Drum Roll, Please

by Lisa Jenn Bigelow

  I took both our plates and set them on the grass, even though ants would be all over them in seconds. “Come here.” Olivia cried into my shirt as I rubbed her back, saying, “Shh, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay.” And I was grateful, after what I’d done, that she let me.

  All night I dreaded seeing Adeline again. No, that’s not right. I wanted to see her, more than anything, but the Olivia situation complicated things. Every time Adeline tried to catch my eye, I did my best to pretend I hadn’t noticed, even though my heart ricocheted against my ribs. Finally, after band practice on Monday, I couldn’t avoid her any longer. As we were packing up our gear, she said, “Want to hang out after B-flat?”

  “I can’t,” I said, feeling sick. “I told Olivia I’d hang out with her.”

  Adeline’s brow crinkled. “Well, what if the three of us hung out together?”

  I remembered the disgust in Olivia’s voice as she’d called Adeline some random. I wanted to believe she didn’t blame Adeline for what I’d done, but I had my doubts. She’d been so angry and hurt. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t think that’s the best idea.”

  “Okay . . . ,” Adeline said.

  “Because of yesterday,” I began, planning to tell her what Noel did to Olivia, and how I hadn’t wanted to deal with the aftermath. Spending today with Olivia, doing whatever she wanted, was the best way I could make it up to her. It had nothing to do with Adeline.

  But Adeline’s face was a door slamming shut. “It’s fine. You don’t have to explain.”

  “It’s only because—”

  “Seriously, Melly. It’s okay. No big deal.”

  “Tomorrow, maybe,” I said. “Or even tonight, at firebowl.” I trailed off, imagining the look on Olivia’s face if I said, Hey, let’s sit near Adeline, imagining her saying, That random? Why? I knew it wouldn’t happen.

  “Sure,” Adeline said, already half out the door. “Of course. I’ll see you around.”

  I walked alone to the lodge for lunch.

  What if I were to tell Olivia, Look, I know I’ve only known Adeline for a week—eight days, I couldn’t help correcting myself—but she’s not just some random. She’s different.

  Would Olivia understand? Would Olivia hear anything besides, You’ve found someone you like better than me?

  What if I were to tell Olivia, She kissed me, and I liked it?

  It didn’t help that at practice Adeline had treated me exactly the same as before the kiss. Was that normal? People kissed, out of the blue, and life went on, ob-la-di, ob-la-da?

  It used to be Olivia and I always told each other everything. The thing was, until now there hadn’t been much for me to tell. More had happened in the last two weeks than in the whole rest of my life, it felt like, first with my parents and now this.

  Yet I didn’t want to talk about either. My parents, because I didn’t want to think about them. Adeline, because I did. I cupped my memory of what happened on the HydroBlaster like a tiny flame in my hands. As long as I sheltered it, I could enjoy its glow. It would grow. But if I held it in the open, the wind might puff it out.

  Now Adeline was upset, too. I could hardly blame her.

  “How are you doing?” I asked Olivia over our macaroni and cheese. She had a pinched look about her. Her eyes looked bruised. “How was practice?”

  She sighed heavily. “I’m here, aren’t I? It didn’t kill me.”

  “For which Damon is grateful, I’m sure,” I said. “He wouldn’t want your parents to sue.” I held my breath, hoping Olivia would catch the joke. Maybe even toss it back.

  “My parents don’t have the money to sue,” she said. “They spent it all sending me here. More’s the pity.”

  She gave a small smile, and I knew things were okay—between us, anyway. That was the most important thing. It was Olivia I’d be returning to Kalamazoo with at the end of the week. I might never see anyone else from Camp Rockaway again, especially not Adeline, who lived at the opposite end of the state.

  The thought of never seeing Adeline again made the macaroni in my stomach turn to cement. Even though we hadn’t touched since the van ride back to camp, I still felt a string tying our wrists together. Every time she moved, I felt it. Right now she was sitting at a table in the far opposite corner of the lodge. Now she was hopping up from the table to get a refill on applesauce from the kitchen window. Now it was B-flat, and she was completely out of sight, but I could still feel her, lying on her cot a couple of tents away, though I didn’t know what she was doing. Writing in her notebook, probably.

