“I’m sorry,” Quinn said.
“Yeah.” He frowned at the ground. “Sorry doesn’t change anything.”
“I think it does. I think sorry is huge. I think saying it can change everything.”
If there was one thing Quinn had learned from the suckfest that was eighth grade, it was that. “I’m here because you said it … well, I’d be here anyway, but I wouldn’t be talking to you.”
Nick looked at her.
“The first time you messaged me,” Quinn said, “on Instagram.” She passed him the ball.
He passed it back.
“You apologized for being a jerk.” Pass.
Pass.
“You know how many people in my life need to apologize for being jerks?” Pass.
“How many?” Pass.
“Rhetorical question.” Pass.
“So?” Pass.
Now it was Quinn’s turn to frown. She wasn’t sure how much to say. Look, Nick, you’re not the only one who lost something. Stupid. Well, true, but cheesy. And it wasn’t like she was about to bare all in some act of solidarity, because that would be—
“Yo, Nicky.”
Quinn was so relieved to see Tommy Strout and his duct-taped car pull up beside them, she actually cried out, “Tommy!”
“Hey, Quinn.” That smile. “You want a ride?”
“Sure. Why not?”
Tommy hopped out of the car to help Nick in, just like last time. But this time Nick snapped, “I’ve got it.”
Quinn busied herself with her backpack. She knew Nick was struggling to open the door, to heave himself into the backseat. But she pretended not to notice. She pretended to scrape something sticky—gum?—off one of her skateboard wheels while Tommy lifted Nick’s chair into the trunk.
“Hey, Quinn,” Nick said, when they were both belted in and Tommy was pulling out of the parking lot.
“Yeah?”
“You sure you want to ride with my brother?”
How was she supposed to answer that? Obviously she wanted a ride. If she didn’t, why would she be in the car? “Yeah.”
“You know he likes to drink and drive, right?”
“Nicky,” Tommy said. Quinn could see his eyes in the rearview, right above the fuzzy dice.
“The faster the better.”
Quinn looked at Nick. He was smirking.
“Nicky,” Tommy said again, sharper this time.
“What?”
“How many times are we going to do this?”
“I don’t know, Tom. How long until my legs grow back?”
Nick’s words hung in the air like a bad smell.
“Sorry, Quinn,” Tommy said finally. “You shouldn’t have to listen to this.”
Quinn had no clue how to respond. I don’t mind? She did mind. I understand about family drama? About tense car rides? About brothers screwing up your life? All of this was true, but she wasn’t about to say it. So she said nothing.
Luckily, the ride from Gulls Head Beach to Gulls Head High School was less than a mile. In a matter of minutes, Tommy was pulling into the drop-off lane, and Quinn was getting out.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said, flinging her backpack over her shoulder, grabbing her skateboard, rolling her basketball onto her hip.
“Anytime,” Tommy said. He was opening the trunk, lifting Nick’s wheelchair out and onto the sidewalk.
When Quinn turned around, there were Ivy and Carmen and Lissa, standing on a patch of grass by the double doors. Three mouths gaping, three sets of eyes staring from Tommy to Quinn and back to Tommy.
Quinn waved. She tried to catch Nick’s eye, but he wouldn’t look at her. He was sliding out of the backseat, collapsing awkwardly into his chair.
“Sorry again,” Tommy said, taking a step toward Quinn, giving her arm a squeeze.
“It’s okay,” Quinn said.
“I have to go park.”
“Okay.”
Quinn watched Tommy pull away from the curb. She started to turn toward Nick again, but the girls were upon her.
Ivy had a weird look on her face, like she’d tasted something sour.
Lissa was hugging Quinn around the neck, her mouth so close to Quinn’s nose Quinn could smell her Juicy Fruit. “I am so happy for you.”
“He squeezed your arm,” Carmen said. “Tommy freaking Strout squeezed your arm.”
* * *
“He likes you, you know,” Carmen said in PE. “A boy doesn’t touch a girl unless he likes her.”
“He doesn’t like me,” Quinn said.
Lissa nodded. “Uh-huh. He does. We saw the whole thing.”
