by Emery Lord
Dr. Watson looked my way, eyebrows raised. “My son tells me he missed big breakfasts while in Italy and this is what I get! After watching an entire slideshow of all the delicious food he ate this summer!”
Max grinned, and she shook a spatula at him, pure affection.
I figured he annoyed her in the usual teenager ways—Is your homework done? Is there still carpet in your bedroom beneath this layer of unwashed clothes? Can you cool it with the video games? But she genuinely liked him. My own mom always seemed more concerned with parenting me to even consider if she enjoyed my company. It simply wasn’t relevant. More importantly: Was I getting good grades? Making safe choices? Being respectful and polite?
“Wait,” I said, registering the entirety of what Dr. Watson had said. I slid my gaze to Max. “There’s a whole slideshow?”
He shrugged. “She requested one.”
“So I could live vicariously,” his mom added. “Start planning my own trip.”
“Do I get to see it?” I asked.
“You want to?” Max asked, surprised, and I gave him an extreme duh look that would have made my sister proud. “Well! I’m paranoid of being that guy who comes home from traveling and won’t shut up about it.”
“Excuse me.” Dr. Watson arched a thin eyebrow. “I didn’t fund your Italian summer for you to act like Mr. Cool Guy about it.”
“Huh.” Max sat back, like he was having a revelation. “The first time I’ve ever been called cool. It’s a strange sensation. Powerful.”
After breakfast, we went downstairs to the basement rec room, where a U-shaped couch faced the big-screen TV, complete with projector capability and all of Max’s video game stuff. My nerves shrilled—half with the realization that this was the perfect time to tell Max about my college plans, and half with mortification that his mom might have thought “watch the slideshow” was unsubtle code for “be alone to make out.”
But we really did watch the slideshow. He’d sent me some of the photos over the summer, but it was different on a giant screen, with his excited explanations. Lots of crumbling monuments. Alfresco tables with plants on the balconies above. The Cinque Terre, sherbet villages cut into the cliffs. Even the pasta plates were artful—fresh basil and dustings of Parmesan.
Around Milan, I started feeling sweaty, obsessing about how I’d break my news. What if he wanted to end things before we could get more attached, and this was the last time we were ever happy? Was I really going to risk that for a pipe dream? By the Roman basilicas, I was tracing my hands against the couch fabric, unable to be still.
When the last slide flashed “The End,” followed by the Italian translation, “Fine,” I made myself smile. “Incredible.”
“Okay,” Max said. “That was an obvious missed opportunity to make a pun about the slideshow being fine. Are you all right?”
All the saliva disappeared from my mouth. That content smile of his threw me—I didn’t want to ruin it. But I couldn’t keep carrying this around. Two crinkles appeared on Max’s forehead, right above the bridge of his glasses.
“I need to tell you something,” I said, and he angled toward me immediately. I forced a laugh and blew my bangs from my face. “Um, sorry, that sounded dire. It’s not. It’s that, um, I know I said, after I got home, that NYU wasn’t a possibility, but … I was boxing myself in, I think.”
All the blood from my face rushed to my chest, where my heartbeat tapped like frantic typewriter keys. I made myself stop talking so Max could react.
“You’re going to apply?” he asked. “That’s great! God, you scared me there.”
“That’s great?”
“Yeah! I mean, kinda figured you would, with the way you talked about NYU this summer.” He cocked his head, with a smile like C’mon. “I think I know what your face looks like when you’re falling for something.”
I glanced down, lips pressed in a sheepish smile. Yes, I supposed he did. When I looked back up, Max wore an expression I recognized from QuizBowl—any time he gave an answer he was only ninety percent sure of and heard the moderator say: Correct.
“I’m applying to some places in LA, too.”
He flinched in surprise, blinking quickly as he recovered. “Oh. Okay. California? Huh. Guess that makes sense—you didn’t mention the West Coast, though, so I … huh.”
“I didn’t consider it till recently.”
“Will you do school visits before then? Stay with Maeve?”
I imagined his brain circuitry, always so fast, zapping through the new information. “I will if I get in, which I probably won’t. But if I don’t go for it, I’ll always wonder.”
