Why Can't I Be You

by Melissa Walker

  “I guess,” says Ronan. “If you can fight with a blob. I don’t even know him. He’s just . . . there. And it makes me want to be anywhere else.”

  He’s looking down at the pine floor of the tree house, at the knots that look like characters and shapes if you use your little-kid imagination, and I try to think of something to say that’ll change the subject or save Ronan from having to talk. But I can’t come up with anything. I look over at Brianna, but she’s staring to the side, out the little square window where the leaves are jumping and twitching because the rain has started to come down. Everyone is being so serious. And then Eden talks again.

  “So you’ve been staying here,” she says.

  I look around the tree house and realize that Ronan must have spent more than a few nights here. There’s the cardboard box of snacks in the corner that I thought was Gemma’s brother’s, but now I realize it’s Ronan’s. His lucky Transformer is in the window, standing watch, and I think I understand why he asked me to look for it that day. Maybe it helped him to have it here. A solar-powered lamp is charging in the sunlight next to the Transformer. I think about the morning I knocked on Ronan’s bedroom window. I bet he wasn’t even there.

  I look at Ronan with wonder. How did he keep this from me? Have I really been so wrapped up in my own stuff that I didn’t notice he was basically living somewhere else half the time?

  “Not every night,” he says, responding to Eden but looking at me.

  “So you don’t like being at home,” says Eden. “I get that. It’s nice to have somewhere to go.”

  I turn away from Ronan and focus on Eden. For the first time this summer, I see more than just a girl who looks cool. I wonder what things are like for her at home, if she wants to find an escape like Ronan has.

  A flash of lightning makes us all turn our heads to the window, and a roll of thunder follows it quickly. The sky is getting dark.

  I stare at the side of Eden’s face as she looks out the window, and after a minute she raises her eyes to the ceiling instead when she says, “My parents fight all the time. Mostly about me. Or money. Or me and money, like how much I cost and what grades I’m getting and whether I’m worth it.”

  Brianna reaches over to put her hand on her cousin’s. “They do not fight about that,” she says.

  Eden shrugs as she looks down. “Feels like it,” she says. “Anyway, maybe it’s better that my dad moved out. The house is quieter, I bet.”

  “He really moved out?” Brianna asks.

  Eden nods, and a tear runs down her cheek. But her expression doesn’t change, so it’s almost like a single drop of rain somehow got in and fell onto her smooth freckled skin. “My mom told me a couple of days ago.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?” asks Brianna, and Ronan and I look at each other and raise our eyebrows like, Should we be listening to this?

  “It seemed hard to say out loud,” says Eden. “Until just this moment.” She sniffs once and brushes the tear off her cheek.

  “You could have told me, Eden,” says Brianna. And I look over at her, with her sincere brown eyes and her hand still holding her cousin’s. Brianna is a good friend. I have to remember that, even when I get jealous of stupid stuff.

  And then it’s like Eden is reading my mind because she says, “You’re having this dreamy summer, Brianna. In your new big house with the pool and your happy parents and your amazing window seat.”

  “What?” Brianna takes her hand away.

  I butt in. “It is an amazing window seat.” But no one pays attention to me. I was trying to lighten us up, but maybe it’s okay to be intense.

  “I didn’t want to mess up your thing,” says Eden. “I just wanted to be the cool cousin from Nashville who fits into your perfect picture.”

  “You don’t have to be that,” says Brianna. “And it’s not perfect.”

  “Looks pretty perfect to me,” I say.

  “Well, it’s not. Okay, Claire?” Brianna snaps at me, and I open my mouth in surprise. She’s never done that before. “God, I’m tired of people being all ‘ooh and aah’ over the stupid pool! My parents basically threw a party for their friends on my birthday! All that catered food and the band and her rules about people not swimming during the pool party!”

  “Whoa,” says Eden.

  “Yeah,” says Brianna. “Whoa. And you guys want the window seat! You can have it. I’m so tired of hearing about the stupid new house. Everyone just wants to walk around and drool over couches.” She looks at me then, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Or they come over and call me a brat and then leave without saying good-bye on my birthday,” she says, and though she sounded mad when she started talking, I hear the shake in her voice as she finishes, and I can tell she’s trying not to cry.