Quinn glanced at Ivy, who was wearing her sour-lemon face again.
“You didn’t see the whole thing,” Quinn explained quickly. “You weren’t in the car. Nick and Tommy were fighting. That’s why Tommy squeezed my arm. He was apologizing for their fight.”
“You don’t need to squeeze someone’s arm to apologize,” Ivy said.
“You squeeze someone’s arm,” Carmen said, “if you want to squeeze them somewhere else.”
Quinn laughed. “Right.”
“Please, Tommy,” Lissa whispered. “Squeeze me where I’ve nevah been squeezed before.”
Quinn punched Lissa lightly in the shoulder. “Shut up. It’s not like that.”
* * *
“You know what would be awesome?” Ivy said at lunch.
“What would be awesome?” Carmen said.
“If Quinn got us invited to a varsity football party this weekend.”
Quinn stopped peeling her banana. “How would I do that?”
“Two words,” Lissa said. “Tommy and Strout.”
“That’s three words,” Carmen said.
“No, it’s not.”
“You said, ‘Tommy and Strout.’ That’s three words.”
“You know what I meant.”
“Can we stay focused here?” Ivy said.
When all eyes were on Ivy, she lowered her voice and said, “The football team has a bye this weekend.”
“So?” Quinn said.
“So, whenever they don’t have a game, they have a party. According to my sources, Jason Osternek’s parents are going out of town this weekend.”
“Who’s Jason Osternek?” Quinn said.
“He’s a senior,” Carmen said. “He lives in the Strouts’ neighborhood.”
“He’s having a party Saturday night,” Ivy said, “and I thought, because of Quinn and Tommy’s arm-squeezing connection—”
“We do not have an arm-squeezing connection.”
Ivy sighed. “Did he or did he not squeeze your arm in front of school this morning?”
“He did, but—”
“You have an arm-squeezing connection. Deal with it.”
“We should all be so lucky,” Lissa said.
Quinn snorted. She took a bite of banana.
“So … what?” Carmen said. “You want Quinn to ask Tommy if we can come to the party?”
“Ding, ding, ding.” Ivy rang an imaginary bell.
Quinn swallowed her banana. “How am I supposed to ask Tommy if we can come to a party? I don’t even have his number.”
“Easy,” Ivy said. “Get it from Nick.”
“Nick?”
“You guys have study hall togethah, right? You’re buddies now?”
Maybe Quinn was imagining it, but Ivy sounded a little testy. “How do you know we have study hall together?”
Ivy shrugged, popping a few puffs of Pirate’s Booty into her mouth. “Nick tells me everything. We may have broken up, but he still texts me, like, all the time.”
“Well,” Quinn said, “I wouldn’t call us buddies exactly, but…”
Ivy rolled her eyes. “Just ask him for Tommy’s numbah.”
Quinn took a sip of milk. Was this some kind of test? If Ivy wanted Tommy’s number so bad, why didn’t she ask Nick herself?
“Not to sound lame,” Quinn said, “but I don�
��t think my parents will let me go to a party with no adult supervision.”
Carmen laughed. “None of our parents will let us go to a party with no adult supervision.”
“So…,” Quinn said.
“Two words,” Lissa said. “Sleep ovah.”
“That’s one word,” Carmen said.
“What are you, the word police?”
“I’m just messin’.” Carmen blew Lissa a kiss. “You know I love you.”
“Anyway,” Ivy said. She grabbed Quinn’s elbow. “You ask Nick for Tommy’s numbah. You text Tommy, say you heard there was a party in his neighborhood, can you come and bring a few friends—”
“Cute friends,” Carmen said.
“Cute friends,” Ivy said. “Obviously. Then, once Tommy says we can come, you tell your parents you’re sleeping ovah my house Saturday night. We eat snacks, watch movies, the whole nine, but as soon as my parents go to bed, we sneak out. Wicked easy.”
“Lemon squeezy,” Carmen said.
“Macaroni cheesy,” Lissa said.
Quinn shook her head. “You guys are weird.”
