“Don’t worry, KT Lady. There’s no snow in Florida.” That was the first thing Lucy said after Mom and Dad broke the news. She probably saw the look on my face. I’m an expert at not letting myself show emotions that I think will scare people or make them pity me or just seem annoying in general, but in that moment I couldn’t hide my total and complete devastation. Lucy jumped in quickly. She knows how much I hate Iowa City winters. Snow plus ice plus a metal wheelchair that retains subzero temperatures like no other? No. Thank. You.
I thought Lucy would be really bummed to spend her senior year of high school somewhere different, but she was up for the change. Not like we had a choice. Mom had no chance of making tenure at the University of Iowa because of “department politics,” as she put it (she’s a psychology professor), and Dad was recently laid off from his main job at Pugh’s Electrics when the company downsized. When Mom got a professor position at Fernbank College, she had no choice but to accept. Or at least that’s how they put it. You always have a choice, though. Unless you got into an accident when you were a toddler that made you paralyzed from the waist down.
Ha. That was a joke.
I hope kids in my new school will think a joke like that is funny. Cady and Kaytee always got it.
I start seventh grade in less than a week. I’ve never been the new kid, but we’ve had plenty of new kids come through Iowa City. Lots of professors would come to town with their families when they were hired to teach at the university. I stare out the window, watching the cornfields whir by, trying to remember the kinds of questions we asked the newbies over the years. I prepare answers of my own.
Yes, I’ve lived in Iowa City my whole life. Sure, it gets cold in the winter, but that makes spring sweeter. And yes, there’s a lot of corn. Soybeans, hay, and oats, too. But it’s the best place in the world. Some streets have cobblestones, which make for a bouncy ride, but they’re really pretty, or vintage, as Cady would say. People are friendly, except for Kevin Cholula and Isaiah Green. Everybody knows everybody, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, it’s kind of nice.
Of course I miss my friends. Cady, Kaytee, and I have been BFFs since first grade. I know it’s crazy that we all have the same name. No, it’s not annoying, and not the reason why I spell my name “KT” instead of “Katie.”
I want to be a reporter when I grow up (is this something they’ll even ask?). I like to be the first one to find out information, plus I’m very observant. I know how to pay attention to the world around me. An important quality in a reporter.
And then all the obvious and hopefully not too silly questions: Do I remember the accident? Does it hurt my butt to sit down all the time? Can I feel my feet? No, no, no, but that doesn’t mean I can’t wear cool shoes.
Mom always says, “Helping others feel heard is a key to interpersonal connection.” In other words, I can’t just answer questions. I’ll have to ask some, too. I’m sure I’ll have plenty. Starting with, “How does it feel to live in a postcard?”
What else?
I yawn. I know there’s so much I haven’t thought of yet, but the buzz of Beluga’s engine lulls me to sleep.
After six hours on the road, we park at a motel for the night. Even though we had to stop several times for me to change positions and shift my weight in my chair (so I don’t get bedsores), and another two for Lucy to pee (smallest bladder ever), Mom says we’ve made decent time. Lucy and I share one bed, Mom and Dad the other. Everyone seems to fall asleep right away except for me. To help wind down, I make a list in my mind.
There are some pluses to this situation, sure:
As Lucy said, it doesn’t snow in Florida. That comes up a lot, but it’s a big one.
I’ll finally get my own bedroom. Everyone wants their own bedroom, right?
Mom’s and Dad’s work situations will be much better. Dad’s already hooked up with an electrician gig, too. I know that will make them calmer.
Three great pluses, but that’s not very many at all. Now for the minuses. There’s, like, a ton of those:
No Cady and no Kaytee.
No Jake’s Freeze or Mr. Jake.
No Chloe, Romulo, Maddox, Jayden, David R., David M., Maria, Ruwa, or Marina. They are my second-tier friends. I don’t mean that in a bad way. I’ve known most of them since I was in first grade. We would always say hi in the hallways or when we run into each other at the farmers’ market.
