My sister’s eyes widen. Great.
“I just need to figure out some things before I talk to her. I want to finish researching other types of meds first.”
She does not look convinced.
“It’s really important to me that I do this myself,” I tell her.
“Okay.” She holds up her hands. “I won’t tell her.”
“Thanks.”
I feel like I can finally breathe again.
There’s a reason why I have to be careful. A day three years ago. I was thirteen and I was going to fall in love with Jason Greenly. I remember that seemed like the most important thing in the world, that I fall in love with him.
At the county fair. Just as the lightning bugs start to come out. With balloons and clowns and roller coasters in the background. Maybe we’d be on the Tilt-A-Whirl or eating cotton candy, though probably not both at the same time because I may’ve still been waiting for my first kiss, but I knew enough to know it probably doesn’t happen after someone vomits. Anyway, I’d orchestrated the whole thing flawlessly.
A plan to accidentally-on-purpose run into him at the perfect summer activity? Check.
Confirmation that he would be at said activity after weeks of low-key Instagram stalking? Check.
Falling-in-love hair? Double check.
I scoped out the fairgrounds for Jason and messed up my loose curls (courtesy of my best friend, Paige, and her curling iron), just to make sure they were still properly windswept.
“It’s really hot out here,” Scarlett said.
“You know what’s good when you’re hot?” my dad said. “Cheerwine funnel cake.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”
My dad just laughed. “Are you sure you’re my child?”
He pushed his sunglasses on top of his head, Croakies with his fraternity letters on the sides. So, okay, having my family along was not originally part of my fall-in-love-with-Jason-Greenly plan, but when I asked if I could go to the fair with some friends, Mama and Daddy got all nostalgic like, “Wouldn’t it be fun if we went as a family instead?” And I couldn’t very well say no.
It’ll be fine though. County fairs are made of magic. One time, my parents took us when we were, like, seven years old. And I convinced my dad to play one of those grabby machines where you never win anything. And he won not one, but TWO sparkly unicorn stuffies that had clearly spent their whole lives subsisting on jelly beans and edible glitter, just waiting to be our best friends.
So, you see? County fairs operate outside the usual laws of the universe. I was basically expecting all the magic of a rom-com, a Disney movie, and an early Taylor Swift song rolled into one. I may not have worked up the courage to talk to Jason at school, but I knew it would all work out. When you’re trying to fall in love with someone, double unicorn magic is exactly the kind of magic you need.
My sister let out a long-suffering sigh. “How much longer are we staying?”
“Are you kidding? We haven’t even ridden all the rides yet!” I also hadn’t seen Jason yet, but I was sure I’d run into him any minute.
“And I’m serious about that Cheerwine funnel cake,” Daddy said.
“Oh! Funnel cake stand! Right there!” I pointed with more vigor than was technically necessary and slapped my dad a high five (again with the vigor).
Scarlett crossed her arms and stomped along beside me. Honestly, how hard is it to be happy when you’re about to eat fried dough?
Dad and I left Mama and Grumpzilla at a picnic table while we waited in line. To pass the time, we had the Great Funnel Cake Debate: Cheerwine vs. Classic. I am Classic all the way.
“There’s a ten-minute wait while we make another batch of classic batter. That okay?” asked the woman at the counter.
“Absolutely,” I said. And then, because my dad just would not stop snickering at this recent development, I added, “Classic is one hundred percent worth it.”
The woman cocked her head to the side as she took our money. This only made my dad laugh harder.
“Hey, thanks for saving my spot,” said a voice from behind me.
Jason Greenly slid into the line beside another guy from eighth grade.
“You almost didn’t make it in time,” said his friend.
Jason. Greenly. Was. In. Line. Behind. Me.
I did not look at him. I prayed my dad would stop laughing. Now-ish.
Dad and I shifted over to the order-up window. Jason ordered his funnel cake—classic. I knew I liked that boy.
My dad leaned toward the funnel cake shack and inhaled deeply. “Do you smell that?”
“Yes,” I said.
