Ari: is it okay if we just do the spicy chip just us
Ari: I know we said we’d invite all the lunch table girls but I don’t feel like having a whole party 4 it
Ari: is that ok
Me: um, I guess
Ari: r u mad
Me: no
I spend the rest of the school week having an internal debate about if I’m starting to take my frustrations about my dad getting married out on Ari with the Jason thing. I think I may be a little bit, but not entirely.
I still think it’s weird that she’d want to go out with him, given my history with the boy. To be honest, I thought they’d be over by now. But it’s spring and they’re still going strong.
It seems like I’m never totally feeling one way about anything. I’m always half and half—like swirl soft serve, but in this case an unappealing variety. I’m basically half pickle, half smoked-salmon soft serve right now.
Also, I’m kind of surprised Ari doesn’t want to invite the lunch table girls to come over when we eat the spicy chip like we’d planned on. It’s totally a the-more-the-merrier kind of thing. But I guess she never really wants to do anything with them, except eat lunch at school.
Cami never calls me to hang out one-on-one anymore. We see each other at lunch, and the whole group of us has hung out a few times since the trip, but that’s it. Something happened between us at that fancy resort and I don’t think it’ll ever go back to the way it was. I’m okay with that, though.
The silver lining to all of this is that my forms are in for Laurel Lake. And each week they send a different video highlighting stuff that happens during the summer. This week’s was when a group from a famous improv troupe came to camp last year, and different campers were called up to participate.
Ari’s sleeping over tonight and then we’re starting our race training tomorrow morning. We’re saving the spicy chip for another time. We can’t do everything all at once.
I’m glad Amirah’s doing the race with us and not just because I think it’s super cool she’s going to run a race in a hijab. I’m also glad because it means we’ve become more inclusive about our lists. And even though that wasn’t a list item, it may as well have been.
It can’t always be Ari and Kaylan.
I’m glad Ari was the one who asked Amirah to run with us; at least she likes someone at the table other than me.
I get downstairs for breakfast on Saturday morning and find my mom at the kitchen table, researching something on her laptop. I’m not totally sure what’s going on with her and Robert Irwin Krieger these days. I don’t think they talk as much as they used to, but maybe I haven’t been paying close attention.
“Morning,” I say, pulling one of the wooden kitchen chairs away from the table and sitting down. I wait for my mom to ask me what I want for breakfast but she barely looks up.
I look over at her, and get a sudden pang of the deepest sadness I may have ever felt in my whole life. She doesn’t even notice me staring at her, but I look away because the pain is too great.
I don’t know why this was such a slow-moving realization. It just didn’t hit me at first, and now it’s hitting hard—a boulder to my head.
My dad gets to just pick up and marry someone new, while my mom is forced to accept it. I don’t even think that’s fair. My mom didn’t want the divorce, my mom didn’t want him to leave, and my mom definitely doesn’t want him marrying a different person.
I picture her the way she always looks on Christmas morning, getting all dressed up, wearing her pearls even though she cooks all day. I imagine the way she dabs little drops of perfume behind her ears and on her wrists.
I know she’s been trying her hardest to be calm about it for Ryan and me, but deep down I think she’s really hurting. No one plans to get divorced. On someone’s wedding day, they’re not imagining that it will just end and the whole thing will be pointless.
I don’t understand how my dad just gets to do whatever he wants, and we’re stuck dealing with it.
He can have his new Arizona lady-wife, but he’s not going to have me.
I run upstairs to my computer.
Dear Dad,
Thanks for helping to pay for comedy camp. I really appreciate it. I’ll pay you back when I’m famous. I’m sorry but I can’t go to your wedding. I am still hurting so much from when you left. I miss you. I wish you were still here. I hope you can understand.
Love, Kaylan
“Kay, want cheesy scrambled eggs?” my mom asks when I get back down to the kitchen.
“Yeah, sounds great,” I reply, feeling a sense of relief that I was honest with my dad. Be Me. Truly. “I told you Ari is sleeping over tonight, right?”
