Shake It Off

by Suzanne Nelson

  “I can’t get over how dark it is,” I said. “In Chicago, there are lights twenty-four seven. The city’s so bright you can’t ever see stars.”

  “No stars,” Gabe said. “Sounds awful.”

  “It’s actually beautiful,” I said, thinking of home. “Like there are stars inside the skyscrapers. And there kind of are, if you think about it. Dozens of families sitting down to dinner in an apartment building, hundreds of people working inside an office building, thousands of people living all in one square city block.”

  I’d forgotten for a second who I was talking to, and I glanced at Gabe now, my cheeks heating with embarrassment. He’d paused in rowing and was staring at me, an indiscernible expression on his face. Then he blinked, cleared his throat, and took up rowing again.

  “All man-made.” I could hear his distaste in his voice. “The skyscrapers, the lights. Not an ounce of nature to any of it.”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s not beautiful,” I said defensively.

  He looked at the sky over our heads. “To me, that’s beautiful.” I followed his gaze, and for the first time, saw what I hadn’t before. Lacy spirals of stars splashed across the sky. I’d never seen so many stars all at once, and shining so brightly.

  “It is,” I admitted softly. “Too bad you have to be in the boring boondocks to see it.”

  I felt, more than saw, him stiffen at that.

  Beside us came a sudden splash, and I jumped.

  “Just the fish biting,” Gabe said, seeming happy to change the subject. He tucked the oars into the boat and surveyed the pond’s surface. “This is a good spot for casting.” He nodded to the pole at my feet, and a lidded Styrofoam cup of bait. “I’ll bait the hook for you.” He reached for the pole, already running on the assumption that I was clueless.

  “No, I’ve got it,” I said quickly, overcome with the urge to prove that I didn’t need his help. My parents had taken me fishing at the Riverwalk once when I was eight, but I hadn’t caught anything. Still, I did remember how to bait a hook (or, I thought I remembered, at least).

  I grabbed the bait cup and pried off the lid. I peered inside, expecting to find the usual dirt and pink, wriggling worms. Instead, I found a mass of sluggish black …

  “Leeches!” I screamed, and, without thinking, leapt up, dumping the cup’s contents into my lap. Leeches spilled onto my pants and shirt, and I screamed again. “Get them off, get them off!” I hopped from one foot to the other, swiping at the leeches all over me, as the boat swayed precariously.

  Faintly, I heard Wren and Luke calling to me from their boat, urging me to calm down, but I was too far gone for reason.

  “Bria, sit down,” Gabe warned, holding up his hands. “The boat’s going to—”

  The boat didn’t tip, but I did. Right over the side of the boat and into the water, belly flopping with a resounding splash! Even though it was summer, the water was startlingly cold, and I came up spluttering and breathless, wiping water and pond grass from my eyes.

  “Are you okay?” Wren’s voice came through the darkness, but with it came Luke’s stifled giggles, followed by the sound of a smack on the arm that cut him off.

  I was surprised, with as much heated anger as I felt in that moment, that the water around me wasn’t boiling.

  Gabe was leaning over the side of the boat, his hand extended toward me. “Give me your hand.” Even in the dim light, I could see the glint of merriment on his face. He thought this was funny!

  “No. Way.” I clenched my teeth as I treaded water. “You did that on purpose! You could’ve warned me, at least! Who uses leeches for bait? Who does that?”

  He laughed. “Bria, you said you wanted to bait the hook—”

  “I didn’t know!” I whirled in the water and swam as fast as I could toward shore. With adrenaline and anger fueling me, it only took a minute before I was straggling from the pond, dripping wet and shivering. Gabe was seconds behind me in the boat.

  He’d been rowing beside me the entire time, I realized, but I’d been too furious to notice.

  I glared at him. “How could you do that to me?” I seethed. “As if today hasn’t been bad enough, you have to make me feel like a total idiot, too?”

  “Bria,” he said softly. “Come on. Nobody saw except us and the fish. And, you have to admit, it’s pretty funny.”

  “Funny?!” I jabbed a finger into his chest. “I’m not here for your entertainment. I’m not some … some joke!”

