Ink is Thicker Than Water (Entangled Teen)

by Spalding, Amy

  “I’ll walk you to your car. Hang on.”

  Our hands are clasped as we walk across campus, and it’s like his touch is holding off the rest of the world. At my car we kiss a few more times, and I feel like if I let myself I could just melt into him. And there’d be nothing left, and I wouldn’t know to care. But instead we say good night for real and I get into my car, and as I drive home, I think about Dad and Sara and Kaitlyn and how much of my life isn’t at all how it’s supposed to be.

  And I guess the truth is that right now I wish I’d melted instead.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I wait at Kaitlyn’s locker the next morning, even though I can feel how that’s dangerous. But we’ve said nothing official, and maybe I’m not being fair. Maybe it seems to her that I’m blowing her off, too. Okay, I don’t really think that, but I need to talk to someone about Sara and Dad and Oliver and of course, my impending sex life. Kaitlyn’s good at all that stuff. Who else is going to weigh in on if I actually do need to buy fancy underwear or not?

  “What?” Kaitlyn asks as she walks up.

  “What? Is that how we’re saying hi now? Okay. How are you?”

  “Don’t be so weird,” she says, pushing past me to reach into her locker. She looks exactly the same; her hair is beautiful, and her outfit is one we picked out together at West County mall, and she’s been carrying that overpriced Coach purse for six months now. But also she’s not the same at all, and I can feel that.

  “Never mind,” I say, because this Kaitlyn isn’t going to have anything useful to say to me, even about sex underwear. “I just—”

  “Don’t you get it?” she asks. “We’re not friends anymore, Kellie.”

  “We were friends last week,” I say.

  “I guess. Stuff changes.” She stares at me, hard. “Don’t be such a baby about it.”

  Lora walks up and gives me a side-eye. “Everything okay here, Kait? Is she bothering you?”

  “Oh my God,” Kaitlyn says, and giggles, and then they’re off down the hallway together. What the hell?

  I find Adelaide, hoping she’ll pick up on my mood and say the right genius thing, but she just gives me a flier for an art show/political rally happening on Saturday night.

  “Kaitlyn’s being…” I try to communicate with my eyes how I feel.

  “Are you feeling okay, Brooks?”

  I think Adelaide has at long last picked up on an emotion of mine, but she just gives me a travel pack of Kleenex because I apparently look like I’m suffering from allergies. I want to be annoyed, but having a friend who keeps an eye on my health and well-being is a good thing. And I can’t be mad at Adelaide for not being more like Kaitlyn, when isn’t that the point anyway?

  Dexter, weirdly, texts me at lunchtime. Yo Kells it’s Dex. What’s up with Sara? I respond right away. no clue, haven’t seen her since friday. why?

  “Is it true you have some college boyfriend?” Chelsea asks me while I’m willing my phone to beep with Dexter’s response.

  What a weird thing to be true, and also to be asked about, like Oliver and I were photographed in the latest celebrity tabloid or something. Canoodling! “It’s true.”

  Chelsea has all the standard questions, from his name to his major, which I’m fine with giving. Still, I get the feeling she thinks I should be gushier or full of bigger details, and I just don’t feel like going there. Having a boyfriend shouldn’t be about bragging rights or gossip possibilities, just tons of making out and talking and listening to music.

  Though I guess to be honest, I do hope it trickles up to Kaitlyn and her table, and she’ll have to admit her supposedly uncool and immature former friend is practically doing it with a college guy. I try to look a little more mysterious to Chelsea and Mitchell in case “mystery” = “practically doing it.”

  Newspaper feels like something I’ve been doing for a million years by the time it rolls around after school. I’d already discussed my potential ideas with Adelaide, so I just let her select my lunch options idea and watch as it’s written next to my name on the board. (Of course I do get that the people writing timely and hard-hitting stories like about the upcoming Halloween Ball or changes to next semester’s curriculum have a little more pressure to deal with.)

  Chelsea announces she’s having a party next Friday because her parents will be out of town, and we all get really excited even though I think most people in this room are real rule-followers who aren’t going to start experimenting with sex or drugs. Parties are still good news, and it’ll be close enough to Halloween that we decide costumes are mandatory.

