by Donna Cooner
Dad turns off the stove and looks our way. “Will you set the table, Theodore?” he asks, and my brother gets up to pull down dishes and collect silverware.
“Are you and Ever going to prom?” I ask Rat, sitting down in front of one of the place settings.
“Absolutely,” Rat says. “That’s what made me think of butterflies.”
I look at him blankly.
“Transformation?” he asks as though it is totally obvious.
I still don’t have a clue. Taking a long drink of iced tea, I just wait. He will explain himself eventually.
“I have to get my tux ordered and will soon”—he laughs, waving his long arms around—“transform into a gorgeous butterfly.”
“Well, you’re certainly in a good mood this evening, Theodore.” My dad places the skillet on a hot pad in the middle of the table, then looks over at me. “And you’re certainly not, Linden.”
I look up, my glass halfway to my mouth. Was it that obvious? “I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Like what?” Rat asks.
Alex. Prom. Nikki. Worthy.
It is all jumbled up and way too complicated to explain, so I just say, “My history test is tomorrow.”
We eat sloppy joes for dinner. It is one of my dad’s go-to dishes, and it tastes better than any of the elaborate recipes my mother creates. Murphy is in his familiar spot by my right leg. I slip him a piece of bread under the table and I hear the grateful swish of his tail against the floor.
“How about we watch a movie tonight? Anything you want,” my dad says.
“I can’t,” I say. “I’ve got a ton of homework. History test, remember?”
He turns to my brother. “Theo?”
“Sorry. Chemistry club meeting, and then I have to pick up Ever from her musical rehearsal.”
Dad’s shoulders slump. “And your mom’s at the firehouse until Monday night.”
He looks so alone, it makes me worry. Everyone is going their own way. We aren’t even a family anymore. Rat stands up and picks up his book bag off the chair next to him. He grabs a chocolate chip cookie off the kitchen countertop and takes a bite on his way out the door. “I’ll be home pretty late,” he calls back over his shoulder. Then it is just me and Dad.
“Are you okay with Mom’s new job?” I ask. He looks startled at my question.
“Why?”
“She’s just gone a lot and we don’t do anything as a family anymore. Not even eat dinner.” I think about the crowded table at Alex’s house, and it makes me feel like something’s missing.
Dad gives a little laugh and picks up the plates off the table. “Your mom never cooked dinner anyway.”
“But we ate together,” I say. “Every night.”
“Yeah, I miss that, too.” He sighs. “But your mom is doing what she wants to do, and that makes a couple of nights at home alone totally worth it, right?”
“I guess so,” I say. “But don’t you get tired of being the one always left behind?”
Is this what’s happening with Nikki? I think as I stand up with my plate. But is she leaving me behind, or am I leaving her?
Either way, it doesn’t feel right.
“Being a firefighter is her big dream, and we’re going to do everything we can as a family to support her,” Dad says, heading toward the kitchen. “Even if it takes some sacrifices.”
I’m proud of my firefighter mom, but I want her to still be my mom, too. And tonight I really wish I could talk to her. Instead, I rinse off the plates in the sink and load the dishwasher. Just as I put in the last glass, my phone buzzes. I pull it out of my pocket. It’s an unfamiliar number, but I quickly realize it’s from Taylor. I enter her name into my phone, which feels kind of exciting.
TAYLOR: THE SHOE HASHTAG IS FAB! U R BRILLIANT
ME: THANKS
TAYLOR: CAN’T WAIT TO SEE WHAT’S NEXT
Taylor is texting me? I didn’t even know she knew my number. Today has been bizarre. I feel edgy. Jittery. I need to clear my head.
“I’m going to take the dog for a quick walk before it gets dark,” I tell Dad, and he waves at me over the back of the couch. When I snap the leash onto Murphy’s collar, he does a little celebration circle, looking up at me to be sure we are ready to go.