“Yup.”
She goes to the fridge and gets out the eggs and the milk and the cheese, salt and pepper from the pantry. She puts a few pieces of bread in the toaster, scrambles the eggs, adding the cheddar cheese at the last minute, and voilà, I have the breakfast of a queen.
“Thanks, Mom.” I smile.
She sits down at the table with me, does one more thing on her laptop, and then closes it.
“Ryan and I are planning to have the basement cleaned out within the next few weeks,” I tell her. “And then Mrs. Etisof can start painting.”
She slow-nods. “Okay.” The way she says that, it sorta seems like she doesn’t care all that much, but I decide not to dwell on it. I guess a basement mural isn’t as exciting for her as it is for me.
I finish breakfast and then read on the couch for a few hours and before I know it, Ari comes over, looking all gloomy.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her once we’re up in my room.
She sighs, and hesitates before answering. “Ugh. Bub. She’s not doing great.”
When Ari’s upset, she always talks in short sentences.
“How? In what way? What do you mean?” I ask.
“It seems unlikely she’ll walk again,” Ari explains. “I don’t even know what’s happening. I thought, like, once she got home from the hospital she’d bounce back. But it doesn’t seem like she’s bouncing.”
“Well, she doesn’t have to bounce. She could just slowly move in the right direction.” I pause. “Y’know?”
Ari nods. “Yeah, but that’s not happening. It seems like she gets worse each time I see her.”
I scratch the top of my head, sort of hoping that will give me an idea of what to say back to Ari. Nothing seems right. My mind is blank.
“That doesn’t mean she’ll never get better,” I say finally. “I mean, just because it’s going in one direction doesn’t mean it’ll always go in that direction.”
“I guess.” Ari shrugs. “Anyway, it just feels depressing.”
“I get that. What can we do to cheer ourselves up? We need something good.”
“I don’t know.” Ari sighs. “Listen, though, I feel like we need to have a conference about something on the list. We have barely discussed this one item in depth; it just sort of pops in and out and it’s been bugging me. Like, gnawing away at my mind.”
“Um, okay. Which one?” I ask.
Ari gets up to make sure my door is closed, and my stomach starts to rumble, thinking this conversation is going in a super-awkward direction.
“The Be Me thing,” she whispers.
I laugh a little. “Wait, why are you whispering?”
She cracks up. “I have no idea. It just seemed like one of the most kinda personal things on the list and I didn’t want Ryan to hear.”
“It’s not that personal,” I tell her.
“Anyway, Be Me. So, like, I thought I was ‘being me’ with the whole Jason thing and stuff, but it kinda seems like it was a bad idea. I’ve been trying to be more open about what I want to do and what I don’t, in terms of our lunch table crew and stuff.” She pauses. “But it’s not so easy. Because everyone has opinions.”
I nod. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I finally told my dad I’m not going to his wedding. I mean, I emailed him, but
it was super hard to do. I don’t think it’s supposed to be easy.”
“Yes it is,” Ari disagrees. “Being yourself should be the easiest thing in the world because you’re literally, like, being yourself.”
I throw myself back on the bed, feeling a headache coming on. “No, that’s why it’s hard, because you’re doing things that may be unpopular in an effort to be yourself. So it’s not easy. For example, the Jason thing. You’re doing it because it feels right, but that doesn’t mean everyone’s just gonna love it just because it feels right to you.”
“Yeah,” Ari replies. “That’s true. So then why do people say ‘just be yourself’ like it’s the easiest thing ever? It’s totally not.”
“No idea. But of course it’s not the easiest thing ever. That’s why we put it on the list.”
Ari shakes her head and flops over onto her stomach, burying her face in my stack of pillows. “This is giving me a headache.”
“Ari,” I say. “Just because you’re doing what feels right to you, you think everyone automatically has to like it. That’s not true.”
“So what about your dad then?” Ari asks. “He’s being him, or whatever. He feels like he’s being me, with his decisions.”
I’m quiet after that because it feels like I just got hit in the stomach during a violent game of dodgeball.
