This Is All Your Fault, Cassie Parker

by Terra Elan McVoy

  When they leave, Mom takes Leelu and me to our favorite Japanese place for lunch, so we can celebrate and trade tales about what we’ve all done while we were apart. The sweet, excited way Leelu ask questions about writing camp, and my new friends, makes it a lot easier to concentrate on her favorite parts about Disneyland, instead of thinking about the rest.

  Still, it makes me want to hit the reset button between us right away—to find something she and I can do together that will eclipse the whole Disneyland thing, good and bad.

  And maybe repair things with Evie at the same time.

  Leelu’s back from Disney, I message her. What are you doing tomorrow?

  It isn’t an apology, but it feels like something right.

  Salinas Farm! she types back right away. Do you want to come?

  I’m surprised by the fast invitation, or that Mom says yes without a thought, but the next afternoon Leelu, Evie, her stepsister Kayda, and I are singing on the hayride around the farm, eating pie from the shop, playing in Evie and Kayda’s treehouse afterward, and then watching them do gymnastics tricks on the swing set until it’s time to come home. Just like Mom said, focusing on the parts of Evie I like helps replace the problematic business that happened between us with Aja. All that awkward stuff with Tyrick feels absolutely forever ago, anyway, and even if I hate how it happened, it did turn out a lot easier than telling him my real feelings.

  Revision

  There are things and then there are the things you can change them into once you’ve laid them out and examined them for what they could be. Perhaps not what you intended, but something they have become in the process of unspooling them. Put it down first, test it out later. The only way out is through. Nothing is static, everything is fluid. Changeable. Impermanent. Evie’s skinnystrong limbs in a handspring flipping past the misunderstandings between us, making us friends again when I thought we weren’t. Mom sturdy and strong on the surface, holding in confessions that encourage me to find my own bravery. Pencil becoming Tyrick. Old stories transforming into newer, better ones. Keeping the original heart at the core but helping it become something else. Telling my life in a different way. Letting it all go and grow with open hands and an honest, repairing heart.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Sanders says when we’re back in our writing pairs on Monday, sitting cross-legged together on the floor. Ellen’s letting us write whatever kind of story we want the whole rest of this week, and I’ve decided at least Sanders needs to know the truth behind the Kandra/Callie story, so I can revise it into something that feels as good as getting back together with Evie this weekend did. Something I can accept.

  I shake my head. “I am not.”

  He stares into space, picturing all of it, but then a slow, uneven smile appears. “That is awful. She really read your diary?”

  His mischievous expression makes me laugh, even though there’s still not anything funny about it.

  “Out loud,” I tell him. “On the bus.”

  “Who did?” Diamond says, craning her neck. She and Megan are stretched on their stomachs, not far from us. “Read your diary.”

  “A horrible girl at my school,” I admit. “And my best friend sided with her.”

  Diamond’s eyes go comically wide. Next to her, Megan covers most of her face with her hands and gasps, before Diamond’s face shifts into cold seriousness.

  “Girl who does something like that deserves to get lice,” she says. “Or worse, bedbugs. Fleas. Roaches, something.” She makes a tsking sound. “Did she really do that to you?”

  I laugh yes and thank her, because what she’s said has given me an idea.

  I turn to Sanders. “What if I wrote a story about a girl—a girl trying to be popular—who gets lice without knowing it, and then goes to a slumber party and gives it to all her popular friends?”

  “And everybody has to get her head shaved!” he adds.

  I’m doubtful. “Do they do that anymore?”

  “Who cares? Whatever works for the story, right?”

  I smile at him. “You’re right. Whatever works.”

  Katie didn’t want to be late to the party. It was her first time spending the night with Sandra Mackenzie, and Katie was already nervous. She didn’t need tardiness to add to her anxieties, especially since she was still feeling guilty about not staying over with her best friend as they usually would. But Sandra was the most popular girl in school, and getting in with her and her gang of wealthy friends would elevate Katie’s status far more than any of her old friends could.

