The other problem is that my dad was the main kayaker in the family, and he took his kayak with him. My mom’s kayak has a hole in the bottom, so I can’t use that one. Ari’s parents have a kayak, too, so we could use theirs.
I want to show up at Ari’s door, all prepared and ready to go with my water shoes on, and I imagine that I’ll look so ridiculous that she won’t be able to keep herself from laughing and then I’ll convince her that we need to make up and be best friends again. We’ll hug and catch up on all the things we’ve missed in each other’s lives.
And I’ll convince her that the first thing we need to do now that we are best friends again is finish the list.
And then I remember something—Mrs. Etisof has a tandem kayak for when she and her daughter want to paddle together!
That’s even better than me and Ari being alone in our own separate boats! We can really, 100 percent, paddle together!
I run downstairs and yell to Ryan that I’m heading out for a bit.
“Where are you going?” he yells back.
“I need to make peace with Ari,” I tell him as I’m out the door. “Tell Mom I’ll be home for dinner.”
“Okay. . . .” he says. I’m not sure if he’s hesitant that I’ll be able to make peace with Ari or hesitant that I’ll be home for dinner.
Either way, there’s no time to dwell on that now.
I run next door to Mrs. Etisof’s house. She’s doing some stretches on the porch.
“Where are you rushing off to, missy?” she asks me. “You’re never out at this time of day.”
“Actually, I have a favor to ask you,” I tell her.
“Yes?”
I sit down on the rocking chair, and pull my hood down over my ears. I seriously have no idea how she’s out here when it’s this cold. It’s not even winter yet, but there’s a chill in the air. Come to think of it, how are Ari and I going to kayak when it’s this cold? Our fingertips will freeze off!
Another thing we probably should have thought of when we made the list.
Too late for that now. Must move forward.
I think the biggest thing I’ve learned in my two months of middle school is that there’s really no purpose in dwelling on the past or mistakes or regrets. The only thing we can do is try and learn something and then move on.
“Can I borrow your tandem kayak?”
“You’ll need another person to use it, you know that, right? Or you’ll just paddle yourself in circles,” she says. “I’m happy to go with you—”
“No, um, it’s just that Ari and I made this list . . . and we need to kayak together to Arch Island, and we need to do it before we turn twelve and . . .” I go on and on about everything, leaving out the part that something calamitous will happen if we don’t complete the list. I think that level of superstition will be hard for others to understand.
“Wow.” She stops stretching. “There seems to be a lot going on inside that head of yours.”
I nod. “So, can I borrow it?”
“Of course you can, silly!” She bops me on the head. “As long as your mom says it’s okay. And are you sure you’re not running away from home and setting up a colony on Arch Island? I hear there are werewolves there.”
We laugh together for a few moments and talk more.
“Do you think Ari and I will make up?” I ask her. “Did you ever fight like this with your friends?”
She puts her head back. “Oh, honey. Of course I have. I still do.” She laughs. “Don’t get me started on my friend Bev. Oh boy, we have had our fights!”
“You have?”
“Yes. Life is long, my dearie, if you’re lucky,” she continues. “And these things happen. As long as you don’t hold on to anger and you’re able to let some things go, all will be well. But—” She pauses and raises a finger. “You also have to tell people when they’ve hurt you. Sometimes they just don’t realize it.”
I nod. I’m not going to tell Mrs. Etisof all about our plan right now.
“Just talk to her. Tell her what you’re thinking,” she instructs. “And then listen to what she has to say as well.”
By the end of our conversation, my cheeks are painted with tears, and it’s almost dark out.
“I still see one problem, though,” she adds. “You can’t kayak in the dark, my dear.”
I nod. “But can I borrow it tomorrow?”
“Of course. Whatever you need,” she says.
“Thanks for listening, Mrs. Etisof,” I tell her as I’m getting up. “But you should go inside. It’s really, really cold now.”
“The cold is energizing. Woo-hoo!” she says, waving her hands in the air like she’s at a concert.
I walk home, a little disappointed that I talked for so long and wasted the opportunity to take the kayak and make up with Ari. But it just felt so good to talk, to let everything out. And Mrs. Etisof is such a good listener. She barely says anything; she just sits there and nods when she’s supposed to nod, and smiles when she’s supposed to smile.
I should recommend her to other kids who are struggling and need to talk about stuff. She likes to have people come and see her, and everyone needs someone to talk to. It’s really a perfect match.
When I get home, Mom is scooping spaghetti and meatballs onto plates. She knows Ryan likes his spaghetti on the side without sauce, and she knows I like my meatball right on top with as much sauce as possible.
It’s amazing how moms can remember all these simple details, in addition to all the other stuff they have to do, like work and pay bills and buy us clothes.
“Hi, Mom,” I say as I take off my shoes and jacket. “How was your day?”
“Tiring,” she says, and turns around with a smile. “And yours?”
“It was good,” I tell her. “I’ll take care of cleanup tonight. Ryan will help.”
“Thank you.” She smiles and puts our plates down and pours tall glasses of water and tells me to go get Ryan for dinner.
