by Cat Patrick
Distracted by thoughts of Joel, I feel class fly by; soon enough the bell’s ringing and everyone’s gone and I’m working my way through the rest of the day. After the emotional bump of seeing the guy I like, I’m back to zombie for the remainder of the morning, with movements and sights and sounds sort of just blurring together and drifting by. Between classes I send Simone a text to tell her I’m stopping by home for lunch. It’s a lie—really, I just want to be alone.
At my locker I toss in my bag, then remove my wallet and car keys even though I have no idea where I’m going. I turn toward the main exit—the one that’ll take me through the commons and therefore past … everyone. Instead of walking, I flip around toward the auditorium, thinking I’ll use the back exit and go around the side of the building. But when I walk by the open auditorium doors, I find myself going in.
The auditorium is cool and dark, with only a couple of lights eerily illuminating the stage up ahead. It smells like cleaning solution and cookies, which strikes me as odd until I remember that Family Sciences is in this wing. I half-walk, half-stumble down the carpeted middle aisle and take a seat in a creaky, cushioned chair in the orchestra section. I’m like the only person at a badly reviewed musical on opening night, waiting for something to happen. Then something does.
“Hiding from someone?” a guy’s voice says.
It can’t be.
I turn. Joel is standing in the aisle behind me.
“Everyone,” I admit, managing to appear calm despite my complete shock that he’s here. “I don’t feel much like facing the masses today.”
“Should I leave?” he asks, no emotion in his eyes. That’s the killer thing about Joel: His expressions give nothing away. He doesn’t move, waiting for my response.
“No, stay,” I say quickly. I move over one seat, motioning for him to sit. “What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I saw you come in.” He sits and shifts to get comfortable, like it’s nothing. “I was curious.”
“Oh.”
We both stare straight ahead at the stage, like we’re watching a performance silent and invisible to the outside world. “I love this part,” I joke, hoping to lighten the mood. Saturday with Simone was so great—I want to replicate that lack of seriousness now. But Joel just looks at me funny. “You know, when the dancers leap into the air like that,” I say, pointing to the empty stage.
“Funny,” he says, but he doesn’t laugh. And he doesn’t keep the made-up story going either. Instead, his eyes still on the ballet that isn’t there, he floors me by opening up. “My uncle died last year,” he says, matter-of-fact. “I’m not sure if you remember, but my dad left when I was a kid. …”
I remember.
“My uncle sort of stepped in,” he continues. “We were thick.”
“That’s kind of how it was with me and my gram,” I say. “I went to live with her when my parents were going through their bloodbath divorce.”
“Yeah,” Joel says, shifting in his chair. His muscular legs are so long that he looks uncomfortable in the seat. “My uncle used to take me to baseball games in the city. He paid for art classes. He was solid.”
“What happened?” I ask quietly. “I mean, if you’re okay with telling me. You don’t have t—”
“Hunting accident,” he cuts in. “He was out with friends and they were drinking. They were dicking around, not paying attention. Long story short, he got shot.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.” How did I not know about this? Why are you so secretive?
An awkward amount of time passes, and just when I think he might stand and leave, Joel turns and looks at me. “Death sucks.” He stares with brown-black eyes like he’s branding me. And then, before I have time to consider what’s happening, his lips are on mine.
I’m surprised but, oddly, not shocked. Instinctively, maybe because of all the years I’ve craved him, I kiss back. His lips are strong but soft, and this close, the smell of him is hypnotic. His hand moves up my arm and stops at the base of my skull, under my hair. It sort of pins one side of my body down against the seat, in a good way. My free hand finds his face: It’s the beginnings of scruffy. We kiss, long and open mouthed, like we’ve done it a billion times before. But it’s new, and despite the kisses I’ve shared with boyfriends past, this is the best.
This feels like the first.
Suddenly Joel pulls back, hand still holding my neck, looking a little surprised that he kissed me. There are dozens of words running through my brain—shock, sorry, yes, wow, again, elation, please, run, hide, more—but he says none of them. He stares, and I wonder if he thinks I can hear his thoughts. I wish.
