by K. L. Denman
My phone buzzes with a text message. I lunge for it and find a message from Sherry. Hey, something has come up. I’ll be home late. Go ahead and stay at Kiara’s for supper. xo
I groan aloud. Another guy already? It must be. When Sherry says something has come up, it’s her code for a date. She probably thinks I don’t know that, but I do. I swear she must have a sign on her cash register. The sign says, Single and desperate. Or I date losers. Or maybe Take me out on trial.
Whatever. I don’t bother to reply. I eat the spaghetti straight out of the can and try to do my homework. For the first time ever, I have trouble staying focused.
Chapter Nine
The next day is no better. Kiara shows up for Career and Personal Planning class, but it’s like there’s a wall of ice around her. Every time I glance her way, she’s either staring straight ahead or down at her work. I know she must sense my gaze, but she gives no sign. Not the flicker of an eye. Not a hunched shoulder or thinned lips. She does spend a moment twisting the end of her ponytail. But that only happens when Omar passes by her desk.
It’s like I’ve ceased to exist. I spend lunch in the library and go straight home again after school. Friday is the same, and then it’s Friday night. I’ve slept over at Kiara’s nearly every Friday since sixth grade. We watch movies. Sometimes we babysit her brothers. (They try to prank us, every time. We pretend to be fooled, every time.) We listen to music and eat popcorn and talk. We talk about everything and everyone.
I’m alone on the couch in our apartment, remembering past conversations. Which is better, caramel or chocolate? Is there life on other planets? Why did Lexi Taylor’s butt get so big? Should Kiara paint her desk yellow or mauve? Is there life after death? I don’t notice I’m crying until Sherry bursts in. She’s laughing. She also has a guy with her.
“Jane?” Sherry gapes at me like she’s never seen me before. “What are you doing here?”
I swipe my sleeve across my face and retort, “I live here. Remember?”
“But…it’s Friday. Shouldn’t you be at Kiara’s?”
“Who’s that?” I ask dully.
There’s silence. Then Sherry turns to the guy and says, “Sorry, Clive. Change of plans. We’ll have to go somewhere else.”
“Why?” He’s a skinny guy with slicked-back hair. His voice is surly. “Can’t you just tell your kid to go to her room or somethin’?”
“She’s not my—” Sherry stops and looks at me. Then she turns to him. Her eyes are cold as she says, “No. I can’t.”
“What? You kiddin’ me?” Clive is shaking his head. “What kind of mother are you? Just tell the kid to scram.”
Sherry moves toward the door.
“That’s the problem with parents these days.” Clive wags a finger at Sherry. “No discipline skills. Lettin’ your kids run your life.”
Sherry opens the door. “Goodbye, Clive.”
He stares at her, disbelieving. “You ain’t comin’?”
My stare is equally shocked.
“Nope,” Sherry says. “I ain’t.”
He steps through the door. “Fine. But I’m warnin’ you. You do this, and we’re done.”
“You got that right.” And she slams the door shut. Rolls her eyes. Says, “What a jerk.”
“Um…” I peer at her carefully. “What just happened?”
She waves a hand dismissively. “He’s just like the rest.” Her grin is proud. “See? I’m finally learning the warning signs. I don’t have time to waste on guys like that.”
I don’t know what to say. But she does. “What’s with you and Kiara?”
“We had a fight.”
“Hmm. Must have been a doozy.” She kicks off her shoes and plops down on the couch. “Want to tell me about it?”
And I do. I tell her the whole stupid story. She doesn’t say much until I’m done. Then she asks, “This all started over quizzes? And one of them had something to do with me?”
I hadn’t meant to tell her that part, but it slipped out. In answer, I fetch my backpack and pull out my Sherry folder. She groans. “Not that thing. Didn’t you see what I did with Clive? I don’t need more lectures.”
“This is something new. Just look at it.” I hand her the questionnaire. “Please.”
She sighs and rubs her forehead. “Fine.” And then she starts reading. I watch her. Her eyebrows go up and down. Her lips purse. She frowns.
