Two Roads from Here

by Teddy Steinkellner

  “So I was actually thinking I’d stay here in Dos Caminos for school, maybe enroll at DCCC, probably tutor part-time for extra money. And as for Stanford, I mean, I can defer for a year, or actually what I was thinking was, I could . . . you know, turn it down altogether.”

  My mom’s expression didn’t change. She didn’t seem surprised. “The scholarship and everything?”

  “The scholarship and everything.”

  Mama nodded. “And you are sure you’re not just being scared?”

  I pulled back. “What?”

  She nodded again. She half smiled. “You say you’d be staying for me, for the family. But in your heart, Allegra, you know what this family wants. You know our story. Your grandmother never made it past grade school, her greatest regret to this day. Your father and I, we were not lucky enough to be able to attend college. We have made decent careers for ourselves, it is true, but it has also been a struggle—for money, for respect, for time to spend with you. And the light at the end of the tunnel has always been you, and your brothers. But in particular you, and the shining example you’d be setting for your brothers. You are their hero, you know.

  “I acknowledge that we put too much pressure on you, especially these days. We give you responsibilities far beyond your years, and the moment you finish your commitments, we ask for more of your time. I am sorry for that. As your mother, I am so sorry. But this situation here, it is quite different. You must not think of it as added pressure. You must consider it permission, release. You get to leave, my angel. When you attend college, you will be doing it for me, for all of us. You will be living your family’s dream.”

  She curled up further, into her pillows. She tilted her head back. “Do not be afraid,” she said, her voice barely audible.

  “Mama—”

  She never gave me the chance to tell her what I think of her dream. The speech had taken too much out of her. She closed her eyes tight. She began breathing heavily. She shut out the world.

  Before she fell asleep, she spoke one more time: “Do not be afraid to do the right thing.”

  • • •

  In my room, I logged into the Stanford admitted students website. I clicked through the home screen, past the endless pictures of gleeful band members, past the focused scientists, past the proud cultural dancers. I got to the decision page. I eyed the three different options:

  Yes, I accept my admission to Stanford University!

  Yes, but I would like to defer my admission to Stanford by taking a gap year.

  No, I will not be attending Stanford University.

  Yes.

  Yes, but.

  No.

  Yes, I would like to be selfish and leave everyone behind forever.

  Yes, but I would like to leave those who depend on me dangling in anticipation for a year, before ultimately burying my mom and leaving everyone behind forever.

  No, I would not like to be selfish. I would actually like to do the right thing.

  I read the options. I read them again and again, until they didn’t resemble words. Just squiggles. Cruel, merciless squiggles.

  My finger hovered above the screen. I knew exactly what to do, but I still felt tortured, all the same.

  I took a massive breath inward. I exhaled fully and completely.

  I selected, No, I will not be attending Stanford University.

  I pressed “submit.”

  ROAD ONE

  * * *

  SPRING

  * * *

  11. ALLEGRA REY

  * * *

  Last night was marked by two momentous events.

  One, I informed Stanford University that I would not be joining them as a member of their next freshman class, while simultaneously mailing a check to Dos Caminos City College, ensuring my enrollment in an associate degree program this coming fall.

  Two, I had a conversation with my mom.

  “Mama?” I said, bringing her nightly cup of tea into her room.

  “Yes? What is it?”

  She was sitting up in bed. She was wearing her softest headscarf and her lavender pajamas, the ones with the tiny moons, the ones my brothers like best.

  “I have something to tell you.”

  “Is it about college?”

  “No. I’ve got that all taken care of.”

  “All right. What is it?”

  My mother took a sip of tea. I waited for her to finish.

  “Brian and I are going to sleep together.”

  Mama blinked. She took another, longer sip, nearly draining her cup. “You are sure?”

  I sat down on the bed, beside her feet. “This is something I’ve thought a lot about. I want to do this, and I want to do it with Brian. I love him, I really do.”

  “And remind me. You have been together . . . how long?”

  “Almost three months. Three months this Sunday.”

  “And this was his idea?”

  I bit my lip to keep from grinning. “No, Mama. It actually came from me.”

  “And you trust him?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And you want to know what I think?”

  “Yes,” I said. “What you think is very important to me.”

  My mom slouched back, stretching her legs out. She closed her eyes. I swallowed, preparing for the worst. A few seconds later, my mom opened her eyes. She took me in.

  “Well . . . I cannot pretend I am the most comfortable with it. For me, I’d prefer you wait some more time. I would not tell your father or Abuela, you know. They would not understand. And I insist that you be safe, see a doctor, be very informed. I will also tell you that I do not need to hear anything more about it, not after today, not unless there is an emergency. But . . . in the end, Allegra, it is your life. I trust you completely. Whatever you decide, that will be the right thing. You have my support in anything you do.”

  I couldn’t help but tremble. I love my mama. I love her so much. Her faith in me, her unwavering trust in my ability to make the best decision, to be an adult, it’s astounding. She will never know how much it means.

  I leaned into her body. I held her and I couldn’t help but wonder how many more of these moments the two of us would get to share. I pushed that thought from my mind. I held her for a very long time.