  The game she and her best friend had played at the wig shop had reminded Katie of their carefree old times together, but trying on a bunch of different silly hairstyles and taking on fake accents and attitudes to match them was for little girls. Katie was grown-up now. She didn’t need games like that anymore.

  As she rang the doorbell and clutched her overnight bag tighter to her chest, Katie reached up to scrunch her curly black hair back into shape. When Sandra opened the door and welcomed Katie with a big hug, neither of the girls noticed the tiny black bug slipping from Katie’s recently tousled curls into Sandra’s long yellow strands.

  Like Mom said about trying not to be angry, my story takes a lot of effort. And at the end of the week, in spite of several revisions, I’m still failing at it. I love the opening scene—and the part in the barbershop where the popular girls all get their heads shaved because Katie’s given them lice is funny—but after working on it so much, I’m starting to think the whole lice thing is a little too mean. Even if Sanders likes it, once again I feel the ending is dumb. Through all of camp, Ellen’s stressed that good stories end with some kind of change in the character. The way this one wraps up, though, the main character is just bald and ostracized by all her popular friends. I know she should learn some kind of lesson, but I don’t know what it is.

  “It’s because you don’t start in the right place,” Xi says simply on our last day. She knew I was having trouble with my draft, and offered to read it even though we’re not officially partners.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, getting lice isn’t the problem.” She hands my printout back, decorated with her handwritten comments in sparkly green pen.

  I can’t believe I might have to write something else all over again.

  “Of course it’s the problem,” I protest. “Look what happens when she does.”

  “But why does she get the lice? Acting out different characters in the wig shop with her old friend is supercute, but if the lice she gets from the wig are going to teach Katie a lesson, there has to be a reason why she was doing it first, right? Some prior behavior that causes the problem.”

  “When she goes to that slumber party, instead of to her friend’s house, like she usually would—”

  “It’s not her fault that the popular girls invited her over, though,” Xi says simply. “It’s not even her fault that they don’t like her friend.”

  I stare at my paper, starting to feel a little uncomfortable.

  “It’s still really funny, though,” Xi assures me. “I love it when the girls are all crying at the barbershop together, and the old friend happens to pass by and takes a picture of it. But see, that confused me too—what happens to the friend? The way you have it here, she doesn’t really do anything except not get invited to the party, and then be at the right place at the right time to take the revenge picture. She doesn’t even have a name. Maybe figuring out her role will help you with the rest of the story.”

  The idea of still not getting things right, even after so much work, is frustrating and disappointing. While Ellen says it’s okay if the stories we share today still aren’t final—that writing evolves over time, and sometimes that means not working on something for days, or even months—I’m not interested in this taking a long time. We’re halfway through the summer already, and there are still too many loose ends. I hoped at least I could write one complete story.

  But Xi’s input has g
iven me a creepy feeling on the back of my neck for another reason. If, in my story, Katie is really Cassie, and her old friend is really me—then I’m not sure what my role in everything is, either.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Once creative writing camp is over (and my friends and I have all swapped contact information), I’m ready to give my brain a break. Leelu and I still have some work to do putting Disneyland behind us too, so first thing at home Friday afternoon, I page through my old English notebook for that unfinished list of things we wanted to do this summer. The one she forgot about when Jennifer showed up with end-of-school presents.

  She’s happy when I show it to her, though, and we spend the rest of the evening adding more to it. When we share our ideas with Mom and Maritza, they’re both energized, and since we’re back on our regular parent rotation (which means another whole week of not having to see Jennifer), with their help we manage to do a pretty good job on our list.

  Sister Summer: A List by Fiona and Leelu Coppleton

  Go to the country club pool every day (Except if it ever rains!)

  Volunteer at the homeless shelter

  Force Mom to get some fresh air and take us on a hike

  See a double feature

  Attend a race at the Mazda Raceway

  Spend one whole day doing nothing but playing Barbies (Fiona note: even if 12 is too old)

  Read at least one book a week

  Roller-skate

  Wash Mom, Dad, & Maritza’s cars for allowance

  Build a fort entirely of Legos

  Learn about something new (Still need ideas)

  Daylong fun at Teamer Park

  Trying every flavor of saltwater taffy at Cannery Row

  Those last two are Dad’s idea, which he inserts as soon as Leelu tells him about the list when we get to his house on Monday.

