by Alex Flinn
“Anthropomorphic?”
“Having human qualities, like a keg with arms and legs.”
“Okay, A, I know what anthropomorphic means. I just don’t know anyone who would use that word in conversation.”
“Then you don’t know any of my friends.”
“Clearly. And B, a school that has an anthropomorphic keg mascot doesn’t really sound like you.”
“Are you saying I can’t party?” Meredith demanded.
“I haven’t seen any signs of it.”
“You could visit me on weekends if I get in. I probably won’t get in.” Meredith believed in not jinxing things.
“I bet you get in, and you wouldn’t have time to talk to me on weekends because you’d be spending most of your time studying and the rest, talking about smart stuff with guys with anthropomorphic keg T-shirts. The question is, do you want to go there?”
And the answer was, she hadn’t really thought much about it beyond the elation of getting a letter from one of those schools and showing it to her mother and Instagramming it for all her friends to see and die of envy, GREEN envy. She hadn’t thought much about the part where she would work really, really hard until she was old and this summer was a dim memory. She wondered how SUNY Albany would be. Harmon’s brother went there, and he was a doctor.
“How many times have you taken the SAT?” he asked.
“Truth? I’ve taken the SAT five times and the ACT three times,” Meredith said.
“What’d you get?” Harmon asked.
Too late, Meredith regretted saying anything, for the first time ashamed of her near-perfect scores. They meant she had no life, had time on her hands to take two full courses and a few dozen practice tests. “I’d rather not say.”
He smirked. “If I said that, it would be because my scores were bad. I’m guessing that’s not the case with you.”
“You know, if you have a learning disability, you can get extra time, even double.” It was a topic that had been well discussed among her friends. Kayla Feinstein, who took honors and AP classes despite her ADHD, had bragged about getting double time. Her friends had thought that was so unfair, practically cheating. But now Meredith got it. The extra time was so smart people like Harmon wouldn’t give up on college just because of some dumb test.
“Yeah, my mom mentioned that two or three hundred times.” Harmon didn’t conceal his irritation. “And I’ll tell you what I told her: I’ll think about it.”
There was really only one time left to take the SAT for a senior, October. But Meredith guessed Harmon’s mother knew that too, so she kept her mouth shut.
She changed the subject. “So when we get to Vermont, do you think I’ll be able to kiss you in two states at once?”
He laughed. “I will pull over right by the sign, so we can do that.”
Ten minutes later, they did. They kissed on a shoulder full of wildflowers, in full view of several cows, and they bought maple syrup and visited the Ben & Jerry’s factory and Harmon bought her a shirt that said “Love comes in all flavors,” so she would have it to remember this day, to remember him. She wished she could capture the day and keep it forever, not in a college essay, but in a snow globe on the shelf of her college dorm, to see whenever she wanted, whenever she wanted to give up.
On the way back, Meredith drove and, watching Harmon half dozing in the passenger seat under the pitch-dark sky, Meredith finally realized what the catch was with Harmon.
She couldn’t keep him.
47
Kate
IN THE WEEK after she talked to Blake, Kate relaxed some. Her brother might be a little turd, but he was also right. People would say stupid things no matter what she did. Also, she couldn’t do much for her parents. Her mother had Blake to fuss over, and it didn’t sound like she was even doing that.
So she went to the lake with Meredith on days when Meredith’s time wasn’t consumed by that townie boy she was seeing, took long walks on the other days. She discovered a house to the north where a woman sold fresh eggs and homemade jam off her porch, another to the south where they sold doughnuts, starting at five a.m. She brought some back one morning, which made her popular. But mostly, she spent time with Ray-Ray.
The kid was starting to grow on her. After the first day with Mrs. Steele, Ray-Ray had begged to go back there.
“You can watch SpongeBob here,” she told him at first.
“I want to go in the treehouse.”
“It’s not safe. It will break, and you’ll fall and break your arm.”