  It’s my night to pick up Finn from daycare, which is good timing because newspaper kept me distracted enough from my life’s drama. It’s basically impossible dwelling on anything annoying when you’re running around a park and seeing if you still fit down the kiddie slide (just barely). Dexter calls while I’m showing Finn some ninja moves like sneaking around a telephone pole, so I tell Finn it’s his turn, and I park myself on the ground so I can keep an eye on him while I answer my phone.

  “I hate texting,” he says. “So I didn’t wanna type any more to you. But you wanna grab a cup, talk about crap?”

  I know it’s pretty weird to get coffee with your sister’s boyfriend-slash-your boyfriend’s brother, but if anyone will understand how crappy stuff is getting with Sara, it’s him. “Um, yeah. Later? Right now Finn and I are hanging out at the park.” I grin at Finn, who mimes throwing a ninja star at me. I mime catching it in my teeth, which makes him burst into giggles. If only I could keep Finn around at school; he is totally my antidepressant of choice.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Dexter says. “Call me when you’re free.”

  I agree to that and go back to ninja moves until it starts getting dark. Mom is home by the time we arrive, which is great, because there’s sesame tofu nearly ready to eat, and also because as soon as I’m done with that, I’m free to meet up with Dexter. Hanging out with Finn is almost always awesome, but it’s a relief that at the end of the day, literally, he isn’t really my responsibility.

  Dexter and I make plans to meet up at The Beanery, and we end up walking in at practically the same time. Dexter is still in his uniform but has his blazer on inside-out so the pattern shows instead of it being navy. I guess that’s how hipsters make dressing like everyone else work. We step up to the counter together without a word, and I order.

  “Hey, Kellie.”

  I turn around and see that Paul from the paper is sitting at one of the front tables with a couple of his non-newspaper friends. “Oh, hey.”

  “You going to Chelsea’s party on Friday?”

  “Yep.”

  “Wearing a costume?”

  “Well, it’s mandatory, so, yes. Mandatorily.” I wait for Dexter to order before walking to the end of the counter for my drink. He shoots me a smirk. “What?”

  “Like you don’t know.”

  I really don’t. But once we’re settled at a table with his black coffee and my vanilla hot cocoa, he leans in conspiratorially and gestures in Paul’s direction. “That guy’s really into you.”

  “What? He’s not, he’s just some guy from newspaper.”

  “A guy from newspaper who wants to jump you,” he says. “What? I’m not gonna tell Ol or anything. Who cares if I even did? I didn’t say you wanted to jump him.”

  “Stop talking about jumping people,” I say. “What’s going on with you and Sara?”

  “Nothing, nada,” he says. “All of a sudden she’s too good to return my calls or texts, too busy, I dunno. She said anything to you?”

  “That would be hard considering I haven’t even seen her. She’s staying at Camille’s,” I say. “Just one more crappy thing about this crappy week.”

  Dexter lets out a whistle. “Tough talk, Kells. Things that shitty?”

  I shrug, weighing how I don’t really know Dexter that well against the fact that it’s absolutely useful to be around a guy who isn’t my boyfriend and therefore, will no
t distract me with magical sexy powers. (Also I really don’t care how whiny or immature I seem to Dexter.) “My best friend’s totally cut me out of her life for no real reason. Well, the reason is she wants to be cool, and I’m uncool—”

  “What? Kells Brooks uncool?” He raises his eyebrows like he’s an ultra-suave Muppet. “Who said that? I will defeat them.”

  “Shut up, and you know what I mean. I don’t have any shirts made out of gold glitter, and I don’t feel like sneaking into any clubs.”

  “Where the hell is that written down in a list labeled as cool?” Dexter shakes his head. “I thought Ticknor was one of those goddamn hippie schools. I figured the cool kids started drum circles and smoked a lot of weed.”

  “If only,” I say. “Well, that sounds awful, too, but less so. Also, my dad.”

  “What about your dad?”

