Are We There Yet?

by Kathleen West

  “No, dude,” Jasper said. “There’s a regular cafeteria, too.” He grabbed a clipboard from a tray and scanned a calendar. “Today it’s meatless lasagna and California medley. We do try to limit animal protein.” Jasper nodded at them, as if obviously they would limit animal protein. “But I guess we’re still having the cheese.”

  “Okay,” Alice said. “That sounds good. So”—she leaned in and read his name tag—“are you our tour guide, Jasper?”

  “Affirmative!” Jasper said. He took a tissue from the box on the reception desk and wiped his forehead. “Should we get this party started?”

  Teddy snuck a sideways glance at his mom. Was she liking this guy? He was pretty much the opposite of Mr. Whittaker. Whittaker had his necktie knotted so tightly Teddy thought he’d have trouble turning his face. His mom’s eyebrows had lifted, and she looked like she was about to laugh. If she did, it would be the first time she had since before Thanksgiving. “Let’s get ’er going,” she said. She moved her elbow across her front like she was ready to march. Teddy would have been mortified if Jasper weren’t Jasper. In other words, this guy was as embarrassingly nerdy as his mom was, but maybe fifteen years younger.

  Jasper reached a palm out to her for a high five, which she returned. Her purse fell from her shoulder to her elbow. Jasper put his palm in Teddy’s face next. He slapped it. He usually hated guys like this, guys who acted like they were massive dudes, like, ready to connect with kids on a deep and meaningful level. But something about Jasper just made him want to laugh. It had been the same with Milo.

  “I’d take your coats, but we’ll definitely look at the outdoor classroom,” Jasper said. “Why don’t you just unzip while we tour the indoor instructional spaces.” Teddy watched Alice dutifully unzip her black coat, but he kept his ECSC warm-up jacket as it was.

  “I’m comfortable,” he said when Jasper eyed him.

  “A man with his own ideas,” Jasper said jovially. “I like it! Follow me.”

  Jasper started down the hallway to their right, and Teddy could hear classes of kids chatting and working. It was louder, for sure, than Elm Creek Junior High. “These are our primary rooms,” he said. “You might know that Echo has been in existence since 2015. We began with K through 3, and we added a grade per year as we went. So the middle school started in 2017. We just opened the high school this fall, all four grades at once.”

  Teddy peeked into the classroom on his left and saw high schoolers sitting on the floor alongside kids littler than Aidy. “Cross-age-group partnerships,” Jasper said when he saw Teddy looking. “Super important feature. The juniors are working with kindergartners to plan their winter herb garden.”

  Alice looked at the bulletin board in front of them with pictures of which crops to plant at which times for maximum harvest.

  “The focus on gardening,” Jasper was saying, “is definitely about awareness of the food system—big agriculture, environmental stressors, food deserts, and distribution—but it’s also about the side benefits of diggin’ in the dirt.” He said this last part like he’d rehearsed it.

  Teddy blinked at him and then glanced at his mom, who hated all yard work and didn’t keep a garden. Her cheeks flushed a bit. Teddy imagined she was hoping she wouldn’t have to confess that she didn’t like planting herb gardens, that she hired a service to take care of the lawn and flower beds in front of their house.

  “Mental health benefits?” she asked tentatively.

  “Yeah,” Jasper said. “A lot of the moms come in knowing all about the benefits of gardening because of Michelle Obama. The White House garden? She loved talking about it. You a fan?”

  Alice looked embarrassed. “I love Michelle.” She awkwardly threw an arm over Teddy’s shoulder. “Teddy knows that, right?”

  He smiled. This was classic—his mom embarrassed by a random guy, in a tiny school, whom they’d maybe never see again. She’d try to impress him now, even though she didn’t know why gardening was so great.

  Jasper put his hand out and ticked off the benefits: “Better self-confidence, lower incidences of depression, lower cortisol, lowers the likelihood of dementia and Alzheimer’s.”

  “Wow,” Alice said. Teddy stepped away from her, and her arm fell to her side. Teddy waited for her follow-up questions, but before she could speak, he surprised himself by asking, “Can we see the gardens?”

