Infinite in Between

by Carolyn Mackler

  After they hung up, Zoe played a little Chopin on the piano. She didn’t want to face Aunt Jane. She didn’t want a thing.

  “What’s wrong with helping her shop for dresses?” Aunt Jane asked over dinner. “It’ll be fun. If you want, I can drive you separately and wait at that bookstore.”

  “It’s just . . .” Zoe served herself more mac and cheese. “I don’t feel like it.”

  “The girl who called you . . . Whitney? Did you say her last name is Montaine?”

  “Yeah . . . why?”

  Aunt Jane nodded. “Her dad is a chemistry professor at the college. People say he’s brilliant.”

  “Of course he’s brilliant,” Zoe said. “Whitney’s perfect.”

  “I doubt that. Besides, look at your mom. People probably think that about you, too.”

  Zoe shook her head.

  “What? You don’t think so?”

  Ever since Christmas break, Zoe’s face was disgusting with zits. It was almost as bad as that guy James, the one who used to sit next to her on the bus last fall. She never saw him anymore. He probably got his license and was driving to school now.

  “People look at me and think what happened? I don’t look anything like my mom.”

  Aunt Jane shook her head. “You’re so pretty, Zoe. You don’t see that? You’ve got a Laybourne chin and those adorable freckles.”

  Zoe rolled her eyes. “All everyone cares about is asking how my mom is and whether she was in rehab. I never know what to tell them.”

  “What about the truth?”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Aunt Jane wiped her lips with a napkin. “Here’s the deal. You go with those girls to the mall tomorrow or you go to Al-Anon. There’s a meeting downtown at seven. I’ll drive you.”

  Zoe’s stomach started churning. She wished she hadn’t eaten so much mac and cheese.

  “I know it’s tough love, but you’re free-floating,” Aunt Jane said. “We need to start grounding you.”

  The next evening Zoe zipped up her raincoat and texted Aunt Jane that she was going with option two.

  By the time she got downtown, the rain had stopped. She sidestepped a puddle and wandered into a café called Bean. She sipped hot chocolate and leaned against the brick wall. A few people looked over at her. Most people in Hankinson knew who she was by this point. Now and then people posted photos of her around town. Zoe put on some music and pulled on her headphones.

  A little before seven she made her way to the church. But as soon as she got to the gray metal door, she froze. No way could she do this. Maybe it was anonymous for most people, but if word got out that Sierra Laybourne’s daughter was at a support group for families of alcoholics, the media would flip out. Max would murder her.

  “Hey . . . Zoe, right?”

  Zoe spun around, her heart racing. Oh no, no, no. It was a girl from her global studies class. She had springy black hair and flushed cheeks. Last week she’d done her oral report on sweatshops in China.

  “I’m Anna Kimball,” she said. Her neck was turning purplish and blotchy. “I didn’t think I’d see anyone from school. No one can know about my dad, is the thing. He’s a doctor and could lose his license. Even my mom doesn’t know I’m here. I told her I was going to Bean to do homework.”

  “I was just at Bean,” Zoe said.

  They both stood there for a moment. If Anna told people that she was here, it would be New Year’s Eve all over again. Back in the hospital, Max had pulled her aside and yelled at her for calling 911. He’d squeezed her upper arm, his fingernails digging into her skin. And then those photos hit the tabloids. For all of January, Zoe jumped whenever her phone rang.

  “I won’t tell anyone you’re here,” Zoe said.

  Anna smiled weakly. “Me neither. I mean, I know who you are. Of course I won’t tell.”

  Zoe opened the gray door, and they headed down the stairs together.

  MAY

  JAKE

  JAKE NOTICED SOMETHING wedged through the top vent in his locker. It looked like a gift wrapped in red reindeer paper. As he reached up for it, his arms ached. He mowed two lawns yesterday afternoon, and his upper body was feeling it.

  It turned out to be a Captain Underpants book, The Perilous Plot of Professor Poopypants. Jake glanced down the hallway, but no one was around. There was no card, no inscription.