  “I left because of Daniel,” I say. “He was saying—”

  “Things that weren’t okay,” Ronan fills in for me.

  I nod, but I don’t look away from Brianna. Right now isn’t about me.

  “I’m sorry,” I say to her, looking into her eyes. “I didn’t . . .” I start to say I didn’t know how you felt, but really I didn’t even try to know. I assumed. “I was jealous of the party and the new house and everything. It seems so great.”

  “Well it’s not,” says Brianna, sniffling. “No one asked me if I wanted to move. No one ever asks me anything. Not even, like, how I’m doing.”

  “How are you doing, Brianna?” Ronan asks. And it could sound like he’s making fun of her, but he says it in this nice way, like he means it.

  She stops talking and sits there for a moment. “I’m . . . feeling like everything’s really changed this summer.”

  We all nod. This is what I’ve been thinking too. It seems like things aren’t as simple as they used to be. I feel a rush of affection for Brianna, and I think about how weird it is that all these things have been going on in my head that don’t have that much to do with her. I guess they have more to do with me. We’re quiet for a moment, maybe each thinking about our own version of how stuff is changing.

  It’s Eden who finally speaks.

  “Well, I like it here,” she says. “Change or not. My friends in Nashville always act so perfect—it’s a lot to live up to. But here . . .”

  “We are all steaming-hot messes,” I say, finishing with a joke. At first no one makes a sound, and I think my attempt at humor fell flat, or worse, made them mad. But then Ronan chuckles and Eden joins him with a smile and Brianna lets out a big “Yup!” followed by a belly laugh.

  “Especially Daniel Jacobson,” Eden says with a groan, and Brianna shouts, “The flicker!” Ronan knows the story and it seems like Eden does too, because we all crack up and we don’t stop laughing for a while. It feels good to laugh, like we’re being our real selves here in Gemma Skyler’s tree house, which maybe is illegal now that I think of it, but it doesn’t feel like we’ll get caught. Not today.

  Eden’s feet catch my eye as she stretches her legs out to the side. She’s wearing cute rainbow flip-flops that show off her bright-red nail polish, still unchipped. Surface perfection in Regal Red. I look up to her face, and Eden meets my eyes, so I give her a real smile. I realize that it’s possibly the first real smile I’ve smiled at her all summer, that I’ve been constantly looking at her with a whole lot of thoughts in my head. That she’s too pretty, too braggy, too flirty . . . but maybe I’ve been being too . . . judgy?

  Eden smiles back at me. It’s not a bold smile, not a flashy grin. It’s real.

  “You can’t see the bruise anymore,” she says, and I feel her looking at me, studying my face. Then she says, “I’m sorry about . . . that day.”

  I take a breath and let her apology sit for a moment. Then I say, “Thanks.” Her eyes look relieved, maybe even grateful, and I want her to really know that we’re cool. So I say, “Hey, can you show me how to do the cat-eye thing?”

  She grins and reaches into her tiny cross-body bag.

  Eden does my eyes and then Brianna’s.
She offers to do Ronan’s but he smiles and waves her off, and he pulls out a deck of cards and it feels like we’re far away from the world as we play Crazy Eights. Then Eden teaches us a complicated game called Spades that she learned at sleepaway camp.

  I’ve never been to sleepaway camp, but maybe people like it because it feels like this. There’s rain still falling on the roof, but we are warm and cozy inside the tree house. No them, just us. Ronan spreads out his sleeping bag so we have a soft place to sit, and by the afternoon we’ve almost polished off the Triscuits. Ronan lets Ellie out of her cage, and we all take turns holding her and trying to get her to stick her tongue out, but she’ll really only do it on cue for Ronan. He feeds her part of a fig bar.

  Finally, an alarm on Ronan’s phone breaks our afternoon bubble. “Time to go,” he says.

  When we finally make our way back to the bus stop, the rain has stopped and the fireflies are starting to come out in the dusky purple light. I texted Mom that I’m coming home from the mall, which isn’t a lie. I was at the mall briefly.

  On the bus, Ronan and Eden are talking, so they go into two seats and Brianna and I sit behind them. It’s weird, but I don’t mind being two by two this way. I’m glad Ronan has Eden in this moment. He has Brianna too. And me. Always me.