No Mrs. Reynolds, the librarian. I’ve always been impressed by her consistency (she taught me that word when I came to check out books three days in a row). She rarely smiles unless you ask her about Louie, her pet dachshund. Also, I’ve caught her reading complicated-looking graphic novels behind her desk at least seven times. That’s rad.
No East Jefferson Street, where all the houses look haunted but in an exciting way.
No Julie’s Attic Thrifts, where there’s extra-wide aisles (unlike the Goodwill) and old CDs for one dollar. Now that I think about it, Julie’s is where Cady’s obsession with all things vintage began.
No hope of ever waking up to snow on Christmas morning.
No more listening to Lucy snore from the top bunk. Lucy insists she doesn’t snore, not even when she has allergies, but I know the truth. I’ve never minded her snoring, anyway. It reminds me that she’s right there. Tonight, in this stuffy motel, is the last night we’ll be sleeping in the same room. She’s not snoring. Yet.
Even though I’m working on the minus list, another plus pops to mind. Sort of. I remember what Kaytee joked back at Jake’s. I won’t get to celebrate my thirteenth birthday with the two best friends that ever existed (minus), and my second-tier friends along with all the other familiar faces from Iowa City Middle School won’t be there either (minus), and I can’t resurrect summer because it will basically be summer in Florida constantly (minus for Florida, sort of plus for warm weather). But dolphins live in Florida. Maybe, after all these years of studying, daydreaming about, and drawing dolphins, I’ll finally get to see one.
Maybe.
That would be cool. A plus, for sure.
But you don’t need to move to Florida to see a dolphin. You just need to go on vacation.
We arrive at our new home thirty-four hours after leaving Iowa City. The one-story house looks just like the pictures, actually. The outside is painted light brown, and the shutters are white. The front door is yellow. There’s not one but two palm trees in the front yard, as if to prove that we really are in Florida. One is small and fat and the other is super, super tall and skinny, and bends at a concerning angle. The golden-hour light makes our new house look kind of peaceful.
Peaceful, but not home. Not yet.
While my parents unload Beluga, I roll to the end of the driveway to get a wide view of our new house, straining to find a detail that feels familiar.
“KT, don’t go into the street,” Mom says. I swear she has eyes in the back of her head. I’m a good four feet from the end of the driveway. “Lucy, why don’t you go pick up some dinner for us?” Mom tosses Lucy the keys to Beluga. Lucy got her license three months ago and takes any opportunity she can to drive, even if it’s running errands for Mom and Dad. “I saw a Chinese place on the main road just a couple minutes back. Should we get the usual?”
I wonder if lo mein, sesame chicken, and egg drop soup taste the same down here.
“Or we could get burgers from this place called Tommy’s,” Lucy says, reading from her phone. “ ‘Home of Fernbank’s Original Double-Double.’ ”
“Do they have milkshakes?” I ask.
“What kind of burger place doesn’t have milkshakes?” Lucy asks sarcastically.
“Tommy’s, Tommy’s, Tommy’s!” I chant. I love ice cream in any form.
“Where is it? I didn’t notice it on our way,” Mom says as she pulls two huge contractor bags from Beluga’s trunk. They’re overflowing with towels and sheets.
“Le Google Maps says it’s just on the other side of the highway.”
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��Hmm.”
“That’s only fifteen minutes. Straight shot,” Lucy argues.
“I don’t know. You’re not familiar with the roads here yet.”
I’ve learned not to take it personally when Mom acts all overprotective of me, because she’s like that with Lucy, too. She’s like that with everybody, actually. Me, Lucy, Cady, Kaytee, probably her students. She’s just a worrier. Years of educating, she says, which I guess makes sense.
“Ma, c’mon, it’s really no big—”
“She’ll be okay,” Dad says, grabbing the last gigantic bin from the trunk.
A moving company will deliver our big stuff, like furniture, tomorrow morning, but we still stuffed Beluga to the brim with the essentials.
Mom exhales and gives in. “Fine. Text me when you get there.”
“Okaaay,” Lucy says, drawing out the last syllable. She mouths a thank-you to Dad, and he winks back at her. “KT Lady, Sprinkle, you’re coming.”
