“C’mon, Dad.” Dean bounces on his bench. “C’mon. C’mon. C’mon. C’mon.”
“Pleeeeease,” I add.
It’s like we’re seven years old, only infinitely better because now we’re old enough to touch all the really dangerous stuff.
“They’re gonna be on you like ducks on a June bug until you say yes,” says Mimi.
A wise woman, that Mimi.
“Fine,” he eventually tells us, and we high-five each other and race off before he can change his mind.
We return with seventy-two megatons of firework glory and grins that threaten to break our faces in half. We are ready to set the entire world ablaze. First, some bottle rockets, staking them into the soft ground, lighting the fuse, then sprinting away before they shoot up over the lake and explode in red and blue starbursts. Something about the whistling noise they make when they cut through the air makes me feel like I’m the one soaring.
Hope’s German shepherd is freaking out and trying to clamber under our bench. Hope calls a cease-fire to the festivities so she can lead Eponine inside by the collar and tuck her into her anti-firework bunker aka the bathroom.
Roman candles are up next.
“I don’t like you boys holding them in your hands,” yells Pam. “People have gotten their fingers blown off doing that.”
Thankfully, my father is a man of compromise. “Just keep them pointed at the lake and make sure to count the shots,” he calls.
The Birdsongs let Hope and Janie light some, too. On the off chance that something goes wrong, we do have a member of the Peach Valley Fire Department sitting at our picnic table.
Hope lights sparklers and writes her name in the air.
A fact about girls: They become 200 percent more beautiful when playing with sparklers.
The sky is full-black now, and you can see every star, even the tired ones. Hope lets her sparkler lead her like a flashlight to a tree at the edge of the water.
“Hey, Spencer, come look at the moon. They said it’s supposed to be a supermoon tonight.”
I run over to where she’s found a gap in the trees, and the moon is shining like a beacon.
“It’s seven percent brighter and fourteen percent larger,” I say.
“Um, cool.”
Crap, maybe she just wanted to talk about how pretty it is. We stand there and watch it, while our sparklers trail smoke whispers behind us. When they burn down to the nubs, the darkness wraps itself around us so thick I can’t even see the grass at our feet. We’ve wandered too far away from the house lights. I’m tic-shrugging like a mofo, but I don’t think she can see it.
“It’s so dark out here,” Hope says.
She shifts her weight to her other foot, and the movement makes her shoulder brush against mine. She doesn’t pull it away. I don’t pull away, either.
“I know,” I say. “It feels like there could be anything out there right now, and we wouldn’t even know.”
It’s the kind of darkness that hides clandestine meetings and portals to another world. The kind where anything could happen.
Like a first kiss draped in shadows.
Or your stepmom yelling that she needs you to run inside and get some paper plates so she can cut the dessert. Even though I happen to love the angel food cake/whipped cream/blueberries/strawberries American flag she makes every year, I’m like, Now? Really?
“Spencer!”
“I’m going!”
I run up the stairs of the cabin, leaving behind Hope and the feeling I’ve missed yet another shot. Or maybe I’m just imagining things. I saw the way she looked at Dean after we rode four-wheelers. And this morning when we were hanging out on the dock. And at dinner. I decide to take my frustration out on random items that I bang around while searching for the plates.
Hope appears in the doorway. “Mimi sent me to get forks.”
“Oh, hey. I’m having trouble finding the paper plates.” I set down a jar of apple butter (gently) and step back from the shelves to give them one more scan. Hope stands in front of me and helps me look. Right in front of me. This closet is barely wide enough for two people. If I moved forward, even an inch, my chest would be touching her back.
Hope steps backward. More than an inch. How do people do things like look for plates while touching other people because I am finding it very difficult? I take a breath and my chest moves up and down her back. She takes a breath, and the same thing happens in reverse. I mean, I could just stay in the food closet like this all night.
She turns around so we’re face-to-face. “So, you’re leaving tomorrow, huh?”