  I stared into his eyes, waiting for him to yell back. Waiting for him to tell me how stuck-up and spoiled I was, how ludicrous with my city-girl shrieking and desperate pasture-texting.

  Instead, he just stood there, holding out a towel toward me.

  His refusal to engage was even more aggravating than anything he could’ve said.

  “Bria.” Wren was climbing out of the other boat, hurrying over, but I was done. I was done with all of them.

  “I’m going.” I snatched the towel from Gabe’s hand. “And no, I don’t need help. I can find my way back just fine.”

  I flipped over in bed for the hundredth time and curled the pillow around my ears to try to mute the deafening hum of crickets. It didn’t work. Even though I’d taken a very long bath and freed myself of all green pond scum and made sure no leeches had followed me indoors, I couldn’t stop imagining the look on Gabe’s face, the unchecked amusement in his eyes.

  I sat up and threw off the covers, then tiptoed past Wren’s sleeping form and downstairs to the family room. The computer was still on, displaying its screensaver photo montage of family pictures.

  I sat down just as a photo of me slid by. I was around five, and the very same pond I’d floundered in tonight was behind me, sparkling in the sun. I was holding up my splayed, mud-covered hands to the camera, grinning happily, splattered head to toe in mud.

  I didn’t remember posing for that photo, or there ever being a time when I was that muddy. I’d liked it, too! An inexplicable sadness swept over me, and for a fleeting second, I almost wished I could go back to the version of me in that photo. As quickly as it had come, I shook the thought away. No. I didn’t want to go back to that. I was a new me now, a better me.

  I clicked the mouse, hoping beyond hope that the internet would actually be working, despite the finicky Wi-Fi. I let out a breath as the search engine flickered to life.

  I pulled up my email, watching anxiously as my inbox loaded. There’d be something from Leila, I was sure. But, instead of an email from Leila, there was one from—shocker—Jane. I winced at the sight of her name, unsure whether I should open it or not. Maybe it would be the confrontation I’d been waiting for, the “I know what you did” note that blamed me for everything. But when I opened it, the email read:

  Hey Bria,

  I know we haven’t talked much lately, but your mom called my mom and asked if I would send you a note. I’m not sure why. She said something about you being away for the summer and how you’d like to hear from me. I don’t think that’s true, but you know how my mom gets about stuff like this. She logs into my email every once in a while to make sure I’m using it “appropriately,” blah blah blah. If she sees I didn’t email you, I’ll get the whole lecture about friendship and responsibility …

  I laughed when I read that, knowing how true it was. I kept reading.

  Anyway … hi. Hope you’re having a nice summer.

  Jane

  My heart squeezed tight as I reread the email. I thought I’d be relieved that she hadn’t written “I miss you,” or “Why don’t we hang out anymore?” but the clamminess in my chest didn’t feel like relief. It felt like regret.

  I shut down the computer. I didn’t want to think about the fact that Jane had emailed me, or the fact that Leila hadn’t.

  I wanted … I wanted … My spirits lifted a smidge. All I wanted was a Sip & Shake milkshake—a taste of the city I missed. Shakes weren’t as complicated as friendships. They didn’t need apologies or emails to work. Plus, t
he one I’d made Mr. Lester had looked so good, and I hadn’t gotten a chance to taste it.

  I made my way to the kitchen, checking the wall clock. It was close to midnight. Using the blender would be loud and might wake everyone up. But I could shut the doors to the kitchen to keep the noise down. It would be quiet enough.

  Peeking into the freezer, my heart bolstered at the sight of gallons of Dawson’s Creamery Homemade Ice Cream. There were only the tried-and-true predictable flavors, of course: vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry. But a quick search through the kitchen pantry revealed a stash of mini candy bars, a bag of marshmallows, a box of graham crackers, and bars of chocolate. Even better, there were some fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies left over from dinner.