Would the next words out of his mouth be But what does that mean for us? I would certainly burst into tears, wailing that I had no idea. That I wanted to be with him but I understood if he thought we should return to friendship.
Mercifully, he gave me a slow, knowing smile—another expression I recognized. Since I’d met Max Watson, he’d looked at me, in turn, like I was the most perplexing, unexpected, delightful person on earth. Maybe my favorite, though, was this look right now—when he was thoroughly, blatantly impressed. “All right, then. Wow. Good for you, Janie.”
For some reason, his reaction pained me in a way I hadn’t anticipated. What fool would consider leaving this wonderful, supportive guy—my match in so many ways? My lower lip wobbled as I tried to speak. “But your 250-mile-radius rule. If I get in, we—”
“I know,” he said, nodding. As the only child of a single mom, Max wanted to stay an easy weekend drive from home, which still left tons of options. I imagined Oakhurst as the center dot on the map, with a penciled-in circumference stretching from St. Louis to just beyond Columbus, Ohio. “We’ll be apart.”
“Far apart. But the odds of me getting in are so slim …”
“Janie,” he replied, gentle. “We can’t cross a bridge before we reach it. So let’s wait till we’re there, yeah?”
The confidence in his voice—his relaxed posture. He really wasn’t freaking out, and the energy calmed the whole room. I inhaled, like I could feel the oxygen reach all the way to my fingertips.
“Are you sure?” I asked him, lighter now. “Because I’d be happy to painstakingly diagram every possible way across the bridge and worry which one it will be. No? Torture myself, and you, with worst-case scenarios?”
Max smiled, pleased to have jostled me back toward humor. “How about just kiss me?”
I did, but quickly. If there was a relationship stage where you stopped caring about post-breakfast-burrito breath, we were nowhere near it.
“So,” he said after I sat back. “You’ve really got a plan. I’m jealous!”
I rolled my eyes, smiling. “Please. I’ve, like, reluctantly accepted that this one expensive, fat-chance plan is something I’ll regret if I don’t try. You have a bunch of plans that you’d be happy with!”
“Ha. Fair enough.” He paused, probably tallying up the many places he planned to apply to: IU! Purdue! Notre Dame! Northwestern! Wash U! OSU! UC! In premed! Or engineering! Or education! He had so many interests, and the willingness to be open to all of them. “So. What do you want to do today?”
“Well, I was wondering,” I said. “Gondolas on the Canal in downtown Indy: depressing, compared to Venice? Or a fun way to relive it?”
“Fun,” Max said.
“Maybe we do the boats and then meet up with everyone somewhere?” I raked a finger across my lip, thinking. “If Tessa needs a distraction.”
“Laurel will have hit the road by now?”
“Yeah,” I said, reaching for my phone. Tessa had been upbeat last night, but I also imagined her last, clutching-on hug with Laurel before a three-hour drive and at least a month apart. “Let me check in with her real quick and see.”
“Sounds perfect,” Max said, glancing over my shoulder as I typed to Tessa.
Laurel take off?
Yep!
You okay?
Yeah. Sucks. But, ya know!
I narrowed my eyes at the exclamation points—like two fake smiles, which I didn’t buy for a second.
I’m totally fine. Have the best time with Max!!
Then an actual smiley-face emoji, meant as reassurance. But by then, I knew: she was not even sort of fine.
“Double exclamation points?” Max grimaced. “Yikes.”
“Right?” I studied her words again, my instincts clanging. If she wanted to be alone, no problem. But she could have said that. Instead, she was pretending. And not even pretending well. I frowned at the screen.
“Go,” Max said, one finger brushing my bangs from my eyes. I didn’t fully register the gesture for a few stunned seconds, but then felt overcome by the sweetness of it. Like I was his to fuss over. “Text me if you need the Cheer-Up Committee B-Squad. I’ll bring Ry.”
“But the gondolas …” And you just got home, and I missed you so much, and school starts so soon, and and and … And Tessa had stuck by me for years, through grief like fog that extended farther than either of us could see. Going to her wasn’t even a question.
