Infinite in Between

by Carolyn Mackler

  Erica was walking to the door when she turned around. “Did you hear he got someone pregnant?”

  “Russell?”

  “It’s a girl in your grade. Laurel. I guess she’s due in October. He’s such an asshole.”

  Laurel was blond, jocky, and popular. She was part of Whitney’s crowd.

  “At least it wasn’t you,” Gregor said.

  Erica shrugged. “I guess there’s always a silver lining.”

  SUMMER AFTER JUNIOR YEAR

  JULY

  JAKE

  “WHAT TIME DID you say Mona Lisa’s getting here?” Brock asked, shading his eyes. The sun was still high even though it was five fifteen.

  Jake reached for his phone, which was sitting on the railing of the deck. “Probably around six.”

  “Da Vinci!” Ted and Brock shouted as they high-fived.

  Jake rolled his eyes and looked out at Cayuga Lake. Ted had been to his cabin once before, but it was Brock’s first time. Brock was Ted’s best friend. They’d driven up together for Jake’s seventeenth birthday. Mona Lisa was supposed to join them as soon as her flight landed and her grandparents drove her here.

  Jake and Ted had been boyfriends for two months, and they were going strong. They were all drinking Coke and eating cherries, spitting the pits over the cliff. The sun was casting a glittering path of gold on the water. Ted and Brock were wearing swimsuits, their chests bare and tan. They were talking about football. Every now and then, Ted touched Jake’s leg, sending warmth through his entire body. Even Brock didn’t seem so bad right now. Jake had never been crazy about Brock. He was one of those loud popular guys. But he was Ted’s friend, so Jake was putting up with him.

  Plus, the setup would be awesome if it worked.

  Mona Lisa was going to text when she got to her grandparents’ cabin down the road. Jake and Ted wanted Mona Lisa and Brock to hit it off. For one, they were both straight. For two, it would solve the friend-boyfriend problem. Ever since Jake had texted Mona Lisa about being together with Ted, she’d barely written him back anymore. Jake figured she was jealous, and Brock would be the perfect solution. Girls loved Brock. Also, if Mona Lisa and Brock became a couple, then maybe Jake’s parents would let them all go camping in the woods and it wouldn’t be so obvious that he and Ted wanted to spend the night together. Which they really wanted to do.

  Did you land yet? Jake finally wrote to Mona Lisa. I thought I’d hear from you by now.

  Yep, she wrote.

  Yep what? Where are you?

  We’re driving to the lake now.

  “She’s on her way,” he told Ted and Brock.

  “Da Vinci!” Ted said, and Brock laughed.

  Jake scratched at some paint stuck to his arm. “Remember not to call her that. She was named after the Mona Lisa, but she doesn’t need to be reminded of it all the time.”

  “She’s definitely cute?” Brock asked.

  “Yeah, she’s cute,” Jake said. Mona Lisa had long curly hair and big boobs. Guys were always checking her out.

  “But more important,” Ted said, “can she keep up with my man? The Brockman has some moves, you know.”

  Brock nodded and swigged his Coke.

  Jake shook his head. Sometimes he couldn’t stand being around Ted when he was with his friends. It’s like he was one person when they were alone. He was sweet, sensitive, and funny. And then with his buddies he turned into an alpha dude.

  Ted and Brock are here, Jake wrote to Mona Lisa. Come on over for hot dogs and b-day cake.

  Mona Lisa didn’t text back. Finally, after five minutes, his phone pinged.

  Just so you know, she wrote. I didn’t say yes to this setup when you asked me before. I said I’d think about it. I’m actually not sure I want to.

  But they’re here, Jake wrote. Brock is right HERE.

  Jake squinted at his phone. This was definitely not like Mona Lisa. She was always hooking up with random guys.

  So you’re not coming over? Jake texted.

  Remember what I said last summer? I said I can’t deal with you having a boyfriend. I know I sound heartless, but I’m going to bail tonight.

  “I’ve got to take a piss.” Brock stood up and crossed the porch.

  As soon as he was inside, Ted leaned over for a kiss, but Jake pulled away.

  “What’s wrong?” Ted asked, shading his eyes with his palm.