It was the smell of true love.
Okay, fine, it was the smell of frying batter along with the faintest hint of manure wafting over from the 4-H competition, but from that moment on, I would forever associate the two.
I heard Jason’s friend order next, not that I was eavesdropping. He chose a Cheerwine funnel cake, and do you know what that meant? Ding! Ding! Ding! No wait for batter. Which meant he and my dad got their funnel cakes lickety-split, and Jason and I were left waiting at the order-up window. Alone.
Double unicorn magic FTW!!!
I glanced at Jason. Glanced back at the order-up window. Shifted my weight from one foot to the other. Glanced at Jason again. Right. I guess double unicorn magic can only take you so far.
I opened my mouth. It seemed to take 500 percent more effort than usual. “Did you get classic too? Um, funnel cake?” I finally asked.
“Huh? Oh, um, yeah.”
He was looking at me. He was looking RIGHT at me. This was happening.
“They said it would be a little while on the batter.”
“Oh,” he said. He clicked the power button on his phone. Crap, was he checking the time until he could get away from me? “I can’t be late for the sheepdog trials. My little sister’s hoping for a blue ribbon, and she’ll kill me if I miss it.”
“Aw, I used to love going to the sheepdog trials. I haven’t seen it in forever.” Thing no. 141 my sister could not be convinced to do.
Jason smiled. Something about the way his lips curved up at the sides made me think he was the kind of person who believed in little-kid magic too. Or at least who wouldn’t laugh at me for it.
Jason’s friend was back, grabbing his elbow. “Jason, c’mon, man. We’re gonna be late.”
“I’m still waiting on my funnel cake,” Jason told him. And then added: “His sister’s competing too.”
“Dude, just leave it. My mom’ll kill me if I’m not there.”
Jason wrinkled his nose at the order-up window. Glanced over at me, but then quick as could be looked at the ground, so I wondered if he even looked in the first place.
Mama squeezed past in my peripheral vision, and my sister was right after her, hissing something about how she wanted to go home. I ignored them. If I could just hold on to this moment—
“Hey,” Jason said, his eyes lighting up. “Do you—”
Yes. Yes. Whatever it is, the answer was yes.
But before he could ask and before I could answer, my sister started saying, no, screaming: “I JUST STARTED MY PERIOD! I’M BLEEDING THROUGH MY SHORTS! I CANNOT STAY HERE ANOTHER MINUTE!!!”
Jason’s words died in his throat. I could feel myself turning red while I watched Jason and his friend turn even redder. Something about the way he looked at Scarlett and then back at me told me he knew she was my sister. I wished like anything she wasn’t.
“Order up!”
The lady behind the counter rang the bell and slid two classic funnel cakes in front of us. Jason took his like a stunned robot, and he and his friend walked away. I opened my mouth to say bye, but nothing came out.
I took my plate back to our table, cheeks still flaming. Mama told Daddy we needed to go.
It was over.
I placated myself with bites of funnel cake as I walked. It didn’t taste as good as I remembered, but I would eat until I puked before
I shared it with my sister. I’ve always been okay with the fact that she’s cooler and more mature and she needs more of Mama and Daddy’s attention. Heck, I purposely tried to balance things out by never needing anything and being super-extra bubbly. But sometimes I needed things too.
It was supposed to be magic that day.
It was magic, before my sister got involved. Scarlett walked a little closer and leaned into me. “I’m really glad we’re leaving,” she said. “This was the worst fucking day.”
I looked at her. Really looked. Of course she couldn’t see anything outside of herself. “Why do you always have to do this?”
“What?” Her voice was confused, hesitant.
“This is the perfect day. We’re at a carnival.” I gestured around me, arms flailing wide. “Why is it so hard for you to just be happy?”
I was being mean and really asking at the same time. I didn’t understand it.
“Carnivals—” she began, with her I-am-better-than-everything-and-everyone, I-accept-no-personal-responsibility tone.
