They’re immortal to me.
“I don’t think so,” Dad replies.
“Can we please bring Lion to Bubbie so she can meet him?” I ask. “Remember the healing powers. The doctors agreed.”
“I don’t think dogs are allowed in the hospital, Ar,” my mom says. “She’ll meet him when she comes home.”
Back at our house, I take a zillion pictures of Lion and text them to the camp girls.
Hana: OMG he is SO CUTE
Zoe: Pllllleaaaase bring him to drop off
Alice: LOVE HIM SO SO MUCH
Me: isn’t he the best dog in the world? Btw I broke up with Jason
Alice: OMG ARI, ur nuts
Me: no boys 4 me 4 a while
Me: except for Lion LOL
Zoe: LOL LOL
Bubbie ends up coming home from the hospital a few days later and it feels like we narrowly escaped tragedy. She had a minor infection but it cleared up and she’s back in her recliner. She still has the terrible turquoise oxygen cord in and she still sleeps most of the day, but at least she’s home.
“This is Lion,” I tell her, holding our perfect little puppy in my arms.
“Oh, Lion,” she says softly, reaching out to pet him. I set him down on her lap. “My first granddog.”
“Yup,” Gemma says, scooping Lion up right away. “Time to take him out. I think he has to pee.”
Gemma takes her dog responsibilities very seriously.
We stay at Bubbie and Zeyda’s for the rest of the afternoon, playing with Lion and watching old home movies and ordering Chinese food for dinner. Bubbie even eats a little bit of soup.
I try to imprint this moment on my mind in a way I’ve never done before. Like if I think really hard about it, I’ll always remember it exactly the way it was and I can go back to it again and again.
I stare really hard at everyone as if I’m taking pictures of each of them with my eyes. Bubbie home and eating soup, Lion running in circles around the dining room table, all of us talking and laughing together.
I try as hard as I can to study every little thing, each detail etched on my brain. This way, the moment will last forever.
Monday morning rolls around and we find ourselves in the new assistant principal’s office explaining the #BeMe movement.
“I like the thing about highlighting individuality,” Ms. Therault says. “And we already have signed releases from all the parents on photos. The one thing I will say is that if people don’t want to participate, they don’t have to.”
“Okay,” I answer. “That makes sense. But you’re okay with it?”
“I’m more than okay with it. It’s creative. I like it.”
We talk to Ms. Therault for a few more minutes, and then Kaylan and I leave, feeling pretty proud of ourselves.
“We are starting a movement,” I say. “This is big, Kay.”
She nods. “Yeah.”
“Thanks again for the dog name suggestion,” I tell her. “It’s perfect.”
“I’m glad,” she replies. “I think so, too.”
We’re quiet on the rest of the walk to our lockers.
“I’m sorry about the Jason thing,” I say, finally needing to get it off my chest and clear the air. Maybe it never really felt right to me because there was still a part of Jason that was sort of Kaylan’s. Maybe he was meant to stay as a neighbor/friend for me. “It wasn’t cool of me. And I’m sorry for being so wishy-washy about the lunch table crew. And I’m sorry about all the stuff you’re dealing with about your dad.”
She sits down in front of the lockers and buries her head in her knees.
I put an arm around her.
“Hard things are hard,” she says. “Isn’t that so smart?”
I nod. “Yes, it sums up everything basically, in the simplest way.”
“I’m sorry about your bubbie,” Kaylan says.
I shrug. “She keeps bouncing back.”
I’ll never admit that something’s wrong and her days are fading and that every time I see her, I imagine it will be the last time. I will never allow myself to believe that there will come a time when Bubbie won’t be on this earth.
It’s impossible.
“That’s good,” Kaylan replies.
She knows not to debate it or give me a sympathetic, sad smile that reveals we both know she’s dying.
Kaylan gets me.
She knows me.
You don’t need a million people in your life like that.
If the person is Kaylan, one is enough.