I take a bathroom break. When I get back, she’s sitting with the questionnaire in her lap, gazing into midair.
“So,” I say. “What do you think?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Instead she asks, “What did you eat for dinner?”
I shrug. “Nothing.”
“Me neither. What do you say we splurge and order in pizza?”
I know I should tell her we can’t afford it. But I go get the takeout menu. Sherry calls in the order, then picks up the questionnaire. “This is interesting. It’s about intimacy. Getting to know someone, right?”
I nod.
“I think we should do it. You and me.”
“What? No.” I shake my head. She can be so dense. “It’s for you to do with guys you’re dating.”
“Yeah. But I think there are some questions here that we could ask each other. Like this one. How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?”
I pick at a loose thread on the arm of the couch. I can’t tell her the truth. As in, I don’t have a “mother” relationship.
“Okay,” she says. “Here’s what I think. I think I’m a lousy mother. But the thing is, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to act like a proper mother.” Her smile is crooked. “It might have something to do with control issues. I’ve never been very good at controlling myself—never mind someone else.”
“Are you saying Clive was right?” I ask. “You’ve got no discipline skills?”
She laughs. “No. I’m saying I don’t know if that whole idea is right. Control for the sake of control doesn’t work for me. Never has. I hated when my mother tried to run my life. Then again, if I’d listened to her, maybe my life would be different and…well, I’ll just say it. I wouldn’t have had you.”
There it is. The plain, ugly truth. I came along and ruined her life. I can’t look at her.
She leans toward me. “But there’s another question here. It’s about what we’re grateful for. And Jane, I’m grateful for you. Okay? I know I suck at being a mom, but I hope you know I love you.” Her voice cracks around a sob. “No matter what.”
She’s crying? She is. Her cheeks are wet with tears. And so are mine. I should say something. What comes out is, “Do you feel sorry for me?”
Her brows scrunch together. “What? No. Should I?”
I don’t know why I said that. I shake my head. “No. Forget it. I meant, do you feel sorry for you? Yourself.”
She snorts. “All the time.”
“Because of me?”
She reaches out and grabs my hand. “Jane. What did I just tell you? For someone so smart, you sure can be dense.”
She thinks I’m dense? She goes on. “Listen. I feel sorry for myself because I have a crummy job, I don’t have a man, I can’t afford all the stuff I want.” She pauses. “I really should do something about that, shouldn’t I?”
“Yeah,” I say. “You really need a rich new boyfriend, right?”
Sherry isn’t listening. She’s staring off into space again. “Maybe,” she mutters, “I’ve been going about this the wrong way.” She nods to herself. “Yeah. There was a time I planned to go to college. And how hard was it to kick Clive to the curb? Not hard at all. In fact, I sort of liked it.”
“What are you saying?” I ask.
She looks at me. “I don’t know for sure. I’ve got some thinking to do. But listen, when I said we were equals? I didn’t mean you had to look after me instead of the other way around. I never wanted to put that on you.”
“I don’t—”
“Yes you do. You try t
o look after me. And that’s sweet. I appreciate it. But what I said about me not liking to control or be controlled—that goes both ways.” She grabs my hand again. “Jane. I want you to trust me to handle my life on my own terms, okay?”
“But…”
“Please,” she says. “I need you to have some faith in me. No one else does. And I’ll do the same for you. Like, this thing with Kiara? I know you’ll work it out.”
Tears gather in the back of my eyes, but I nod and blink them back. And then the door buzzer sounds, and Sherry goes to get the pizza. When she comes back, she finds a movie on TV for us to watch. Her favorite, a romantic comedy.
I tell myself nothing has changed. But I don’t quite believe that.
Chapter Ten
The hours of the weekend inch by. If the hours were the pages in a book, they’d all be blank. I try to fill them. I work ahead on a report for social studies. It’s about the Industrial Revolution, when the world turned gray. That’s what it seems like—smoke and dust and steam rolling over lives. In my textbook’s black- and-white photos of that time, I see gray everywhere.
