For a split second, I consider saying yes. Yes, that’s all I said. Omitting the rest of it, the worst of it. Feigning ignorance and innocence. No, Caitlin, I have no idea why Tyler would’ve told you he loved you in front of two hundred people. I was as surprised as you were. I know Tyler would back me up, because that’s the kind of friend he is. What kind of friend am I?
“I told him you liked him,” I say quietly.
Caitlin doesn’t react, as if what I’ve said didn’t compute. “What?” she says evenly.
“I told him you had feelings for him but didn’t want him to know.” I close my eyes as I’m saying it, bracing for her reaction. There isn’t one. When I open my eyes, Caitlin is walking away.
“Caitlin!” She ignores me. “Caitlin!” I yell, no longer caring who hears me (which is good, since everyone can). “Can I just explain—”
Caitlin spins on her heels. “Explain what?” she shouts. Her eyes are blue icicles. “How mind-blowingly self-absorbed you are? How it’s all about Abby, all the time?”
“So she doesn’t like me?” Tyler asks, sounding about as confused as I feel. Caitlin thinks I’m self-absorbed?
“This didn’t have anything to do with me,” I protest. “I just thought—” She doesn’t let me finish.
“God, Abby, you’re such a cliché,” Caitlin spits. “Ohmigod!” She lifts her voice, mocking me. “Do you think Astronomy Boy likes me? Ohmigod, I can’t run cross-country anymore! Ohmigod, what about my precious Plan!” Behind me, someone giggles. “God forbid some stupid detail doesn’t turn out exactly the way you planned it. How would you ever recover?” Her words drip with sarcasm and disdain. “You want to know why Josh wasn’t interested in you?” Caitlin asks coldly, her voice authoritative, like she knows something I don’t. “It’s not a big mystery, Abby. You’re just too self-involved to see it.” She looks me in the eye then, her gaze like steel. “You’re more work than you’re worth.”
Something in me snaps.
“Ohhhh. So we’re talking about who’s easier?” I fire back. “I guess you win then.”
“Excuse me?”
I raise my voice and address our audience. “You’d think that amazing brain of yours might’ve picked up on the fact that he was married,” I say derisively. The cheerleaders look at one another with arched eyebrows, wondering what I mean, but of course Caitlin and I are the only ones who know about Craig. The thing she’s most ashamed of. Her greatest regret. “But I guess you just couldn’t be bothered to worry about that stupid detail?”
Caitlin’s mouth drops.
It’s as if the room expands in that moment, like the surface of Dr. Mann’s red balloon. My stomach clenches and unclenches like a fist.
What did I just do?
“You’re a bitch,” Caitlin says, her voice hollow. “A self-absorbed bitch.” She doesn’t spin on her heels the way I would. She simply turns and walks out of the cafeteria. Tyler steps down off the table and follows her out. Heads turn, watching them go, then the attention snaps back to me. It occurs to me that I should do something—blink, sit down, leave the lunchroom—but the effort of those actions feels overwhelming. I can’t move.
The bell rings and the gawkers disperse. Efrain appears in front of me, holding my bag. “C’mon,” he says, his voice startling me out of my stupor. “I’ll walk you to class.” I nod weakly and follow him out.
Efrain steers me to my classroom and leaves me at the door. “Good luck on your midterm,” he says, holding out my bag. I choke on a laugh. I’m supposed to take an astronomy test right now? Poor Efrain just stands there, not sure what to do. There are flecks of dried hair gel on his ear.
The warning bell rings.
“Hey, guys.” Josh is walking up, pencil tucked behind his ear as always. When he sees the look on my face, his smile fades. “What’s going on?”
“Caitlin and Abby just had a blowout in the cafeteria,” Efrain explains, keeping his voice low. “I gotta go,” he tells us. “I can’t be late for bio.” He hands Josh my bag, pats me awkwardly on the shoulder, then takes off down the hall.
“We should probably get in there,” Josh says. His voice sounds distant, like he’s talking from behind a pane of glass. I stare vacantly into the classroom. Everyone is in last-minute cram mode, flipping frantically through their notes. All except Megan. Her eyes are glued on us. When she sees me see her, she quickly looks away. You want to know why Josh wasn’t interested? Caitlin’s words slice through me. You’re more work than you’re worth. My throat tightens.
“Abby?”
“Yeah, okay.” I force myself to put one foot in front of the other, shuffling toward my desk, when what I really want to do is run screaming from this room. From my life. From myself.
I reach my seat. I sit. Every motion mechanical. Every gesture forced.
I tell myself to focus. I tell myself to stop thinking about the fight and start thinking about this test. A test that’s worth 40 percent of our grade. A grade that could single-handedly destroy my GPA.
This test. My grade. The weight of their importance is barreling down on me, crushing me, overpowered only by the roar in my brain. A sound like static is screaming in my ears, drowning everything else out.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t think.
The roar intensifies.
“Astronomers!” Dr. Mann announces as he comes through the door, carrying a stack of blue exam booklets. “The time has come to see what we’ve learned!” Grinning like he’s handing out candy, Dr. Mann begins to distribute the test booklets.
I can’t do this. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to take slow, deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. Just breathe, Abby. I try to envision myself calmly taking this test, steadily answering multiple-choice questions and filling in blanks. I try to recall the things I know. But all I see is Caitlin’s face. The hurt. The anger. The disgust. All I hear is static.