  “Jennifer read about Teamer on that Family Finds blog,” he says, taking my notepad to add it. “And we haven’t been to Cannery Row in a long time. How come going on the boat’s not on here, either?”

  Leelu hops up and down. Dad’s boat is one of her favorite activities no matter what time of year, but Jennifer happens to love it too. It’s why I never included it on the list (and, also, because I got sick the last two times we went, though no one else seems to remember). I hoped Leelu wouldn’t bring it up, either. But of course Dad wants to do things right away that involve Jennifer, and of course Leelu is excited about his suggestions.

  It’s the opposite of the point.

  “You hate Cannery Row,” I say to Leelu, since I already know it’s useless trying to talk her out of the boat.

  “No, I don’t.” She scowls.

  “When Maritza took us, all you did was whine about how crowded and boring it was.”

  “Nuh-uh. I went there with Harlow for her birthday. We did a scavenger hunt and it was so awesome. Dad, can we go to the Ghirardelli place first?”

  “Why don’t we go to the park Friday, and leave Cannery Row up for debate?”

  “Don’t you have to work?” I ask him. Friday we’re supposed to go to the aquarium and on a picnic with Maritza, and then spend the afternoon at the pool, so that we can keep up our record of attending every day. I don’t want to forfeit that even for a place as majestic as Teamer Park with all its rocks-and-ocean beauty, but I especially don’t want to if it means spending a whole day with the Princess Twosome.

  “Most of my clients are on summer vacation too.” Dad sounds a little hurt. “I think one day with my daughters can be spared. I know Jennifer has personal leave she needs to use up.”

  “But what about Maritza? This is her job, you know. She counts on us. And she was just on vacation.”

  He laughs a little. “That’s a good point. Why don’t you two call some friends and we’ll take a whole group. That way I’ll need both their help.”

  Leelu’s screech of excitement practically shakes the kitchen cabinets. “Can I bring Jessica? And Harlow? And maybe Reed?”

  “Fiona, what about you?” Dad turns to the cutting board to start chopping vegetables for our stir fry.

  It occurs to me that if Leelu has her real friends with her, at least she’ll be distracted from her shiny new bejeweled one who also happens to be Dad’s girlfriend. And if I invite Evie, Leelu will hopefully have more fun with us than with Jennifer.

  In fact, I think, the more people to distract Leelu with the better, which gives me an idea that might help not just me, but Evie too.

  Though I’m uncertain how well Evie and Sanders are going to get along, they’re my two closest friends now, and I want them to know each other. They’ll keep me from having to talk to Jennifer, too, but I admittedly have a secret third agenda. My hunch is that Aja’s given Evie (and Evie’s parents) the wrong idea about what relationships with boys and girls are like. If Evie sees how funny and cool Sanders is, she might feel less intimidated because boys are around, and her parents might relax, too.

  But it’s not as easy as I want it to be.

  When Sanders arrives at Dad’s house, he stretches out a hand to shake with Evie, saying, “Nice to meet you,” but Evie blushes and her “Hi” is barely audible.

  “Sanders is my friend from creative writing camp,” I try. “He writes really funny stories. And he helped me a lot with mine.”

  “Fiona’s an awesome writer,” he says.

  “Tell her what kind of stories you do, though.” I nudge him.

  “Oh, you know, mostly political commentaries involving giant bears and gerbils, and the end of the human race.”

  Evie scrunches her nose, not sure whether he’s kidding or not. I’m not really sure, either.

  Unlike Aja, though (when she’s around River anyway), Sanders clues in immediately that he hasn’t landed on a common topic. As we drive to the park he asks Evie about her summer instead. He seems genuinely interested in what she might have to say, but to my disappointment she only gives him one-word answers, like “Camp,” and “Yeah,” and “Fine.”

