I walk over to an empty planter edge and sit down. My eyes scan the quad like a periscope looking to lock on to anything that could help me fit in. In a corner off by the In-N-Out kiosk, I spot some cheerleaders in uniform hanging a hand-painted sign advertising the first football game. My heart drops.
I wish I were hanging signs with my friends at my old school. We used to paint them on the cement area behind the weight room so we could check out the players on their way in and out. We’d argue about which catchy slogan to use, and inevitably, someone would spell something wrong and we’d have to start all over.
I miss my friends and my school. I reach into my backpack for my phone to text Callie, but my hand stops when I remember they’ve already started school. She’s probably in class or at cheer practice. I slowly remove my hand from my bag.
I take one last look around at all these kids I don’t know in this place that probably isn’t so different yet feels like a foreign country. I should’ve pressed harder to stay with Callie. Or at least if I’d gone to Michigan, I’d have my cousins at school.
I take a deep breath and stand. I carry my backpack and this ache of loneliness back to the car, hoping I’ll be able to survive the year somehow.
“Hey Grand—,” I call into the house when I get home but freeze before my hand releases the door handle.
Susan has a grip on my grandmother’s upper arm and is trying to pull her out of the chair.
“Oww,” my grandma yelps.
“Hey... what... what’s going on?” I demand, staring at Susan while my lips remain parted.
“Your grandmother needs to take her pills,” Susan says, loosening her grip slightly.
I let go of the door finally, and my backpack makes a thud on the wood floor. “I think you’re hurting her.”
“She needs to get up and take her pills now. And I’m not hurting her.” She dismisses me with a shake of her head.
“If she doesn’t want to, she doesn’t have to.” I move closer.
“Spoken like a true teenager.” Susan smirks and rolls her eyes. “Let’s go, Connie.” She turns her attention back to my grandmother and speaks in a softer tone. “We’ve needed to take these pills since this morning.” She tries to lift my grandma by the arm again.
“No!” Grandma Connie tries to jerk her arm down. “I need to watch my show.”
Susan maintains her grip but softens a smidge. “We can pause it while we go to the kitchen.”
Grandma tightens her lips and refuses.
“Can’t you just bring her the pills?” I ask.
Susan sighs. “Your grandmother chokes on her pills if she’s not standing, and we always take them in the kitchen in case she needs more water.”
Susan tries to lift her once more, and Grandma barks at her. “I said I’m watching my show now, and I don’t like those pills anyway.”
This time, I move right in front of Susan and hold my arm out to intervene. “Just let her watch her show. She can take her pills when she’s done.”
Susan lets go of Grandma’s arm and mutters, “You people.” She throws up her hands. “Well, if you know it all, I guess I’m not needed here.”
I stand next to Grandma’s armchair and put my arm around her. “No, you’re not. I’ve got it from here.” Susan raises a doubtful eyebrow but stalks back to the kitchen. She emerges moments later with her purse and a bag. She mutters something about errands and leaves.
The house is quiet and still in her wake. Panic sets in because I’m not sure what just happened. Did she just leave for an hour, the day, or is she gone forever? I mean, I can handle this afternoon, but I have no idea how to care for my grandmother permanently. I didn’t know she had to take her pills in the kitchen. I didn’t even know she takes pills or what they’re for. A woman’s laughter coming from the TV breaks the silence.
Grandma pats my arm. I exhale and silently reassure myself that of course Susan just left for the afternoon. I kneel next to Grandma’s chair and pick up the remote from her lap. “Here, let’s rewind back to the beginning.”
Grandma nods and her hand trembles as she fixes a curl.
“You didn’t miss much,” I comfort her. As the scenes run in slow motion, I see it’s a soap opera that Grandma is watching. She sure has always loved her soaps.
I hit “play” and notice a familiar face. “Is that Jack? Is this the same one I used to watch with you?” I turn to her with wide eyes.
She smiles, still a little shaky.
“Wow, I can’t believe this is still on.” I turn back to the screen and watch this actor who hasn’t seemed to age a bit discuss some business deal with another male actor I don’t remember from before.