“That’s different,” I tell her, curling up on my window seat. “Totally different. Because he has a family and people who depend on him and rely on him and he made commitments and then broke them. Totally different.” I feel myself getting all fired up, so I take some deep breaths to calm down.
“Okay, I’m just debating this with you.” Ari defends herself.
“Well, that was way harsh. Don’t bring my dumb dad into this. We’re talking about teenagers here, not, like, grown adults who should know better.” I sniffle a little but force myself not to cry. I’m not letting my dad make me cry. He’s already done that enough.
We’re quiet for a few moments and then I say, “Also, it’s important to Be Me, especially when it’s not popular for a big group. This is cheesy, but what about when someone stands up for someone being bullied? Or fights injustice and stuff? That’s Be Me, too.”
“Maybe we need to make a list of all the things that can fall under Be Me,” Ari suggests. “Hey, I have an idea. Something that will def cheer us up! I’m craving garlic bread with cheese. Want to see if your mom can drive us to Mario’s and we can make our list and eat a thousand loaves of garlic bread at the same time?”
“I could go for that,” I reply. “But only if we can go out for ice cream after. I just realized I’m super hungry.”
“I am too,” Ari says. “But I think we’re onto something with this Be Me thing. Do you feel like you’ve been doing it?”
I think a minute. “Um, kind of. Especially with the email to my dad. But also, I didn’t just give in to what Cami wanted. Basically she wants me to commit to being her BFF one hundred percent and she wants me to be super mad at you for the Jason thing. And let’s see, what else? I don’t know. Also, I think I’ve been open with you about how I’m feeling. So that’s Be Me, too.”
Ari nods. “I feel like it’s something bigger, though,” she says as we walk down the stairs.
“Mom,” I call out. “Can you drive us to Mario’s, please?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Mom! Where are you?”
“Sheesh, Kaylan. Chill. She’s in the basement doing laundry,” Ryan yells from the den, shouting over the beeping sounds from his video game.
“Ryan, shut up. I’m not even talking to you.” I roll my eyes at him, even though he can’t see me.
A few seconds later, my mom comes up the stairs from the basement carrying an overflowing laundry basket, and I get that sadness pang again, especially seeing how tired and worn-out she looks.
“Let me take that for you.” I grab the basket. “I’ll run this upstairs, okay?”
She nods, looking slightly confused. “Kaylan and Ryan, this basement still needs tons of work. You know this, yes?”
“Yes,” I yell from upstairs.
Ryan doesn’t respond. His version of Be Me is basically just Be Only About Me, and that’s a totally different thing.
We’re quiet on the drive over to Mario’s. The air in the car feels thick with everyone’s swirling thoughts.
When we get there, we sit at the best table in the whole place—the little booth for two in one of the front windows. The waitress brings us cups of water and then we order garlic bread with cheese, two root beers, and an order of mozzarella sticks.
“I’m starving,” I say. “I feel like I could eat every single thing on the menu.”
“Me, too.” Ari nods. “So Be Me. The thing is, it’s more than just the two of us. I mean, who suggested it when we were first making the list with our friends? I can’t remember.”
“Me neither,” I add. “Oops. But anyway, go on.”
“So it goes beyond just us. It’s also, kind of like a battle cry of teenagehood.”
I crack up. “Ari! You sound like some kind of preacher. Are you becoming a rabbi or something right now?”
She shakes her head. “Maybe. Who knows. Anyway, though, hear me out. We’re all trying to figure ourselves out all the time, while also trying to fit in. It’s like we’re trying to do so many things all at once. It came to me the other night when I couldn’t fall asleep because I was worrying about Bubbie. Our movement.”
“Yeah?” I ask, a little confused. “What about it?”
“Our movement is Be Me. It’s not just about you and me being ourselves. But take Cami, for example—she’s all over the place because she’s always trying to be something. It’s like she has some kind of hidden plan of the person she wants to be, but she could just be herself, and then it would all come together.”