“I want to see Robert.”
“He’s probably working.” She had no idea how much Robert worked, but it sounded better than just saying no for no reason.
“I want a grilled cheese sandwich.”
“I’ll make you a grilled cheese sandwich,” she said, hoping they had cheese and bread and butter, and that she could manage not to burn it. She had never made one, but she had watched Mrs. Steele that day.
They did. Kate made two sandwiches and only burned one, which she ate. She sat Ray-Ray down in front of Nickelodeon. Thomas & Friends was on, but SpongeBob was next. Kate was sort of getting into that show, to be honest. “Patrick’s so funny,” she told Ray-Ray.
“Now can we go next door?”
Kate suppressed a sigh. “Why do you want to go there? I already said Robert’s probably not home, and you can’t go in the treehouse.”
“I like it there. Mommy used to let me go all the time. You’re boring.”
“Feeling’s mutual, kid.” Kate gave up. The kid wanted to hang with the cute, grandmotherly-type woman instead of being stuck inside with her all day. He had mad logic skills. Lizzie wasn’t coming home until five. “Okay, but you have to leave when I say.” Kate felt bad lying to Ray-Ray’s dad. But, on the other hand, they hadn’t specifically told her not to go next door, and she was going to stay there the whole time, to watch him. And what were they going to do, fire her from her free babysitting job?
She hurried Ray-Ray over before she changed her mind.
Mrs. Steele looked surprised but also happy to see them. “Oh, my goodness! Look who’s here, Robert!”
Ray-Ray gave Kate a reproachful look before following Mrs. Steele into the house. He was soon settled down with clay and a bunch of cookie cutters.
They came the next day and made actual cookies, and the day after to play with Legos. That third day, Kate had an idea. “Hey, if I bought you some wood, do you think we could fix that tree house?”
48
Spider
INT. SPIDER’S ROOM — DAY
Britta has entered Spider’s room and stands in the doorway. Their friendship has progressed to the point where Spider doesn’t throw something at her for doing this. Also, her fingers hurt (as evidenced by the fact that she is bending and flexing them in front of her laptop), so throwing something would be difficult.
“CAN YOU HELP me with some of this?” Spider asked Britta the day after their hike at Mount Prospect. She hated asking for help, hated to admit that her legs ached too much to stand right away and her fingers ached too much even to type. But she’d completed all the filming on her video, so now there was only editing. She couldn’t wait to see the finished product—and show Ruthie.
“Sure.” Britta pulled the desk chair up near Spider’s bed. “What do you need me to do? Are we doing yoga today?”
“I don’t want to do stupid yoga!”
“Okay, okay.” Britta looked offended. “A simple no would also have worked.”
“My mom made me do yoga long before you thought it was the solution to all my problems.”
“I didn’t say it was. I like doing yoga. My thighs hurt from yesterday. But I’ll do it by myself. Or I’ll ask Meredith, if she’s around. Let’s work on this now.”
“That’s what I wanted to do.” Spider tried to push herself up, but it hurt.
With Spider’s instruction, Britta opened the file, and Spider showed her how to start making the edits. It wa
s way slower to show someone else how to do it than just to do it herself, but fortunately, Britta wasn’t as completely incompetent as Spider had originally thought, so she was able to do a lot of it. But finally, Spider got tired of Britta leaning over her, tired of having to explain things to her, tired of having Britta in her room at all. So she said, “It’s fine. I’ll finish the rest later.”
“I don’t mind doing it.”
“That’s not the problem. Go do yoga.”
“Fine.” Britta stood and started toward the door. She turned back. “You know, I know I’m not perfect at everything like you are. But I am trying to help.” She started to leave again.
Great. Now she was casting herself as the victim. Why was Spider always so mean? But was it mean to want to be able to do things on her own like everyone else, not wanting constant, often begrudging help?
Britta’s help wasn’t begrudging. She was just a genuinely helpful person. But Spider begrudged her the ability to help.