  “Mona Lisa was texting. She doesn’t want to meet Brock.”

  Ted clapped his hands and started laughing.

  “What?” Jake asked, confused. Just minutes ago everything was falling into place. Now it was falling apart. Not to mention that after years of listening to Mona Lisa blabber about her boyfriends, Jake couldn’t believe she wouldn’t even come over to meet his. It felt as if he was losing his oldest friend right before his eyes, like she was making him pick friendship or relationship.

  “Sorry,” Ted said. “It’s just awesome that a girl is saying no to Brock. His ego needs some bruising.”

  Ted popped a cherry in his mouth. He spit the pit toward the railing, but it toppled onto his foot.

  “See how far you can get a pit,” Ted said, gesturing to the bowl. “It’s going to be easy to beat me.”

  This was what Jake loved about Ted. He yanked him back from the abyss. Jake set down his phone and picked two cherries. He chewed around the pits and then blasted them out of his mouth while Ted cheered him on.

  WHITNEY

  THE CHEERLEADING EXTRAS were onscreen for about two minutes throughout the entire movie. But whenever they came on, everyone in the audience screamed. Whitney and a bunch of other people were at a private screening of This Is My Life. It was over at Downing College, where Whitney’s dad was a professor. People were saying the movie was never going to make it to theaters. This was their chance to see it before it died forever.

  “You look hot up there,” Lucas whispered in her ear. He flicked his tongue around a bit. “I’d do you.”

  Whitney wriggled away from Lucas and wiped the spit off her earlobe. She was honestly surprised by how pretty she looked shaking those pom-poms. That was only a year ago, and yet it felt like she was watching someone else with mocha skin and a wide smile, someone who had all the answers. And there was Autumn cheering alongside her. That was back when Autumn’s hair was long. Back when they were still best friends.

  “Anytime you want to,” Lucas said, running his hand across Whitney’s leg, “you know where to find me.”

  Whitney pushed his hand off her leg. God! Why did Kyra’s cousin have to come over and sit with her? She couldn’t believe she was ever with him.

  When the lights came on, Lucas slugged her arm. “I’ve got to split. Work.”

  As soon as he was gone, she saw Autumn and Zach making their way to the exit. Laurel was lumbering behind them. Six months pregnant, she was wearing a loose sundress and her blond hair was pulled into pigtails. Whitney had a quick image of summer soccer with Laurel before ninth grade, racing around the field in their brand-new cleats.

  “Hey, Whit,” Autumn said, waving. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

  “You didn’t ask,” Whitney said. She didn’t mean to sound frosty, but that was how it came out.

  Autumn raised her eyebrows at Zach.

  “What’s up?” Zach asked.

  Whitney shrugged. “What’d you guys think of the movie?”

  “It was sort of dumb,” Autumn said. “But it was cool to see us all up there. You looked great. It’s annoying how great you always look.”

  Whitney wasn’t sure how to take that. “You looked good too,” she said.

  Autumn rolled her eyes. “Yeah, if you ignore my huge honker.”

  Laurel sighed heavily and shifted from one leg to the other.

  “How’re you feeling?” Whitney asked.

  Laurel stretched her hands over her swollen belly. “Huge.”

  “I heard it’s a boy.”

  “Yep.”

  The screening room wa
s stuffy and hot. Whitney fanned her cheeks.

  “What are you up to now?” Autumn asked.

  “I have to pack,” Whitney said. “I’m leaving for NYU tomorrow. Summer theater program.”

  “Oh yeah,” Autumn said. “I forgot. Have fun. Don’t forget to text.”

  They all walked toward the exit together.

  “We’re voting on baby names,” Laurel said as they reached the parking lot behind the film center. “Hunter or Aidan?”

  “What has more votes so far?” Whitney asked.

  “Hunter. Definitely.”

  Whitney clicked the key to unlock her dad’s car. “I’ll go with Aidan.”

  GREGOR

  EXACTLY A YEAR after his dad died, Gregor’s grandmother was going into a nursing home. Ever since Nana Margaret had broken her other hip last fall, things had gone downhill. She was forgetting to drink water and getting dehydrated, and she barely knew who they were most days. Even though Nana Margaret was his dad’s mother, his dad had been an only child. That was why Gregor’s mom was handling the details. What Gregor kept hearing her tell people was, “We’re waiting for a bed to open up for Margaret.”

