Two Roads from Here

by Teddy Steinkellner

  I looked all around me. The voices, they were coming from everywhere. The incessant requests, the ubiquitous stress. There was no relief coming, no escape in sight.

  I glanced down at my hands. They were shaking. “I’m sorry,” I said under my breath, to no one in particular. “I can’t.”

  I went straight to my room, my head down, shutting out the noise, blocking out the world. I stuffed my bag full of books and fled the house.

  I left for the one place I can relax.

  • • •

  “Allie!” Brian said when I poked my head in the doorway. “You’re early!”

  I pointed at him and grinned. “What can I say? I missed you.”

  He double patted the mattress spot next to him. “My bed missed your butt.”

  “Well, then,” I said in a whimsical tone, “let’s get them reacquainted.”

  I hoisted the bulky bag onto the bed before hopping up myself.

  “Whadja bring me?”

  I unzipped the bag and removed several books. “Well, I’m quite proud of how well we’ve been doing with our chapter books lately, so I was thinking we could continue on that track. Let’s see here, I’ve got some Matt Christophers, a couple Goosebumps, these Oz novels I used to adore when I was younger, and perhaps, if we’re feeling particularly confident, we can move on to something relatively advanced, like maybe The Hobbit—”

  “Munsch,” Brian said.

  “Oh, no, Brian. We read that one every day. Besides, I thought we’d progressed past picture books. Let’s try to take a break from that particular—”

  “MUNSCH, GODDAMMIT.”

  His face was burning red. His forehead was popping a vein. His mouth was spittly.

  I sighed and smiled. “Great. We’ll do Munsch.”

  I took it out, the sky-blue book with the potty-training boy on the cover, the singular item that Brian has forbidden me from ever removing from the bag:

  Love You Forever by Robert Munsch.

  “A mother held her new baby,” I began to read. “And very slowly rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. . . .”

  We went through it, seemingly for the quadrillionth time, the story of the little boy and his mother, who every night takes him in her arms and sings him the same lullaby, all the way through his childhood and adolescent years and into adulthood, up until the day she is so old and frail she cannot hold him and sing anymore, at which point the fully grown boy picks her up and sings to his mother himself before then going home to his newborn daughter and singing it again, the very same song.

  “I like that book,” Brian said.

  “Believe me,” I said. “I know.”

  “I like that book,” he repeated. “I like the mom.”

  “Right,” I said. “But there’s a whole wealth of superior literature out there—”

  “She’s like you.”

  I stopped cold.

  “The mom reminds me of you,” Brian said.

  My skin prickled. My fingers clenched. “Why is that, Brian?” I said. “Is it because you think I’m like your mom?”

  Brian blinked. He blinked again. He stuck his hand underneath his shirt and scratched. “No,” he said. “It’s because I love you forever.”

  He looked me in the eye. I tried looking at him, tried smiling, but I couldn’t hold it. I stared at my feet instead.

  “Anyway,” I said. “Anyway, I was thinking—”

  “I love you forever,” Brian repeated.

  He scooted toward me. He raised his massive hands. He brought them to my shoulders.

  “Brian,” I stammered. “You know, you know, maybe we could—”

  Before I knew what was happening, Brian took my face. He held it ever so delicately. He smiled, as wide as his face would let him. He leaned in, and he kissed me.

  And it wasn’t just a kiss—it was a perfect kiss. It was the stuff of once upon a time, of eternal girlish fantasies. It was as if his body had remembered everything his brain had forgotten, as if he had been the world’s single most excellent kisser in a previous life. His mouth was so warm and loving that I had to kiss it back, and he pressed his fingers into my cheeks, but not too firmly, and he touched his tongue to mine, but not too intently. He kissed me, and I kissed him, and he loved me, and I loved him, and all I wanted to do for the rest of my life was kiss him, and read to him, and make a home with him, and build a family with him, and share the world with him, forever, for always, as long as I’m living, my Brian, my Brian—

  And then I realized.

  No.

  Of course not.

  Of course I couldn’t do that.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, pulling my face out of his. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  Before he could protest or try to kiss me again, I sprang off of the bed. He flailed at me, but I ignored it. I turned around. I did not take my bag. I left everything there.

  I left his house and I got in my car. I turned the key and I drove.

  I got on the freeway. Northbound, up the 101. Past Pismo Beach, past San Luis Obispo, past the missions that span the length of this great state, each a day’s travel apart, each established as a way station for lost and wandering souls. Past Atascadero, past Paso Robles, past the farmland once tilled by my grandparents, past the berries, fruit, and nuts that are still grown and picked by so many others just like me, only without the papers, without the diploma, without the myriad opportunities I have at my disposal. Past Salinas, where Steinbeck chronicled the sputtering hopes and crushing disappointments of a bygone era. Past San Jose and Mountain View, where tomorrow’s code is being written, for better or for worse. Past all these places, for hundreds of miles, I drove, I drove, I drove.

  It’s not all about me, is it?