“Yeah.” Holy crap, I don’t think our lips have ever been this close together. I can’t believe this is happening. She’s choosing me instead of Dean. That’s what this means, right?
“It’s going to be so boring without you here.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She crosses her arms over her chest like she’s pretend mad. “I’m pretty jealous that I’ll be stuck here with Bella while you’re having all kinds of fun with s’mores and canoes and stuff.”
I want to make her laugh with a well-timed joke about poison ivy. Instead I say, “I wish you were coming with me.” I lean closer.
“Me, too.” So does she.
But then she hesitates. “And Sophie? She’ll be there, too, right?”
I feel like there is maybe not enough air in here because I am having trouble thinking. “Um. Well, yeah. She goes every year. Our cabins always have this epic prank war.”
“Right,” she says, nodding her head like she’s figuring things out. “And you’ll be together. At camp.”
“Well, yeah.” I mean, no. I don’t know what I’m saying, but if it stops her from doing whatever it is she’s about to do, it has to be the wrong thing.
And then she’s standing super super close. She reaches out. For the back of my neck? To kiss me? I am paralyzed as her hand brushes the top of my shoulder and grabs something on the shelf behind me.
“The plates. They’re right here, behind your head.”
SPENCER AND DEAN PRO/CON LIST
Okay, I’m not saying I like either of them or both of them, but if I did . . .
SPENCER
PROS
- Loves running, hiking, and camping
- Kind
- Can be serious
CONS
- I still can’t figure out if that girl Sophie is his girlfriend and I don’t want to ask
- He’s kind of weird sometimes
DEAN
PROS
- Awesome arm muscles
- Smart
- Makes me laugh
- My stomach feels funny whenever he talks to me
CONS
- I don’t like when he makes fun of people
- He dug up a slave grave, and how much has he really changed?
- He’s always with all these girls and they’re all so much cooler/older/prettier/blah
- My stomach feels funny whenever he talks to me
Part Three
15 years old
A TAXONOMY OF TRAITORS
Fact: Full-body tics suck.
It didn’t hurt the first time. It does now. I wait for it like I’m waiting for my own execution, the moment when the skin over my ribs and hipbone feels so warm that I can’t fight it anymore. My body snaps to the side, feels like it’s snapping in half. My hip tries to slap my ribcage a vicious high five, and my head bobbles with the aftershock. And it hurts. Neck, back, abs, everything. I’m sore all over.
I’m putting my hands on the table to steady myself when my body whips in the opposite direction, not once, but twice. And the second one is a real beast. I rub the back of my neck as I work my way back to a sitting position in my chair. Both Pam and Mimi are watching me with their best Concerned Mom Faces.
“So, I guess that’s why I’m taking this, huh?” I attempt a grin, but neither of them laughs at my feeble joke.
The pill sits on the place mat
in front of me. It’s the color of lichen and mint-chocolate-chip ice cream, pistachios and luna moth wings, with the medication name chiseled into one side and “25 mg” on the other.
“Let me get you some water,” says Pam. It makes moms feel better when they’re doing something.
She fills a glass and sets it beside the pill.
“There you go.”
“Thanks.”
And we’re back to the tag-team staredown. I now know what the lightning bug on the inside of the jar feels like.
“You know this is because we feel like there’s no other option,” says Pam.
“I know.”
I get how scary this is for them. The full-body tics are so intense, they thought for sure I was having seizures when they started up a few weeks ago. And we’ve talked the subject of me and meds into the ground. My brain is still developing, Mimi says. My body is a temple, Pam says. But the tics were so bad I couldn’t get to sleep at night, even with my weighted blanket, and they came at me in tornado bursts that left me feeling like I’d been in a car accident without a seat belt. Then one day Pam found me crying on the floor of my room, wadded up in a ball of pain, and everyone got on the meds train real quick after that.