“Eh, I’m happy to wait when something is worth it.” He lagged his head toward me, and my God—that pleased-with-himself smile. “Source: all of last year.”
I tilted my head, mimicking his pose. “You’re pretty great, you know that?”
“Oh yes,” he said, solemn. “That’s all I ever heard in middle school. Every kid was like: ‘Man, that Max Watson. Pretty great.’ ”
I breathed out a laugh. Max getting bullied as a kid wasn’t funny, but I figured he owned the experience and could joke if he wanted to. I rested a hand on his cheek as I kissed him, my fingertips against his jaw, and I only pulled away at the sound of the basement door opening, followed by footsteps on the stairs.
“Sorry to interrupt,” his mom said cheerfully. “Just throwing in some laundry!”
“Very subtle, huh?” Max whispered to me.
“What was that?” Dr. Watson asked.
“Nothing, Mom!” Max called amiably. “Love you!”
Tessa’s grandmother opened the front door, her expression relaxing at the sight of me. “Hi, sweetie pie. I’m so glad she called you.”
Well, something like that. “Is she in her room?”
“She is.” Then, a little sadly, “I suppose I should have known today would be hard on her. I loved the sound of her laugh all summer. Laurel’s, too. Filled up the whole house.”
I nodded. I should have seen it coming, too—the moment when love and leaving hit like a head-on collision.
“Well, Norah and Roger are home tomorrow.” Gram McMahon gestured me toward the stairs. “I think that’ll get her mind off it, at least.”
Tessa’s parents were sophisticated and full of bright energy, blowing into the house like a spring breeze. Her mom would rouse Tessa from bed, take her shopping; she’d overnight desserts from fancy bakeries in New York. But she wouldn’t notice if Tessa needed to feel it, to be told it was okay to be sad. Enter me.
I stood outside Tessa’s bedroom door for a moment. Music was playing, of course—strings and a soulful voice. And beneath it, a sniffle, then another. I tapped with one knuckle.
“I’m really okay, Gram.” Tessa’s tone was almost convincing—the vocal equivalent of a brave face. “I’ll come down in a few minutes.”
“It’s me,” I said, mouth close to the seam of the door.
A few beats of silence. “You’re supposed to be with Max.”
“And you’re supposed to tell your best friend the truth about your well-being,” I said cheerfully. “But here we are.”
Rustling from inside, and—I could have sworn—a defeated sigh. “You can come in.”
She’d never looked smaller to me than she did now—cuddled into a pile of pillows against the tufted headboard. A little girl with a scraped-knee heart. I shut the door behind me and climbed onto the bed.
Up close, my best friend looked like an amateurish oil painting of herself. It was definitely Tessa, blond curls gone fuzzy in a topknot, but the details weren’t quite right. Pale cheeks blotchy, eyelids puffed.
“Hey.”
“Hi.” A new song warbled from her phone on its nightstand perch, in easy reach. Before I could launch into my reassurances, she cleared her face. “I’m being a giant baby. I know it’s not that big a deal—I really do.”
This was something people had done with me since sophomore year—stopped when they caught themselves struggling with anything that wasn’t full-on death. I appreciated the perspective, of course. I’d lost people permanently, to far worse things than distance. But sadness links at the joints, a gossamer web connecting loss, heartache, strife.
“Hey, don’t do that,” I said, frowning. “This is hard.”
“It’s a little hard,” she admitted, voice squeaking. “I didn’t want to waste time being sad while she was still here, so I bottled it all up, and now …”
She wiped at her face, still tear-streaked.
“I got home …” Tessa held her hands out to her room, where the summer light landed, golden. We needed the drum of April rain, the frozen lace of winter. “And my first thought was: ‘Huh. What do I do now?’ Isn’t that so stupid?”
It wasn’t. Even Tessa’s bedroom reflected the way Laurel had changed things. A strip of photo-booth pictures taped to the mirror. Tickets from the concerts they’d attended together. A small ceramic rooster that was part of Tessa’s birthday gift—an inside joke I wasn’t privy to. A few spiky plants, alive thanks to Laurel’s coaching.