WRONG. “No, you know what it is? You’re a ruiner,” I said. And I saw the hurt flash in her eyes, and it felt good, so I said it again. “You ruin things. That’s all you’re good for.”
I walked away because I saw our van. I walked away so I could leave her there. But it didn’t take more than a few steps before I wished I could take it back. The anger had evaporated, and in its place was a queasy, shameful thing. I crawled into the backseat and lay across it with my face down so she couldn’t see me cry.
Later that night, I woke up thirsty. It happens when I cry a lot. I tiptoed down to the kitchen for a glass of water. The light was already on, and Scarlett stood with her back to me. Maybe she got thirsty like me. I stopped, mapping out an apology in my head. It had to be good because we almost never fought and never like this. While I was thinking, she pulled out an old steak knife. Maybe she was hungry, I thought. That would have been good. This apology would really go a lot better with cheese.
My sister didn’t get any cheese. She stayed right where she was and dragged the knife across the inside of her forearm, a couple inches below the elbow.
My mouth opened in a silent gasp. I was just about to lunge at her, pull away the knife, make her stop. She set it down on her own and stared out the window. I couldn’t stop staring and I couldn’t speak and I couldn’t walk away. I started crying. Why would she do this?
You’re a ruiner. You ruin things.
I shook my head because I didn’t want it to be true, but I knew it was. I did this. There’s a reason I have to be the easy, happy, shiny one. And there’s a cost when I fail.
Ellie
Momma drives us through the middle of nowhere to get from the lake house to my tennis tournament in Charlotte. At least it’s a shorter trip from the lake house than it would have been from DC. There are people who play tennis, and then there are people who Play Tennis. Being the second kind means you spend a lot of your weekends driving all over the place to find people as talented (read: obsessed) as you. We pull into the parking lot of the athletic club.
I feel different than I usually do at tournaments. They’re not as scary as they used to be. Riley and Autumn and Emily Rae. I have friends now. Well, a pact to get friends. That’s almost the same thing. Potential friends. Future friends.
So when I see Autumn standing on the sidewalk by her mom’s car, I wave to her. “Hey, Autumn.”
“Hey,” she says back. She looks smaller without them standing next to her. She shifts her weight to her other foot and holds her tennis bag between us protectively.
“Do you want to walk up and get changed?”
“I’m waiting for my friend,” she says.
Okay, ouch.
I nod awkwardly. Before I can think of a way to respond, Emily Rae arrives.
We walk to the locker room. Autumn and Emily Rae in front. Me by myself. There isn’t really room to walk in threes on this sidewalk. I try to walk close enough to Autumn and Emily Rae so I’m part of their conversation.
“Hey, wait up!” a voice calls from behind us. It’s Riley.
Okay, perfect. Because now there’s four of us, so we’ll walk two and two and I won’t have to be by myself. I turn to walk with Riley. Only, she’s not there. Because the sidewalk has somehow shifted, and now there is room for three, and Riley and Emily Rae and Autumn walk squeezed in together, and I follow behind them, alone. Again. I feel like there’s something about me that if I’m in a group of people, I’m always the one who gets left out.
The three of them chatter their way to the locker room and drop their bags on a bench.
“So, who do you think’s the player to beat from Academy South?” I ask, sliding my bag off my shoulder so I can set it next to theirs. “I think Marjorie is looking—”
Emily Rae cuts me off. “Well, it was really great seeing you.” She gives me a huge, toothy smile and squeezes my shoulder. “We’re going to get changed now.”
“Um, yeah, um, okay.” I mumble and move away from them, feeling scolded and scalded. How can someone sound like they’re being so nice when they’re actually being the meanest?
I feel shaky as I change into my tennis skirt. I feel shaky as I walk to the courts. I don’t feel shaky when it’s time for my second match and I have to play Emily Rae.
I square up on the court across from her. Feel the weight of my racket in my hands. One more win, and I get to move up to the semis. I am inches away from greatness, and this girl has made it clear she’s not my friend.
The match begins. Point for me. Point for Emily Rae.