  “Just how I’m this huge disappointment to him and Sara’s his shining star.” I shake my head like the conversation is an Etch-a-Sketch and this’ll clear it. This is one topic I don’t want to bring up to the guy who’s the shining star in his family. “So, um, are you still trying to get in touch with Sara? Or just ignoring her, too?”

  Dexter makes a grand gesture, takes out his cell, and dials Sara. I hear her voice mail pick up, and he clicks off the phone. “Listen, I’m trying. You hear from her, let her know, okay?”

  A tiny and dramatic part of me worries I won’t hear from Sara any time soon and won’t get a chance to pass on the message, but I don’t like how defeated Dexter seems. “I’m sure I’ll hear from her soon, and of course I’ll let her know.”

  Since Mom and Russell are still acting like nothing unusual or apocalyptic is going on in our family, I decide to take things into my own hands. I won’t just act brave; I will be brave.

  I go back to Dad’s on Wednesday.

  “You here for the night again?” Dad asks, looking surprised but honestly not unhappy. “We could order something for dinner or go out, your choice.”

  “Whatever you want is fine,” I say, not feeling deprived at the moment thanks to dinner on Sunday. Living with a vegan is fine as long as you can occasionally make a great steak escape. “Um, so have you talked to Mom this week?”

  “Uh, no, I don’t think so.” He riffles through his mail and looks back to me. “Why did you think I would have talked to your mother?”

  “Sara got back into town Sunday, but she told Mom not to pick her up at the airport because she’d be staying with Camille for a few days.”

  Dad’s eyebrows draw together. “And Mel said okay to that?”

  “You know Mom, she wants everyone to be happy and making independent choices or whatever.” I make it sound really casual, because Clayton Brooks hates casual. I will scare him to his core and make him the one who reacts.

  “Right,” he says, when I know he means something more like, Yeah, that crazy woman. “I know Sara’s really enjoyed spending time with Camille, and when has Sara ever made a bad choice?”

  He does have a point, even if it isn’t one I necessarily want to hear from him. Where is my control freak dad?

  “We haven’t heard from her since,” I say.

  “Well, that was just Sunday,” he says. “Today would still be included in ‘a few days,’ wouldn’t it?”

  I have to admit he’s right.

  “Dinner thoughts?” he asks, and I hope he’ll ask me anything about me. What am I working on for the issue of the Ticknor Voice? How are my friends? (Ugh.) Even how are my grades? I try to send little mind beams to him: ASK ME SOMETHING.

  But obviously, I don’t have magical mental powers (or a dad who cares that much about my extracurriculars). At least he lets me pick the restaurant, burgers in U City at Fitz’s, where they brew their root beer right there on the spot. (That makes it just as much better than regular root beer as you’d think.) Dad isn’t usually one for driving more than a couple miles or going anywhere that actually qualifies as cool, so it feels like almost as much of a victory as if he’d asked about the paper.

  Almost.

  “This is actually really good,” Dad announces as we’re eating our burgers. Probably I should have been offended at his incredulous tone, but I’m so used to him that I’ll just take his shock that I could have good taste in dining establishments as a compliment. “Great idea, kiddo, glad you came over tonight. I know it’s tough between my schedule and yours.”

  “Yeah.” I feel sort of awful that it took the Sara drama to get me to his place tonight. Honestly, once Sara and I started driving, we haven’t exactly stuck to the stricter schedule of seeing him at least one-point-five times a week we’d upheld before. It truly isn’t about how sometimes hanging out with Dad is the emotional equivalent of getting needles poked under your skin, and not in the good acupuncturey way. (Usually.) At this point I’m just ready to have one place to live. Mom and Russell are much closer to school, and also they rarely say anything about my college chances or my attitude toward school and hard work, so I guess there is also that.

  “So, uh, your mom said something to me about you…” Dad gulps his root beer like that will fortify him. “Dating someone.”

  Dad knows this, but not that Sara is totally leaving our family for possibly forever? Mom and her open communication! “I guess I am.”

  “Mel seems to approve, so…” Dad shrugs, like it’s perfectly normal for him to basically say, If it’s fine with your mom, it’s great with me. “And you know a guy has to treat you well and respect you and all of that, right, kiddo?”