“Come down for dinner,” I say through Ryan’s doorway. “Mom’s waiting.”
“Okay, coming.” He closes his computer and follows me down the stairs.
We sit and eat our spaghetti and meatballs and talk about our day, and even though so many things are still so unsettled, I start to feel better about things. It feels like life is easing up. Maybe. Just a little bit.
I look at the window and I see snowflakes. It’s only late October. How can this be?
“It’s snowing!” I exclaim.
“It is?” Mom shrieks. The three of us run over to the window, and a feeling of coziness washes over me.
There’s something about snow that always feels like a fresh start to me. It’s all perfect and clean and beautiful when it’s falling and when it first lands. Like the grass underneath gets a rest, and the snow protects it.
It’s inspiring, too. A new beginning, a new season.
I make a mental note to think of this first snowfall when I talk to Ari, to think of the freshness and the clean slate.
This can be a fresh start for us, too.
THIRTY-NINE
SINCE I CAN’T TAKE MRS. Etisof’s kayak to school, I print out as many pictures of kayaks as I can find, and I put them in those plastic sleeves that my mom bought for Ryan and me to use for reports. And then I put the sleeves in an extra binder I found in the basement.
My plan is to take the binder to school and put it in Ari’s locker with a note, right before lunch. And then we’ll meet at our secret place: outside the darkroom on the third floor.
We set up our special meeting spot at the beginning of the year, but then we had our falling out, and so there weren’t many occasions when we had to meet there.
After I get dressed and eat my breakfast the next morning, I put the binder in my backpack and head for the bus stop.
My main obstacle in this whole plan is how I’ll be able to get it into Ari’s locker without anyone seeing. Especially Ari. She usually arrives at school early, but she hangs o
ut in the cafeteria before the first bell rings.
But there’s also another obstacle: What if she’s changed her locker combination since our fight? Then I guess I can just stand the binder up outside her locker, but someone might see it. Or maybe I can find her in the hall and hand it to her.
My stomach rumbles.
I’m suddenly regretting this plan. Maybe showing up at her house with the kayak is a better idea, but I have to stay after school for science extra help today. And it just seems risky. What if she’s not home? And then I’m dragging a kayak around the neighborhood.
I tell myself to buck up. I can do this.
I get off the bus, hold my head high, and walk straight to Ari’s locker. The bus got to school earlier than usual, so I don’t think Ari’s here yet.
I put my backpack down and look around.
Good. The coast is clear.
My hands are shaking, but I very carefully try to open Ari’s combination lock. It’s 11-1-2 for our birthdays.
It works. I’m in. I silently do a little cheer for myself and then realize I’m actually breaking and entering and could probably get suspended for this or at least get detention. But I’ve already checked that off my list.
I slide the binder onto the floor, so she’ll see it when she opens her locker. I gently close the door. I throw my backpack over my shoulder and hustle up the stairs to the third-floor darkroom. I have approximately nine minutes before the first bell rings and that means I have thirteen minutes before I need to get to class.
By the time I get up there, I’m sweating and huffing and puffing and realizing I really do need to get more exercise. I probably should have stuck with yoga.
I stand outside the darkroom door. Who decided to have a darkroom on the third floor of a building? How do they even keep it dark? They should probably call it the Sorta Darkroom. Or the Oh Well, We Tried to Make It Darkroom.
I start pacing, back and forth, back and forth. This whole experience kind of feels like the try-something-you’ll-hate yoga class—I know it’ll be good once it’s done, but the getting-there part is really, really painful.
No sign of Ari. Where is she?
The first bell rings, and the second bell rings, and I rush to class.
I can’t believe Ari didn’t show up.
Maybe she’s sick today and she didn’t even get the binder. Or maybe she’s running late and she went straight to class.
Or worst-case scenario: she got it and she’s ignoring me.
I’m running to class when I hear someone yell, “Kaylan!”
I turn around and there’s Jason, standing there in his dark jeans. They look freshly ironed. And he’s wearing an orange sweater. So bright and cheerful. It makes me think of his orange bathing suit that he wore to the pool this summer. That feels like forever ago.
“I’m late to class. Really, really late,” I say, and the tears are bubbling up behind my eyes. They’re coming out of nowhere. I didn’t feel sad. At least I don’t think I did.
“We have a study hall, it’s okay to be late,” he says. “No astronomy. Mrs. Bellinsky is absent today.”
“What?” My heart pounds and I start to feel dizzy. “I need to sit down.”
I plop to the floor in front of a row of lockers and brush the sweat from my forehead with the sleeve of my shirt.
Jason opens up his backpack. I peek inside—it’s entirely filled with clementines.
“For extra practice. Come outside with me,” he says, his voice sounding shaky. “To practice. And also, I want to tell you something.”
“What? It’s so cold,” I remind him. “Can you tell me here?”
“It’s not that cold. Come on.” He grabs my hand and we walk out the side door into the little garden behind the cafeteria.
To be honest, I have no idea what’s about to happen, but it seems like bad news. I look around, expecting one of the teachers to find us, or the hall monitor, someone to tell us we’re doing the wrong thing.