“I know you’re just trying to help. It’s just that sometimes, I want to do my thing myself even if I’m slower. I don’t want to be pathetic.”
Britta nodded. “I get it. Can I bring you something, an Advil or a heating pad? Or I froze these wet towels in the freezer. My dance teacher taught me that.”
“Frozen towel sounds good,” Spider admitted.
When Britta returned, she said, “I’m sorry. I’m just really excited to see it.”
“Me too,” Spider said.
She ended up not working on it all day. But the next day, she finished it. She showed it to Britta, who pronounced it perfect. Then, together, they brought it to Ruthie and told her their plan. They waited for her reaction as she watched it. When the last strain of poignant, royalty-free music came to a close, they looked at her.
“You’re putting this on the internet? For everyone to see?”
Spider hesitated, but Britta said, “We’ve been researching how to make it go viral.”
“Is it up there now?” Ruthie’s voice sounded strained.
“Not yet, but—”
“Well, good,” Ruthie said, then added, “I don’t want it to be. It’s very pretty. I see you worked hard. But—”
“You don’t want a bunch of strangers to see it.” Spider thought she understood. She liked her privacy too. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
“Not strangers. Strangers are fine. I click on videos like this all the time—someone’s baby, someone’s father, someone’s kitten trapped in a tree. You never think of the real lives involved. But I’m not a kitten. I’m a person with a family, a family who will get hurt. And if they see this video—your father, Alicia, or your aunt—they’ll think my whole life was a lie. You said it yourself.”
Wasn’t it? But Spider didn’t say it, nor, thankfully, did big-mouthed Britta. What would her father think? Or her siblings? How had she been so insensitive?
“I’m sorry.” Britta’s voice was soft. “We were just trying to help.”
Spider found her voice. “I think Dad would understand.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Ruthie said. “I’m not so sure. I can’t just come out on the internet like a teenager. That’s not how my generation did things. This is my decision to make—or not make. It’s my choice.”
Spider saw that now. She had never known her grandfather. Her only loyalty was to Ruthie. Had she betrayed it? “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to do anything against your will. Come on, Britta.”
She wanted to destroy the video. In the days of film, she could have ripped it to shreds. Now, what could she do? Hit Delete on a computer file? Not very dramatic or satisfying. Still, she would. As soon as she watched it one last time. She’d been so stupidly proud of it.
Britta followed her out. “I’m sorry,” she told Spider. “It was my bad idea. I should have realized.”
“No, I thought it was a good idea too. It’s not your fault.” She felt really bad for Ruthie. Her grandmother was so brave and outspoken, an inspiration. If it was difficult for her in the twenty-first century, Spider could only imagine how much harder it had been back then, and for others. She often worried about not being able to be who she wanted to be, because of her aches and pains. But what if you couldn’t be who you wanted to be simply because someone else didn’t like it?
49
Meredith
IN THE DAYS after she and Harmon kissed in Vermont, they drove to Massachusetts and went to an outdoor concert. They planned to drive to New Hampshire to see how far it actually was to Dartmouth, but first, they went fishing at the lake. “I’ve never been fishing before,” Meredith said as they set off down the hill early in the morning.
“Don’t they have fish in Miami?” Harmon asked.
“Yeah, we’re kind of known for our fish, I think. But I don’t exactly come from a fishing family. I’m kind of culturally illiterate that way. If we catch one, can we cook and eat it?”
“That’s sort of the point of fishing. A bass makes a crummy pet. Is that okay?”
Meredith knew the right answer, the answer that would keep her from looking like a prissy city girl. “I eat fish all the time.” But she added, “I just don’t want to touch any worms.”
“Well, you have to. Otherwise, you’re not really fishing.”
“Ew,” Meredith said. “I just don’t want to hurt them. Or have them squirm away.”
They reached the lake and Harmon set down the gear. He pulled something from his tackle box. “I don’t think this guy’s very fast.” He tossed it to her.