  • • •

  This afternoon I joined the rest of my bandmates in attending Seussical rehearsal. With the musical’s opening a matter of days away, we’re taking the time to get in sync with the actors before we accompany them in the orchestra pit during the actual shows. For me personally, the dress rehearsals have been an indispensable and delightful opportunity to watch Brian perform up close. Plus I get to see him in his Horton costume, in which he looks unbelievably cuddle-worthy.

  All the same, it can be vexing. Brian tends to act a bit differently around his theater friends than he does when he’s with just me. Today, for instance, during a five-minute tech break, Brian was off in a corner with Cole, and the two of them couldn’t help but begin an impromptu “performance” of their own.

  “Tell me about the rabbitth,” Brian said in an exaggerated, frothy-mouthed lisp.

  “Well, Lennie,” Cole said, rubbing his back. “There’s gonna be rabbits.”

  “Rabbitth?” Brian said.

  “Yes,” Cole said. “All different kinds of rabbits—”

  “RED RABBITTH?” Brian said.

  “Yes, Lennie, red rabbits, and—”

  “RED RABBITTH AND BLUE RABBITTH AND GREEN RABBITH?”

  Neither of them could keep it together by this point. By the time Brian shouted, “RABBITTH RABBITTH, RABBITTH, I’M A BIG FAT RABBIT,” Cole was pulling out an invisible shotgun and pretending to shoot Brian in the back of the head, and by the time Brian keeled over in mock death, both of them were lost in delirious laughter.

  “Hey,” I said, hurrying over before others noticed. “Can we not? You’re being offensive.”

  Brian, still lying on the ground, glanced up at me. Cole tilted h
is head at me. Brian was in his puffy gray elephant outfit, Cole in his black-and-white spandex catsuit.

  “I’m sorry, Allie,” Brian said. “We were just doing a bit. We got carried away.”

  “Damn, girl,” Cole said. “Who died and made you Queen of the Re-Res?”

  “Cole,” I said, “please be more respectful. Brian? While you’re on your break, can I talk with you? I want to nail down logistics for our anniversary.”

  Brian nodded okay and got off of the floor. Cole made an obnoxious whipping motion. I refused to let myself be affected by such a petty gesture, so I didn’t comment on how rude to women that was, and Brian and I were just stepping away, when—

  “Baby,” Cole said as he literally inserted himself between us.

  “Hey. Allie baby. Have you gotten your Stanford confirmashe e-mail yet? Have you given thought to which dorm you wanna live in? What about that roommate preference form? What’s your attitude toward drinking? Are you gonna party in college, or are you gonna stay a judgy-mouthed, tight-sphinctered, granny-panty prude forever?”

  I couldn’t believe what he’d just said. I tried to formulate a response, but I lacked the words to shield myself against such causticity.

  Cole inched closer to me.

  “You are going to Stanford, right? You didn’t defer, did you? Or worse? That’s what your boyfriend told me, but I don’t believe him. Please don’t tell me you bitched out.”

  I felt my breaths getting shallower. I felt the walls of my chest closing in.

  “Brian,” I said. “Say something.”

  “You didn’t,” Cole gasped, his eyes wide. “You rejected Stanny? You actually turned down dork paradise? All so you could stay here with your oafy boo and your mamacita? Oh. My. Gerd. Oh my Gerdness gracious . . .”

  I looked at Brian. His eyes darted back and forth between Cole and me. He looked so conflicted. I had no idea why.

  “He can’t save you now, chica,” Cole snapped. “You lead your own life. You’re responsible for your own dumb-dumbs. If you go down the road idiotically traveled, that’s not on Brian, and it’s not on tu madre, and it’s certainly not on me. Why, as a matter of fact, I do believe it’s your own damn fault—”

  “You’re a bad person!” I shrieked. “What makes you think it’s okay to be this way? How did your parents raise you? You talk about me living my own life? What about you? All you do is suck the blood of others, then use their humiliation to create more fear. What kind of pathetic existence is that? I may not be joining you at Stanford, but at least I accept who I am, you hear me? I’m not a terror like you. I’m not a coward. I’m not a monster. And I’d rather never succeed in my entire life than ever go to the same goddamn college as you.”

  A small crowd had formed around us at this point. I have to confess, as I finished my tirade, I felt rather proud. These were things I’d been dreaming of telling Cole for years, particularly since that fateful weekend at Stanford, at which he played no small role in extinguishing my college enthusiasm. And if Brian, for whatever reason, was going to shirk the duty of defending his girlfriend, then I was going to do it myself, even with an audience. Especially with an audience. And surely the things I was saying, surely these are the insecurities that must actually haunt Cole in his weaker moments, so right then I was expecting him to react accordingly. I was anticipating he might become defensive, or wrathful, or depressed.

  Instead, he clapped his hands.

  “Well, well, well,” he said.

  Cole’s slow claps reverberated across the entire theater. His expression was gallingly indifferent.

  I looked at Brian. Brian stared at a nail in the floor.

  Cole scrunched his nose up and pawed at the air. He meowed, right in my face. “Kitty’s got claws.”