  “On our way, man,” Jasper said. He led them slightly farther down the hallway and pointed out a large window. Teddy could see ten or twelve raised beds. Kids about his age were doing something with gardening tools and seeds.

  Before Jasper could explain, Teddy broke in. “Are they planting winter wheat?”

  Jasper’s eyes brightened. “Dude!” He raised his hand again for another high five. Teddy couldn’t help smiling as he gave it.

  Before his mom could say anything stupid about nature therapy, Teddy asked, “Are they in science?”

  “Caroline is our middle school science teacher.” Jasper pointed at the woman in overalls and a bright yellow pom-pom hat who circulated among the kids. “But this is morning choice time.”

  “Choice?” Teddy watched the kids digging neat rows in the beds. They were laughing. He thought back to Tawna and her endless multiple-choice questions about comma placement with quotation marks. “You can meet with a particular teacher, and there are activities like this one. Or you can just do indoor or outdoor study hall or reading.”

  “Choice,” Alice echoed. “You said morning choice. Is there afternoon choice, too?”

  “Let me show you the middle school schedule,” Jasper offered, walking on. “It’s on the bulletin board up here, and I think you’ll find it’s pretty different from other schools.”

  * * *

  FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, Jasper led them back to the desk. Teddy snuck a look at Alice. Her face was still flushed. Did she mind it when Jasper said they didn’t offer “advanced” anything, but rather valued inclusion in all subject areas?

  “I can see you here, Teddy,” Jasper said. Teddy turned his face up to Jasper’s, noticing the way his stubble brushed the collar of his shirt. Mr. Whittaker’s skin always looked pinched there against the top button. Jasper, obviously, had left his open. In fact, he’d left two buttons, revealing the green collar of a T-shirt underneath.

  Teddy braced himself to ask the question he’d been avoiding, the one Alice had ignored when they’d first gotten in the car. “Do you have sports?” he blurted, and then he cringed. The answer, he knew, had to be no. He hadn’t seen any trophy cases or any team pictures in the hallways. There hadn’t been any cartoon mascots hanging in any of the classrooms. For the longest time, Teddy had envisioned himself in an Elm Creek jersey all the way through high school. The Elks had finished third in the state soccer tournament last year; the lacrosse team had been listed in the paper as one to watch.

  Jasper smiled down at Teddy, and in that split second, he allowed himself to hope. “We co-op, man.” Teddy didn’t know what that meant, but Jasper kept talking. “We have our sports with a bunch of other charters. Practice is usually at this campus. We’re the Southside Stars.”

  Teddy’s whole body relaxed. The Southside Stars hadn’t made it to the state tournament, Teddy knew, but he had heard of the team.

  Alice Sullivan

  Echo,” Alice said to herself as she and Teddy got in the car.

  “What?” Teddy looked back at the building, the bland 1970s exterior not at all reflecting the generative space they’d just found inside, literal seedlings sprouting in numerous classrooms.

  Alice smiled as she pressed the ignition button. She wished, suddenly, that they’d sprung for the hybrid version of this car. One of the displays they’d seen inside had a bar graph made from construction paper showing the impact of hybrids on reduced emissions. “I was just thinking about how Nana and I would yell, ‘Echo!’ on our road trips. We�
�d find a tunnel or a valley or whatever, and we’d open the car windows.” She felt her lips press together and gazed at the backup camera. “Echo,” she said again.

  Neither of them said anything for a bit, and then, to Alice’s surprise, Teddy piped up. “I’ve heard of the Southside Stars.”

  “Yeah?” She worried that if she suggested he go there, that she call Jasper back when they got home and start the paperwork, he’d balk. But the truth was, she needed him to go back to some school. She couldn’t work in the kitchen, hustling to keep a stray mudroom client here and there. She needed a to-the-studs LEED project in Minnevista, a hundred-thousand-dollar bathroom on Lake Wayzata. What would Jasper think of those goals? she wondered.

  “I think it’d be better than online school,” Teddy said quietly.

  Alice’s heart surged. If Echo could be his idea, if it could really be a fresh start, maybe they could all find a way to move forward. “You want some lunch?” Alice asked suddenly. They were near her office, near the sushi place she frequented. “You want some California rolls?”