“I have to go,” he says finally, which is not at all what I was expecting. The lunch period doesn’t end for another twenty minutes at least. Probably seeing the disappointment on my face, he adds an explanation. “I’m supposed to call Lauren.”
My stomach drops: Did he seriously just say that? Joel releases his grip on my neck, and the coolness of his hand’s absence makes me shiver. He steps into the aisle, looking even more beautiful than he did earlier, if that’s possible. Maybe it’s because now I know what he tastes like.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to … ,” he begins, his voice trailing off.
“No problem,” I say, unsure what I’m forgiving him for but trying to sound lighter than I feel. “It’s fine. Go call Lauren.” Did I seriously just say that? “I’ll see you around.”
Joel turns to head up the aisle, then hesitates. “Caroline?”
“What?” I ask, and maybe it comes out a little snippy.
“I didn’t come in here to—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I interrupt, because that’s what you say. But I know I’m going to be worrying about it for the rest of my natural life. “It was just … something that happened. Let’s forget all about it.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he says, shaking his head.
“Hey, Joel?” I say, desperately wanting this uncomfortable situation to be over. He looks at me expectantly, like I’m going to have the answer. To say the right thing. Instead, forcefully, I say, “Go call Lauren.”
He holds my gaze a moment longer, then finally he nods once and moves up the aisle. I don’t turn around to watch him leave, but I hear him close the door behind him. Maybe he knows that I need the space to myself even more now. Or maybe closing the door was just something he did automatically, without thinking for even a fraction of a second about the consequences of doing so.
SEVEN
GO
I stand in the driveway of my father’s two-story house, staring up at the white siding, the black shutters. He moved in here a few months ago with his new wife, Debra, but I’ve never visited. And now I’m moving in.
I look doubtfully at my brother as he comes up the driveway with one of my suitcases. He told me on the way over that Dad and Debra are trying to have a baby. They probably didn’t expect her to be a teenager. When my brother sees my expression, he shakes his head.
“Don’t be judgey,” Teddy says. “I know you don’t want to like Deb, but she’s really nice.”
“And closer to your age.” I look sideways at him, and he laughs.
“She’s thirty, Coco. Not twenty. And she teaches anthropology at Clinton, so don’t try to outsmart her. She’ll be onto you.” He elbows my side before leading me across the walkway.
As I get to the door, my heart pounds with an uncertainty I haven’t felt in years. Not since I waited on Gram’s porch that day. This time I let my mother handle the details, and she and my father had a long talk about my future—even if she made it clear my stay here would only be temporary. She called my current state of mind a “phase.” I couldn’t bring myself to pick up the phone and talk to my dad; I didn’t know what to say. Now I’m regretting it. I feel like a foreign exchange student coming to live with a new host family.
I take one last look at the street behind me and then ring the doorbell. Teddy kicks my
foot lightly, reminding me that I’m not alone in this. But he’ll be back at his dorm tonight while I’ll be sleeping in the house of a practical stranger who my father happens to be married to. And is trying to have a baby with. Gross.
The door opens and there’s my dad, with his dark hair graying at the temples, wearing a warm smile and a sweater too heavy for being inside. He looks the same as always except maybe, if I’m honest, happier.
“Hi, guys,” he says in the voice that used to read me Goodnight Moon. He and Teddy do one of those back-smacking hugs, both of them beaming. I watch, smiling politely. When Dad’s eyes fall on mine, I see relief. He reaches out and pulls me into his arms.
I stand there, awkwardly, until I pat him on the back.
“Thanks for this, Dad,” I say. “I really appreciate it.”
He nods and I think he’s afraid his voice will crack if he talks, so he soundlessly waves me and my brother inside. Teddy takes my things upstairs as I follow my father, getting the first look at his house. It’s weird—there are pieces of furniture from my childhood strewn about an entirely new home. The leather recliner, the painting of the Italian villa over the fireplace.