41
KAYLAN
IT’S ALREADY MAY AND THE #BeMe movement hasn’t taken off like we’d hoped, but there’s still some time. We have about thirty photos of kids hung around the school and people stop to look at them. But no one’s really posting their own photos yet.
The day Ari decided to explain the movement over the loudspeaker during morning announcements really made people talk about it. At least for that day.
Movements take time, I think.
Plus we just put “start a movement” on the list, not “complete a movement,” if that’s even a thing.
“And we can’t expect to succeed at everything we try,” I tell Ari after a run.
“Yes, we can. We’re the best and we will crush everything,” she answers, standing up to do some more running in place.
“At least it’s not freezing,” I say.
“Kay, it’s May. Duh.” She starts laughing.
“We made it to May,” I remind her. “We survived the winter. We’re almost at the end of the year and the end of the list.”
“Thank our teachers, though,” Ari reminds me.
“I know,” I reply. “And find a unicorn. Still working on it.”
She nods, stretching her legs from side to side.
“Ooh, I just had an amazing brainstorm,” I tell Ari, sitting back on the grass while she continues to stretch and run in place. “The #BeMe thing can also be a way we thank our teachers,” I say.
“How?” Ari asks, doing jumping jacks.
“We can make each teacher a poster with the #BeMe hashtag and then on the bottom some awesome facts about them.”
Ari thinks for a minute, and sits back down next to me. “Um, I like the poster thing, but why would it say Be Me?”
“Because they’re all being themselves in their unique teaching styles,” I explain.
“Maybe,” Ari replies. “I think it needs some fine-tuning. And what if teachers feel bad if we don’t make posters of them? Like, we’re only gonna do the teachers we have, ya know?”
I hold a finger in the air. “Oh! Another brainstorm! Another movement!”
Ari crinkles up her cheeks and laughs. “Huh?”
“The #ThankATeacher movement,” I yell. “We make sure all teachers are covered and we recruit other people to do it with us and the last week of school, we have posters up for every teacher!” She smiles. “It’s literally called the #ThankATeacher movement and maybe it catches on nationwide! Maybe not only at the end of the year in some places . . . maybe all year. Who knows?”
“So we’ve started two movements?” Ari asks.
“Think so!” I drape an arm over her shoulders. “We are on fire!”
We stretch our legs out in front of us on the grass and start to do a kick-line-style dance. After a few seconds of that, we fall backward on the grass, laughing.
I flop onto my side to face Ari. “We may have out-listed ourselves with this list. It’s just so amazing.”
She laughs. “We’ll never out-list ourselves.”
42
ARI
“WHO DID THIS?” WE HEAR Ms. Phipps muttering to Ms. Lincoln when Kaylan and I are cleaning out our lockers, brushing sticky strands of hair away from our faces. We finished our last final and school is so close to over. We can smell summer break, or maybe that’s just the stench of super-sweaty boys in a building without air-conditioning. “The administration is finally starting to appreciate us!”
> “I know, about time! You think they told the kids to do this? Or what?” Ms. Lincoln shakes her head. “Did you see my poster? It thanked me for really taking the time to connect and talk to all my students.”
Ms. Phipps smiles. “And mine says how focused I am on keeping the school safe and orderly and productive.”
It would be too much to really high-five right now, and they’d see us, so Kaylan and I tap pointer fingers, a mini high five.
A high one, really.
One list.
Two movements.
Unbelievable.
“Kay, hurry,” I tell her, slinging my heavy backpack over my shoulder. “Finish getting your stuff. We gotta go!”
“Why? We’re done studying,” she reminds me, as if I don’t already know that. “I want to make sure I don’t throw anything super important away.”
I shake my head. “None of this is that important. I have a surprise for you! Come!”
She shoves the rest of the papers in the backpack and follows me out to the parking lot, where my mom is waiting for us.
“What’s going on?” Kaylan whispers to me in the back seat.
“I’ll tell you at my house.” I drum my fingers together so she knows I’ve concocted something amazing.
When we get there, we drop our backpacks in the mudroom and sprint up the stairs.