When the scene switches to one with a woman, Grandma says, “And it’s the same Jessica, too.” I glance up and her eyes have brightened a bit.
I refocus on the screen, and sure enough, the blond woman in conversation with a red-headed younger woman is the same actress I remember seeing all those years ago.
When I was younger and Connor and I used to spend a week each summer with our grandparents, my grandma let me sit by her chair as I am now and watch her show with her. It was our secret; my mom never would have approved. I didn’t know what the show was about, but I loved being part of this world my grandma traveled to each day. And I loved the feeling of importance that came with having a secret that no one else knew.
I watch the whole show on the floor next to Grandma, every once in a while asking who somebody is or how they’re all related. She doesn’t mind. Her sparkle grows with each passing minute, and she loves telling me all about her show. We have a good chuckle after each explanation because it all sounds so silly when you say it out loud.
I don’t know what those pills out in the kitchen are for, but Grandma looks so happy now. They can’t be more important than that.
When the show ends, she readily goes into the kitchen and swallows the four oblong pills that rest on the counter next to a glass of water. I ditch my plans for the beach. I want to keep Grandma’s spirits lifted. An idea pops into my head. “Hey, do you want to make cookies like we used to do when I was little?”
She sets down the glass. “That would be fun.” She glances at the pantry and frowns. “I’m not sure if I have the ingredients.”
“Let’s go to the store. I’ll drive us.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Oh, it’s almost two, and by the time we get back, it’ll be time to start dinner.”
“We have plenty of time. C’mon.” I won’t take no for an answer. I know she wants to; I can see it in her eyes. She’s just being an obstinate adult.
She finally agrees. We check the pantry, make a shopping list, and we’re off.
While we travel up and down grocery aisles, Grandma’s spark is back on full power, and she buys the fixings for a Greek pasta salad as well. She even steers me to the Greek bakery, and we buy some baklava for dessert despite just purchasing ingredients for cookies.
We spend the rest of the afternoon and evening in the kitchen, so by the time we sit down to dinner, we are both exhausted.
“This is great,” I say after a first bite of the pasta salad. “I think Mom tried to make this once, but she bought the wrong kinds of cheese and olives and she undercooked the pasta. I think we ended up ordering pizza for dinner that night.”
“Your mother...” Grandma shakes her head. “Cooking definitely was hit or miss with her.”
“That’s the truth.” I picture at least three more dinner disasters with Mom.
“She simply lacked the patience to follow directions. That was her only problem.” She eats a forkful of salad. Then, she raises her empty fork. “You know, once she asked me for help with a traditional Greek meal she was making for your father for their first wedding anniversary. She was very ambitious, wanting to make Spanakopita, moussaka for the main dish, and Galaktoboureko for dessert. I set her up with a shopping list and step-by-step instructions, but I think she only gave it about ten minutes before
saying she was just going to find a Greek restaurant and order food.”
My eyes widen. “Did she do that?”
“No. I came by—this was when they were still living in New London—and took over.” She winks at me.
“You made the whole meal?”
“I sure did. But I gave her all the credit.” Her lip curls into a sly grin. “That’s always been our little secret.”
My chest tightens, and I swallow hard.
“What is moussaka?” I ask, driving out the image of my mom sharing this secret with Grandma.
“Well...” Her eyes shine, and she takes me through the full description and recipe. This becomes the first link in a long chain of recipes she recites for me, and she proposes to teach me how to make each one.
“You ready for some baklava?” she asks after both our plates are wiped clean.
I’m stuffed, but there’s no way I’m turning down dessert. “Of course.”
She stacks my plate on hers. “It’s nice having you here, Emma.” She pauses and her soft eyes glow.
“I’m glad I’m here, Grandma.”
“You know, Susan never lets me cook when she’s here. I know she’s just trying to do her job, but really now, I’m perfectly capable of making a meal. Right?”
“A very good one.” I stand and pick up our water glasses. “She seems a little mean sometimes, Susan does. Can’t you ask for a different nurse?”