  Epilogue

  In August, Ronan and I have a small joint birthday party in the newly mowed field at Twin Pines Park. Turns out renting a big mower isn’t that expensive, so my dad and Mr. Michaels cleaned up the grass yesterday for the occasion. They’ve been spending more time together, my dad coming over every once in a while for coffee with Mr. Michaels. They even went fishing in the canoe one morning—and they brought Ronan. My dad is younger, but it’s almost like he’s being a big brother to Ronan’s dad. He got Mr. Michaels a couple of days of work on one of his construction jobs, so things are feeling better.

  The Skyler family came back last week, and before they did, Eden, Brianna, Ronan, and I went back for a few more rounds of cards and to clean out every trace of Ronan’s summer hideout. Then I let my mom know that Ronan might want to sleep over sometimes. She said that was fine as long as he slept on the floor and we left my bedroom door open “now that you’re twelve,” and I reminded her again that we weren’t twelve yet. But actually, today we’re at our own birthday party, so I guess I have to stop saying that. It feels like this summer’s changes already happened, though, while I was still eleven. So maybe twelve is just a number.

  The party invitations for today went to my family and Ronan’s, plus our neighbors and Brianna and Eden. When Mrs. Foley drove up to drop off Brianna and Eden, Mom asked her if she wanted to stay, and she handed her a bottle of beer with lime in it. Mrs. Foley hung out all day, and I heard her laughing with Mom and Christina a lot, so I know she had fun.

  I talked to Mom and we told Dad it was okay to bring “K,” but he said, “Maybe next year,” and I think that means he’s hopeful about Karen but doesn’t want to push it. He’s been actually coming to the door when he picks me up, and handing Mom the child support checks himself. I like having him around Twin Pines more, for Mr. Michaels and for myself. I didn’t know I wanted that.

  Next week Eden goes back to Nashville, and she’s nervous about how things have changed there. She doesn’t know what to expect with her parents. I know that because she’s been talking to us, and getting all of us to talk too. Turns out she’s not only a talker but also a listener. I hope she comes back next summer, and I told her so.

  Today wasn’t perfect. Ronan’s dad was pretty quiet and he didn’t stay out all day—he took breaks to go back to their trailer, but I think he did his best. He started “talking to someone,” I overheard Mom say, which means like a therapist to help him with his depression, and part of that is spending more time outside, I think. He and Ronan turned over all the dirt in their garden plot last weekend, and Mrs. Gonzalez gave them a few cuttings from her plants. I’m hoping they can grow something there.

  One of the best moments today was when Brianna and Eden handed me a big box tied with a lavender bow, and I opened it to find the pale-blue dress I’d tried on with Brianna at the mall earlier this summer. I almost started crying right then, and Brianna hugged me and whispered, “My mom insisted.”

  I ran over and gave Mrs. Foley a big hug. “I cleared it with your mom first,” she said, and then I saw Mom watching us from across the grass, smiling, so I ran over and hugged her too.

  Dad handed a small envelope to Ronan then, and I peeked over his shoulder to see what it was. Inside were three tickets to a baseball game. Ronan looked at me. “It’s for both of us,” he said.

  But Dad shook his head. “I know my daughter better than that,” he said, punching Ronan’s shoulder softly. “No, that’s for me, you, and your dad.” Then he pulled Ronan in for a quick side hug, and even though Ronan put his head down I saw his big smile.

  When our cake came out, it had those same firework candles like Brianna’s had, and it lit up all of Twin Pines Park. Mr. Michaels came back outside to the porch to sing “Happy Birthday” with everybody, and he stayed out for a while. Mrs. Gonzalez and Mr. Brewster both jumped when they saw the flames and then they moved closer and I swear I saw their shoulders pressed together for a second before they smiled and moved apart. It’s funny, I used to think of Mrs. Gonzalez as the older lady next door, but now I can see she’s not that old. Her garden was always there, poking up every spring, and her wildflower field has been a part of my dreams, but this summer I started to see her, Mrs. Gonzalez herself.

  Rocky was sniffing around the whole time, but he didn’t bark at Ronan’s dad at all. Late in the evening, I saw Rocky go over to Mr. Michaels on the porch and show his belly for a scratch.