I take a big gulp of water and hold it in my mouth. Then I push the pill in between my lips and swish it to the back so it’s floating right over my throat. And I swallow. I sure hope this works—they don’t make drugs specifically for Tourette’s syndrome, so it’s kind of a toss-up, and the doctor said it could take a while to find something that works for me.
Mimi pats my hand. Pam nods her head and says, “Okay, then.”
And I have another tic. A full-on spring-loaded convulsion.
“Oh,” says Pam.
“Well, it’s not like it was going to be immediate,” I say.
“Of course not,” says Mimi, and I don’t miss the look she shoots Pam across the table. “So, listen. You tell us if you feel sick or anything, okay, honey bear? Any side effects at all.”
Pam nods furiously. “I’ve been reading all the Tourette’smom forums, and sometimes kids will get on the wrong meds and do really terrifying things, like try to jump off the roof.”
She puts her hand to my forehead, like it’s a scientifically proven way to gauge roof-jumping tendencies.
“I’m not going to jump off the roof,” I say.
They go back to eyeing me like I’m some kind of petri dish project. Again.
“Okay, I’m gonna go see if Hope wants to ride bikes or play basketball or something.”
Anything. I would do anything to get out of here before I drown in sympathetic scrutiny. I wave my way out the door before either of them can think of a reason to keep me.
I know I’m lucky to have Pam, but whenever she goes all supermom, it makes me wonder about my real mom. I used to try to Google her and stuff, but I could never find her. I don’t know. Maybe she goes by a stage name.
I wish I could remember more about what she was like. Dean told me she was a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, which I guess means she turned Dad’s world upside down by making him shoplift cotton candy or dance around in the rain or something. That’s what happens in the movies, anyway. But the movies don’t ever take you out past the Happily Ever After. They don’t show you what happens next.
Apparently, Manic Pixie Dream Girls aren’t built for dinner on the table at five or car-pool lines or small-town gossip. Or kids. So they have to choose, I guess. Tamp down all the light inside them and be everything for everyone else with smiles that never reach their eyes. Or tear themselves in half so they can fly away and keep their souls.
I want to think it tore my mom to pieces to leave us, even if I can barely remember any of it. I know it must have been hard. But I’m glad she chose to keep her soul, I really am. I like to imagine her somewhere happy. So, I’m fine with it. Really. I’m totally good. Better than good—I’m great.
When I find Hope, she’s in her garage, sitting by her bike and lacing up her shoes.
“It’s like you can read minds,” I say.
She grins and puts two fingers to her temples. “I sense that you want to ride to the Citgo with me and get a slushie.”
“You sense right.”
She stands, and I’m struck all over again by the fact that my nose only comes up to her chin now. When did she get so tall? She pulls at her tank top, where it’s suddenly tight across her boobs. Probably about the same time she got those.
I shake my head like I’m trying to get water out of my ears and run back home for my own bike. The tics don’t harass me nearly as much when I’m riding, so this slushie mission is going to be a relief on multiple levels. (Plus, slushies!)
As I wheel my bike up to Hope, she asks, “You okay, Spence?”
I’m going to tell her about the meds, but for now, I just want to be around my friend and not think about anything that has to do with me and my tics.
“Yeah. I’m great.”
We pedal off down the street together, and every now and then, I’ll have a tic that makes my bike swerve, but they mostly stay inside the threshold of pest territory. Hope’s right there beside me, just like every other day this summer. We go hiking or swimming or to the movies, but we’re always together. So, how come we’re not together? Maybe it’s because neither of us has the guts to ask. Maybe it’s because she’s waiting for me to do it. Could it really be that easy? If that’s all it takes, I mean, maybe I should try it. Like now.
As soon as we come to a complete stop, I go for it.
“Hey, Hope?” I say all cool-like as I nudge my kickstand into place with my foot.
She pulls off her helmet and sets it on her seat. “Yeah?”
“I was thinking, I mean, we hang out, like, all the time. And we’re really good friends, and we both like each other a lot.” Her eyes get big, but I keep going. “So, do you think we should—”
“Race each other to the slushie machine right now?! HECK YES, I DO.”