“Oh!” She shrieked and jumped away, evading the worm. It fell to the ground, where it lay unmoving.
“Can you get that?” he said.
“I can’t believe you.” She looked down and realized it was a bright-orange rubber worm.
“Fish like them better than real worms,” Harmon said.
“Aw, you don’t want to put a hook in a worm either,” Meredith said.
“That’s not true. I’m a big, tough man.”
“You are a friend to all living creatures.” Meredith held out the worm to him.
“I’m telling you, the rubber ones are just better.” He took it from Meredith and showed her how to thread it onto the hook. Then, he demonstrated how to cast, standing behind her and holding her in his arms.
“I’ll miss you so much when summer’s over,” she said. It was a little more than a week.
“We can still see each other. Maybe I’ll come down and photograph the Everglades next summer, or when my college goes on spring break.”
“The College of Hard Knocks?” Meredith asked, because that was where Harmon kept insisting he was going to get his education.
“Nah. I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about what you said about being able to take mostly classes I want. So I looked it up and, if I went to Adirondack, I could major in media arts and only take two semesters of English. Or maybe I could go to SUNY Albany like my brothers.”
“You looked it up?” Meredith turned her reel, trying not to react, but she was surprised.
“My mother’s been leaving their catalogs sitting around the house for the past year. But you’re the one who inspired me.” He helped her cast again. This time, it landed far away. “A girl like you doesn’t want some uneducated hick.”
He let go of her and watched as she turned the reel over and over. A month, even a week ago, Meredith would have assumed she wouldn’t have been interested in a guy like Harmon, a guy who would laugh at the idea of being in German Club or reading a nonrequired novel. Now, she knew that wasn’t the case. But she also knew she wasn’t ready. Ready for what? To leave him? Or to think about changing her life for him?
But before she could say anything, she felt a tug on the line. “Oh!”
“You got one!” Harmon yelled. Meredith struggled against whatever it was. “Reel it in!”
“I’m trying!” It was like trying to pull Spider’s car out of the ditch. “You’re sure it’s not hooked on a rock?”
<
br /> “Nah. You can feel the difference.” Harmon didn’t say how, but she believed him. “Want me to help you?”
Meredith simultaneously tried to hold the rod up and turn the reel. Slowly, gradually, it moved. “I think I . . . can.” Another little bit. Then, suddenly, she had her momentum, and she was pulling it up.
“Come on, Meredith!” Harmon said. “You can do it! Think of it as bowling in reverse.”
She laughed then and almost released the pole. But that gave her some more energy, and she kept going until finally, the fish was flying out of the water.
“You did it!” Harmon yelled.
“I did!” The struggling fish was green and over half the length of her arm.
“Huge bass!” Harmon caught it up in his hands. “You want me to take it off?”
“Yeah, is it a good one?” It was bigger than the fish Hope had caught that day.
“It’s dinner if you want it to be.”
“I want it to be.” Meredith imagined what her friends at school would think if they saw her now, Meredith Daly, fisherwoman.
When Harmon stowed the fish in the cooler he’d brought, Meredith put her arms around him. He smelled of the lake, but she imagined she did too. “You’ve opened up new worlds to me.”
It was true. Before Harmon, she’d been on one path, her mother’s path, which had started before she was born. But she was on it only because she knew no other. She was like a show dog or a racehorse or any other creature that wins not due to motivation but because of what they are. Now, even if she stayed on that path, it would be a choice. And making that choice would mean giving up other choices, the choices that involved fishing or stargazing or chilling out or kissing a cute guy in various geographical locations.
Harmon kissed her now. “You’re the best at fishing too. I don’t know if anyone ever caught such a big fish here. You can put it on your college resume.”
“Oh, sure.”
“We can look. My mom has an archive of every decent-sized fish a Dickinson boy has caught over the years. I’m not just saying it because I love you.”