  It was already a strange day. He’d just stopped by the guidance counselor’s office to get a petition to run for member-at-large on the sophomore student council. Maybe it was crazy, but he was considering it. The thing was, he had to get fifty signatures to be on the ballot, which might be hard seeing as he hadn’t exactly made fifty friends this year.

  Anyway, what was up with this Secret Santa thing? Whoever gave him the book had to have known him for years. He and Teddy and the other guys were obsessed with Captain Underpants back in second grade. They even started their own comic strip. While most people had moved on from children’s books, Jake still loved them. They felt cozy, like hot chocolate with mini-marshmallows or a new jumbo box of Crayola crayons. When Jake read Captain Underpants or Roald Dahl or the Diary of a Wimpy Kid books, he was transported back to being a kid again, pre-hormones, when life was so much less complicated. Last summer at the lake, Mona Lisa gave him her old copy of The Lightning Thief, and he read it in one afternoon.

  Jake crumpled the wrapping paper into a wad and slid the book into his backpack. He was going to take it as a good sign, like maybe someone was watching out for him, like maybe he could win student council after all.

  WHITNEY

  OVER MEMORIAL DAY Weekend, Whitney and her mom hit the sales at Darien Shoppes. Her mom was obsessed with this new open-air mall because she said it raised the property value in that part of Hankinson. In the past month she’d sold two houses near Darien Shoppes. That was the reason for this shopping spree, to celebrate. Also, Whitney needed summer clothes. Her shorts from last summer were squeezing her hips.

  “Want to stop for iced tea?” her mom asked, hooking arms with Whitney as they passed the art gallery. They’d been going strong for two hours and had gotten shorts, tops, new sunglasses, and even a skirt for the fall. “My feet are killing me. Plus, I have some news.”

  “What about?”

  Her mom steered her toward the Darien Coffee Company. Whitney had an idea what this was about. Now that her parents’ divorce was official, she was guessing her mom was buying a new house. They’d probably drive by it when they were done shopping.

  “Save this for us?” Whitney’s mom said, pointing to a round table under an umbrella. “Want a cookie?”

  “Sure,” Whitney said. As her mom went to order, she ripped the tag off her new silver sunglasses and then checked her phone. No word from Tripp. The prom had been last weekend. It was strange going to the junior-senior prom since she was only a freshman. Tripp and his guy friends were cool, but the girls ignored her. They’d all rented a suite at the Hilton afterward. Whitney had gotten a little drunk, and she and Tripp went further than she’d wanted. Like, inside-the-underwear far. She’d seen him in school this week and they’d hugged, but he hadn’t texted since the prom.

  “Hey, sweetie.” Whitney’s mom slid into a chair. She’d recently gotten her hair cut short and highlighted auburn. Alicia called it divorce hair. “I got us two iced teas and one jumbo chocolate-chip cookie.”

  “Thanks,” Whitney said, picking at the corner of her cookie.

  Whitney’s mom shook Splenda into her iced tea. “I may as well get right to the news,” she said. “I’m seeing someone. I have a boyfriend.”

  Whitney stopped chewing. The cookie felt dry in her mouth and way too sweet.

  “I know,” her mom said, smiling. “It was a shock to me, too. His name is Michael. He’s a real estate lawyer. It’s been a little over a month.”

  Whitney shook her head. Her mom couldn’t have a boyfriend. That sounded so high school.

  “Does Alicia know?” Whitney asked. Her right eye socket
had started throbbing. She slid on her sunglasses and hunched close to the table.

  “She does, but I asked her to let me tell you,” her mom said, sipping her iced tea. “Michael came over to dinner when you were at Dad’s last week. But here’s the problem. Michael is allergic to dogs.”

  Whitney was starting to feel nauseous. She saw a guy who looked like Tripp, carrying his tray to the garbage. Tripp was built like a football player with wide shoulders and huge arms. Oh, no—it wasn’t Tripp. This guy was, like, thirty and had two kids tagging along after him. Whitney’s head hurt, and she suddenly wished she hadn’t gone so far with Tripp, or maybe hadn’t broken up with Gus, or maybe could take away this past year and be back at the beginning of high school.

  Her mom nodded. “The thing is, with your dad going away next year, and with Michael allergic to dogs, we’re going to let Vic live with my friend Glenda. She has a house with a big yard and her daughter will love him.”