Outside, I put on my sneakers and sit down on the bench beside the garage to tie them. It’s hot and muggy. Murphy sits on the driveway, sniffing the air and waiting. He is oblivious to my mood. I can’t blame him for not noticing. An evening walk is one of his favorite things in the world. Except for maybe car rides and treats. Okay, definitely treats are number one, and then the whole riding in the car with the window down is definitely number two. Tennis balls would reluctantly be assigned number three. If only my life were so simple.
I start walking toward the trail that comes after the dead end. When I hit the trail I speed up, starting to sweat, but I can’t shake the thoughts running through my head. I turn the corner at the bend in the trail and head downhill. I pull the air deep into my lungs and walk even faster. The heat is building, pressing in against my body, pushing down my throat. All my thoughts keep pace, racing along with me.
I first realized Nikki’s size made her feel different one day when we were thirteen and shopping at the mall. We were picking out jeans with some friends. She picked out the largest size, but they still didn’t fit. I remember the way she looked when she tried to tug them up around hips that were already way curvier than any of ours. No matter how hard she squeezed and pulled at the zipper, the jeans wouldn’t go up. She begged me not to tell the other girls.
I knew she felt strange about going around the racks of clothes to the farthest sizes, so I went with her—pulling out some for her to try on. She hated every single pair. At the end of the day, the other girls and I had shopping bags filled with tank tops, miniskirts, jeans, and dresses. In Nikki’s bag, she had some sandals and a flowered scarf. Left behind on the shelves were skirts that were too tight, blouses that didn’t meet at the buttons, and boots that didn’t zip over her calves. All her choices were so slim.
Nikki could have given up and slunk off to the sidelines, but she was always a fighter and never set foot on a sideline in her life. So the next time we went shopping, she marched right over to the biggest sizes. If she couldn’t find what she wanted, she vowed to make it herself. Instead of being ashamed of her body, she celebrated her curves in every way imaginable. That’s one of the things I loved most about her. Still do. But maybe I didn’t realize how hard this fight has been.
Finally, I stop, panting and leaning hard into the pecan tree at the edge of the trail. For a long moment, I just breathe, bending over at the waist with one hand on the tree for balance. I wipe the sweat out of my eyes with my T-shirt and look down at Murphy, panting happily at my side.
“Good boy.” Murphy’s tail waves enthusiastically. His furry doggy eyebrows raise in question and he grins his happy dog smile. “You don’t have to talk to be happy. You just have to be you.”
I walk over and sit on top of a picnic table, staring at the creek gurgling over a patch of stark white boulders. Murphy climbs up and sits beside me. Nikki has been my constant through everything. But who am I without her? The thought is terrifying. There’s a reason I love shoes so much. I’ve spent way too much time looking down at the ground.
“Taylor Reed likes me,” I tell Murphy. “It’s a good thing to have more friends, right?”
Murphy leans his head against my shoulder. His tail thumps.
I eventually throw three round, smooth rocks into the water, one after the other, with long, quiet pauses in between. Murphy holds himself back from splashing out into the water, but I can tell it is almost impossible. His bottom wiggles anxiously, but he keeps it planted firmly on the tabletop right beside my leg. But, just in case, his golden eyes carefully track the path of each rock through the late evening sun from the moment it leaves my hand until it disappears beneath the shimmering surface.
My computer s
its open on my desk, giving me the evil eye. Ever since I’ve taken on this social media job for prom, I haven’t written a word on my story and the deadline is only two weeks away. I glance at my overflowing bookshelves, stacked high with so many well-loved stories, and sigh. My dream of writing something worthy of going on that bookcase is flickering out. Like a helium birthday balloon escaping the bunch into a bright blue sky. The string just out of reach. Grasping. Reaching. Just missed.
I get into my pajamas and brush my hair back from my face into a big, messy ponytail. Taking out my contacts, I put them in the case and find my glasses. The computer still waits. Pinned to the wall above it is my writing calendar. I read somewhere it was a good motivational tool to put a sticker on a calendar for every day you wrote something. So far, there are only three tiny flower stickers on the whole month. I sigh.