  To my surprise, Poppy delivered two letters for me. One was from Grandma Schiff. From the page I could practically hear her concerned clucking: I must be reeling from the news as much as she was, and I should do my best to have a good time at camp and leave the grown-up matters to the grown-ups, and why didn’t I visit her and Grandpa in Valparaiso for a few days before school started up again? I thought the other might finally be from Dad, but no.

  Dear Melly,

  It’s Thursday, and I’m running out of ways to entertain myself. Laundry done, bathroom scrubbed, house vacuumed, bills paid. I’ve been listening to Danielle Steel audiobooks the entire time. Don’t judge.

  Speaking of the bathroom, I was noticing how tired it’s looking. Funny how you can see the same thing every day of your life, and it all looks perfectly fine. Then one day, poof: you think, who the heck chose this wallpaper? I stopped at the Home Depot for paint chips. How does Perfectly Peach sound to you?

  I bet you’re having so much fun the time is flying by for you. I’m thinking of you often.

  Lots of love,

  Mom

  PS: There’s still time to write to your mother!

  I rolled my eyes. Hello, Mom! Could you be any more obvious? If I were writing an essay for English class about this letter, the first thing I’d have said was, The bathroom is a metaphor for my parents’ pathetic marriage; my father is the dingy, out-of-date wallpaper. Or was that my mother? Anyway, it was clear she didn’t actually want my opinion on redecoration. She’d already made up her mind. What did she expect me to write back? Dear Mom, Perfectly Peach sounds perfectly peachy! How about new tile and fixtures while you’re at it?

  One thing was sure: Mom had picked the right room for her metaphor. Life was in the toilet. I crumpled up the letter and shoved it into my suitcase with the first.

  “We’re still on for this afternoon, right?” Olivia said.

  “Mm-hm,” I said. “Once staring practice is over.”

  “Once what is over?”

  Oh, right. Olivia had been so out of touch with my life, she had no idea what I was talking about. I said, “David and I are supposed to practice our nonverbal communication skills.”

  “Oh,” Olivia said. “Sounds intriguing.” She waggled her eyebrows.

  “It’s not like that. It’s kind of weird, but I actually think it’s helping. I used to think David was stuck-up, but now I think he’s just shy. This helps him be not so scared of me.”

  “There’s a name for that,” Shauna said. “Exposure therapy.”

  “What’s that?” Olivia asked.

  “When people have phobias of spiders or snakes or whatever, they stick ’em in a room with those things until they stop being afraid. Perfectly safe, of course.”

  “So you’re saying David has Melliphobia,” said Olivia. “Awesome.”

  “I want a phobia named after me!” Toni said.

  I rolled my eyes. “Thanks. Thank you for comparing me to spiders and snakes.”

  “Some of my best friends are spiders and snakes,” Olivia said, and we all laughed.

  This, I thought, pushing away the memory of Adeline’s lips on mine. This is what really matters. More than crushes. More than anything.

  Twenty-One

  The past week might as well have not happened. Adeline didn’t speak to me anymore except about music. There was no diving, no canoeing, no talking about our lives outside of camp. I spent Monday af
ternoon pounding away in a practice stall with Olivia until the air grew foggy with our sweat, until the ache in my arms pulled my mind from the ache in my chest. The lake was a distant blue dream.

  By the end of practice Tuesday morning, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I ran after Adeline on the way to lunch. My palms were practically gushing water. “Adeline!”

  She barely glanced at me, continuing up the path. “Yeah?”

  I pulled up beside her, panting. “I feel like you think I’m mad at you or something. But I’m not. It’s Olivia.”

  “Olivia’s mad?”

  Already I was explaining it wrong. “Sort of. I mean, she’s jealous. Of you and me.”

  “Did you tell her?” Adeline asked.

  “Tell her what?”

  “About what happened. On the HydroBlaster.”