I pick a book to read from Neil deGrasse Tyson’s list—The Age of Reason, by Thomas Paine. Tyson says it’s on his list to learn how the power of rational thought is the primary source of freedom in the world. It sounds like something I need, and it’s free online. But the book was published in 1794, and the language is old-school. It’s a serious challenge to get through the first page. My brain rebels, and I give up.
I always thought I had a good brain. But it doesn’t have any ideas on how to make me feel better. I consider my plans, my good, solid plans. They don’t include guys. It dawns on me that they also don’t include friends.
I guess I just assumed there would be friends. When I was younger, they were easy to find. But not anymore. The only girl other than Kiara that I was ever close to moved away. Her flaky parents decided to go live on the land as hunter–gatherers. It all started with some sort of caveman diet they were on. It’s impossible to keep in touch with someone living in a cave.
As for Kiara, we don’t have much in common anymore. Maybe this fight is a good thing. I’ve outgrown her, right? I fill a whole blank-page hour by telling myself that. This is for the best. I’ll join the chess club or volunteer for the school paper. I’ll find smart, serious people to befriend. I don’t know why I didn’t realize this sooner. Friendships shouldn’t happen by accident. There should be a selection process. Sherry was right about one thing. I will figure it out. I’ll be in control of my life.
The last thing I do on Sunday night is check my phone for messages. There are none. Then I cry myself to sleep.
It’s raining as I walk to school on Monday. It suits my mood perfectly. When it’s time for Career and Personal Planning, I walk in with my armor on. Kiara isn’t the only one who can be cold. I will not cast a single glance in her direction.
The work sheet on our desks today is quite short. It’s about negative and positive behavior. All we have to do is list examples of each. Plenty of negative behaviors come to mind. Lying. Cheating. Holding grudges. Being fickle.
I could go on, but Ms. Kalkat interrupts. “Time for a class discussion.”
In other words, a lecture. And, as usual, I’m right. She chatters away about positive behaviors. How hard work will pay off. How eating nutritious food keeps us healthy. Ditto for exercise and sleep.
And then she surprises us all by firing off a question. “What is self-respect?” Her sharp eyes roam our faces, and she picks on Lexi Taylor. “Lexi? Can you answer that, please?”
Lexi shifts in her seat and fiddles with her pen. “Um…I’d say it’s sort of like self-esteem. Like, you feel that you’re worth something.”
Not bad.
Ms. Kalkat agrees. “Excellent answer. Self-respect means thinking well of yourself. And caring about yourself. One way we show ourselves that we care is to exercise self-control. And to not give that control to others.” Once again her gaze wanders the room. “Liam. What is the danger of letting others control our behavior?”
He gawks at her. He obviously wasn’t listening until he heard his name. “Huh?”
Ms. Kalkat walks toward him. She arches a brow and repeats the question.
“Okay,” Liam says. “The danger of letting others control us.” He’s clearly stalling. “It’s like, if you were asked a question that you didn’t want to answer—then you wouldn’t.”
There are a few titters of laughter. Ms. Kalkat gives him the stare-down for a solid ten seconds. His grin fades. I’m dying to look at Kiara to see her reaction, but I resist. I wish Ms. Kalkat had asked me that question. I could give a good answer.
“You’re not entirely wrong, Liam,” Ms. Kalkat says. “But that’s more an example than an answer. Anyone else?” She looks at us, waiting.
Before I can speak, Kiara says, “The danger in letting others control you is that you’re not being true to yourself.”
Wow. She knows that?
“Exactly.” Ms. Kalkat nods.
Again, I have to force myself to not look at Kiara. Even though I feel that she is finally looking at me.
“All right, moving on.” Ms. Kalkat steps back to the front of the room. She rattles on again for a while. Stuff about setting boundaries in our relationships. I only half listen as I replay Kiara’s answer in my head. There’s something in it that makes my gut squirmy.
And then Ms. Kalkat surprises us again. “Staying with our theme, we can see that honesty is a positive behavior. How important is honesty in our relationships?”
Unbelievable. She’s asking that question?
Her gaze falls on Javier. “Javier? Would you like to answer that?”