“Oh, they used to send a lovely girl over here.” My grandma’s eyes flutter. “Maggie was her name. She was the sweetest girl.”
“What happened?”
“Her husband got a job in Nebraska, so they moved.” Grandma starts off toward the kitchen, and I follow. “That was the end of Maggie,” Grandma sighs. “It took a month to get Susan, so I don’t think I have much choice here.” She sets the plates on the counter.
“It might be worth it to try,” I suggest while refilling our water glasses.
“Susan really is a kind woman. Her sister is ill, and I think it affects her. It’ll be fine.” She turns on the faucet.
“Yeah, it’ll be fine,” I agree softly.
If she comes back. I don’t think I can take care of Grandma all alone for three months. I say a surprising prayer for Susan’s return and open the box of baklava.
Chapter 6
I really had every intention of running this morning. I have some proper clothes and shoes now, and I even loaded my iPhone with songs to drown out all the heavy breathing. But when the alarm goes off at 6:00 a.m., the comfort of bed is a magical spell cast over me, preventing me from leaving even as my brain scolds me. In fact, I sleep in so late that I barely have time for a shower before racing off to get to work at nine.
Lynn, the woman about Grandma’s age I met the other day when I was here filling out paperwork, leads me on a tour of the shelter. She’s very thorough and shows me everything from the animal enclosures to the turtle socialization area to the employee lunch room.
It’s clear right away that I won’t be getting to pet cute animals all day. Lynn sets me to work cleaning the waste from the dog enclosures and hosing down the cement while they’re on their walks. She takes me to my starting point but is called away for a crisis at registration. She quickly hands me some gloves, points to the hose, and tells me to clean from back to front inside each enclosure. And that’s the extent of my instruction. I’m okay, though. It can’t be that difficult, just a little gross maybe.
I drag the hose over to this first empty stall. The dog enclosures are rectangular cement areas with a shady section at the back for hot days like today. I discover immediately that it’s not as easy as one might think to clean from back to front. The ground must be uneven because most of the dirt and waste that I hose toward the front of the stall and out to the drain ends up flowing back inside. I try again but get the same result. This tragicomedy back-and-forth between the water and me seems to go on forever. I glance around, hoping no one who works here has noticed how the new girl can’t even hose dirt off cement properly.
After I finally figure out a successful system and get this enclosure cleaned, I fill the water bowl and move it back in the shady portion of the stall. I’m not sure if I should do that, but it’s so hot out here—a little more inland than Grandma’s house—that water will be hot in minutes if I don’t put it in the shade. I pull the hose out and move to the next empty enclosure when my eye catches sight of something that delivers a blow to my chest.
I fully turn around to stare at the young boy in the red Ohio State T-shirt. He is probably around Connor’s age with the same dark, wavy hair. His dad says something to him that makes both of them laugh. The boy playfully punches his dad on the arm, and his dad tousles his hair in return. I remember how my dad used to tease Connor. He pretended to hate it, but I think he secretly loved messing around with Dad.
My eyes lock on the giant OSU on the boy’s chest. I can’t help but worry again about what Mrs. Thomas told me the other day. She said I should be able to get in to Ohio State with my GPA and the score I have so far on the ACT, but now that I’m an out-of-state applicant, it will be a little more difficult. At least I didn’t shoot myself in the foot on this one by coming to California. I don’t think it would have made it any easier had I gone to Michigan. In fact, it would probably be worse. I chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” A voice startles me, and for some unknown reason as I whirl around to face it, my hand squeezes the hose nozzle. I spray a steady stream of water directly into the chest of a boy in a blue Seaside polo shirt that matches mine.
“Ahhhh!” He raises his hands to shield himself, dropping hold of a dog’s leash.
“Oh my God!” I panic and drop the hose, which only makes it worse as remnant water soaks the boy’s tan shorts, legs, and tennis shoes, and the dog—which miraculously has not moved—as the hose snakes its way to the ground.
The boy shakes water off his legs and grabs the leash.