  Whitney touched her iced tea to her forehead. Even with her sunglasses on, the light was way too bright.

  “Hang on,” Whitney said, slumping forward onto her elbows. Her tongue was slick with saliva. “What did you just say about Dad?”

  “He didn’t tell you?” Whitney’s mom inflated her cheeks and slowly let the air out. “That’s just like him to forget something so important. He was supposed to tell you yesterday.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Whit, your dad got invited to lecture at the University of Chicago next year, and do research in their lab. Downing is letting him take a sabbatical year. He’s leaving in early July, so I’ll give up the rental house and move back home.”

  Whitney pressed her hands against her forehead. Everything felt so impossibly loud.

  “You and Alicia will be full-time with me,” her mom said, “but you’ll go there for holidays. I know it’s a lot to absorb. Dad was supposed to—”

  Whitney puked. All over her sandals and the brick floor and the cluster of shopping bags.

  Hours later, once it was dark, once Whitney had slept off the worst of the migraine, her mom spooned in bed with her, holding an ice pack to her eyes, rubbing her shoulders in small circles.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked softly.

  Whitney moaned. She was too wrecked to think, too wrecked to care that she’d thrown up in public.

  “No, it’s okay,” Whitney told her mom.

  “I know it’s a lot,” her mom said. “Dad and I had a communication breakdown about Chicago. I’m sorry you had to find out that way. And about Michael. And the dog. I shouldn’t have dumped it on you all at once.”

  “Really, it’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

  “That’s my girl,” Whitney’s mom said, kissing her cheek.

  JUNE

  GREGOR

  GREGOR FINISHED HIS global studies final and walked to the front to turn it in. Last final of freshman year! He glanced back at Dinky, scowling down at his test, his fingers tugging at his shaggy brown hair. He looked like he’d be a while.

  To kill time before the ninth-grade party on the lawn, Gregor headed to the band room to grab his extra drumsticks. He was just opening his band locker when he heard crying in the hallway. He got a shiver down his spine. He recognized that cry.

  He hurried out of the band room. His sister was sitting on the floor, hugging her knees and leaning against a locker. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, and there was mascara puddled under her eyes.

  “Erica, what’s wrong?” Gregor asked. “Are you okay?”

  “He broke up with me,” she sobbed.

  “Russell broke up with you?” Gregor was shocked. Erica was so much better than Russell. Sure, she could be annoying, but she was pretty and smart and played violin and was a star cross-country runner. She placed fourth in the county last fall, and she was only a sophomore. And what did Russell have to show for himself? Greasy hair, no chin, and a pickup truck with stupid tires.

  “He didn’t just break up with me,” Erica moaned. “He cheated on me. He was cheating on me when we went to the prom.”

  Erica was shaking so hard, her back was rattling the metal door of the locker. Gregor slid next to her and squeezed in close so they were side by side.

  “Are you sure he cheated?” he asked. “How did you find out?”

  “I saw a text from another girl on his phone. Her name is Holly. She doesn’t go to Hankinson. I called him on it, and he admitted it. They even had sex.”

  Holy crap. Gregor’s face flushed hot.

  Erica wiped her nose with the collar of her T-shirt. “I feel like an idiot crying in school. I don’t want him to see me like this.”

  “How are you getting home? Wasn’t Russell supposed to—”

  “Please don’t say his name,” Erica said. “I think I’ll just walk. Or maybe run. I have my sneakers. Can you take my bag?”

  “Are you sure? Want me to call Mom or—”

  “No!” Erica shot Gregor an angry look. “You can’t ever tell Mom and Dad about this. God.”

  Erica pushed her lavender tote bag toward Gregor. He held it between his knees, hoping Erica wasn’t mad at him now too. He was just trying to help.

  “Want to hear something crazy?” Erica asked. “I gave him The Book Thief for his birthday. I said it would change his life, but he never read it. Not even the first page.”

  “How do you know?” Gregor asked. He could picture the cover of The Book Thief on Erica’s nightstand.

  “Because it’s in his locker. He never even took it home.”