Dad pulls the last bags out of the car, and after I’ve scootched myself into the passenger seat, Lucy swiftly breaks down Sprinkle and loads her into the trunk. I buckle my seat belt and Lucy jumps behind the wheel. My stomach grumbles. I’m ready to inhale a chocolate milkshake, appetizer style.
Twenty minutes later, we still haven’t found Tommy’s. In fact, I don’t see any places that look like they sell food.
“Are you sure you know where we’re going?” I ask Lucy.
“Totes. Text Mom from my phone and say there’s a long line, but it’s worth it because the burgers smell sooo good.”
I look at Lucy. She has what would definitely be described as a sneaky grin on her face.
“What are you up to? Are we driving back to Iowa?” I’m only half kidding.
“Just do what I say.” She pauses, and then whispers, which seems over the top considering we’re the only two people in the car. “Sister Secret. It’ll be worth it.”
That seals the deal. There’s almost nothing I wouldn’t do for a Sister Secret. I don’t like to lie to Mom, but there’s basically no traffic out here, and Lucy is a way-above-average teenage driver (according to her, at least). I type out the text.
In Iowa City, my favorite burger was from the Hamburg Inn. It was greasy and delicious. I’d always get it with sweet potato fries and baked beans. I bet Tommy’s doesn’t have baked beans.
I’m about to press send when a new text comes in from her BFF, Jade: Change can be good!
I like Jade, but I’m not sure she has any idea what she’s talking about.
“Sent?” Lucy asks. I glance her way but don’t say anything. “If you’re chicken, I’ll do it,” she says, that fun-loving sneaky, sneaky, sneaky look on her face again, which is how I know we’re about to do something kind of not allowed, but definitely worth it. She reaches to grab her phone out of my hand.
“Hey, no texting while driving!” I say, switching the phone to my right hand, out of her reach. I quickly send the text to Mom and drop the phone in the cup holder. “Done!”
“Good work,” she says. “Now close your eyes.” My heart dances and I obey. Lucy turns up the radio, and I feel the warm wind from the open window twirl against my face. “No peeking.”
Five minutes later, Beluga is parked and my eyes are still closed, which makes getting from my seat to Sprinkle a little more complicated. The air feels heavy on my skin, but maybe that’s just because we’ve stopped. I hear some birds squawking in the distance, and it seems very quiet, but also not. It’s hard to explain.
“Keep them closed just a minute longer.” Lucy takes Sprinkle and me over what is definitely asphalt, and then what could possibly be a gazillion bobby pins scattered over the ground. Then we kind of sink into something soft and stop.
I hear Lucy take a deep breath. “Welcome to our first official Sister Secret, Florida edition.” I hear the smile in her voice. She exhales. “Surprise!”
I open my eyes and gasp.
People who have never been to Iowa before always say that the sky is big and wide and open. I’ve never heard anyone compare the Iowa horizon to the ocean, but it’s obvious the two landscapes have a lot in common. Staring at the sea now feels familiar. Big. Open. Wide. Free.
Like home.
The sun is setting, filtering through some distant pancake clouds. They glow Crayola Goldenrod, Razzle Dazzle Rose, and Neon Carrot. The turquoise water twinkles and goes on forever. Flecks of fading light look like lily pads on the ocean surface. I’ve never seen anything like it.
We don’t speak for a little while. Lucy stands beside me and runs her fingers through the ends of my tangled hair. The air is thick, but not still.
“It’s going to be okay here,” Lucy finally says, so quietly I almost don’t hear her. “You’re going to be great. We’re going to be great. It’s all going to be really, really great.”
I can tell she believes it, so I try my best to believe it, too.
We stay looking at the ocean longer than it could possibly take to receive four fast-food burgers, even if they had to ship the meat from Iowa. We don’t say much, but we don’t have to.
Suddenly, Lucy exclaims, “Did you see that?!”
“What?” I’ve been in a daze. I never want to stop looking at the ocean. It’s just as hypnotizing as watching a roaring fire.
“Dolphin, nine o’clock! Or a shark, maybe.”
“They don’t have sharks here, do—”
“Right there!”