“Wait, don’t go in yet.” I open the door slowly and peek into my room to make sure Gemma didn’t mess anything up, and everything is ready to go. I quickly light a few candles.
I smile, about to open the door for her. “Okay. Now. Come in.”
Kaylan puts a hand on my arm. “Is something going to jump out and attack me?”
I laugh. “No. Nothing like that. Come on. Go in.”
She walks inside and I follow behind her, waiting to see her reaction. My room is set up like a spa with aromatherapy candles and the robes we just won from the contest spread out on my bed. The slippers are set up by the door so we can slide our feet in right away. Tranquil music is playing from the speakers and I have a stack of postcards and fancy pens set up on my desk.
“Ooh la la, Ari.” Kaylan shimmies. “What’s this all about?”
“The Arianna Simone Spa and Wellness Center, dahling . . .” I drape an arm over her shoulders and we survey the scene. “Lovely, right?”
“Beyond,” Kaylan replies.
We put on our robes and sit down on the throw pillows I’ve set up on my floor. I get up to pour Kaylan a tall glass of cucumber water.
“These candles smell so good,” Kaylan says. “I think I need one.”
“You do,” I agree. “Also, we’re writing each other postcards now. I mean, not writing them, addressing them, so we’re all set with our correspondence plan before camp.”
“Correspondence plan!” Kaylan slaps my leg. “Ari, where do you even get this stuff?”
“No idea.” I shrug. “Do you know the Laurel Lake address by heart yet?”
“Um, yes.” Kaylan smiles. “I’ve memorized the whole website.”
“Perfect. Oh, and after we address the postcards . . . pedicure time!”
“You’ve thought of everything, Ar.” She leans over and rests her head on my shoulder, pulling me close.
“I know how you are with rituals, Kay.” I clear my throat, feeling myself getting a little choked up. “The whole thing with the kayaks and the lanterns and stuff. I mean, you’re all about this stuff.”
“That’s true.” Kaylan uncaps the pen and copies down the Camp Silver address again and again on twenty postcards. “This is genius, Ari. An amazing pre-camp ritual.”
“I thought of it on my own,” I declare. “And it wasn’t even on the list. Okay, go pick your pedicure color! I lined up all the bottles on the shelf in my bathroom.”
I finish addressing Kaylan’s postcards and I imagine them all traveling through the mail and getting to Laurel Lake. I picture Kaylan reading them on her bunk at camp, and laughing. And we’ll think back to this day, and this ritual and this moment, and the postcards will keep us together.
Together always, even when we’re apart.
43
KAYLAN
“YOU KNOW IT’S ONLY A 5K,” Ryan says, pounding down the stairs on race day. “That’s like an average jog for most people and doesn’t require training or an audience or anything.”
“Ryan! Shut up! Why do you always ruin every single thing?” I shake my head in his direction. “You’re such a jerk.”
“I’m just stating a simple fact.”
“Ryan, leave her alone. I’m proud of her for doing this,” my mom says, pulling a cardigan out of the closet. “Ready to go, guys?”
I nod, virtually patting myself on the back for training for this race and actually running it. If there was ever a situation that truly symbolized leaning in, this would be it.
We drive over to the start of the race—at the village hall in Shelby Green, a town twenty minutes from us.
“How did you even find this race?” Ryan asks on the way over. “It’s so random.”
“It’s for stroke awareness and research and Ari’s bubbie had a stroke and you’d know that if you’d donated or ever listened to me or read the emails I sent you!” I scoff.
“Why do you have to email me? We live in the same house!” He laughs.
“Ryan,” my mom warns, sounding annoyed. “Stop.”
We get stuck in a little traffic but finally get there. Ari and her family are all talking to the lunch table girls. They’re holding signs that say RUN, GIRLS, RUN! Go, Ari! Go, Kaylan! Go, Amirah! Gemma’s holding Lion’s leash tight and every time he tries to jump up on someone she says “No!” in a very authoritative tone.
