After the final buzzer, Mari and I make a beeline for our section, and Ryan finds us almost immediately.
I give him a hug, not caring how sweaty he is. “Great game,” I say.
“Thanks.” He grins and high-fives a couple people who swarm us.
“Tough crowd,” Mari adds.
“Yeah, just a little.” He raises an eyebrow. “They’re not too original, though. It wasn’t anything I haven’t heard before.”
He fields a few more congratulations from students and parents then looks me up and down and does the same to Mari. “What’s with the green and black?” He rests his hand on his heart to indicate his pain.
“Sorry.” My chin drops to my chest.
“Nah, I’m just kidding. I—” He’s interrupted by a mob of friends piling on top of him. Mari and I step back to avoid being clobbered.
“Let’s go,” I say to Mari. “He’s too busy.”
“No,” she scolds me. “You at least have to say goodbye.”
We hang around, and when his friends leave, I say, “We’re going to take off. I’ll talk to you later?”
“Wait.” He grabs my arm. “I want you to meet my parents. Don’t move.” He signals for us to stay and weaves his way through the crowd.
“Ooooh, the parents,” Mari jokes. “So, uh, I’m going to go hang out right outside the entrance.”
I feel my face turn white. “What? No, you have to stay!”
“The only thing more awkward than meeting his parents will be meeting his parents with me there.” She laughs. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be outside when you’re done.”
She disappears, and I’m left alone in a strange gym amid a swarm of people, none of whom are familiar—my school or theirs. I pretend to study something on my phone, but even that feels awkward. Luckily, Ryan returns quickly with his mom, dad, and brother.
He stands between us. “Mom, Dad... this is Emma.” He points his open hand at me, and I’m so nervous I nearly curtsy.
Mr. Mellano gives my hand a firm shake, but when I extend my hand toward his mom, she takes me in for a hug instead. “Oh Emma. It’s so nice to finally meet you. We’ve heard so much about you.”
My mind instantly wonders what exactly they’ve heard. I didn’t notice any sad head tilts, so maybe they don’t know my tragic tale.
Ryan’s brother clears his throat, and Ryan says, “Oh yeah, this is my brother, Jake.”
I’m not sure what to do, so I raise a hand for a wave. Ryan’s brother looks like a miniature version of him except his skin tone is darker and his hair is wavier.
Ryan’s mom asks me how I like California, and his dad tells me he’s been to Cleveland. I’m not nearly as good with adults as Ryan is. I stutter and stumble over my simple one-sentence responses. I’m not sure if it’s so much nerves as it is staring at how beautiful his parents are, too.
I can see the Scandinavian in his dad’s bright blue eyes and honey skin. His mom looks like an Olympic athlete version of that actress Lucy Liu. She’s nearly as tall as Mr. Mellano, which explains Ryan but not his brother who is closer to my size. Her short-sleeved Union High shirt reveals muscles chiseled into her upper arms. Her long black hair falls gracefully over her shoulder—I’m so jealous—and her face is even more striking with high cheekbones, flawless skin, and her own set of sky-blue eyes.
My staring is probably shifting from interest to creepy, so I look at Ryan. He’s so hot, especially after a game, and all this does is mix up my brain. I snap back and manage to focus on the conversation. I answer a few more questions without sounding too stupid, then Ryan’s coach signals for him to rejoin the team.
“It was nice to meet you,” I say, and Ryan’s mom hugs me again. I say goodbye and leave to find Mari.
She’s waiting outside the exit. “So?” she asks.
“That is the most perfect-looking family I’ve ever seen.” She laughs, and I relay the entire scene as we walk to the car.
Grandma is finishing her dinner when I walk through the front door. I help her clean up, and she invites me to join her for an after-dinner cup of tea. It’s unusually warm tonight, so we sit outside.
Grandma and Grandpa updated the backyard to be a smaller version of their New London house, I think. They built a covered patio with ropes of mini globe lights strung from one end to the other. One flickers, and for a moment, it looks like a firefly out here in the California night air. Grass and brightly colored flowers surround it on all sides. We sit in two of the tan cushioned chairs.