That’s how life feels these days, like someone is always finding me and telling me I’m doing the wrong thing.
“Jason, I really should go and try to find Ari. We need to make up,” I say, trying not to make it seem like I’d rather be hanging out with someone else.
“Okay, yeah, look at this tree for one second.” He laughs, but nothing’s really funny. “Doesn’t it kind of look like it has magical powers?”
“Umm, maybe?” I don’t even know what he’s talking about.
“Okay, so do a quick clementine peel. I’m ready to time you.”
“Uh, okay . . .” I’m so lost in my thoughts and worries that I peel and don’t focus too much on it. I’m midpeel when I’m completely and totally thrown off guard.
I don’t even have time to prepare.
Jason kisses me. Mid–clementine peel!
Well, it’s kind of a kiss.
Our teeth crash. Part of his lip ends up on my nose.
Right there, in the garden, behind the cafeteria of West Brookside Middle School.
Jason is kissing me.
His lips are on my lips, kind of.
My lips are on his lips, kind of.
I pull away. “Wait. What just happened?”
He stands back a little bit. “I had to do that. I just had to.”
“Why did you have to?” I ask, about to cry again.
I pause for a moment and then I realize what he’s saying. He had to do it because he knows the timing for the list is running out.
A pity kiss is worse than no kiss at all.
Though it does make Jason a really great friend. That he thought of that. That he would do that for me.
“I just wanted to, Kaylan,” he says. “I’ve liked you since that first day at the pool.”
“For real?” My smiling turns into laughing because I’m nervous and because I haven’t finished peeling this clementine and it’s getting mushy in my hand. And I’m laughing at everything, mostly from the most awkward first kiss in the history of the world.
In fact, I cannot stop laughing.
“Why are you laughing?” Jason’s forehead turns red and he covers his cheeks with his hands. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that.”
“No. Stop.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “I like you, too. I laugh when I’m overwhelmed sometimes.”
“I’m sorry that first kiss was bad.”
“I’m glad you kissed me,” I tell him. “It wasn’t that bad. . . .”
“Yes it was,” he replies. “You don’t need to lie. It was a bad first kiss. But that means there’s always a chance for a redo.”
A redo. That sounds pretty good to me.
FORTY
I TRY TO PAY ATTENTION during my classes, but I can’t stop touching my lips. It still feels like they’re buzzing. I wonder when it will stop. But I kind of don’t want it to. I kind of want my lips to buzz forever.
I walk to lunch in a daze. I drop my backpack at the table and walk over to the salad bar. It’s like all around me stuff is happening but all I can think about is that kiss. Do I look the same? Can everyone I tell I kissed a boy today?
I’m midscoop in the tomatoes when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around. It’s Ari.
“Can we talk?” she asks.
“You didn’t come to the darkroom,” I say.
“I know. Can we talk?”
“Um, yes. Of course.” I feel like I’ve been zapped alive again by the fact that Ari wants to talk to me.
I don’t know what to do with my tray, so I bring it over to the table and leave it there.
“What’s going on?” June asks me. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “Um, I think so.” I laugh a little. “Are crazy things happening to you guys today?”
They look at each other. “Not really. Unless you count the fact that Arjun Johar did a cartwheel into math third period,” Cami says. “That was kind of crazy. Who knew he was such a great gymnast?”
I shrug. “I had no idea. I’ll
be back soon!”
Ari and I walk outside into the hallway, not talking. The four-second walk feels like three hundred years.
“You broke into my locker, Kaylan.”
I had a feeling this might happen, but I’d hoped she would be so pleased with my gesture, she wouldn’t think about that part.
“In all fairness, you told me the combination,” I remind her.
She crinkles up her eyes like I’m a complete idiot, but then laughs a little.
I don’t think I meant it to be funny, but I guess it is. I’m not sure. I don’t know what I’m sure of anymore.
“I’ve missed you so much, Ari,” I tell her. “And I shouldn’t have gotten so mad when you invited Marie to do the list. I can’t believe how much time has gone by and we haven’t been BFFs.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” She looks down at her feet. Does this mean we can be BFFs again? I want to ask, but I also don’t want to ask. I want her to say it, to reassure me.
“We have so much to catch up on,” I remind her.
“Can we start fresh?” she asks. “Like, do things differently?”
My heart pounds. I wait for her to say more, and chew the inside of my cheek. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know what she means. Will we still be BFFs in this new, fresh version of us?
“Kaylan?” she asks. “Are you there?”
I nod. “What do you mean, differently?”
Kids spill out into the hallway because lunch is ending, and my whole happy feeling drifts away. Agita is back and feels like it’s settling in to stay for a while.
“Just stuff. We’ll talk,” she says. “I mean, you’re not the only one who gets agita and needs help figuring things out and calming herself down. Ya know?”
I think about it for a second. “I know.”
“Let’s meet after school,” she says. “We’ll talk more. Meet in the main lobby.”
“Sounds good,” I say.
FORTY-ONE
AFTER SCHOOL, I GO TO science extra help and then I sit on the edge of the bench, waiting for Ari.
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