe paused. “Are they better?”

  In a million years she could never say alcoholic out loud. Back in October, Jane had driven Zoe to an Al-Anon support group at a church in downtown Hankinson, but Zoe couldn’t get out of the car. Her legs literally wouldn’t move.

  “Can you explain for me?” Sierra asked Lani.

  “Recovery is a process,” Lani said. “Your mom will need everyone’s support on her journey.”

  Zoe picked at her toenail. When they hung up a few minutes later, Zoe realized she’d never actually talked directly with her mom. Lani was the go-between for the entire call.

  A few days later Zoe was helping Jane bake a pecan pie. Paul Simon was playing. Jane was explaining how her son, David, was coming for Thanksgiving and he was bringing a few buddies from Downing College.

  Jane worked as an administrator at Downing, the small college forty-five minutes away. David went there and lived in the dorms. He came home every few weeks to do laundry. Zoe hid in her bedroom whenever he was here. She’d never had a sibling or even a cousin before. She didn’t know how to do the family thing.

  “Rich is coming with his wife, Glenda, and their daughter,” Jane said. Rich was Jane’s ex-husband, David’s father.

  “Isn’t it awkward to have your ex-husband over with his new family?”

  “It’s been a lot of years.” Jane cut open a bag of pecans. “A lot of water under the bridge. We go with it.”

  Zoe nodded. It was cool how Jane talked to her like an equal. She’d even told Zoe a little about her grandparents, Sierra and Jane’s mom and dad, who had died in a car accident more than twenty years ago. Sierra rarely talked about them because it upset her too much, but Jane told her stories about them, and even explained carefully how Sierra had been in bad shape after
they died. The one thing they never discussed, though, was why Sierra and Jane had had a falling out.

  “You should know,” Jane said as she handed Zoe a measuring cup, “that the best recipe for pecan pie is on the corn syrup bottle.”

  “Really?” Zoe studied the label on the glass bottle.

  Jane’s phone rang. She glanced at the counter. “Max.”

  Zoe wrinkled her nose. “Why’s he calling again?”

  “Not sure.” Jane wiped her hands on a dishrag. “Hello?”

  Zoe reached into the pecan bag for a few nuts.

  “Oh. Oh no.” Jane walked into the living room and sat down on the piano stool.

  Zoe tried to drum her fingers to “Graceland,” but all she could hear in her head was pounding, like her brain was on the spin cycle of a washing machine.

  A few minutes later Jane came back into the kitchen.

  “Okay, so . . .” Jane said, turning her phone around in her hands. “Max talked to Lani. . . . Sierra didn’t come home today. She’s still at . . . the place. She needs a few more weeks.”

  “What’s wrong?” Zoe asked, her throat tight. “Did I say something wrong on that phone call?”

  “Oh no, honey. No, no.” Jane reached over and touched Zoe’s arm. “He didn’t say what was wrong exactly. I’m sure she’s just working things through. But you’ll stay here and have Thanksgiving with us.”

  Lani had promised that her mom would pick her up at the airport in Los Angeles. Zoe was going to bake her a pecan pie and somehow carry it cross-country.

  “I’m sorry.” Jane set her hand on Zoe’s shoulder, but Zoe wriggled away.

  She ran upstairs to the bathroom and grabbed the nail polish remover from the cabinet. With a few swipes she erased all the remaining purple from her toes.

  DECEMBER

  WHITNEY

  OF COURSE KYRA had to go all drama queen at the mall. She and Whitney were shopping for their lucky audition shirts, but Whitney was also planning to tell Kyra that her parents had separated. Her dad had told her and Alicia that awful weekend that he forced them to go camping. Her mom had moved into a rental house six weeks ago.