  It was the first time she’d acknowledged anything had happened. I still couldn’t tell how she felt about it. Whether it had been a mistake. “No, I didn’t,” I said. “It was . . . private.”

  “Ah,” Adeline said.

  From that single syllable, I could tell I’d said absolutely the wrong thing.

  “Did you want me to tell everyone?” I said, a little annoyed.

  “I didn’t say anything about telling everyone.” Her voice was like a guitar string, getting wound up higher and tenser. “Who said anything about telling everyone?”

  “I don’t know what to do,” I said. “I don’t know what you want from me, but Olivia’s been my friend forever, and she’s the one I’m going home with when camp is over. And with everything happening in my family right now, I’m going to need her. If I have to choose between making you happy and making her happy, the choice is pretty obvious.”

  Adeline looked at me strangely, and I was sure she was going to lose her cool. I almost wished she would. Then I’d feel better about avoiding her.

  She said, “Maybe the real problem is you think that’s what you’re choosing between.”

  I stopped walking. My face grew hot. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Making Olivia happy. Making me happy. Why is that even the question?” Adeline shook her head. “Never mind. I can see you have no idea what I’m talking about.”

  She walked ahead, leaving me staring after her. She was right. I didn’t know what she was talking about. Why didn’t she just tell me what she thought I should do? I hadn’t fixed a thing. Maybe I’d even made things worse.

  Then, at B-flat, came the letter I’d been waiting for.

  Melly Girl,

  Sorry it’s taken me so long to write. It’s not because I haven’t been thinking about you. It’s because I’ve been trying to think of the right words.

  I know Mom doesn’t want to get into the whys and wherefores, but I think we owe you an explanation. I only apologize that I’m not telling you in person, but the truth is I’m a big chicken. Insert eggs-cruciating joke here.

  Here it is, Mouse. Falling in love is a wonderful feeling, maybe the best feeling in the world. Some people say it makes you do stupid things, but I never saw it that way. Your mom and I met twenty years ago, and I haven’t regretted a moment of it. She’s a wonderful person, and I couldn’t ask for a better daughter.

  But twenty years is a long time. Some couples, if they’re lucky, grow together. Some grow apart. I don’t know why we ended up in the second group. Maybe it’s because we were so young when we got married. We barely knew a life outside of our parents, and suddenly we were building a life together. We never got a chance to find out who we were on our own. That’s one theory, anyway.

  I know you don’t have firsthand romantic experience (and if I’m wrong, we need to have a serious dad-daughter talk when you get home!) so I’ll just tell you: falling in love can happen in an instant, but falling out of love can take years. I’m guessing our news hit you like a bombshell last weekend. But it didn’t come out of nowhere, not for your mom and me. There were problems. Some we tried to ignore. Others we tried to work through. But in the end, we agreed we’re better off as friends. That’s one thing that’s never changed between us.

  That’s enough heavy stuff for one letter. I hope you’re having a good time at camp. I love you, and I can’t wait to see you play.

  Big hugs,

  Dad

  I went still and cold, the blood draining from my face, my fingers icy. My grip on the paper slackened. It sagged in my lap. If you’d asked me how I felt in that moment, I couldn’t have answered. I didn’t feel sad, exactly. I didn’t even feel angry. I was empty. I was nothing.

  All this time, I’d been sure Olivia was right: there was some big reason my parents were splitting up. Not something fixable, necessarily, but something logical. But Dad’s explanation wasn’t any more satisfying than Mom’s lack of one. Falling out of love didn’t sound like a reason at all. It sounded like an excuse—something you told your kid so you wouldn’t have to tell the truth.

  And if he was telling the truth, that was even worse. Because if falling out of love was as random as he made it sound, why would anyone bother falling in love to begin with?

  Except probably you couldn’t help it. It just happened. And then twenty years might pass before you realized you’d made a terrible mistake. In the meantime, you had a kid, and in getting your life back, you had to screw up theirs. Hypothetically speaking.

  “Hey,” Olivia whispered. “Is that a letter from your dad?”

