First, Last, and Always

by Lehman, Kim

  “What are you doing with all these photos?” I ask, looking around.

  “Well, it’s sort of a secret.” She hesitates, then smiles. “I’m surprising your uncle with a video of all our memories for our twentieth wedding anniversary. Even though we’ve been married twenty years, we’ve been together for thirty, and I have so many pictures of us all over the place.”

  “You met when you were my age, right?” I ask.

  She nods. “We were fifteen.” Digging through a box she pulls out a picture. “This is our sophomore year of high school. Crazy, huh?”

  I can’t believe how young the two of them look in the picture. Uncle Paul looks so different. “Did I ever tell you how we met?” she asks.

  I shake my head. Giggling like she’s back in high school, she sits down on the bed. “Well, first off I should tell you that your uncle was cute, but he was kind of a nerd. We didn’t really have the same friends, but I knew him from one of my classes and just thought he was always a nice, quiet guy. Anyway, we were in the bleachers, at a school assembly. It had ended and we were all excused to go back to class. I was sitting a couple rows up from your uncle Paul, but I didn’t see him. He saw me, though. When I started to walk down the bleachers I slipped and fell forward. I could see that he reached out his arm to try to catch me, but there wasn’t enough time, so he threw himself onto the floor. He landed right on top of me.” She pauses to laugh. “Then, as we’re getting up he tried to help, but instead of grabbing my arm he grabbed my chest. He was so embarrassed. We both ended up in the nurse’s office. I scraped my elbow and he banged up his knees and chin.” She chuckles again. “He literally fell for me.” She stares another moment at the old picture of her and Uncle Paul, admiring it. I can still see how much she loves him. Setting it down, she turns to me. “Anyway, what brings you over here? I’m sure you didn’t want to look through a bunch of old pictures with your aunt.”

  “No. I don’t mind. It’s kind of nice, but yeah, I was here to talk with you about something else.”

  “Okay?”

  “There’s this guy at school,” I start. Aunt Claire’s eyes widen.

  “Oh?” she says.

  “It’s so dumb. I feel like such a girl talking about this stuff.”

  “You are a girl,” Aunt Claire smiles at me.

  “I know, I don’t want to be one of those girls who obsesses over boys.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “I don’t understand what is going on. The first week he talked to me a lot. This week he has barely said two words to me. I’m pretty sure I know why, but I don’t know how to fix it.”

  “Why?”

  “He thinks I’m a loser.”

  Aunt Claire looks concerned. “First of all, nobody better think you’re a loser.”

  Mental note: Do not mention Vanessa to Aunt Claire.

  “Second of all, you don’t really want to be interested in someone who thinks you’re a loser, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Okay then. It’s settled. We do not like this boy who thinks you are a loser.”

  “But that’s the thing, I don’t really know if he thinks that. I’m just assuming he does.”

  “Well, in that case, I can tell you he doesn’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You just said that you made an assumption. Which means you’re making it up in your head. Until you know for sure, it isn’t true.”

  Seems logical, but I still don’t feel better.

  “I think you should talk to him,” she tells me.

  “Just start a conversation?” Anxiety is coming on.

  “Sure.”

  “I can never think of anything to say to him. He always started talking to me and whenever he did I was happy if actual words came out of my mouth.”

  Aunt Claire laughs. “Well, come up with something simple and casual, and if you want, we can practice before you actually say it.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can I ask you another favor?” I say.

  “Sure.”

  “Can you not mention this to my mom? I’m just afraid if she finds out then Alexa will find out, and then it will be this thing and I don’t want it to be a thing.”

  “Not a thing. Got it. I won’t say a word,” she assures me.

  I give her a big hug. “I’ll let you get back to your work. Thanks.”

  She squeezes tight. “I’m glad you came by.”

  Moving to the doorway, I stop myself and turn around. “Aunt Claire?”

  “Yeah, Sweetie?” She tilts her head.

  “What you said earlier, about being an honorary mom? Just thought you should know that you’re way more than that.”

  Tears well up in her eyes. “Thank you,” she says, returning a gentle, grateful smile.

  Miles

  “Nice shoes,” Lani says, walking up the driveway of my house as I’m shooting hoops after school. “They make you look kind of official with the whole basketball thing.”

  “Thanks. I don’t know if they’ll make much of a difference, but I like ’em,” I say.

  “Shoes make all the difference.” Lani gasps. “Haven’t you seen Cinderella? New shoes can change your life.” Sitting down on the grass at the edge of the driveway, she crosses her legs and stares at me.

  “I didn’t know you were coming over,” I say, unsure of why she’s here.

  “Me neither,” she admits. “I just started walking and ran into your house. Had to get out for a while. The quads were giving me ear damage.”

  She walked here? “You live three miles away.”

  “Yeah. That’s about how far you have to get before you no longer hear them.”

  “I wish I knew you were coming over. I really need to practice.”

  “Oh, well, I won’t stop you. Go ahead.”

  “You’re just going to sit there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “Just look at me like a coach. I’ll tell you what you’re doing wrong.”

  I laugh. “Do you even know how to play basketball?”