  Teddy flipped the Sirius radio to the Hits 1 channel. Alice could see a trace of his old smile, the one she associated with his second- or third-grade self, sucking orange slices after soccer practice. “You mean, like, to celebrate?” he asked.

  “Celebrate?”

  “Echo,” Teddy said, and then laughed. She couldn’t remember when she’d last heard his laugh, she realized.

  She tipped her head from side to side, matching the beat of Maroon 5. “I guess?” she said. “Are you saying you want to go to Echo?”

  “I don’t want to go to online school.” Teddy turned away from her. “And I think you’re right about Elm Creek.” He raised a hand to his earlobe and pulled, the same gesture that she and Patrick knew as a tell for exhaustion when he’d been a toddler.

  “Okay, then.” Alice turned right into her usual parking lot. She tensed a bit when she noticed Ramona’s Mini Cooper in the next row. A second wave of uneasiness followed when she realized she and Teddy were making a decision about his future without letting Patrick weigh in. But, she reasoned, he’d agree. Teddy could go back to soccer; he could have a fresh start. “Let’s celebrate,” she said.

  But Teddy was pointing at the parking garage wall in front of them, shaking with laughter. “Oh my God,” he choked. “That’s, like, above and beyond.” Alice followed his gaze to the bright pink graffiti drawn even with her windshield.

  “Teddy!” Alice’s relief about Echo dissolved. “I swear to God, if I find out you’re doing that, I’ll straight-up kill you.”

  Teddy laughed harder. “Mom,” he choked out. And then she was laughing, too. “You know I’m not doing that.” He doubled over, consumed by giggles.

  He isn’t doing it. Suddenly, she was certain. His surprise and delight at the sight of this stupid and rudimentary penis drawing were genuine. After all, this was her usual parking spot. If he had known they were about to roll up to it, he would have been sitting next to her in smug anticipation. Instead he was incapacitated by laughter. “I’ll straight-up kill you,” she added for good measure, and then she kept laughing, too.

  “Mom, no.” Teddy shook his head and leaned back against the seat, still shaking. “Look, you didn’t hear it from me, but I’m pretty sure it’s the feminists.”

  Alice burst into giggles again, and Teddy caught them. “What?” she asked. She pointed at it. This one also had the hashtag that had so worried her. “What feminists are defacing public property with penises? And what’s with that TT hashtag?”

  Teddy lifted his chin toward the ceiling and let both of his arms hang at his sides as he laughed. Finally, when they’d caught their breath, he said, “Donovan told me it’s the feminist club at the junior high. He thinks Mikaela Heffernan and her mom are the masterminds.”

  Alice had many more questions, but before she could ask them, Teddy interrupted. “I don’t know any more about it. I don’t have any apps, remember? All this stuff happens on Insta and Snapchat.”

  “Let’s get lunch,” Alice said. As soon as they’d settled into her favorite booth and ordered drinks—a Shirley Temple for Teddy, the first strings-free treat she’d gotten him since that first call from Jason Whittaker seven weeks ago—Ramona walked through the door.

  Alice closed her eyes. Of course, she thought.

  “Mom?” Teddy said.

  Alice could hear Ramona asking for her takeout order in a faux-friendly tone—the one she used for delivery drivers and vendors. There was no way they’d avoid each other. The restaurant was too small, each table in full view of every other one. But perhaps, Alice thought, they’d both agree to pretend.

  “Isn’t that your boss?” Teddy grabbed his pint glass and drained half of the pink soda.

  “Alice?” Ramona had reached their table, a takeout bag in her hand, receipt stapled to it.

  “Hi, Ramona.” She tried to smile, remembering her mother’s admonishments about not setting a good example for Teddy. She’d show him, in this case at least, how to deal politely with a difficult person.

  “Off school again?” She pointed at Teddy, as if he were inanimate.

  Teddy smiled. “I’ve been doing online school, but we’ve just decided I’m starting at Echo.”

  She won’t care, Alice thought.

  “The environmental charter?” Ramona asked.

  Alice cocked her head. “How do you know about Echo?”