  Gregor was still holding his spare drumsticks. He tapped a rhythm on Erica’s bag. “Maybe Russell didn’t want his life changed.”

  Erica sucked in her bottom lip. “But he changed my life.”

  “So you have that. He can’t take that away.”

  “I guess.” Erica smiled weakly. “Sorry about before. I didn’t mean to be a bitch.”

  “It’s okay.”

  He stood up and lifted his sister to her feet. He couldn’t help feeling like a superhero.

  ZOE

  ZOE STOOD OUTSIDE the choir room. There was a sign on the door that said EXPECT TO BE ACCEPTED FOR WHO YOU ARE. Yeah, right. That was definitely not the story of her life.

  For the past month Anna had been begging her to audition for next year’s choir. The real tryouts already happened in April, but Anna said that Ms. Godfrey might make an exception in Zoe’s case.

  “Because of my mom?” Zoe asked.

  “No, stupid.” When Anna laughed, her cheeks got blotchy. “Because you’ve got a great voice.”

  Zoe and Anna had been hanging out constantly since they met at Al-Anon. Zoe had never had a best friend before. Now she always knew where she was eating lunch, and they sat next to each other in all their classes. They loved harmonizing together or accompanying each other on piano. Anna had taken piano lessons in middle school just like Zoe, and they’d both quit the summer after eighth grade.

  “Door’s open!” a woman’s voice called from inside the choir room.

  Zoe’s heart started racing. Had Ms. Godfrey seen her loitering at the door? Now she had no choice but to go inside.

  “Zoe Laybourne?” Ms. Godfrey pushed her glasses down so they were hanging on a gold chain around her neck. “I was hoping to see you.”

  Zoe nodded. She braced herself for Ms. Godfrey to say she was a fan of her mom’s and to ask to take a selfie together.

  “Anna told me about you,” Ms. Godfrey said. “She said you’re very talented. Do you still want to audition for choir?”

  “If that’s okay,” Zoe said quietly. Maybe this was stupid. She wasn’t even sure she’d be here in the fall. But it was true that she could sing any song she heard. The crazy thing was, her mom couldn’t carry a tune at all. Maybe Zoe had inherited her voice from her dad. Sometimes she wondered about things like that.

  “Can you do a scale for me?”

  Zoe’s mouth went dry. She hadn’t really been paying attention. �
�A what?”

  “A scale. Do re mi,” Ms. Godfrey said. “Want some water?”

  MIA

  OUT ON THE archery field, Mia drank a Dixie cup of punch. The student council was hosting a gathering for all the freshmen. Actually, they were rising sophomores now. Mia touched the mole on her elbow, felt a flash of panic, and then reminded herself it wasn’t cancer.

  Mia couldn’t believe that one fourth of high school was over. It hadn’t been a terrible year. Better than middle school. Yesterday her guidance counselor called her in and told her she was ranked number one in her class.

  “But don’t think it’ll be an easy ride for the next three years,” she warned, clicking a pen open and closed.

  “Okay,” Mia said. She hated how adults always bubble-wrapped compliments with warnings. You’re smart, but don’t let it go to your head. You have great skin, but watch it with the chocolate.

  Today was superhot, almost as hot as freshman orientation. Mia still thought about that day in the gym last September, sitting in a circle with Whitney, Jake, Zoe, and Gregor, writing those letters and promising to meet again at graduation. Maybe it was lame, but Mia actually cared about her group. She was always keeping an eye on them, hoping they were okay.

  Right now she could see Gregor standing with Dinky and some other band kids. His backpack was on, and he was carrying a pale purple bag. Gregor was still as short as a sixth grader.

  Zoe was talking to a girl named Anna, their faces leaning in close. Mia had seen them together a lot this spring. They’d even started dressing alike. Mia was jealous that Anna had landed Zoe as a BFF when Mia hadn’t ever worked up the nerve to talk to her.

  Whitney was laughing with a senior guy, Adam, from Mia’s precalculus class. They’d moved Mia up two grades in math, which is how she knew Adam’s name. Whitney was so gorgeous that guys from all grades flocked to her. Now that she’d gotten her braces off, she truly looked like a model. Whitney’s friends, Kyra and Laurel, were fluttering nearby.