And to my surprise, there’s a picture of Gram along with other family photos hanging on the wall near the dining room table. I spin back to my father. “Where’s Debra?” I ask.
“She has classes today, but she wanted to be here to welcome you. She’s making a special dinner tonight.” He looks so hopeful.
“I, uh … I told Teddy I’d go with him to his dorms to hang out for a little bit. Is … that okay?” It feels strange to ask his permission to go out.
“Oh. Yeah, of course. Here, let me show you around first.”
My father seems a little bummed that I’m not going to eat Debra’s dinner, but still he’s lively as he gives me the tour of the house. Even though I’m only thirty minutes away from where I used to live, the entire vibe is different. We walk from the living room double doors to the backyard, which is treelined and covered with bright orange and yellow leaves. The kitchen is big and airy, and there’s a dark den that reminds me of old dudes smoking cigars. I decide after having only seen the main level that although my father’s house is a mansion to me, it still manages to feel homey.
On the way to the second floor, my dad tells me about my new school—which I’ll start on Monday. For a second, I’m surprised at the idea. But then I remind myself that I’m not at sleepaway camp. I’ve changed my life. I’m not exactly sure how I feel about that yet.
“This is your room,” he says, sounding both excited and afraid.
He pushes open the door, and immediately I smile. There isn’t a penguin in sight. The walls are a soft brown, the curtains luxurious with long panels of red and gold. My bed is a queen, overflowing with decorator pillows and satiny sheets. This is a grown-up room, and I’m absolutely beside myself at how perfect it is.
“You like it,” he says, laughing at his own relief.
“I love it,” I correct. I turn to my dad and almost hug him, stopping myself just before. But he must have read my thought because he reaches to put his palm on my shoulder and smiles.
“I’m so glad, Caroline. And Debra will be too. She did this for you. She wants you to be happy here.”
I nod, not sure how I feel about Debra yet, either. Then I walk into the room, taking a moment to touch all the fabrics and test out the bed. After the third bounce on the mattress, I look up to see my dad loitering in the hall. I guess he’s just as unsure about this entire situation as I am.
“I’m going to settle in,” I tell him. “Before I go over to Teddy’s.”
“Right,” my father says. “Yes. I’ll see you later, then.” He waves, but just as he’s about to leave, he glances back at me. “I’m glad you’re here, honey. I really am.”
He’s genuine; I know he is. I smile and thank him politely, wishing I had the guts to say it back. The second he’s gone, I don’t waste any time before closing the door and whipping out my phone to call Simone. I hesitate, thinking back on that day at the hospice—the day I left. It wasn’t her fault, I think. She’s my best friend, and it wasn’t her fault. I dial her number.
Simone’s quiet when she answers. “How is it?” she asks.
“Weird,” I say, trying to make us normal again. “Things are weird all over, Mony.”
“Weird like you not calling me anymore?” she asks in a shaky voice. “Or weird like you uprooting your entire life—my entire life—without so much as asking what I thought? Did you wonder how I’d feel about you moving away? Did you even care?”
I didn’t. When I made the decision to leave, I didn’t take Simone into consideration. But I’m tired of feeling guilty. I’m tired of feeling anything.
“It’s only thirty minutes,” I tell her, but know the excuse is flat.
“Thirty minutes,” she repeats with the correct amount of emphasis. “That means a half-hour difference every lunch period, every trip to the mall. I know things suck for you right now; I get it. But I think you’re being a coward.” The word hits me hard, making my eyes tear up.
“I shouldn’t have left with you that night,” I say quietly. It’s my only comeback, even if it’s an unfair one. To drive home that point, Simone gets really quiet—extending the silence long enough for me to wonder if she’s still there. But then she sniffles.
“Go ahead, Linus,” she says. “Blame me. Blame your sister. Hell, blame everyone. Just make sure you don’t take any responsibility for yourself. That would be too harsh.”