  A bed. That killed Gregor. All he could think was how you spend your life filling the rooms of your house, opening and closing your pool, expanding your world. And then, in the end, you’re reduced to a bed.

  In early August a bed opened in room twenty-seven of the Cedar Hill Center. A few years ago, back when Gregor’s family could laugh about sad things, they’d driven by Cedar Hill and joked about how depressing places always have a tree (pine, cedar, oak) and a natural location (hill, grove, valley) in their name.

  They’d gotten the call from the nursing home director on a Monday. On a sunny Thursday morning Gregor’s mom, Erica, and Gregor drove Nana Margaret to Cedar Hill. In the trunk they had two suitcases, sheets, a humidifier, and a copy of The Joy of Cooking, which was tragic because Nana Margaret insisted on taking it yet she wasn’t ever going to have a kitchen again. In Gregor’s lap he was holding a box with framed pictures of Gregor’s dad when he was little, and of Gregor and his parents and sister. Whenever Gregor looked at the photo of the four of them on their deck the summer before he started high school, his throat squeezed tight.

  Nana Margaret was in the backseat next to Erica. She was humming “Hey Jude” by the Beatles. Gregor thought about the therapist he’d seen for most of junior year. He tried to figure out what Jude would say about today. She’d probably say, It’s terrible, but there’s no way around it. The only way out is through.

  They pulled into the parking lot of Cedar Hill. Gregor, his mom, and Erica climbed out. Nana Margaret was still in the car. It almost looked like she was smiling.

  “This is too much,” Erica said to their mom. Her face was pinched like she was going to cry.

  “Want to wait in the car?” Gregor’s mom asked. “It’ll be a while.”

  “I’m just going to run home,” Erica said. “I have my phone.”

  Erica stretched her hamstrings and then took off onto the road. Sometimes Gregor hated the way Erica did whatever she felt like without caring how it affected other people. It wasn’t like he wanted to be here, but he wasn’t going to leave his mom alone.

  “I’ll take Nana Margaret to registration,” Gregor’s mom said, helping his grandmother into a wheelchair. “Can you go ahead of us and make her bed? I think that’ll help her feel more settled when she sees her room.”

  Gregor lifted up the plastic crate with the sheets. That was when he almost lost it. Inside the container he could see her faded floral comforter. He thought about all those times that he, Erica, and Nana Margaret had snuggled in her bed under this blanket, watching movies and eating popcorn. Like it would go on forever. Like it would never end.

  Forty-five minutes later they kissed Nana Margaret good-bye.

  “Give my love to Charlie,” she said, smiling at them with her milky brown eyes.

  Charlie was his dad. Gregor looked questioningly at his mom, but she took his elbow and squeezed it.

  “It’s harder for us than for her,” she said as they buckled their seat belts and pulled away from Cedar Hill.

  Gregor wiped back a few tears. “How do we know?”

  “I guess we don’t for sure. I just think so.”

  Neither of them said anything. His mom was dabbing her eyes as she drove.

  “We need corn,” she said, pulling into a farm stand on the outskirts of Hankinson.

  Gregor nodded. The farm stand was in a valley full of maple trees. Nearby there was probably a hill with cedars.

  “Why don’t we ever call things what they are?” he asked as his mom shifted into park.

  “What do you mean?”

  “There weren’t any cedar trees at Cedar Hill. Or hills. It should just be called The End.”

  They shucked six ears of corn, and then they grabbed cucumbers and fuzzy warm peaches, a muddy bunch of carrots, even cilantro. They loaded two baskets so full, they had to balance the blueberries on their arms.

  “It’s not the end,” Gregor’s mom said as they set their fresh produce across the backseat where Nana Margaret had been an hour ago. “It’s life. Life goes on.”

  Gregor didn’t say anything. There was nothing left to say.