I clench my hands on the edges of my desk. I will not look at Kiara. I keep my eyes glued on Javier. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him speak. Before he does, he bobs his head. And then, in a surprisingly deep voice, he says, “Honesty is very important in our relationships. Without honesty, there can be no trust.”
A muffled shriek. I look up and lock eyes with Kiara. Her fist is pressed to her mouth, and she’s bright pink. I feel heat rising in my own cheeks. I know what her astonished eyes are saying. Omigod! It’s him! He’s the one!
My eyes reply, I know! Omigod! Who’d have thought?
We need more than our eyes to discuss this. We need words. Many, many words. The air between us vibrates in anticipation of all that needs to be said. The bell to end class can’t ring soon enough.
And then the elation in Kiara’s face dies. If her face was a light, the dimmer switch would have moved from high to low—then turned completely off. She jerks her gaze from mine and hunches her shoulders. The wall of ice is back.
When I was small, I loved my grandpa’s green glass ball. Even after he told me it was just an old fishing float, I thought it was magical. It was the size of a grapefruit, and the interior of that ball seemed full of promise. I was certain something was hidden inside. Not only that, but it had floated on the ocean. Where had it been? What stories might it tell? I would peer into its green depths and wonder. One day I dropped it, and the glass float shattered into dull fragments of nothing. Garbage to be swept up and thrown away.
I feel like that now. For a moment I was filled with green promise, able to float. To go far. And now I’m nothing more than scattered splinters.
Chapter Eleven
The rest of the day seems to last forever. I want nothing more than to hide from the world. Being surrounded by a sea of people who don’t see me is lonelier than being alone. At one point, I pass by Javier in the hall. He bobs his head. I bob mine. And that’s all. I wonder how many of us float past each other, people with depths no one sees. I wonder if I’m right to shun all boys just because they’re male.
Mostly, I wonder about what Kiara said. The danger in letting others control you is that you’re not being true to yourself. Does she realize how controlling she’s been? And why does all this stuff about control keep coming
up? First with Sherry, and now this.
I’m still thinking about it as I walk home. I remember a quiz Kiara did. It had something to do with attraction. Discover the best color to attract things you want from the universe? It was as hokey as all the others. She was really excited to learn she should surround herself with purple. For about a week, she wore purple. Her top or ponytail band or socks or something would be purple. She claimed it worked because she got what she wanted. Her cheerleading squad chose to do the routine she liked best.
I figured it was a fluke. But if there is something to it, maybe we can also attract things we don’t want. Like, me hearing about control all over the place? I don’t want to hear any more about it. Why?
Because…
Because control is trickier than the coyote. I thought it was about taking charge of my life. I started with my ten-year plan. The world was chaotic with Sherry, and I needed order. But somehow that turned into trying to control Sherry?
And then Kiara. She’s always held the power in our friendship. Even when we met, in second grade, she called the shots. And I was fine with it until… I wasn’t. But instead of simply standing up for myself, I became her. A controller.
I let myself into our apartment and sag against the door. It’s true. I told myself I was helping them, but was I? Would I want them teaching me lessons? Telling me they know better? Trying to stop me from being who I am? No. Well, maybe if I was about to do something nasty or dangerous. Like hurt myself or someone else. It isn’t easy to find the line between caring and controlling. But at least I’ve noticed there is a line.
I expel a huge breath, and the clench in my gut eases— it’s relieved I finally figured it out. Maybe there is something to those gut instincts people talk about. Like using your instincts on a quiz to choose between a grassy meadow, a beach and a full moon.
Bad example. But thinking about Kiara’s quizzes again has given me an idea. A great idea! Or not? Some of my recent great ideas didn’t turn out so well.
Still, the more I think about it, the more hopeful I am. It might work. I’ve got nothing to lose by trying. I go to the computer and do a search for a free online quiz-building site. I find one that’s easy to use, and start typing. It’s like working on the toughest school assignment ever. And the most important one. Yet my fingers fly over the keyboard, barely able to keep up with my thoughts.