  At the end of the night, after the firework candles were out and everyone was full of cake and lemonade and the quiet Prius drove off into the darkness, Ronan’s parents went inside.

  “Can I help clean up?” my dad called to Mom loudly, and to my surprise, she said yes. He followed her into the kitchen, carrying chip bowls and a pitcher. And then Ronan and I sat, side by side, on my porch step.

  Mr. Brewster and Mrs. Gonzalez were still standing in front of her trailer, talking, and Ronan bumped my shoulder.

  “You were totally right about them,” he whispered.

  I smiled. “I know.” Then I reached into my back pocket and handed him a birthday card.

  “I hope this is an original Claire Ladd,” he said.

  “Of course.” He put his arm around me, and I started to feel tingly. I got nervous about what was in the card—a picture from when we were five and a promise to always be his friend. “Read it later,” I said.

  He nodded, his blond hair, Harvest Gold, falling in front of his eyes. Then he kissed the side of my head really hard. “Whatever it says, I’ll keep it forever,” he said.

  Then Ronan stood up and walked back to his trailer. When he opened the door I saw his dad standing in the kitchen, helping his mom with dishes. That made me smile.

  “Clairebear,” called Mom. “Come inside. We’ve got something for you.”

  When I walked into the trailer, Mom motioned for me to follow her to my room. There was Dad, arms outstretched, gesturing like a game show spokesmodel.

  “What are you . . . ?” I started to giggle as he made jazz hands, but then I saw he was pointing at a bench in front of my window with a pretty blue cushion to sit on. It blended right into the sill, the perfect perch for reading or daydreaming while I look out onto Mrs. Gonzalez’s wildflower field.

  I lost my breath for a minute and then I whispered, “A window seat.”

  Mom was practically bouncing up and down with excitement. “Your dad built it. I made the pillow. Do you like it?”

  I couldn’t answer, but I buried my face into her body as she wrapped me in a big hug. Dad came over too, squeezing my shoulder, and I felt a lump in my throat. Not because of the perfect window seat, or the fun party, or the new dress, or any of that. I couldn’t seem t
o put into words what I felt, but it was bigger than all the things that I know how to talk about.

  “Thank you so much,” I said. I leaned back to look right into Mom’s happy eyes, and then over to Dad, who was grinning like a goof too. “I couldn’t love anything more.”

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to writer pals who made me laugh, who gave me good title ideas, and who may not even be aware that a comment or a kind word helped me through the I-don’t-know-how-to-write-a-book phase that seems to always hit when I’m working on a draft. Those include, in no particular order, Kristin Mahoney, Lynn Weingarten, Adele Griffin, Micol Ostow, Lisa Greenwald, Sarah Dessen, Robin Wasserman, Michael Northrop, Sarah MacLean, Judy Goldberg, Jenny Han, Sarah Mlynowski, Emma Smith, Siobhan Vivian, Barry Lyga, Morgan Baden, Morgan Matson, Jennifer E. Smith, Bennett Madison, Corey Ann Haydu, and Emily Jenkins.

  To Gayle Forman, Adam Gidwitz, and Raquel Jaramillo, who gave me the hope I needed to keep writing even when it felt like the world turned upside down.

  To my parents, who have always encouraged adventure and exploration without fear.

  To Laura and Frank Adams, whose generosity helps keep my writing life and my regular life in balance.

  To Sophia and Shelby Sonny, who allow me to find time and space to work.

  To my agent, Doug Stewart, who is quick on the draw and always looking out for me. And to Jen Klonsky, who gets me, which is the best thing this writer can say about an editor. Catherine Wallace, thank you for shepherding this book as well, especially through its finishing stages.

  To the publicity and marketing teams at HarperCollins, especially Stephanie Boyar and Megan Barlog, for their enthusiasm and thoughtful ideas.

  To the ace managing editorial, production, and design teams, with Alexandra Rakaczki, Kristen Eckhardt, Erin Wallace, Alison Klapthor, and Michelle Cunningham.

  And to Lucy Truman, who gave so many great illustration options for this cover—and with such spot-on details—that I still can’t pick a favorite!