  Ramona shrugged. Her imperiousness dissolved, and suddenly she looked nervous.

  “What?” Alice asked.

  Ramona squinted over Alice’s head at the back wall of the restaurant. Alice took a sip of her iced tea. “The Kerrigans’ daughter goes there,” she said finally. “The second grader. Bea told me.”

  Alice blinked. That explained the pristine Edible Schoolyard Pathway Jasper had shown them, as well as the custom commercial kitchen where kids worked with a professional chef to prepare their own lunches and snacks. Kerrigan funding.

  “Could I ask you . . .” Ramona looked pointedly at Teddy, but Alice just blinked at her. Whatever it was she wanted to say, they could do it right here.

  “Yes?” Alice prompted.

  “Well, the thing is, I could use some help with the Kerrigan project. Bea, with her interest in environmentalism, is insistent on a LEED-certified renovation. I know you’re thinking about disbanding our partnership, but . . .” She trailed off.

  “But you need me.” Alice took a sip of her iced tea and smiled.

  “There’s the Elle Decor shoot, too.” Ramona bit her lip. “Maybe we could renegotiate the terms of that.”

  Alice pictured her Easter centerpiece, the beautiful, nestlike metal bowl she’d bought for the sideboard. “I’ll call you,” Alice said. As Ramona walked away, Alice smiled at Teddy. “A double celebration.” They clinked their glasses, neither caring that Teddy’s was almost empty.

  Evelyn Brown

  Evelyn put two fingers to her forehead and began massaging. “So sorry,” Julienne had texted just a moment before. “I didn’t realize the conflict.”

  And, Evelyn wanted to respond but didn’t, you didn’t want to tell me about your tummy tuck. She laughed out loud then. A tummy tuck? For a nature therapist?

  Evelyn depressed the button on the electric kettle and grabbed a sachet of chamomile and a U of M mug from her cabinet. The cataract surgery, by all accounts, was routine, but she’d need someone to drive her. She hadn’t even told Alice about the appointment. As she stood over her kettle, she pictured Alice chucking the Waterford at the siding, saw her stomping like a preteen toward her car, her red dress flaring out behind her. Even as a baby, Alice had always looked dynamite in red.

  Evelyn surprised herself by laughing again. Alice breaking a hundred-dollar goblet on purpose at a family gathering? Evelyn never could have predicted it. Her daughter’s temper
had always manifested inwardly—her shoulders rounding, her chest heaving in long, gasping breaths when anger overcame her. There had been pages of journaling in scratchy, unreadable cursive. Nothing in Evelyn’s house had ever been shattered, not even when Frank declined Alice’s invitation to her high school graduation.

  Evelyn placed a saucer over her mug and glanced at her watch. Alice always skipped this step—the steeping. Instead, she began sipping tea immediately after dropping the bag in. At least once a week in Evelyn’s presence, Alice burned her tongue.

  Evelyn picked up her phone again and opened her messages. It had been four days since she’d texted with Alice. They’d been just barely maintaining the lines of communication open in their post-Thanksgiving détente. But now, Evelyn needed her daughter.

  “I’m having eye surgery tomorrow,” Evelyn wrote. “Could you drive me?”

  Alice’s response came immediately. “You’re having surgery? And you didn’t tell me? What’s wrong???”

  Evelyn smiled again, picturing the same shocked expression that had taken over Alice’s face when she’d first told her about Julienne. “It’s just cataracts,” Evelyn typed. “Left eye. Super routine.” She thought about typing Calm down, but resisted.

  “Of course I’ll drive you,” Alice said.

  Evelyn felt mildly guilty. Of course she’ll drive me. She’d decided at some point in the last few weeks that Alice was unreliable, different than she had been for her entire life. “Thanks,” Evelyn said. “I’m supposed to be there at nine. Ok to leave Teddy?”

  “He’s fine,” Alice typed back. “Or at least fine enough. And I’ve locked down the apps on his phone.”

  Good girl, Evelyn thought. She didn’t know what to make of the next message that came in—“The feminists are doing the penises.” But as she tried to decipher it, she started laughing again.

  “Maybe you can tell me more tomorrow,” she wrote.