“So,” Ivy said. “Will you do it?”
“Yeah,” Quinn said. “Sure.”
* * *
Quinn was early to study hall. She’d skipped her usual witch hazel routine in the bathroom so she could snag the seat next to Nick’s. The bell hadn’t even rung yet. Everyone was milling around, dropping backpacks onto the floor, laughing, looking at each other’s phones.
After a minute or so, Nick rolled through the door.
“Hey,” Quinn said.
He lifted his chin. “Hey.”
He was trying to act cool, she could tell. Like the awkward car ride never happened.
“’Sup, dude,” Nick said, which Quinn thought was overkill, but then she realized he wasn’t talking to her. He was talking to someone behind her. A tall kid with bushy eyebrows and chapped lips.
“’Sup, Strout,” the kid said. He and Nick bumped fists.
They nodded at each other a few times before the kid turned to Quinn. “I’m Griff.”
“I’m Quinn.”
“I heard. Colorado girl.”
“Yeah.”
Griff pumped his arm in the air. “Broncos!”
“Right.”
“I’m a Pats fan myself. Like this guy here.” Griff cocked his chin at Nick. “This guy coulda been the next Tom Brady. We used to tear it up, me and him. Back in the day. Right, Strout?”
Nick nodded.
Griff licked his chapped lips.
The bell rang. They fist-bumped again, and Griff took off across the room to join some other kid in a football jersey. Nick looked like he’d shrunk six inches in his chair. The whole thing made Quinn’s stomach hurt.
“Hey,” she said to Nick, keeping her voice low even though everyone in the room had put in their earbuds. “Sometimes people just don’t know what to say.”
“What?”
She leaned in closer. “Sometimes people just don’t know what to say, so they say weird things. They make an awkward situation even more awkward, but it’s not like they mean to. They just can’t think of anything else to do.”
“Right,” Nick muttered. “Like you would know.”
Quinn thought about Paige and Tara and how, when her hair first started falling out, they pretended like they didn’t notice, but then stupid comments would slip out of their mouths, like the time Paige told Quinn that her dog, Moose, got glue in his fur and had to have it shaved off, and then she’d looked at Quinn, all horrified, and said, Ohmygod, I am so sorry.
“I do know, actually,” Quinn said.
“How?”
Quinn’s brain scrambled around until it came up with an answer that wasn’t about her hair. “My brother has autism,” she said. This was how her mom had taught her to say it. My brother has autism, not My brother’s autistic. Because, as Mo loved to say, Julius is not defined by any one thing. He has many unique qualities.
“The brother who’s obsessed with Guinness World Records?”
“Yeah.”
“There was an autistic kid in my class once,” Nick said. “Second grade. He used to flap his hands.”
“Julius does that sometimes. He kicks, too. It looks like he’s dancing.”
“Huh.”
“He can’t help it. That’s just how his brain works. Most people don’t understand. They have this picture in their head of what autism looks like. But my brother isn’t … they call it a spectrum for a reason, you know? He doesn’t fall into any one category. He’s just … Julius. Sometimes, when we’re out in public, people stare, or they make stupid comments. But it’s not like they’re trying to be mean. They just don’t know how to act around him, you know?”
“Yeah,” Nick said. “I think someone’s trying to get your attention.”
“What?”
He pointed to the door. Ivy’s crazy ponytail appeared in the window, then disappeared, then appeared again. When Ivy caught Quinn’s eye, she brought her hand to her ear, phone style.
“She wants you to call her,” Nick said.
“No, she doesn’t,” Quinn said. “She wants me to ask you for Tommy’s number.”
“Why?”
Quinn shook her head. She felt dumb doing this, but she leaned in close to Nick and lowered her voice. “According to Ivy’s sources”—she paused, scratching quote marks in the air with her fingers—“some kid named Jason is having a party this weekend? A football thing? His parents are going out of town?”
Nick gave Quinn a blank look.
“Anyway, if that’s true, Ivy wants to come, and she thinks Tommy can get us invited.”
“She’s using you,” Nick said.
“What?”