  I lined up all the ingredients for a gourmet shake on the counter beside the blender. My shake for Mr. Lester had just been a warm-up; I knew I could accessorize even better now, just how I always did with my fave outfits. Wasn’t I always telling Leila that the simplest pair of pants could be fabulous with a sparkly belt or eye-popping shoes? All I needed to make a shake as glamouriffic as the ones at Sip & Shake was a little flair here and there.

  Starting with the base, I scooped four big scoops of vanilla ice cream into the blender, then splashed in some milk. I surveyed the array of candy bars, cookies, and chocolate before me, and decided on tossing in four mini Heath bars and two Twix. Then, making sure the kitchen doors were shut, I turned on the blender. It revved to life and the mixture swirled before my eyes, checkered with bits of Heath and Twix. Already, it looked delicious. I stopped the blender and poured the thick shake into a mason jar, taste testing with my finger as I poured. YUM. It was almost there, but not quite.

  I stuck three straws into the shake. I skewered one whole Twix bar onto one straw and three marshmallows onto the other. Still, it needed the finishing touch. I squirted a hefty mountain of Reddi-wip on top of the milkshake, then set one of Aunt Beth’s chocolate chip cookies on top. I smiled. Perfection.

  I sat down at the kitchen table with the shake and took a long, much-needed sip. It tasted even better than it looked, the Heath and Twix mixing into a nutty, caramel flavor that was satisfying and sweet. I was about to dip the cookie into the shake when, suddenly, the door to the kitchen swung open, and Wren’s sleepy-eyed, pillow-creased face appeared.

  “What are you doing?” She rubbed her eyes grumpily, then stared at the candy wrappers and drips of ice cream and milk strewn across the kitchen counter. “Are you crazy? What is that?” She jabbed an accusatory finger at my shake.

  “It’s …” I sat back, trying to think of a fittingly outlandish name for my shake, like the ones back home. “It’s a Twixie Tornado.”

  She sank into one of the chairs. “Didn’t the shake you made for Mr. Lester teach you anything?” she asked, studying my shake. But she didn’t look put off by it. In fact, now that her eyes were open all the way, she looked kind of … hungry.

  “Nobody actually tasted my shake this afternoon. This is how we do them in Chicago,” I said. “A little less boring.”

  She raised her eyebrow at me. “Do you think you could drop your attitude for five seconds?”

  “I don’t know,” I countered. “Could you drop yours?”

  “Mine?” Her tone was incredulous. “I’m not the one who’s above working. You stuck me with bathroom cleanup today, plus everything else.” She locked eyes with me. “It’s not fair, what you’re doing. It’s only stressing Mom and Dad out, and they don’t need any more stress.”

  “Right, ’cause milking cows is really stressful.” As soon as the words left my mouth, an arrow of guilt pierced my heart. Wren’s head jerked back as if she’d been slapped. “I’m sorry,” I blurted. “I didn’t mean—”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she snapped. “You think what we do is just for fun?” She glared at me until I couldn’t take it and hung my head.

  “No,” I said quietly. “I don’t think that. I saw how hard you worked today. I don’t know what made me say that. I really am sorry.”

  “You don’t know a thing about our lives, or what we’re going through right now.” Her angry tone sank into sadness, and she suddenly looked so glum, I had to at least try to ask her about it.

  “Do you mean the CheeseCo thing?”

  She sighed. “If they buy our farm, we’ll have to move.”

  “To someplace else in Tillman?”

  She shook her head. “Mom says she’d want us to live closer to you guys.”

  “To us?” My voice betrayed my disbelief. “But you don’t even like visiting us in the city!”

  “Tell me about it,” she mumbled. “It would suck beyond imagining. I don’t ever want to leave the farm. I love it.” She looked up at me. “I want to run it someday.”

  I opened my mouth, about to tell her she couldn’t possibly know what she wanted to do when she was grown-up already. But the unwavering determination in her eyes stopped me. She meant every word of what she’d just said.

  Both of us sat in silence as my shake began to melt and the cookie on top started to get soggy. Some of the anger I’d felt all day was leaking out of me, and I thought from Wren’s sagging shoulders that hers was, too. With a sigh, I pushed the shake closer to her and handed her a spoon. “Want to try some?”