“It’s really pretty out here, Grandma.”
“Thank you. Your grandfather did all of this.” She waves her hand in front of her. “We used to sit out here almost every night, but I don’t come out that much anymore.” A dreaminess fills her eyes. I make a mental note to come out here with her more often.
She asks me more about the game, about school, and she asks about Mari. We talk about her friends, this week’s bridge game, and the new TV show we’ve started watching about a dog and its owner.
Eventually we tire out and sip our cooled tea in silence. My mind drifts to my to-do list, at the top of which is finding a fiftieth race. I take inventory and realize I’m so close to fulfilling all of their goals: one more race for Mom, almost into Ohio State for Connor, and I just need to plan Greece for Dad. A new idea jumps into my head at that last thought.
“Hey Grandma, I was thinking about taking a trip to Greece after I graduate and before I go off to college, and I thought...” My voice stalls when I see the surprise on her face. I didn’t think before I spoke, and I hope I haven’t upset her at the mention of Greece.
Her mind seems to travel somewhere, then she looks over at me and smiles. “You’ll love it.”
“I kind of wanted to go to Corfu, where you guys are from. What do you think?”
Her eyes brighten. “Oh, it’s beautiful. Of course you’d have to visit Kassiopi. And they say Paleokastritsa Beach is the place to go now. And then there’s your grandfather’s favorite taverna, but I’m sure that’s no longer there.” Her eyes search the night air for more memories.
“I should probably write all this down.” I laugh.
“Oh!” She sits taller in her chair. “I’ll call my niece. I’m sure you could stay with her. Or my nephew. Though he’s a little wild, from what I understand.”
“Thanks. I’d love to meet my family.” I hadn’t really thought of that. When I originally developed the plan, it was only about getting to Corfu. I guess I figured I’d stay in a hotel, but meeting Dad’s family—while a little scary and intimidating—is much more meaningful.
“Let me go get her number and my iPad. We could look things up together. I don’t even know what’s there anymore.” She’s little-girl-on-Christmas-morning excited, and I swear her Greek accent is thicker after just the mention of Greece.
While she’s inside, my foot taps and my heart flips at the thought of planning this trip and making it real. I open the notepad app on my phone to get ready to type in all our ideas, and I see a previous note I started: “Funeral.” I forgot it was still in here. I open it, and the memory floods my mind.
There was such commotion in the house after Mom passed away. People came by nonstop with rectangular casseroles, all forms of chocolate desserts, cards with overly dramatic pre-printed sentiments, and clusters of flowers—none of which were Mom’s favorite daisies. At one point, I couldn’t even see the kitchen table because it was mired in flower arrangements. I escaped to my room and started this list of all the things I thought Mom, Dad, and Connor would want at the funeral. I brought it to Uncle Jim and Aunt Jules, but they told me they would take care of everything and that I shouldn’t worry. I tried to explain to them that I wasn’t worried, but they insisted it would be too much for me. I know they only wanted to help me, but it left me feeling useless and detached from the celebration for my own family. The funeral meant nothing to me because it didn’t have a slideshow or Mom’s daisies decorating the church or Dad’s baklava at
the reception or Connor’s Ohio State scarlet and gray on the programs.
“It doesn’t have much charge left, but it should be good for a while.” Grandma is back with the iPad, and I close the funeral note. I think she’s forgotten to get her sister’s phone number, but I’m certainly not going to remind her of that. We spend the next hour reading about a more modern Corfu than Grandma remembers. Recalling memories of Grandpa and Dad doesn’t seem to make her sad. It does the opposite; her eyes sparkle. I save all the websites we find and I type in the list of sights to see on a new note I name “Dad’s Greece.”
Grandma tells me lots of stories well into the night. It’s definitely one of her good days, and I finally understand that it doesn’t mean she’s cured. There will be more bad days, maybe even tomorrow. But I’m content, sitting here under these imitation fireflies, enjoying a good moment.