“And it’s so stupid,” Tessa repeated. “But all of a sudden, I’m panicking that she’ll dump me any second. Like, she’ll meet all these cool people in Chicago, and they’ll love her—of course they will. And I’m stuck here, some high school girl who—”
“Excuse me,” I said, interrupting. “I’m ‘some high school girl.’ Morgan and Kayleigh, too. Does that make us any less smart or interesting or fun or loyal or—”
Tessa crossed her arms, grumbling. “I guess not.”
“No.” I gave her a knowing look. “And can I tell you something else?”
She nodded. Her lashes were still wet, stuck together.
“This playlist,” I said, “is the most depressing succession of music to ever fall on human ears. Since the dawn of time. And we have to turn it off now.”
She laughed, surprised, and then wagged a finger at me. “I’ll have you know that Laura Marling—”
“Is not helping. I’m texting Morgan and Kayleigh to come over.”
Her lips parted, like she was going to try to stop me, but instead, she sighed and laid her head down on the pillow. I finished typing and stretched out beside her so we were face-to-face. We hadn’t huddled up like this since early this summer, in her parents’ New York hotel. She’d met Laurel a few weeks before and still seemed stunned by her feelings. While Morgan had crushed her way through middle school and high school, and Kayleigh had flirted like it was a game of expert chess, Tessa had barely seemed to notice anyone. I chocked it up to introversion, to years of extensive travel as she tagged along with her hotelier parents, zigzagging across the world atlas. And when you’ve met people in over a dozen countries, what could Oakhurst, Indiana, hold for you?
Laurel, as it turned out. They met at the Carmichael, Tessa’s go-to venue for music no one else had ever heard of. No one but Laurel, who was on the dance floor like it was redemption.
“Tell me about finally being with Max.”
“Wonderful. Surreal.” And then, without exactly giving my mouth permission, I blurted out, “I just told him I’m applying to film school.”
She leaned back, startled. “I thought you said NYU was …”
“Out of the question. I know. But I want to see what happens, at least. There and a few places in LA.”
“Huh.” She squinted like I’d recently trimmed my hair or tried a new volumizing mascara—something was a little different, but what? “And your parents are okay with
it?”
“Ish. They’re okay with me applying, anyway.”
“Well.” She let her mouth spread into a real smile. “What if I wind up in New York or LA, too? Wouldn’t that be incredible?”
Those cities, along with Nashville, had music-business programs that Tessa was interested in, though she’d only spoken about them vaguely so far.
“Incredible,” I agreed.
She searched my face. “But Max is staying close to home.”
“Right.” I tucked my arm beneath my head. “He was amazing about it, though.”
“If you got into LA,” she said, “you really think you’d go?”
Los Angeles seemed almost mythological, a place I couldn’t simply move to. But my friend Maeve did a lot to demystify her hometown, promising to drive me around and take me home for dinner in the burbs with her family. “Maybe. The programs there are a huge deal. But it’s daunting. And I don’t know what Max and I would do.”
“Well, it’s you two,” Tessa said. “You made it work all summer, no problem. You’ll be fine farther away.”
But for four years? I clamped my mouth shut because Tessa could afford flights to visit Laurel from anywhere. Her concept of long distance didn’t work in my reality. If I moved to either coast, I wouldn’t come home till the holidays.
Morgan arrived shortly after, and Tessa gestured around her room. “Welcome to our personal problems summit.”
Bouncing onto the end of the bed, Morgan glanced at me. “You have personal problems, too?”
I filled her in, to supportive squeals and a brief speech about young women taking over Hollywood.
“Do you have anything to contribute to our problem collection?” Tessa asked Morgan.
“Uh, let’s see. Yes. I have to get a transvaginal ultrasound to check my cyst situation tomorrow? The ultrasound wand goes inside you,” she said, motioning upward with two fingers. “And also my work crush officially fizzled out.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “What now?”
“Yeah, I thought he was quietly soulful, but it turns out he’s just boring,” Morgan said with a little pout. She’d been ready for love since the moment she saw Li Shang cast an admiring glance at Fa Mulan.