  She weighed her options for a second, and I imagined her trying to decide whether or not we’d both survive the summer if we kept up like this. Ultimately, she accepted my peace offering and took a tentative bite.

  “It’s good.”

  I laughed. “You don’t have to sound so shocked.”

  “Ha!” Her short laugh came then, and she took a second bite as I leaned in to sip some of the shake through the straw. The coolness of it seemed to work some kind of magic, extinguishing the last remnants of our irritation.

  “Why did you even come here if you hate it so much?” Wren asked.

  “I didn’t have a choice.” I slumped back against my chair. “Mom and Dad made me come.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like as punishment.” I fidgeted with the straw in the shake. “I’m friends with someone they don’t like. I think they hope that being here will change my mind about her.”

  Wren broke off a piece of the cookie and dunked it into the shake. “Why don’t they like her?”

  I swallowed, unease sweeping over me. I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk about this. Even thinking about it made a cold fish of nervousness flip-flop in my stomach. On the other hand, it would be nice—comforting even—if Wren saw things from my point of view. Just for a moment.

  “Leila got into trouble a couple of months ago,” I said slowly. “She got an in-school suspension. She has her own YouTube channel; she posts critiques of people’s clothes at our school. She took pics of some kids’ outfits to use in her video. She didn’t post faces or names, but everybody knew who they were anyway.”

  Wren snorted. “I bet she would’ve had a blast with my wardrobe.”

  “Oh, she would’ve,” I said before I could stop myself. I glanced at her guiltily. “Sorry.”

  She shrugged. “I know I’m fashion-challenged. I couldn’t care less.” But there was the tiniest hitch in her voice that made me wonder if that was really true. “So then what happened?”

  My pulse quickened. “I wasn’t in the video and I didn’t film it. But …” I rubbed my damp hands on my pajama pants. “I helped Leila come up with the outfits she talked about. I didn’t know she was going to use them in a video. We were just hanging out one day after school and she said, ‘Hey, what are some of the worst outfits you’ve seen so far this year?’”

  “So you gave her some ideas,” Wren said.

  I nodded, deciding not to tell Wren the part about how I included my former best friend’s outfits in the list we made. That I was the one who’d pointed out Jane’s latest tacky, colorful getup that had made it into the video. Even now, I didn’t like to think about it. “Anyway,” I said, “Leila t
old her parents that I’d been involved, and they told my parents and …” I shrugged. “Bottom line is that they don’t want me spending time with her.”

  “I can’t believe she ratted you out to her parents,” Wren said, “or that she’d post something like that in the first place. Seems really mean to me.”

  “But she’s not,” I insisted. “She’s … she’s the sort of person who makes everything look so effortless. And she’s so confident.”

  “How confident can she be if she’s making fun of other people?”

  I frowned. “She did something stupid. But she’s not a bad person. She’s always letting me put together outfits for her, and she says I have an amazing fashion sense.”

  “Letting you?” Wren raised an eyebrow. “What are you, her personal dresser?”

  “It’s not like that.” I bristled. “I’ve always loved mixing and matching outfits. I do it for her because I want to.”

  “Those earrings you had on today were cool,” Wren admitted. “Not that I could ever pull them off, but—”

  “You totally could!” I said excitedly. “Omigod, you could wear them with this purple maxi dress I have, and—”

  “Uh-uh.” Wren shook her head. “Save your extreme makeovers for Leila. As long as she’s not just using you.” I squirmed uncomfortably, and Wren picked up on it. “I mean, I don’t know her. She’s not my friend. She’s yours.”

  I nodded, relieved that I wasn’t going to get yet another lecture from someone about choosing friends wisely. I’d heard enough of that from Mom and Dad lately.

  “Is it really so awful,” Wren asked quietly, “being here?”

  “It’s not me,” I said simply.

  She shook her head. “You’re so different now.”

  “You say it like it’s a bad thing,” I said, feeling some of my defensiveness return. “Why does everyone think that it’s so terrible? What if I want to be different?”

  “I liked who you were before,” she said quietly.