Chapter 17
My life these days is a giant wall of countdown clocks. We won another CIF game which means we’re in the semifinals tonight. We’re all counting down the minutes until the game, and no one is paying attention in any of my classes today. College acceptances will be posted soon, so I’m wishing away the days until I can check my Ohio State application status. Spring break is still a few weeks away—it’s a bit later out here—but everyone, including teachers, is counting the days until that happens. I’m especially anxious for this because I’ve signed up for the last race, Mom’s fiftieth, during that week. I have a reverse Cinderella thing happening—I feel like when the clock strikes twelve and all these things happen, my world will turn magical.
Ryan is magical at the game tonight.
“That’s twenty-two points,” Jake announces at halftime. He and some of his junior high buddies have kept track of all of Ryan’s points.
I’m without Mari, so Ryan orchestrates it so I sit with his parents. It’s sort of weird sitting at my own high school game with parents—I never would have dreamed this in my former life—but it’s less weird than sitting in the student section alone. I’m much less nervous now around his parents, and by the end of the game, they’ve made me feel like I’m part of the family.
After the win, Ryan’s mom gives me a quick hug and says, “Now don’t forget, the dinner is a surprise!” She’s invited me to Ryan’s big eighteenth birthday family celebration in a few weeks.
“Not a word,” I say just before Ryan swoops in for a one-breath hi and bye before he’s swallowed up by the roaring crowd.
That’s pretty much the most I see Ryan lately, so I’m spending more time at the library with Mari. I’m coasting as a second semester senior, but she’s mired in the junior year stress. I’ve been helping her with anatomy homework and quizzing her before tests.
“What’s going to happen with you guys next year?” she asks the next day, glancing up from her notebook.
I flinch; it’s so out of left field. “I don’t know. We haven’t really talked about it.” I thought about it once while we were at the movies watching a romantic comedy I dragged him to see. But I wanted to stay in my cloud of happiness, so I pushed the thought out of my mind. “Besides,” I add, trying to push it out again, “I don’t even know if we’re a thing to break up. He hasn’t referred to me as his girlfriend.”
Mari rolls her eyes at me as if I’ve missed the skywriter with the message. “Is he still going to San Diego State?”
“I don’t know. He got a scholarship offer, but I don’t think he’s accepted yet. He said he’s waiting on some other schools and got all squirmy when I asked which ones.” It was weird that day I asked him about it when we were doing homework at my house. He stuttered and fidgeted with his pencil so much it flew out of his hand. “It’s probably stressful for him to decide because of basketball.”
“So if you’re in Ohio and he’s out here, will you break up?” She continues the press conference-style questioning.
Now I know she’s just procrastinating. “I don’t know. I’m sure he won’t be too upset. He’ll have someone new in seconds.”
She laughs. “You know, you’re only his second girlfriend, I think.”
My ears perk up. “Really?” We’ve never talked about stuff like that.
“Yeah. Jess Hoffman was his first real girlfriend. They went out for like a year, and she cheated on him this past summer.”
“What are you, the Encyclopedia of Ryan?”
“I just thought you should know.” She shrugs innocently.
“Well that’s good.” I’m getting dizzy with all the Ryan talk. “You know what else is good? Finishing your anatomy homework.” I tap the paper.
She rolls her eyes at me. “Fine.”
We get back to her homework, but a tiny space in my brain continues to concoct scenarios for next year.
I take on an extra shift at work Thursday after school. There’s a big adoption event on Saturday, and they need some extra hands helping to prepare. Grandma has bridge this afternoon, so I don’t stress about being gone. I don’t know if it’s the downpour we had this morning or what, but the entire shelter is unruly. Little Chester, my favorite Chihuahua mix who’s been at the shelter as long as I have, is usually friendly and easy-going. Today, he barks at everyone who passes by his stall, and he’s stubborn and obstinate on our walk. I have to use treats to maintain his focus, and I swear at one point he rolls his eyes at me.
The turtles aren’t socializing well, and we have an incident where a little girl reaches into a cage and a little Yorkie mix nips at her. Lynn spills her coffee all over the front desk, and two people return dogs that didn’t work out for them. It’s a strange afternoon, and for the first time, I am happy when the shift is over.