  I nodded. My eyes weren’t watering. My chin wasn’t crumpling. But I was afraid that might change if I opened my mouth. I wadded up the letter and put it with the others.

  “Are you okay?”

  I shrugged and lay back against my pillow. Eventually I’d have to tell her what the letter said, give her the big reveal, but I couldn’t do it now, not with Shauna and Toni a few feet away.

  When B-flat was over, Olivia walked quietly with me up to the lodge. She went to get her bass. I went to find David. At least staring practice meant I didn’t have to talk—not that David was much of a conversationalist.

  He was waiting outside for me. Without speaking, he led me into the stall he’d signed out. He shut the door, and we sat cross-legged facing each other. It had become routine.

  But as I started the timer on my watch, I couldn’t focus—not just my mind, but my eyes. There, suddenly, were the tears that had refused to fall. They’d been there all along, dammed up. But something had knocked a chink in the dam. First came a trickle. Then came a flood.

  David jumped backward in alarm. I drew up my knees and pressed my face against them, gulping in air, trying to calm myself. But I was too far gone. Something about this quiet room, this quiet boy, had given me permission to let go. I’d thought I felt nothing, but my emotions had been lying in wait. Now they stampeded.

  “Melly!” David hissed. “Melly, what’s wrong?”

  I shook my head and tried to wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, but there were too many tears for it to do any good. David untied his bandanna, the one I’d made him, and passed it to me. I clutched it, pressing the soft cotton against my eyes. It was quickly drenched, but it did the job. I stopped crying.

  “I’m so sorry,” I mumbled. “I’ll wash your bandanna.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” David said. “Just, are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” Why am I even pretending? He saw me completely lose it. “My parents are getting divorced. I guess it’s getting to me.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Oh.”

  “I know. People get divorced every day of the year. I’m being ridiculous.”

  “No, I get it. My parents split up a few years ago.”

  “I bet you didn’t break down in front of random people.”

  “Are you kidding? I cried for a week. Even at school.”

  “Still,” I said, “you were just a little kid.”

  “I was nine,” David said. “Not that little.”

  He picked at his shoelaces. I wiped my sore eyes.

  “What was it lik
e?” I asked. “At your house, I mean.”

  “It was weird. We were all still living together at first, but it was like a bizarro version of home. Have you ever seen Invasion of the Body Snatchers?”

  I shook my head.

  “It’s this really old sci-fi movie. These aliens take over people’s brains. They look the same as always, but they’re not themselves anymore. Suddenly my dad, he switched to second shift and started sleeping in the den. And my mom, she told me it was time I learned to cook. My sister got more chores, too. It was so random. But they acted like it was totally normal—all cheerful to our faces.”

  “Did they fight a lot with each other? Before they decided to break up?”

  “Oh, yeah. Before, during, after. But only in their bedroom. They’d go in there and scream their heads off. We’d have to turn the volume on the TV all the way up. But when they were done they’d come out and pretend nothing had happened. I’m telling you, body snatchers.”

  “What’d they fight about?” I asked.

  “Everything.” David shrugged. “Money, a lot of the time. My dad likes to spend it, my mom doesn’t. She was always saying, ‘How are you going to send three kids to college if you keep buying that crap?’ He barely even pays child support. Those extra chores she gave us? She was thinking ahead. She had to get a second job.”

  “But you’re here,” I said, not sure how to finish the thought without sounding rude.

  “On scholarship,” David said. “She just had to get me here. She tries, you know?”

  We were quiet a moment.

  I said, “Were you mad at them?”

  “Are you kidding?” said David. “I was furious—at my dad, mostly. I mean, he’s not a bad person. He loves me and all. But he’s not what you’d call responsible, and I can’t blame my mom for not putting up with him. She gave him so many second chances. I guess you can’t even call them second chances. There were like five hundred of them.”

  “Did it take a long time?” I asked. “To stop being mad?”

  “Yeah.” David sighed. “Yeah, it did. I stopped crying way before I stopped being mad.”