  “Basketball?” she says. “I thought that was a soccer ball in your hand?”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  “I’m kidding!” she says. “Of course I know the game of basketball. Go ahead. Do whatever it is you do and I’ll prove it. Seriously. I’ll analyze your shot and stuff.”

  She’s not going to leave, so begrudgingly, I do my best to pretend she isn’t there. I dribble the ball, stop near the foul shot line, prepare for the shot, bend my knees—

  “By the way,” Lani says. The ball slips from my hands. “I told myself I wasn’t going to talk to you about Charlotte today.”

  Picking up the ball at my feet, I turn to face her. “Thanks,” I say. “I’m sure that’s hard for you.”

  She nods. “It is.”

  We stare at each other. I’m waiting for her to say more. I’m sure she’s going to.

  “What? Aren’t you going to shoot?” she asks.

  “I thought you were going to say something else.”

  “No,” she looks at me like I’m ridiculous.

  Dribbling again, I repeat the process, stopping by the foul line—

  “But all I’ll say...,” Lani adds. I freeze in the middle of the shot. “Is that it’s been a week since you said you would tell her.”

  Taking a deep breath, I turn again to face her. “You’re never really going to let me shoot, are you?”

  “Oh. Sorry.” She motions over her mouth like she’s zippering her lips.

  I give it another twenty seconds until I’m sure she’s really going to be quiet. When it seems safe, I face the basket. This time I decide to go in for a layup. Dribbling, I run up to the foul line, take two more steps, press off with my left leg, lift my right, extend my right arm and watch the ball fly into the air, gliding past the net, past the rim, and over the backboard, completely missing the hoop. The ball bounces o
ff the roof of the house, before rolling down. I let it drop and come to a complete stop, before throwing up my hands and saying to Lani, “All right. What? Please tell me, what did I do wrong?”

  “You missed,” Lani says, straight faced.

  If I were ever to yell at someone it would be now. “That’s your big analysis?” I say.

  She shrugs. “You missed badly?”

  I grit my teeth. “I think you should just watch.”

  7

  Charlotte

  It’s Friday morning, and by some miracle I’ve almost made it through two weeks of high school. Alexa’s sitting at the counter in the kitchen, her thumbs fluttering across the bottom of her phone at lightning speed. She has a sly grin on her face, which means she could only be texting with one person: Lance. I can’t imagine what they would possibly be texting each other that they didn’t already text last night and this morning when she first woke up and went into the bathroom, or when she got out of the shower and the phone was still in her hands. Must be something that can’t be said face-to-face when he drives over to pick her up in twenty minutes?

  “Where’s Mom?” I ask.

  “She left. Left at the same time Dad did.”

  “Really?” It’s the earliest she’s ever left since I can remember.

  “Yeah,” Alexa says her fingers still flying. “Something about an early important meeting. It was starting as she walked out the door.”

  That makes more sense. “How are things with you and Lance?” I say, trying to continue the conversation and make small talk.

  “Fine.” She doesn’t bother to look up and continues texting.

  “Is it getting serious with you two? Seems like it’s getting serious.”

  Her thumbs pause, hovering over the phone, and she sighs. “Charlotte, I can’t concentrate when you’re talking to me.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter, turning away. Outside the window, I notice a car pull into the driveway. “Hey, Uncle Paul just pulled in.”

  “Seriously?” Alexa jumps up off the stool and peers out the window.

  “I wonder what he’s doing here.”

  “Bet you a hundred bucks he wants to see if we want a ride to school,” Alexa says, shoving her phone in her pocket.

  “That’s nice of him.”

  “Convenient,” Alexa says.

  “True,” I acknowledge. “It’s on his way to work.”

  “Among other things,” Alexa mutters, before hustling to a chair to grab her bag. “Well, I’m out. I already have a ride.”

  “But your ride isn’t even here. Why don’t you go with us?” I’m sure the answer will be no, but I ask anyway.

  Paul’s footsteps clap on the front porch.

  Alexa grabs her bag. “I’m out of here.”

  “You aren’t going to say hi?”

  “I’m going to be late.”

  “You have another twenty minutes before Lance gets here.”

  “I’ll meet him up the street.”

  She makes her way toward the backyard. “You’re going out the back door?” I say, confused.

  “Jesus, do you have to be so annoying with all the questions?” The sliding glass door closes as the front door opens.

  “Hey.” Uncle Paul strolls in. He grabs a muffin on the counter and takes a bite before leaning forward and resting his arms on the counter across from me. “I thought I’d come over to see if you and Alexa wanted a ride to school today.” Craning his neck, he looks in the other room and around the corner. “Where’s your sister?”

  “She already left.”

  “Huh.” He seems disappointed. “That’s too bad.” Popping the rest of the muffin into his mouth, he straightens up. “Well, I guess it’s just you and me then.”

  A song comes on the radio. Five seconds later, Uncle Paul turns the volume all the way down and gives me a quick glance while driving. “Do you know it?” he asks.

  We’ve played this game since I was nine years old. Whenever a new song starts we alternate guessing the name of the band and the song in the first few lines or notes. So far I’m two for two. Uncle Paul is trailing with one out of two. “It’s actually your turn to guess. I just did.”