Reluctantly, I flop down at my desk, but my eyes drift to the open window. In two weeks the moon will be full. Just in time for prom. A perfect backdrop for a magical evening. The lamppost outside casts a long shadow across the lawn, reminding me of Alex and kissing. Suddenly, there is no room in my brain for anything else. I smile.
Then I squeeze my eyes tightly closed, giving myself a two-second mental pep talk. When I open them, I stare down at the blank page. Ready to go.
I turn on my playlist and the music is incredibly tempting, sucking me in with the soft slap of the drum and the seductive bass sliding up and down the scale. Norah Jones. Smooth. Whispering of a life I think I’ll never know, with jazz and outdoor cafés and brunches with Fendi sunglasses and strappy Kate Spade sandals, drinking out of glasses that have stems.
I look down at my hands. Unfortunately, the fingernail polish on my thumbnail is chipped. Completely distracting. I stand up. It takes me a while to track down the right color of polish, the fingernail polish remover, a cotton ball. I repaint the nail to perfection. All the while I think through exactly how my big plan to ask Alex to prom is going to play out. I’ll make the banner this week and ask Taylor to help hold it up at the game. I will have two balloons at the edge of the banner. One red balloon that says “No.” And one green balloon that says “Yes.” Alex will pick the “Yes” one, of course, and I’ll let the “No” one go to float up into the air while the crowd cheers. Then we’ll kiss. And it will be perfect.
Don’t think about kissing Alex.
My story is still waiting, but now I’m totally thinking about kissing Alex again. My phone buzzes with a text and jerks me out of my daydream.
NIKKI: DON’T FORGET TO VOTE. I’M BEHIND.
ME: K
There is a humming in my ears. Thinking about Worthy makes me feel guilty for supporting that stupid app. But then all I can think of is how Jake is making Nikki different. If everyone says she should be with him, then it is going to make things even worse. She isn’t worthy of him because he is an arrogant, conceited jerk. She doesn’t deserve a guy like that. Saying yes to Worthy is limiting her to guys like Jake who want to change everything about her.
She’s worth so much more.
I shiver suddenly—an impulsive jerk that takes me by surprise. The buzz in my head is now at a fever pitch. I pull out my phone, click to Nikki and Jake’s picture on Worthy, and before I can talk myself out of it, I choose NO.
Nikki Aquino & Jake Edwards
IS SHE WORTHY?
Here’s what you are saying:
* I can’t believe he’s dating her! No way.
* Honey! Eat less. Exercise more.
* I guess more is better. Right, Jake??
* Why shouldn’t she date him? She’s big and beautiful. Good for him.
I knew Nikki wouldn’t hide from the attention, but I never expected this. She is waiting for me at the front door when I get to school. She takes off her cardigan and I stare. Her neon-orange tee is printed with a question in huge black block letters: AM I GOOD ENOUGH?
I’m stunned. “How did you do that?”
“I stayed up late last night making it. What do you think?”
I think I am a horrible friend. My stomach clenches. “Wow,” I say.
I tried to change my vote this morning, but the app wouldn’t accept it.
It’s anonymous. She’ll never know.
But I know, and it is eating away at me. The crowd of students are pushing in through the glass doors and Nikki stands there in the midst of them passing out little glittery heart stickers. “I’m not going down without a fight,” she tells me, and hands me a sheet of stickers to pass out.
Nikki steps in front of a girl carrying an instrument case. “Do you think I’m good enough?”
The girl looks at her in shock, then stammers, “Ummm. Sure.”
“Then choose the heart on Worthy,” Nikki says, and hands the girl a sticker.
The door opens, and Jake walks in with a couple of other senior boys. My heart drops. I can’t bear to see their reaction to Nikki’s campaign.
“Hey, babe.” He walks up to Nikki and leans down for a quick kiss. He turns to the other boys and says, “This is what I was talking about. Everyone wears these hearts, right?”