I make it home for Grandma’s 7:00 p.m. dinnertime. Even she seems a little off today. She asks me when the CIF finals are, and I tell her. In the next breath, she asks again as though we hadn’t just discussed it. She does the same thing with several other topics throughout dinner. After we do the dishes, I play a few rounds of Rummikub with her, one of her favorite games. I’ve been trying to play a lot of these games or work puzzles with her because I read keeping her mind active will maybe help slow the development of her dementia.
Even though I can sleep in because of a late start tomorrow for some teacher meeting, I’m exhausted from the day and go to sleep at 9:00 p.m. with Grandma. I fall asleep right away but am jolted awake when my phone dings twice and lights up. The clock by the bed shines 12:06. I don’t even need to look at the phone screen. My gut tells me what it is. Again? I try to convince myself I don’t care and turn over in bed. After thirty minutes of tossing and turning, it’s clear that my mind won’t allow it. I relent and stumble out into the living room.
I turn on the TV and switch to the news. I lower the volume and sit on the edge of the couch. My eyes focus on the banner at the bottom of the screen. After several minutes, I have pieced together the event. Around eight thirty, one suspect drove a van onto the walkway of a popular bridge in Paris and mowed down several pedestrians. He then got out of the van and started shooting, killing a few more people, including an American couple. Police were on the scene almost instantly and took out the shooter. Pictures of the bridge and the familiar white body bags continue to flash across the screen at regular intervals. They have confirmed it was terror-related.
I inch closer, trying to learn who these people were who just happened to be on this bridge at the wrong moment. Especially the American couple. I need to know if they had any children.
“Emma?” I spring to my feet and my finger immediately turns off the TV. “What are you doing out here, sweetheart?” Grandma asks in a sleepy voice.
“Sorry, Grandma. Did I wake you up?” I drop the remote like I’m hiding evidence.
“I was tossing and turning, and I heard the TV.” She yawns. “What were you watching?”
“Oh, nothing.” I walk toward her and turn her around to head back to sleep. “I was restless, too, and thought the TV would put me to sleep. But there isn’t anything good o
n at midnight.” I let out a shaky laugh.
“There’s nothing good on any time these days,” she agrees, and I’m relieved she doesn’t appear to have seen what I was watching.
“Sorry I woke you. Let’s go back to bed.” I nudge her farther away from the living room.
She stops in the kitchen for a glass of water, and moments later, both our bedroom doors close.
When I’m back in bed, I can’t sleep as all the unanswered questions about the attack collide in my mind like bumper cars. Since I can’t get my answers from the TV, I grab my phone and search the news sites. I read all the articles I can find, then it’s refresh, refresh, refresh. I study every picture and memorize each detail about these unlucky people. I’m a shameful mix of relief and disappointment when I discover the American couple did not have any children.
Eventually, I’ve exhausted all my sources and set the phone back on the nightstand. My mind still races as I close my eyes. I lie awake most of the night trying to place myself on that bridge. What would I have done? Did those people see it coming as they walked their usual routes to work or headed for a morning coffee before some sightseeing?
I never fall asleep, and the stiff ache of my muscles is unbearable. The clock shines 5:02 a.m., and I decide I need to get up and move. A run will help clear my head and loosen my muscles. I put on my running gear, leave a note for Grandma, and drive to the beach.
These days, it’s still dark at 5:30 a.m., but Fridays bring out a few more early morning runners. Right from the start, I race at lightning speed, my mind still buzzing from the news. With every stride, the crash of the waves and the silence of the darkened streets calm me, and some of the images slowly fade away. It helps that the usual leg pain sets in and gives me something else to think about.
After a start that was a shot out of a cannon, I’m dragging pretty quickly. I make it about two miles, where the million-dollar homes butt up against the sidewalk, and have to walk a little. There are more lights on than usual, probably people rising early for work. The thought of work sends my mind back to that Paris bridge and the young man I read about who appeared to be on his way to work, his satchel still draped over his shoulder as his body lay on the bridge in a pool of blood. The dots start to connect back to my dad and Connor. I gasp for air and can’t even walk. I bend over and steady myself, putting my hand down on the waist-high stone wall of a three-story modern beach house.
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