  He turned to Brian. He placed an arm around my boyfriend’s shoulder. “I don’t know, Mr. Big,” he said. “I’m thinking if your lady won’t hush up, we might have to do her dirty, huh? We could show her exactly what happens to the sad souls who mess with us . . . I mean . . . remember the last one?”

  • • •

  “So . . . ,” Brian said, much later that night, in my room. We were lying on my bed. “Three months, huh?”

  He leaned over one of my arms and kissed it all the way down to the tips of my fingers. He did the same with my other arm. He took my underarm and gave it a big wet raspberry.

  “I love you so much, Allie.”

  “I love you too, Brian.”

  I took my hand and let it play idly along the top of his head, a little spider taking a stroll.

  “I was thinking,” Brian said, kissing his way up to my shoulder. “It’s only a couple days till our official anniversary. I know we were planning on waiting till then, but—”

  “Brian?”

  “I mean, I have my brother’s—you know—in my wallet, and I could just bust it out, and if the coast is clear, we could, like—”

  “Brian?”

  I pressed my fingers into his scalp, not enough to cause pain, but enough to stop the train of thought right in its tracks.

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “This afternoon, at rehearsal . . . when Cole said those things, those cryptic things at the end . . .”

  Brian made an effort to squirm out from under my hand. “Uh, I’m not sure I remember.”

  “Think harder, then.”

  He tried to wriggle his way off the mattress. I held him in place.

  “When Cole made that remark,” I continued. “That thing about ‘see what happens’ to people who mess with him and you . . .”

  Brian shook his head. “Shut up,” he said. “That didn’t mean anything.”

  “Don’t you dare tell me to shut up.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t you bother apologizing.”

  I watched his scalp turn from pink to red. I felt it begin to collect sweat.

  “Just give me a sec,” he said. “I really gotta pee.”

  I dug my nails in deep, I sank them into my boyfriend’s skin.

  “Brian . . . what was he talking about?”

  * * *

  12. WILEY OTIS

  * * *

  So according to your latest progress report, you’re failing three classes: econ, bio, and algebra 2.”

  “Okay.”

  “Coupled with the marijuana incident, this is very troubling indeed, Wiley.”

  “Okay.”

  “If you receive an F in just one class, you won’t be eligible to graduate this June. That means summer school at the very least, and potentially, you’ll even have to repeat senior year.”

  “Okay.”

  “Tell me. What do you want to do with your future? What do you aspire to be?”

  “I don’t know. I guess a filmmaker.”

  “Well, even filmmakers have to pass econ, bio, and math.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.”

  “Say . . . aren’t you good friends with Allegra Rey?”

  “Uh—”

  “Here’s a thought: Why don’t you get her to tutor you?”

  • • •

  Those meetings with the vice principal used to freak me out, but I’m numb to them by now. Ms. Fawcett tries to motivate me with the scary newsflash that I’m a failure, but I already know I’m a failure, so it doesn’t work. She mentions Allegra, like I’m supposed to go next door and beg forgiveness from the girl who threw away ten years of best friendship to have sex with an albino gorilla asshole. Then I get sent to detention.

  Detention is like purgatory. It’s a dark, silent, impossibly boring realm, and you know you’re going be stuck there forever. So you sit at your table and think about forever, like past high school and into next year, when you don’t want to be in school anymore, because it’s a total waste of time. You want to follow your passion; you want to start making films. But you can’t tell good stories, because you don’t have any life experience, because you’ve never taken a c
hance. And you don’t have any money, because you gave it all to the brass guys. So you try to get a job, but you don’t have a college degree, let alone a high school diploma. So you have to take the saddest, most boring job imaginable, like sitting all day in a drive-through window, or waiting all night in a parking lot booth, waiting for forever, sitting in limbo all over again, waiting for nothing in life but the chance to wait some more, waiting and waiting—

  Until one afternoon, about three weeks ago. When the library door opened. And a girl walked into the room. And everything changed.

  “Hey you. Mind if I sit here?”

  Wow.

  Look who came to visit me in purgatory.

  My guardian angel.

  She smiled widely at me. She looked like she belonged in a pamphlet for an orthodontist’s office. Her smile was that perfect and gleaming white.

  “It’s nice to see you,” Nikki said. “I’m glad our paths could cross again.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “What’s it been, five months?”

  “Since homecoming,” Nikki said. “But hey, here I am now.”

  I pumped my fist. “Best plot twist ever.”

  Nikki took the chair next to mine. As she sat, she flipped her flowy mane over her shoulder. It was like that part in Fast Times at Ridgemont High, when the bombshell brunette steps out of the pool. I felt like the guy in the bathroom, only slightly less perverted.

  “I missed you,” she said. “I missed you, Wiley.”

  My eyes bulged, like the bathroom guy. I did the biggest double take.

  “What?” I said. “We barely know each other.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Yeah.”

  Nikki slumped in her seat, just the tiniest bit. She stared into space. It gave me a weird feeling, seeing that. It’s not very often you feel sorry for the popular girl.

  “It sucks, you know,” I said. “What happened to you. You deserve better than that.”

  Nikki smiled weakly at me. She went back to looking at nothing.

  “For what it’s worth,” I added. “I never watched the video.”