“Oh my God. Oh my God... I’m so sorry...” It all happens so fast that it takes maybe an entire minute for me to realize I’m rubbing the chest of this stranger, trying to wipe away the water. My hand freezes in the middle of his chest. My cheeks flush, and I slowly lower my hand and take a step back, keeping my eyes focused on the ground.
His laughter indicates it’s okay to look up. “I’m so sorry,” I repeat for a hundredth time.
“It’s okay. It actually felt refreshing,” he says as he squeezes water out of his shirt. “You new here?”
I’m not sure if he’s being sarcastic or not, and my cheeks heat up more. “Yes,” I respond with some sort of squeaky whimper while wiping off the bit of water that got onto my legs.
He moves the leash from one hand to the other and holds out his free hand. “I’m Ryan.”
“I’m Emma.” I shake his hand and make the unwitting mistake of looking into his eyes. They are a bold, vibrant blue—deep like the YinMn blue of that new Crayola crayon I fell in love with—but with specks of turquoise brightening them like tiny lightning bolts. I stare a little too long which causes me to hold onto his hand for an awkward extra moment.
I let go and mumble, “Sorry, yeah. Nice... nice to meet you.”
He laughs. “Really, it’s fine.” He points in the direction of the empty enclosure I’d been about to clean what feels like an eternity ago. “You finished with this one? I’ve got to put Jasper back.” He leans down and gives a scratch behind the ear to the quiet gray Husky-type dog that continues to sit still by Ryan’s side. He’s a beautiful dog with such a sad face.
“He’s gorgeous,” I say, admiring the dog’s equally striking wide eyes.
“Yeah,” Ryan says. “They found him on the street. He’s only been here a week.”
I frown and let the dog sniff my hand.
Ryan clears his throat. “The stall?”
I launch into my thousandth ‘sorry’ of the day and explain that I was just getting to it. I hurriedly reach for the hose, but Ryan puts out his hand
.
“Uh, maybe it’d be better if I did that.” Two perfectly-placed dimples emerge as a grin spreads across his face. He offers a trade: Jasper’s leash for the hose. I smile and accept.
While he hoses down the cement, I kneel next to Jasper. “Hey, buddy.” I slowly reach out to give him another scratch behind the ear. He pulls back slightly. “It’s okay, Jasper. I’m not going to hurt you.” I move even more slowly, and this time he lets me scratch behind those ears. “Aww, that’s a good boy,” I coo. Jasper leans his head into me. “Yeah, I know it’s been rough. But we’ll find you a good home.” I move my hand to the back of his neck. “We sure will.”
The water has stopped, so I glance at Ryan. He’s frozen inside the enclosure watching me. I spring to my feet, scaring Jasper a little. Maybe I’m not supposed to be handling the animals. Lynn recited a litany of rules earlier. Was that one of them?
“Sorry,” I say again.
Ryan shakes himself free of some thought and says, “No, you’re fine. I’m done.” He drags the hose out, and I hand Jasper over to him. Ryan leads him inside, gives him a few more scratches, then shuts the gate.
Instead of taking his break, Ryan helps me clean out the remaining enclosures. He says he doesn’t mind helping since it’s my first day, but I think he just doesn’t trust me with the hose. He asks about me, and I give him the SparkNotes version: I’m a senior and moved here because of family. He doesn’t press for additional details and doesn’t reveal much more about himself other than he’ll be a senior, too, at Union High.
He doesn’t let me do much other than fill the water bowls from the spigot nearby, so I take silent inventory of him: the eyes, the light caramel skin, the thick straight chocolate brown hair that sort of sticks out haphazardly on top, and the easy grin that seems a permanent fixture on his face. He catches me staring at him a couple of times, and I casually pretend to wipe my chin on my shoulder or stare exaggeratedly beyond him. I’m sure it doesn’t fool him, and it really doesn’t even matter. I’ve already soaked him with water, and he’s been staring at me, especially my hair. So I’m sure he thinks I’m a freak.
The Brilliance of Fireflies Page 5