  “Of course, Dad.”

  “Well, I hope he’s good enough for you,” Dad says, which is such a cheesy and clichéd thing a dad would say on a TV show that I feel way less like his biggest disappointment.

  Back at the house, though, he immediately (before I’m completely inside the front door counts as immediately for sure) tells me to work on my homework, so we’re back to business as usual, and then he walks into the kitchen yammering on about something to do with college. Good thing you didn’t get too cool all in one night, Dad.

  “I’m only a junior,” I say, my default response to anything containing the words college, university, GPA, or extracurricular.

  “It’s never too soon to start looking, though.” He plunks down this giant book on the table in front of me. Your Guide to the Best Colleges and Universities FOR YOU.

  “Whoa, the all-caps are a little freaky,” I say.

  “I got it for you this week, thought it might be helpful.”

  “What is it, some book for weirdos?” I check the back of the book, and after mentions of creative and against-the-grain and non-traditional environments, I realize I’m right. Honestly, if you’re really at home at Ticknor, you’re probably not going to exactly fit in at your average college with a Greek system and organized sports and whatever else. I’m not really ready to start actually narrowing down college choices, but I guess it’s nice Dad knew not to get whatever genius edition he’d gotten for Sara. For once the differentiation doesn’t feel like an insult. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Sure, kiddo. You want to start looking through this? Maybe over the summer you and I can take a trip and tour some of your favorites. What do you think?”

  A million thoughts fly through my head at once like in movies where your whole life flashes before your eyes (though luckily without the accompanying near-death experience). Dad and I on a trip together is a recipe for disaster! A vacation that doesn’t involve making sure Finn doesn’t run into traffic or the ocean sounds relaxing! Wait, college is actually this completely real thing that I’ll go away to in a couple years and I have a say in it?

  “You know.” Dad sits down across from me, backward in the chair like rebel kids on bad TV shows. “You’ve got to give Sara a break.”

  “What?” What? “I didn’t say anything about Sara.”

  “I’m sure getting to know Camille is really validating for her,” he says. Validating? “You wouldn’t know how hard it is to not fit in
.”

  I think there should be a law that if any adult says that to someone in high school, they can be declared mentally incompetent.

  “You and your mom have so much in common,” he continues. “Sara’s never had that. Think about what that would be like.”

  I’m not a violent person, but I have to get up because right then I really want to punch him in the face. Think about what that would be like, Dad. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Kellie—”

  “I’m tired.” I leave the college book on the table and carry everything else to my room. It isn’t even ten yet—of course I’m not tired—and I have all this additional energy thanks to getting riled up by Dad and his crazy talk.

  I get online, figuring at least maybe I can distract myself somehow. Oliver is logged in, which is just about the best distraction I could get.

  Oliver McAuley: Hey.

  Oliver McAuley: What are you up to?

  Kellie Brooks: ignoring my dad. you?

  Oliver McAuley: Procrastinating from reading. Hoping to catch you.

  Oliver McAuley: What’s up with your dad? The usual?

  Kellie Brooks: sort of.

  I think about mentioning Sara then or Mom’s reaction—well, lack of—or Dad’s wrongheaded thoughts of almost everything. Oliver will be there for me, of course, but I’ll still have to dwell on all this stuff. And, ugh, could I just not dwell on stuff?

  Oliver McAuley: Sorry to hear it.

  Oliver McAuley: Mine just emailed me an article about some Philosophy major who graduated from SLU last year and still can’t find a job.

  Kellie Brooks: our dads should team up.

  Kellie Brooks: they could be REALLY disappointed with their powers combined.

  Oliver McAuley: Not sure the earth could withstand that.

  Kellie Brooks: apocalypse dads!

  Adelaide starts messaging me, and even though I also briefly think about dumping all my brain’s issues on her, I decide to keep taking distraction where I can find it. And, anyway, Adelaide is detailing the blog posts she’d made that have gotten the most hits (which means I’m mostly typing lots of oh and awesome and the occasional they really test THAT on animals??). Oliver can at least be counted on for actual conversation.