I pause and think a minute, looking to the back of the restaurant, hoping that our garlic bread comes soon. When Ari mentioned it, I started salivating right away. Nothing in the world (except for maybe sushi at Hibino) can compare to the garlic bread with mozzarella at Mario’s.
“So what do you think?” Ari asks me. She takes a sip of root beer.
“It sounds amazing,” I say. “I think it can definitely be our movement. But how do we make it a movement?”
Ari shrugs. “No clue. We put start a movement on the list without any idea how to really do it.”
“Sounds like us.” I burst out laughing.
A few minutes later, our garlic bread arrives and we tear into it, still discussing the Be Me thing.
“Oooh,” I say. “Maybe we can hang posters at school that say Be Me and we can have people’s photos, just of them looking natural and stuff?”
“Yes!” Ari screams. “Maybe it’s a hashtag! Like #BeMe! And we write that everywhere!”
I finish chewing my piece of garlic bread. “I think we’ll need to get the administration involved.”
Ari rips off another piece. “Yeah, so? We can do that.”
“I’m in.” I grab a mozzarella stick off the plate. “Look, we learned to unicycle. We can so do this, too.”
“We are doing it,” Ari adds.
34
ARI
KAYLAN FINDS A WAY TO bring up the Jason thing at least once an hour. I’m not counting exactly but I’m keeping track enough to notice. It’s not bugging me that much, though. And the weird thing is that it’s not really taking away from our fun at this sleepover. She just sort of mentions it, I reply, and then we move on.
Maybe that means we’re growing up. Like we don’t dwell on stuff as much as we used to, or something. Hard to say.
“I never showed you this,” Kaylan says. “I meant to take a picture and text it to you, but then I forgot.” She hands me a square-shaped airline napkin, and I read it over.
Dear Ari, I’m writing you on the back of this airplane napkin to solidify our thing about God on the list. I don’t know if you’ll ever see this note
. I may die.
I keep reading and then I look up at her.
“So how did you feel about God after the plane landed?” I ask. “Sure about her existence? Or no? You didn’t die.” I smile.
“I know. That’s why I’m showing this to you.” She motions for me to move over on her beanbag chair and she reads the note over again, too. “I am one hundred percent a believer.”
I laugh a little. “You sound like you just joined a cult or something.”
She cracks up, too, falling onto me a little. “I know. But I mean, God was always this concept that we learned about in church and Sunday school and I never thought about it so much. It was just not that meaningful to me. But then things got sort of hectic. I mean, not only on that plane. But in life, too. And I found myself needing someone to help me, but not a real person who would give me advice or tell me what to do. Someone who would just sort of listen, but I almost didn’t want to see the person nodding or making faces. And that was God. You really do feel like someone’s listening,” she says. “Even though you can’t see anyone.”
I put my arm around her and rest my head on her shoulder. “I agree. It’s like, without talking to God, who do you ask for stuff? The actual big stuff in life? Those desperate moments. The times when all you can do is hope and pray and stay positive. God helps you through that.”
Kaylan stands up and starts pacing back and forth in her room like she’s on the cusp of figuring out something really big and important. I start to wonder if we’re the only thirteen-year-olds in the world who think about this stuff. Maybe there are others out there but we don’t know them. My camp friends are kinda like this, too, I guess, now that I think about it. Maybe I’m drawn to deep, introspective thinkers.
Is Jason like that? Kinda, I guess.
Golfy definitely was.
Kaylan’s still pacing and I’m still thinking and we’re so quiet, I can hear the grandfather clock chiming downstairs.
“It’s sort of unfair how we only come to God when we’re desperate, though,” Kaylan says, finally, sitting down on her bed. “When we are literally so stressed we think we’re going to die or we think a relative is going to die and there’s nothing we can do, so we’re like ‘God, please help. Wahhhh.’” She makes a crying face and I burst into laughter. “We should all write God a note sometimes. ‘Sorry I’m so rude. I never ask how you’re doing and I never say thank you, and I take you for granted and I just ask so much of you.’”
13 and Counting Page 18