  By the time we get to Teamer, I feel it was a giant mistake to make Evie and Sanders friends; Evie’s just too uncomfortable, and Sanders is too determined to give up trying. My attempts at being sweet to Evie and jokey with Sanders at the same time are stressful, and make me wish for a brief second that I could just enjoy the day with a best friend I don’t have to work so hard at being with—like the one I used to have before she decided she was better than me.

  But that’s not the way it is. This is. And if it’s going to work I’ll have to make it.

  “We’re swimming first, right?” Sanders says when we get to Teamer.

  Evie looks at me hopefully. So there’s something we can agree on. Around us Leelu and her friends start chanting some swimming song from a cartoon they all know, so we spread out our towels, apply sunscreen, and help Maritza set up the umbrella.

  To my happiness and relief, Jennifer makes a fuss about getting her hair wet, and won’t go in the water. As soon as everyone’s ready, Sanders runs as hard as he can through the sand, plunging into the giant rolling waves, and the rest of us follow, leaving Jennifer behind with Maritza, who doesn’t like to swim in the ocean, either. Dad dives straight under, while Leelu and her two friends shriek as the cold water smacks their skin. Evie wants to step in a little more carefully, so I stay with her, but when we reach the others out in the calmer water, I concentrate on nothing else except not getting water up my nose, and having fun. We swim and splash around, try to hold ourselves in handstands against the current, and then practice dolphin dives and humpback whale leaps. Dad lets Leelu climb up onto his shoulders and jump off, and soon he’s become a human diving board for her and both her friends. It makes me think of doing chicken fights next—me, Evie, and Sanders, with the littler kids on our backs.

  “Throw us together, Daddy!” Leelu cries, crawling through the surf to Dad for another round. When she reaches him, she stretches out her hand to me. I’m probably too big to be thrown, but Dad’s strong, and that is one of o
ur favorite things. I start bobbing my way over, and he raises an arm in greeting, but I realize it isn’t to me.

  “You all look like you’re having too much fun,” Jennifer calls behind us.

  “Jenny!”

  Leelu lets go of Dad and dog-paddles to where Jennifer’s carefully stepping out to us, arching her neck to keep her hair dry even when waves only splash her stomach.

  “Come on,” I say to Evie and Sanders. “Let’s get some sun.”

  Sanders doesn’t hesitate. “Body surf,” he commands, and to my delight, even Evie stretches out her hands and ducks her face into the next wave. We splay out on the beach so that the water rushes up around our legs and feet. I’m not really ready to be done swimming, but at least I’m away from Jennifer.

  Sanders tosses a shell into the water and looks toward Teamer Cliff. “Have you ever done that?”

  “No way.” Evie’s shaking her head.

  The cliff is a giant outcrop of rock that juts out at what looks like an impossible angle over the ocean: wider at the very top than at the bottom. There’s a steep trail up to it, and near the pinnacle you have to climb over some big boulders, but when you get there, from what I’ve seen in the pictures anyway, the stone makes a perfectly smooth jumping-off platform. Usually when cliffs and the ocean meet like that, the rocks at the base and the powerful tide combine to make it far too dangerous to jump off, but because of the way this one is formed, and the curved inlet it hangs over, it creates nature’s perfect high-dive.

  But it’s still super high and scary-looking.

  “We should do it,” Sanders asserts.

  Evie looks out at the water. “I’ll stay here I think.”

  “You can’t be scared, are you?” Sanders seems genuinely astonished.

  Beyond them I see Jennifer already wading back to the beach, playfully dragging Leelu, who’s gripping her waist, in what looks like our made-up game, Rescue Mermaid.

  When Evie says nothing, Sanders shakes his head, wet curls sticking against his face. “Do you know how special that formation is? Not to mention the biggest thrill of your life? It would be a crime if I didn’t make you go up. I promise you it’s safe. They wouldn’t advertise everywhere about it if it wasn’t. They’d get sued.”