“Ivy’s using you to go to a football party.”
Quinn shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Trust me,” Nick said. “She used to show up at my house after the accident. With Slurpees and Jolly Ranchers and whatever. She’d act like she was all concerned about me. And then, two seconds later, she’d be all, ‘Where’s your brother? Are his friends over?’”
“Maybe she felt awkward.”
“Why would she feel awkward? She was my girlfriend.”
“I don’t know.” How would Quinn have acted if Nick had been her boyfriend? If he had come home from the hospital with no legs, behaving like a different person? “Can I ask you something?” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Was Ivy jealous?”
“What?”
“When you guys were going out. Was she jealous of you and other girls?”
“There were no other girls. If anything, I’m the one who should have been jealous. She was always drooling over Tommy and his friends.”
Quinn nodded. “Right.”
“I’m not giving you his number so you can become one of his little groupies.”
“Fine,” Quinn said. “Forget I said anything.”
“If you want to go on Saturday night, just go. You don’t need Tommy’s permission.”
“Really? We can just show up at some senior’s house?”
Nick gave Quinn a funny look. “You’re freshman girls. No one’s going to turn you away.”
CHAPTER
10
FuzzyWuzzy: Question. I’m going to a sleepover tonight where no one knows I am AAT. Can I sleep in my wig?
WigginOut: I have done it. Just be prepared u will have to brush all the tangles out in the AM otherwise u will be all matted and frizzed and it will be impossible to get them out later.
TheEyebrowsHaveIt: Agree. U will find the wig does flatten out and u will have to brush to keep looking good.
BaldFacedTruth: Even better if u sleep in a different wig than the one u wore during the day. If u have an older one that needs to b replaced soon u can wear that to bed.
T’sallGood: If ur going to use ur wig for sleeping make sure u wash and condition at least once a week and remove any
loose hairs and rinse the inside of the cap really well b/c shampoo buildup can make ur scalp crazy itchy.
HairlessWonder: I have not tried but have heard that the fibers break down faster. But I’m sure doing it once is no big deal. U can also use a cotton liner underneath for sleeping. Super soft and stops the buildup of oils from the scalp on the inside of the cap. I recommend the 100% cotton wig cap from headcovers unlimited but if u need something fast walmart has them too, not cotton but ok in a pinch. Good luck!
TheNewNormal: Also recommend a satin pillowcase so u don’t wake up w/ major wig head. Otherwise no problem. Throw on a little extra tape and i think you will be fine and no one has to know. Don’t worry and Have Fun Fuzz!
T’sallGood: Good luck tonite!
BaldFacedTruth: Sleep tight ☺.
WigginOut: Have a ball!
That was the funny thing about alopeciasucks.com. Everyone was so enthusiastic and helpful, you almost forgot they were a bunch of fellow baldies, hunched over their computers and scratching their scalps. You were so busy picturing them as flight attendants, smiling and passing out brushes.
Thanks for the tips, Quinn wrote back. I’ll keep u posted.
* * *
“Tell me about Ivy,” Quinn’s dad said. They were in the car on their way to Ivy’s house. Quinn had a sleeping bag in her lap, a new satin pillowcase in her backpack, and extra wig tape stuffed into a roll of socks.
“She’s funny,” Quinn said.
“Funny ha-ha or funny strange?”
“I don’t know. Both.”
“And your Hispanic friend? I forget her name…”
“Carmen, Dad. And she’s not Hispanic. She’s Dominican.”
“Ah. Dominican.” Quinn’s dad said Dominican with a Spanish accent, which was horrifying.
“Please don’t talk like that when you meet her,” Quinn said. “And don’t say salve to Mrs. D’Arcy, either.”
“No Latin?” Quinn’s dad looked disappointed.
“No Latin.”
* * *
Ivy’s mom greeted Quinn and her dad at the door. She wasn’t much taller than Ivy, and she wore her hair in two bushy ponytails, which made her look like either a really old toddler or a really young forty-year-old.
“You must be Quinn!” She came in for an unexpected hug. “I’ve heard so much about you!”
How We Roll Page 7