They nod, and Nikki hands them stickers, beaming. I’m in shock. She told Jake about this last night and she didn’t tell me? But worse, he is supporting her when I did not. Jake flashes his way too gorgeous smile at me. The group of senior boys heads off down the hall with extra stickers in hand, but Jake stays behind to help Nikki.
“You are so brave,” one girl tells Nikki.
I back away and bump right into Blair Cunningham, the biggest stylista in the whole junior class and one of the most fashionable of the Lovelies. She makes a huge huffy puffy noise, like I couldn’t possibly be more clumsy.
“Sorry,” I say, reaching out to steady Blair.
She glares at me and my hands drop to my sides. “Watch where you’re going.”
Nikki steps in between us, looking Blair up and down. “It was an accident.”
Blair rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”
She starts to walk away, but Nikki stops her. “You know, that dress would look better on you if you took the sleeves off.”
Everyone within earshot sucks in their breath and waits for Blair to explode. No one critiques Blair. Especially not on her high-end fashion sense.
But when Nikki says “Never mind” and starts to turn away, Blair comes after her. Mia, a tiny little shadow, follows at a safe distance.
“Are you messing with me?” Blair demands.
“No, I’m … ”
The crowd surrounds them, whispering and waiting.
“I know you.” Blair snaps her fingers in the air. “You’re the new girl on Worthy. I like your style.”
I can hear the murmurs around the circle of kids watching. “Blair Cunningham likes her style?”
“Could you do it?” Blair asks, stepping up into Nikki’s face.
“What?” Nikki is confused, but not intimidated.
“Make the dress work?”
“Sure,” Nikki says.
“You are amazing,” Blair says. “And this whole thing … ” She points to Nikki’s shirt. “Is genius.”
“Do you want a sticker?”
“Absolutely.” Blair places it right on her shoulder for everyone to see.
“I’ll see you after third period,” Nikki calls back to me over her shoulder. Then, wonder of wonders, they walk off together, leaving me and Mia behind to watch with our mouths hanging open.
“I’m thinking if you cut the neckline more into a scoop, it would show off your shoulder blades to perfection … ”
“Are you sure?” I hear Blair ask.
As soon as Nikki leaves with Blair, the other girls put their heads together and start whispering. I watch them, but I don’t say anything. It amazes me to see how suddenly Nikki has apparently become the newest thing. This is the same crowd that I’ve watched make fun of the outcasts, like Tomas Myers, who continually rocks to his own internal playlist,
and Deb Shefield, who is probably smarter than the whole junior class put together, but has some annoying habits, like sucking her teeth endlessly.
I hope you know what you’re doing, Nikki.
After third period, I wait for Nikki and entertain myself with shoes. A pair of snakeskin cowboy boots stand next to a pair of beat-up yellow loafers. A pair of big Nike athletic shoes with the laces untied stand in front of lockers. A pair of red heels walks past and the sneakers follow quickly. A locker door slams and I look up. Instantly, I get goose bumps. There are heart stickers everywhere—on hoodies, dresses, T-shirts, and even foreheads.
“Can you believe it?” Nikki stands beside me. “We are freaking awesome.” She gives me that brilliant smile that would make anyone feel instantly better.
Except for a horrible friend like me.
“Me and Jake are going to take our lunch outside and eat on the grass. Everyone will see us together.”
“And comment?” I ask.
She lets out a laugh, then shrugs. “You got to do what you got to do.”
I have to tell her what I did. “Nikki … ” I start to say.
Jake materializes out of thin air. “Want to join us?”
I shake my head. “Not today.”
I watch them walk away together in the wake of swiveling heads and whispered, behind-the-hands comments.
Between third and fourth periods, Mrs. Boggs stops me in the hall. “Linden, can I talk to you a minute?”
It must be about my vocabulary test. I knew I should have studied more, but I totally ran out of time. Mrs. Boggs sits down at her desk and pats the empty chair beside her. She looks way too serious for one freaking quiz grade. I slump into the seat and fold my hands in my lap, waiting.
“I wanted to talk to you about this app everyone’s using.”
My head snaps up. In a split second, I decide to play dumb. “What app?”