I narrow my eyes, anger starting to seep into my tone. “Oh, I hate myself just plenty,” I say. “But thanks for reminding me how much I suck. Look, I have to go. I’ll call you later.”
“Yeah, sure. If you can fit me into your schedule, I’ll be around.” And then she hangs up without saying good-bye.
I set my phone on the bed next to me and focus on trying to quiet the desperation that comes with fighting with your best friend. I hate her just a little, even though I know I really hate myself. I need to pull it together before I can go back downstairs. I calm my heart, steady my breathing.
I change into a worn T-shirt and soft jeans, opting for lip balm instead of any real sort of makeup. Hanging out with Teddy will set me right—it always has before. For a minute, I’m actually looking forward to seeing the campus again, to being around other people. I’m going somewhere where I can feel comfortable. My dad’s house doesn’t inspire that feeling. At least not yet.
Teddy calls up that he has to leave, and I pause to take in my reflection one last time before going downstairs. I look worn and broken. I look like a tattered version of me.
“Runner,” I whisper accusingly, watching the reflection as her eyes fill with tears. And as the first one trickles down her cheek, I watch her brush it away and walk out the door.
The town of Clinton is quiet and kempt as I leave my father’s house, following my brother’s car. Little patters of rain begin to hit my windshield, and I glance uncertainly at the sky, wondering what’s to come.
Luckily the dorms are only fifteen minutes away from my dad’s because what started as a sprinkle turns into a torrential downpour as we pull into the parking lot. My brother snags the last spot in the main lot and then runs to my window and directs me toward the visitors’ lot—otherwise known as Siberia.
I pull up the hood of my jacket and jog—trying, and failing, to avoid the puddles. When I get to Teddy, safely waiting under the entrance overhang, I take a second to look over the campus. The trees, the brick of the buildings, even the crooked stop sign are the same. Gram loved coming here. Her excitement when visiting Teddy was always infectious. She once told me it made her feel young to be around young people. Then she’d lick her palm and smooth down one of the stray hairs in my part. I nearly drown in the grief of the memory, how much I took her love for granted.
“Hey,” my brother says, bumping me. “It’s okay to miss her, you know. You don’t always have to k
eep a brave face.” He’s like a mind reader.
I lower my head. “Do you hate me for leaving that night?”
Teddy gasps and puts his arm over my shoulders to pull me into a sideways hug. “Of course not, Coco. And neither would Gram. You don’t seriously think that, do you?”
Yes. “Not really,” I say instead, not wanting to drag him into my grief and guilt. “I just …” I pull back to look into Teddy’s worried eyes. “I wish I was as strong as you.”
His expression weakens. “I’m not nearly as pulled together as you think. Listen,” he says quietly. “Gram would want us to be together. All of us. So this thing with Natalie, with Mom—it’s got to end, Coco.” He smiles a little. “Even if I’m glad to have you close by.”
“I’m glad too.” And I mean it. Being here with Teddy—it helps. And even though I can’t imagine a world where Natalie and I don’t hate each other, I think that my brother is right. Gram would want us all together. Unfortunately, I don’t think it’ll ever happen. “So … ,” I tell my brother, putting my chilled hands in the pockets of my hoodie. “Are we going inside or do you want to continue this heart-to-heart while I freeze to death?”
Teddy laughs. “Inside,” he says, pulling open the door. “But I’m ordering pizza before any more talking. You made me miss Debbie’s roast.”
I smile, walking past him through the door. The dorm lobby is a dirty white with army-green lockers lining the walls, posters for upcoming events taped and retaped to pillars. The elevator is slow and loud, and I have to remind myself each time I ride in it that it won’t get stuck—mostly to keep from panicking.
The floor is silent as we head toward his room. Teddy has a double with his best friend from high school, Phillip Voss, who I’ve known since I was a kid. Phillip pegs me in the face with a dirty sock the minute I walk in, and suddenly everything is so normal I actually laugh. I pick up the sock, ready to throw it back, but then I realize it’s a dirty sock and drop it.