  I am not the only one making these decisions. I am not the sole author of my story. Before me came my ancestors, who toiled in neglect, who never could have dreamed that someday one of their own would be able to make this particular drive. Now I have my parents and brothers, who are willing to sacrifice everything for me, even if that thing is me. I had Wiley, who promised to uproot his life in order to make mine happy. I even have Brian, who cannot have wanted me to leave, but who without knowing it has given me the final, crucial push to do the right thing.

  All of these people want the same thing for me, even if I’ve been afraid to take it all year. Even if taking makes me feel like a bad person. I have to shut out my inner critic. I have to let my loved ones in. I need to drive for them, for myself. I cannot go backward when life wants me to speed. I am compelled to embark on this journey. I must take it.

  I pulled onto the Stanford campus sometime after midnight. I found an out-of-the-way parking lot, off a palm tree–lined promenade. I crawled into the backseat, my sleeping place for the night.

  The plan is to go to the admissions office first thing in the morning, bleary-faced and teary-eyed, and tell them I’ve made a catastrophic mistake, that I checked “no” on my decision form when all the while I should have checked “yes”: Yes, of course I’ll come to Stanford; yes, of course I’ll leave home.

  The plan is to get myself admitted back here and to be here the next four years and to return to Dos Caminos as infrequently as possible. I can think of one reason why I’d have to go back, but only one.

  The plan is to become the person I know I’m meant to be. That means wearing pink, and rocking beads, and ironing my hair, and taking hip-hop, and meeting girlfriends, and maybe even a boy.

  And my plan, as always, is to be a good person and to give unto others and to act as selflessly toward the world as I possibly can.

  But my mother was right. In order to achieve all that, there’s really something I must do first.

  It’s the most selfless thing I can do.

  I need to put myself first.

  ROAD ONE: GRADUATION

  * * *

  16. WILEY OTIS

  * * *

  In detention that afternoon, I did what I’ve done ever
y day since spring break, since Nikki stopped showing up. I sat at a table by myself. I didn’t touch my homework. I doodled pictures of melted Nazis. I doodled orgy people from Eyes Wide Shut. I doodled Dustin Hoffman in his scuba suit, floating in the swimming pool, in that famous shot from The Graduate. I thought about my film festival with Nikki and how it ended. I wondered how she was doing. I waited for nothing to happen.

  Suddenly, the Bear.

  “Grgfff.”

  “Huh?”

  “Grgff, chughh,” the Bear said as she slammed a pink piece of paper onto the table. It was a call slip. Apparently I had to go meet with the vice principal.

  “Oh, should I—do you want me to—now?”

  “Chughh, Wiley. Chughh.”

  I wasn’t sure what to expect as I crossed campus from the library over to the office. Probably this was going to be a meeting about my grades. Maybe I was getting one last chance. More likely, I was getting no more chances. I was going to find out I have to repeat senior year. I was going to discover that I have no future at all. Not exactly a twist ending.

  So I walked into the office, where Ms. Fawcett was waiting for me. But when I got inside, I saw she wasn’t alone.

  It was like something out of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, like that part where the scary high priest dude goes “kali ma, kali ma, KALI MAAAAAA.”

  Because I felt my throbbing, pulsating heart get seized from my chest.

  “Hi, Wiley. Please take a seat. I called you in because I was recently reviewing the academic calendar, and it occurred to me that if we want to make any headway in raising your grades so that you can graduate, then the moment is now. I’d been mulling over what to do, when what do you know, into my office walks Allegra Rey. She informs me that the two of you haven’t been as close as usual lately, but she said what I was hoping she’d say, and what I’m sure you’re grateful to hear, which is that she wants to help you. So starting now, if you’ll put in the effort, Allegra is willing to tutor you in bio, math, and econ. And if you work at it every day, I think you have a genuine chance at improving your grades, enough to possibly—Wiley? What’s that? Please sit down. Wiley, come back. No, you may not leave this office. Come back, young man. Wiley. Wiley. Wiley—”

  • • •

  “Wiley, wait!”

  I kept my head down as I walked out of the office, down the hill, into the neighborhoods.

  “Wiley, come back! I’m trying to help!”

  All those times, whenever I did something that offended her even the teensiest bit, she’d storm off; she’d refuse to talk to me. Now she knew how it felt.

  “Wiley, listen. Please, listen—”

  All those months she was with Brian. Touching him. Loving him. Doing God knows what with him. All those years she was my best friend, and then it was over, just like that. The moment she met someone else. Right before I could make my move. Sure, whatever, she tried to talk to me about it. She shouted my name in the hallway. She joked around like we used to. She attempted to explain. But words are bullshit. Actions are what matter. She couldn’t have actually thought we’d still be friends, right? What did she expect, after she’d already made her choice? What did she expect now?

  “Would you mind waiting super-quick? I left a few of my belongings at school. We could go back for them, then walk home together, like old times.”

  I didn’t respond to that. As if old times ever meant anything to her. Screw her.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you just now, with the tutoring. I just want to help you, Wiley.”

  I made a huffing sound, sort of a snort, almost a cackle. I kept walking.

  “Look, you have every right to be cross, but surely you’ll admit, you haven’t been the most compassionate with me, either. The way you’ve shut me out. That’s not what friends do.”