  AUGUST

  ZOE

  ZOE PUSHED BACK her sheets. Even though it was midnight, she was craving sour cherries. She and Aunt Jane bought two pounds of them at the farmer’s market in Santa Monica, and they were going to bake a pie tomorrow. Aunt Jane was out here for the opening of her mom’s movie, an independent film with a summer release. It was the one she’d shot in France. Sierra had actually invited Aunt Jane out. Hopefully, that meant they were finally getting along.

  As she started down the stairs, Zoe heard them talking in the kitchen.

  “Tell her what, Janie?” Sierra asked. Her voice was high and fast. “You haven’t said anything, have you?”

  Zoe sat down on a step and hugged her knees.

  “Has she been asking?” Aunt Jane said.

  When her mom didn’t respond, Aunt Jane said, “Has she?”

  Zoe bit down on her bare knee. So much for the sour cherries. She should turn around and get back into bed, maybe wake up Dinky with a middle-of-the-night text. She wished Aunt Jane would stop pushing her mom. Her mom was stressed enough already with her movie coming out. She’d been to five AA meetings in the past three days. Every time Zoe walked by her mom’s bedroom, she was worried she’d find her crying in there.

  “This is about you and me still, isn’t it?” her mom finally asked.

  “No, it’s about Zoe. That’s what this has always been about.”

  Then again, if they were in any way discussing her father, she deserved to know. She hurried down the stairs and walked into the kitchen. They’d been sitting at the counter, drinking tea. As soon as they saw Zoe, their faces paled and Aunt Jane jumped to her feet.

  “Are you talking about my biological father?” Zoe asked.

  Aunt Jane looked at Sierra. Her mom reached for her tea but accidentally knocked the mug onto the granite floor. It broke instantly, shards of ceramic spraying everywhere.

  As Sierra knelt down and began sweeping together the fragments, Aunt Jane stared hard at Zoe. She knew something. Zoe swore she did. But instead of anyone explaining anything, the two sisters began cleaning the mess while Zoe turned around and went back to bed.

  MIA

  MIA SPOTTED WHITNEY Montaine in the pharmacy line at PriceRite. First she saw her braids, and then her model-gorgeous profile. Mia was picking up a prescription for her mom, plus mascara for herself. Also she’d tossed some Manic Panic in her basket. Maybe she’d put a few pink streaks back in. Nothing major. She didn’t want to look too out there for college interviews.

  Whitney was ahead of Mia in line. A year ago Mia would have split, come back later. But with senior year starting tomorrow, Mia didn’t want to be terrified of popular people anymore. She wanted
that to be over.

  Whitney glanced backward. “Hey, Mia!” she said, waving with her fingers. “What’s up?”

  Mia tried to remember to breathe. “I’m picking something up for my mom.”

  “Me too.” Whitney hesitated. “So, how was your summer?”

  “Okay . . . what about you?”

  “Pretty cool. I just got back from New York City. I did a summer theater program at NYU.”

  “Is that where you want to go?” Mia asked. She was dying to know who was applying where, how many essays, U.S. News and World Report ranking. Sophie called it Mia’s college porn. Maybe it was a joke for Sophie, but for Mia this was her chance to escape. Three years ago, at freshman orientation, Whitney had written in her letter that she wanted to escape too. Mia wondered if that was still true.

  “If I get into NYU,” Whitney said, laughing. “It’s crazy competitive. What about you?”

  “Swarthmore. I’m going to apply early decision.”

  “Wow,” Whitney said. “I’ve heard Swarthmore’s as hard to get into as—”

  “Harvard,” Mia said, finishing her sentence.

  “Whitney Montaine?” the pharmacist called out. “Your medication is ready.”

  Whitney pressed her lips together. As she approached the counter, the pharmacist handed Whitney a white paper bag and asked if she had any questions. Mia pretended to be engrossed in her phone, but she was straining to listen. Whitney had said she was picking up something for her mom, but it seemed like this medicine was for her. It was strange to think how even people like Whitney had things to hide.

  “See you around, Mia!” Whitney waved as she walked by. She smiled broadly, her usual perky self. “Good luck with applications.”

  “You too,” Mia said. She’d give anything to read what Whitney was going to write in her college essays.

  SENIOR YEAR

  SEPTEMBER