She sprints inside, and I don’t know what else to do, so I tear inside after her.
Aug 14, 1:47 PM
Hope: guess what!!!
Aug 14, 1:49 PM
Hope: JANIE! where are yoooouuuu?
Aug 14, 1:54 PM
Hope: i don’t care if you’re there or not! i’m too excited!
Hope: i’m going to a party this guy Mikey is throwing. AND he’s in high school AND there will be all kinds of hot high school boys there!
Hope: (like the kind i will be going to school with in 2 weeks!)
Hope: AND (can you believe there’s another AND?!) it’s a pool party, so i’m wearing my new bathing suit. the red bikini that i didn’t want to buy but you kind of made me? yeah, that one
Hope: and yes, i’ll be careful. and no, i don’t actually know this guy, but Dean does, and Pam is making him take Spencer, and of course Spencer asked me
Hope: Dean’s actually kind of pissed about the whole thing
Hope: but whatevs, high school pool party!!!
Aug 14, 3:58 PM
Janie: HOPE!!! I need details, and I need them NOW! Hurry up and get home!
Aug 14, 4:00 PM
Janie: No, for real, I have the most killer headache, and the only cure is fancy high school pool party stories! (Probably wouldn’t hold up scientifically or whatever, but I swear, it would make me feel at least 76% better.)
Aug 14, 4:33 PM
Janie: This is so unfair! I’m tempted to call you, but I keep reminding myself that it costs ALL THE MONEY.
Aug 14, 5:41 PM
Janie: Are you killed?
Aug 14, 5:43 PM
Janie: No, but seriously, that swimsuit is lethal. If some poor guy looked at you without sunglasses, your hotness may have melted out his eyes, and you’re probably at the hospital right now. Sitting by his bedside and holding his hand while the doctors explain there’s simply nothing they can do when a person is THAT HOT.
Janie: Okay, you really need to come home soon because I’
ve lost what little sanity I had left and have resorted to telling myself outlandish stories in your absence.
Aug 14, 10:06 PM
Hope: THIS BATHING SUIT!!!
Janie: OH THANK GOODNESS!!!
Hope: ohmygosh, Janie, it was just like in Grease when Sandra Dee turns into Sandy, and everyone is all “Holy crap. Check her out in those leather pants.”
Hope: there were all these guys flirting with me, and i totally felt like a different person
Hope: and Dean was all, “Hey, Hope. Cute bathing suit.”
Hope: Hey. Hope. Cute bathing suit.
Hope: can you believe it???
Hope: he never calls me Hope. he always says Birdsong. i’m pretty sure it means something
Janie: Do you like Dean?
Hope: i mean, he’s Dean. every girl likes Dean. i just never thought he’d ever like me
Janie: You didn’t exactly answer my question.
Hope: well. yeah. yeah, i guess i do like him, okay?
Hope: there was this time at the party when Spencer seemed more interested in the bugs caught in the leaf trap than being at an actual party and these guys were making fun of him and Dean made them lay off. he can actually be kind of nice
Hope: whatever. it doesn’t even matter
Janie: Don’t be like that. I’m sorry for being judgey.
Hope: it’s not that. it’s just, Dean flirted with me, yeah, but he also flirted with like 18 other girls at that party
Janie: 18?!
Hope: okay, more like 4, but it felt like 18
Janie: Whew. But still, gross.
Hope: yeah, and like, sometimes i see girls in the bushes outside their house at night, and they’ll knock on the window and Dean will let them in. he’s kind of the biggest player in school
Janie: Hope . . .
Hope: but he’s not a bad guy! i mean, he never lies to any of those girls or anything. he always says he doesn’t want a girlfriend. but the thing is, i do want a boyfriend. so, this whole thing is probably stupid, and i should just stay away from him, i know, but what if i can’t? what if he really likes me? what am i supposed to do?
A Taxonomy of Love Page 5