  Seriously? That’s what she wanted to focus on? That was her way of breaking the ice after all that’s come between us, after half a year of silence?

  I turned onto our street. I picked up the pace.

  “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I picked Brian. I should have known that meant losing you.”

  Of course she was resorting to apology. Like she hasn’t done that a thousand million times before. Like it’s ever meant anything.

  “I forgot who I am. I lost myself. So many good and bad things happened to me, all simultaneously, and I didn’t know what to do. So I detached myself from my past. I cut you out. I didn’t want you reminding me of the person I’ve always been. I wanted to start anew.”

  She sounded out of breath. I glanced back at her. She was struggling. Her little legs really had to churn to keep up with mine. I eased up. I kept on walking, but I eased up.

  “I realize now I’ve made a catastrophic mistake. By losing you, I’ve lost a piece of myself. And that’s why I haven’t felt right these past many months. Of course it’s been stressful dealing with Mama, and with my college decision, but those things shouldn’t compel me to abandon you. They’re why I need you.”

  We pulled into view of our houses. There they were, side by side, just as they’ve been for so long.

  “I really, sincerely, want to help you with school. I want to help you, and I want you to help me. I want to be friends again. I want to be us again. I want . . . I want . . .”

  I finally came to a stop. I turned around. I stood facing her, in the place where we grew up, my oldest friend in the world.

  “I want to go to prom with you.”

  • • •

  I’d seen Nikki earlier that same day.

  It was lunchtime. I’d been searching for her. I was walking past the Greek and there she was, smack-dab in the middle of the bleachers, sitting all alone. I barely recognized her in the gray sweatshirt. She seemed like just another rando among hundreds of others.

  I tried to talk to her. I tried like I’ve done every other time I’ve seen her since break. “Nik,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  She pulled the hood up over her head.

  I hadn’t realized it at first, why she’d stopped coming to detentions. What I used to assume was that she’d been forced to go. Like, the administration made me attend detention for possessing drugs, so I figured maybe she’d had to do the same, as punishment for her sex tape.

  Then she stopped showing up, and it seemed like she hadn’t gotten in trouble at all. That’s when I realized, duh, of course the school never penalized her for a video from well over a year ago. And that’s when it hit me—the only reason she had ever come to the library in the first place was to be with me.

  What I had to know now was why she never came back.

  “I’m sorry,” I repeated. “I’m sorry.”

  Nikki peeked out through the hole in her hood. She narrowed her eyes at me. “Why,” she said, “are you sorry?”

  “I . . . ,” I said.

  I took a big breath in. I let it all out. “I’m just sorry, okay? That’s all I can say. I’m sorry.”

  Nikki shook her head. That was it. She pulled her messenger bag over her shoulder. She stood up and walked out of my world.

  As she left, she mumbled one final thing. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

  • • •

  Nikki was with me on my street this afternoon. I wanted it to be just Allegra and me, but Nikki was with me too.

  “Wiley,” Allie said, uttering words I’d been dreaming of for literally my entire life, “will you go to prom with me?”

  It was all I could do in that moment not to grab her hands with mine, not to kiss her right on the cheek, not to shout “hallelujah” to the entire universe.

  But I couldn’t get that image out of my head. That sad little picture, like one of my movie doodles. The poor girl with her hood up, all alone in the crowd.

  No one tried to help her until it was too late. She didn’t make a mistake. She never did anything wrong. But the world punished her regardless. It changed her. And now she’s all alone, on her own path. She won’t accept directio
ns from anybody else.

  I had to try to do the right thing.

  “Wait,” I said. “I’m not just a replacement, am I?”

  Allegra’s forehead furrowed. “What? Wiley, don’t you dare insinuate that you’re, that you’re some sort of rebound—”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t say ‘rebound.’ I said ‘replacement.’ ”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “I’m not talking about the past. You shouldn’t apologize for picking Brian. You had every right to do what you wanted in that moment. That’s none of my business. But when I ask if I’m a replacement, I mean . . . are you asking me to fill a certain role? Am I becoming some kind of obligation? Basically, I’m asking about your future.”

  Allegra looked lost. “What do you mean?”

  “What about Stanford?”

  Her eyes glazed over. “I didn’t ask you about Stanford, Wiley. I asked about prom.”

  I stood up a little straighter. “I’m not just an excuse, am I?”

  “What?”

  “Am I an excuse to stay home?”

  “What?”

  “You don’t have to hang around town, you know. You don’t have to give up on your dreams just to make sure I’m doing okay. Please don’t feel sorry for me.”

  Allie closed her mouth. She took her hair and tossed it over her shoulder. She stared me down. She stared me down hard.

  Then she held out her hands. Her perfect little hands. They were right there, right in front of me, like they’ve never been before.

  “Wiley,” she said quietly. “Do you want to fumble this thing at the one-yard line, or do you want to be my prom date?”

  * * *

  17. COLE MARTIN-HAMMER

  * * *

  I’m trying, man.

  I’m trying.

  Everywhere I go. Everyone I’ve wronged.

  I get it now. I do.

  The dreams I’ve demolished.

  The paths I’ve scorched.

  The friends I could have had.

  I own my sins. I must atone for them. Each and every one.