I see it now. One fin and then two slice through the surface of the water. I immediately reach for Lucy’s hand because that seems like the right thing to do when you’re lucky enough to see your very first dolphins, and your very first ocean, with your big sister all in the same day.
“Wow. Florida is really …” Lucy doesn’t finish her thought.
“Postcard-y.”
“Super postcard-y.”
And for the first time, that doesn’t seem like such a bad thing.
Even though Lucy’s Sister Secret was pretty much the best thing ever, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the text I saw. Change can be good. It makes me sad, and I’m not totally sure why. What Kaytee would call melancholy, maybe. But then I start feeling guilty that I saw Jade’s text. And then I get kind of angry that she’s offering advice when for all I know she has no idea what it’s like to move to a new state and leave your life behind. And then I feel sad slash melancholy, guilty, and angry all over again.
What’s so good about change? That’s basically the opposite of what I believe.
The first two days in Florida have been boring, boring, boring. Mom and Dad are obsessed with unpacking and setting up the Internet and making sure the electricity is on. They’re such grown-ups. The house is all one floor, no carpet, and they had most of the doorways widened before we arrived, so there’s not too much to adjust for Sprinkle and me. Our furniture was delivered yesterday. It looks strange in our new house, like it doesn’t belong to us. I have no friends to hang out with, so I’ve been lurking around the house. Lucy’s determined to get to some new level or beat a boss in this video game she downloaded, so she’s been glued to her computer in video zombie mode (technical term). In a moment of pure desperation, I asked Lucy to show me the ropes of her game. Unlike Mom, Lucy isn’t the greatest teacher. After a few minutes, I’m a little bored and very confused. I excuse myself and leave her to it.
The vibe in our new house feels full-on mopey. Despite her video game goals, I can sense Lucy is a little low herself. I wanted to take Sprinkle out for a spin, but Mom said I couldn’t go farther than the corner. In Iowa City there was a market at the end of our street that sold candy and sodas, so a limitation like this wouldn’t have been so bad. But the closest gas station to our new house is not within wheelable distance. It’s way too hot outside to make it very far, anyway. So we return home, where, thankfully, the air-conditioning works like a charm.
The final week of summer is officially a bust.
The last Saturday morn
ing before school starts, I’m watching a really old movie about teenage vampires on my computer when Mom and Dad call for Lucy and me to join them in the kitchen.
“We have a surprise for you girls,” Mom says.
I hoist myself off my bed and onto Sparkle. It crosses my mind that they’re taking us to the beach, which means I’ll have to remember to act surprised when we get there. They have no idea that there was no line at Tommy’s the other night (in fact, it was empty) and Lucy took me to see the ocean. I’m not going to be the one to give our secret away.
Sister Secrets are like promises; they can’t be broken.
I catch my reflection in the mirror that’s temporarily been propped against the wall opposite my bed, and I take a moment to practice different surprised-face reactions. I could be an actor, I think.
“What are you doing with your face?” I hear Lucy ask.
“Nothing!” I swivel to see her standing in the doorway to my bedroom. Her extra-big black sunglasses sit on top of her head, and she has her extra-big gold headphones around her neck. Extra confusion in her expression, if I’m being honest.
“Weirdo.”
Sometimes Lucy gets in a mood if her video game isn’t going well or if she’s just being a mysterious teenager. I’ve learned not to take it personally. I’ve also learned how to break her out of it.
“The weirdest,” I say, making a signature KT Wynn face, the one where I pretend to catch a bubble in my mouth and bat my eyelashes.
Lucy makes the same bubble-mouth face back, then laughs. Maybe it’s the sunglasses or maybe it’s just Florida, but for a moment Lucy looks older than seventeen. Together, we go to our new kitchen.
“Think of these as little Welcome to Florida bonuses,” Mom says as she pushes a thick white envelope across the kitchen table to me. Dad hands Lucy a box wrapped in the local newspaper, the Star-Banner Tribune. I haven’t gotten myself to read any articles from it yet. I watch Lucy tear open her present.
“Volleyball gear, sweet!” she says, taking a fresh pair of sneakers and clunky kneepads out of a shoebox.
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