I pump my legs to sprint after a ball. I just make it and send the ball flying back over the net with a satisfying thwack. Emily Rae misses it.
I’m up. Thirty–fifteen. Forty–fifteen. I send the ball flying. Let’s finish this. Or let’s hit it directly into the net.
“Crap!” I yell just as Emily Rae yells, “Come on!”
You’re really only supposed to yell “Come on” when you do something good, but she’s the kind that also yells it when someone screws up. Whatever. I’m not letting her get in my head like that.
Forty–thirty. I wait for her to serve the next ball. I slam it back. I am going to make her eat that last “Come on.” I attack the court like if I hit the ball hard enough, run fast enough, it’ll erase my mistake.
Emily Rae slices the ball to the back of the court. I shouldn’t be able to get it. But I do. I run for it, whipping my racket through the air, sending it whizzing back. The ball jets past her racket. There’s no way she can return it. I squint as it hits just inside the line.
Emily Rae holds up the finger signal for out.
“That was in! I freaking saw it!”
The words bubble over before I can stop them. The people on the courts nearest us turn to stare.
You don’t do what I just did. Tennis is a sport of ethics and trust, and people have to make their own calls all the time, especially if the refs are short-staffed and it’s the earlier matches, and you trust that they’re honest. It’s what you do.
And I just called Emily Rae Fuhrman a liar.
“Excuse me?” she says, eyes flashing.
I should back down, apologize. But all I can see in my head is her ferocious smile as she tells me the Southern sunshine equivalent of “Kindly fuck off.”
“IT WAS IN.” I set my racket on the ground in what I think is a calm way, and it makes a loud noise and bounces into the net. Oops.
Suddenly, everyone is staring. At us. No, at me.
I attempt to rein it in. “Can we get a line judge over here?” I ask calmly.
There’s nothing he can do about the current call, it’s not like tennis has instant replay, but he can watch for her cheating in the future. Which, of course, she doesn’t, now that a line judge is watching.
We get through the rest of the match. I advance to the next round because I beat Emily Rae. It’s a cold win. Not the glorious explosion of victory you see
in a sports movie. But I’m proud of myself for standing up to her.
Amelia Grace
“Thanks for trusting me on this,” I tell Heidi. “I think it’s gonna look really great.”
“I can’t wait to see the finished product,” she says. Her stomach growls. Audibly. She laughs. “I’m gonna take that as a sign that I should go make lunch for us. You up for a break in about twenty minutes?”
“Sure thing. I just want to get the doors on these cabinets.”
Heidi leaves, and I get back to work. The bookshelves are coming along really well. There’s this one wall of the nursery with a big window looking out onto the lake, and I’m putting a built-in bookcase on either side with cabinets for storage and a window seat in the middle with drawers underneath for more storage and an eensy connecting bookshelf in the triangle-shaped span of wall over the window. The whole thing looks like one cohesive piece, and I’m in love with it. I can’t wait to show Heidi the fabric options I’m thinking of for the window seat.
I attach the last cabinet door and brush my hands off on my shorts.
“Gorgeous,” I say to no one in particular.
I head downstairs for lunch, passing photos of Heidi and Val on the stairwell. I stop in front of a big one of them on their wedding day. They both have on white dresses, but Heidi looks like a wood sprite and Val has on a leather jacket. They’re so happy.
I don’t think I want to wear a wedding dress when I get married. And then I realize: I’ve never thought about getting married until today. Being in their house and hanging out with Heidi—it makes me feel different things. I imagine myself in a house like this, in a photo like that. The girl next to me in the photo starts to take shape.
“Hey there.”
I jump.
Heidi is standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching me in a way that makes me feel like she’s been there for a while. Long enough to see me gazing sappily at their photo.
I blush. “Hey, I was just coming down.”
I head past Heidi and into the kitchen.
She looks at me with eyes that make me feel like I can’t hide anything (she’s definitely going to be a good mom, that one). “Amelia Grace, do you—”
The Summer of Impossibilities Page 14