“Hiii,” I sing, walking up to them. I bend down to pet Lion and he licks my hand.
“I still can’t believe you’re doing this,” Cami says, shaking her head. “I mean, it’s great and everything. But, like, it seems super intense.”
“I’m ready for it, Cam.” I smile, not really getting what she’s even saying. Sometimes she talks just for the sake of talking.
Cami leans over and whispers in my ear, “I’ve already written you three letters and mailed them to comedy camp. They’ll be there when you arrive.”
I smile. “Thanks, Cam. I’ll write you back. I promise.”
“Oh, yay, you’re both here,” Amirah says, stretching her arm back over her head. “We need to warm up.” She takes my hand and Ari’s hand and we go off to the side right near the starting line.
“Good luck,” all the girls yell. “Go, Ari! Go, Kaylan! Go, Amirah!”
We’re mid-stretch when we hear more screams and cheers. “Go, Ari! Go, Kaylan! Go, Ari! Go, Kaylan!” I look over, wondering why they’re not cheering for Amirah, too, and I realize it’s because Alice and the whole crew of Ari’s camp girls are the ones who are cheering.
“Ari!” I yell. “Did you know they were coming?”
She pulls out an earbud. “Who?”
“Your Camp Silver crew.” I turn around again and point so she can see them, and that’s when I notice that Golfy is there, too. What a guy to come out and support her in this race, after she broke his heart.
Maybe he’s trying to get her back.
“Oh my God,” she yelps. “I had no idea! And Golfy too!” she says under her breath. “This is so awkward.” She clenches her teeth. “They all donated but I didn’t expect them to come! I don’t even know if they’re all done with school yet.”
“Guys, focus,” Amirah says. “You need to make sure you’re all stretched out.”
I laugh. “We’re like those ooey-gooey slimy hands that we used to get as prizes at the fall fair. Remember?” I move my body in this slippery, stretchy way and they all crack up.
The three of us hold hands at the starting line but then Amirah lets go. “Sorry, too sweaty,” she says.
I squeeze Ari’s hand and she squeezes mine and I breathe in and breathe out, scared out of my mind, even more than I wa
s on the day we ate the spicy chip.
The mayor of Shelby Green makes some long-winded speech that I can’t focus on, and then there’s a quick countdown and finally a loud boom and we’re off running.
Amirah is with us for the beginning of the race, but then she sprints on ahead and we lose her entirely.
“She’s so fast,” I say.
“I know,” Ari replies, out of breath from talking and running.
We keep an even pace and stay together the whole time.
“So what are we going to do now?” Ari asks. “When this race is over, the list is over, summer is here, we’re going to be apart.”
“I don’t know,” I answer. “I guess just keep crushing it. And write all those postcards to each other. Duh.”
Ari laughs. “Wait, the unicorn thing. Have you figured it out?”
“Yeah, the unicorn thing.” I pause. “Well, I have a unicorn mural in my basement now.”
“That doesn’t count,” Ari huffs.
“I know.” I stop talking to catch my breath but after a few minutes I’m ready to start talking again. “The unicorn is the most obvious thing on the list.”
“It is?” Ari asks.
“Run!” I yell, and we sprint the last hundred yards through the finish line, holding hands, finishing at the exact same time.
We hear cheering—my mom and Ryan, the Camp Silver crew, the lunch table girls, Ari’s family. Even Lion is barking.
People hand us bottles of water and medals and even those metal warming poncho things.
Again, probably a little overboard for a 5K, but still cool. It makes it all feel official.
We’re off to the side by ourselves, catching our breath and sipping water, when Ari says, “What did you mean, the unicorn is the most obvious thing on the list?”
I hesitate. “You’re my unicorn, Ari. My first person. My truest friend. The one who always gets me, no matter what, who lets me get mad and angry and have a fight and then welcomes me back with open arms. Friendships like that don’t come around every day, ya know. I know we’re only thirteen, but we’ll be friends for life. No doubt whatsoever.”
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