  “Oh, right. Shoot, I wasn’t paying close attention. Was it the Police...‘Message in a Bottle’?”

  “Who are the Police?” I ask.

  He laughs. “A group I used to listen to. Turn it back up. Let’s see who it is.”

  I know right away. “It’s Bruno Mars.”

  “I was close,” he argues.

  Arching an eyebrow, I give him a sideways glance. “Actually, I should subtract a point. Your guess was awful.”

  “No, it wasn’t. I’m telling you, the beginning sounded just like the Police.”

  “All right,” I say in a way that implies I’m letting him believe it.

  “Are we on time?” Uncle Paul asks, pulling up to the front of the school and shifting the car into park.

  “Yeah. The buses aren’t even here. I’m never this early.”

  “Well,” he glances around the parking lot. “Too early is better than too late, which is what I’m going to be if I don’t get to work.” Reaching across from me, he opens the door. He suddenly seems to be in a hurry for me to get out. “Whenever you want a ride just let me know. I usually pass by here a little earlier on Fridays.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Uncle Paul.” Jumping out of the car, I shut the door, offer a quick wave, and head toward the entrance to school. Waving back, Uncle Paul shifts the car into gear and pulls away.

  The foot traffic outside is sparse. I’m not sure what to do with myself for thirty minutes. As I pull open one of the entrance doors, my head turns for a brief second and I catch the red brake lights of Uncle Paul’s car pulling into a parking space at the far end of the school lot. Pausing and closing the door, I wait to see if he gets out, but he just sits there. I wonder what’s up. Backtracking, I hike my bag onto my shoulders and jog over to his car.

  It looks like he’s on his phone texting. He doesn’t notice me. I knock twice on the driver’s-side window. His shoulders jerk upward. Surprised, he looks at me and rolls down the glass between us. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were still there,” he says.

  “Did you forget something?”

  “No, I’m waiting for...um...another few minutes.” He smiles. “Looks like we’re both running extra early today.”

  “I thought you said you were going to be late.”

  “Well...yeah, I thought I had a conference call, but I was wrong.”

  I perk up. “Well, that’s perfect. I can wait with you, then. I’ll give you a chance to redeem yourself with another song.” I start to walk around to the passenger side. Uncle Paul jumps out of the car.

  “Charlotte, wait!” He looks down at his phone in an anxious manner. “Actually, I...I spoke too soon. I just got a text. I’ve been going back and forth with my boss this morning. We have this thing going on at work and it looks like it’s becoming a problem. I’m going to have to go in early after all.”

  “Oh.” He’s acting weird.

  He shakes his head with a chuckle. “These damn contractors we hired are really messing things up.”

  I have no idea what he’s talking about. “All right then.” I shrug. “I guess I’ll see you later?” He nods. “Hope everything works out,” I add.

  “Yeah,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Me too.” Before getting in the car, he scans the parking lot twice—left, then right. In an obvious hurry, he backs away. When he gets to the main entrance he signals left, then he pulls the car right and goes the opposite way. Strange. I would have expected him to take a left. I’m pretty sure he works downtown.

  Sitting down on the bench outside the school, I dismiss it as nothing important. Twenty-seven minutes until the buses arrive. With nothing else to do, I pull out my history textbook and read about the emerging civilizations of the Americas as I wait for Lani and Miles.

  Miles

  The hallways are no more cr
owded than usual, but today, as Charlotte and I walk to lunch, our shoulders brush for the fourth time. She keeps apologizing; she thinks she is leaning into me. She doesn’t realize that I’m the one leaning into her. She finally realizes what I’m doing, smiles, presses her shoulder into mine, and slightly leans into me as we walk. Neither of us cares that we probably look like Siamese twins. No one is paying much attention to us anyway.

  When we were younger, we used to do this all the time. It was sort of a game. We didn’t have a name for it, but it was like Trust Fall and Chicken all in one. In our version of the game, we stand side-by-side, shoulder to shoulder and lean against each other. As we walk, we move our feet further away until the point at which one person thinks they can’t take another step without crashing to the ground. The person who stops leaning against the other first, loses.

  We turn the corner, our bodies looking like a tall, upside-down V. The halls are too crowded to move out too far. Each of us is able to walk against the other without much trouble. Our shoulders stay connected, but when we arrive to Charlotte’s class a few minutes later, a few feet away from the door, she pulls away without warning. My balance is lost. I start to fall sideways. My hand reaches out for the wall to catch my fall.

  “Miles!” Charlotte cries, realizing I’m tumbling. Her hand grabs my arm, breaking my fall. “Sorry,” she says with a deep breath. “I moved too quickly.” When I look at her she smiles, a warm, caring, I’ll-never-let-you-fall kind of smile. “Don’t worry. I got you,” she says.

  Every fiber inside of me crumbles. She has no idea how true that statement is.

  Charlotte

  Algebra class is just getting started. The bell rings, Ms. Ming begins the lesson, and I spend the first minute of her lecture watching the clock. Three thousand seconds to go until the next bell. I think time actually goes backward when you watch it. I swear at least twice the second hand stops moving altogether.