A couple of years ago, two days before Christmas, a commuter plane crashed just off the coast of Charleston, killing fifty people onboard. Knowing that Caitlin and her parents were on their way to Charleston, I panicked. When she didn’t answer her cell, I assumed the worst. My best friend was dead. I spent the next three hours in the fetal position on my bedroom floor, unable to imagine my life without Caitlin. I’m close with my parents, but Caitlin is the sister I never had. The voice I trust more than my own. It wasn’t just that I had lost my best friend; I’d lost a part of myself. Or so I thought. At five o’clock, Caitlin finally called me back. They’d gotten on an earlier flight, and Caitlin had taken her grandmother out for the afternoon, without her cell phone. I still remember how it felt to hear her voice. The relief, the gratitude, the joy. The sense of wholeness I experienced in that moment, the profound sense of peace. I also remember how I felt before she called, when I thought I had lost her forever. It’s how I feel right now.
“Okay, class.” Dr. Mann’s voice sounds far away. “You may begin.”
I look down at the typewritten test booklet, but the words might as well be in German. Caitlin’s voice echoes in my head. You’re a self-absorbed bitch. I earned the bitch comment by bringing up Craig in front of a room full of people, but where’d the self-absorbed part come from? You’re too self-involved to see it. Is that really what she thinks?
My classmates scribble furiously as the wall clock counts minutes with an audible tick. I blink repeatedly, but everything is a blur. The page. My thoughts.
The bell rings.
I haven’t written a word.
There goes my future. The thought doesn’t faze me. Like a robot, I write my name on my exam and pass it forward, where Dr. Mann stands collecting them. Not wanting to be anywhere near here when he notices that mine is blank, I’m out the door before he dismisses us, headed straight for the parking lot. I can’t go to newspaper right now. I have to get out of here. If I go quickly, no one will notice. I’ll probably get written up for skipping, but I’ll deal with that next week. Say I got sick or somethin
g. As long as no one sees me leave—
“Abby!” My hand is on the side door when he calls out to me. It’s Josh, of course, looking all gentlemanly and concerned. I let go of the handle as he walks toward me. So much for a stealthy exit.
“How’d it go?” he asks.
“I left it blank,” I say. Then, inexplicably, I laugh. It’s a joyless, bitter sound.
“Do you want to talk about what happened at lunch?” Josh asks. His brown eyes search mine, as if the answers to other, unspoken questions are hidden there. I don’t answer, and he doesn’t press me. The warning bell rings.
“Am I too much work?” It comes out ragged and rough, and the second the words are out, I want to take them back. “Never mind,” I say quickly, looking away, trying to swallow the tears that went surging up from my chest as the words fell out. Josh catches my hand in his.
“Anything worth having takes work, Abby,” he says softly. The noise in my head quiets as my eyes meet his. My next breath is easier.
“Do you want to maybe hang out after practice today?” I hear myself ask. “Maybe see a movie or something?”
“Oh, I, uh . . .” Josh breaks our gaze, glancing down the hall to where Megan is busy trying to look busy at her locker. Is it that transparent when I do it? Note to self: When feigning preoccupation with bag packing, don’t put your textbook in your backpack, then take it back out again. “I’m supposed to hang out with Megan,” he says apologetically.
“Of course,” I say, trying to sound breezy. “Duh.”
“Maybe the three of us could do something?” he offers.
“Nah, that’s okay,” I tell him, practically pushing him out of the way. “I’ll probably be working all night tonight anyway. The November issue of the Oracle comes out next week, so things are crazy. See you at practice!” I wiggle my fingers at Megan as I pass her (my attempt at a friendly, I-didn’t-just-ask-your-boyfriend-out wave), then bolt for the main hall.
By the time I get there, my left foot is throbbing. The punctures healed without infection, but I’m still not supposed to put my full weight on it. I slow to a hobble. So much for ditching sixth. Now that I’m on the main hall, I won’t be able to make it out of the building before the bell rings.
With next Wednesday’s deadline looming, the editorial staff is working in overdrive to get everything done, making me feel guilty for almost bailing on them. Sixth period passes quickly as I field questions and review layouts, all while trying not to think about the fact that in the span of the past ninety minutes, I have (a) lost my two best friends, (b) blown my astronomy midterm, and (c) asked out a guy who is dating someone else. How quickly a person can implode.
I leave the newspaper lab a few minutes before the bell with the excuse of needing to stop by Ms. DeWitt’s office before the end of the day. Instead, I go straight to my car. Caitlin’s Jetta is already gone.
Scattered leaves and wet pavement are the only signs of this morning’s storm. Now the sky is dotted with white puffy clouds. I squint as the sun beats through my windshield, irritated by its persistent brightness.
When I get to the boathouse, I put myself to work checking the nuts on the outriggers and greasing the seat slides while the rest of the team trickles into practice. Once out on the water, I discover a major advantage crew has over cross-country: the distraction factor. When you’re running, all you can do is think. When you’re coxing, you don’t have time to think. Since I’m the one in charge, I have no choice but to give the guys my full attention as I steer the B boat down the river and back, grateful that Megan and Josh are fifty yards away in the A. Before I know it, the sun is fading, and Coach is blowing his whistle for us to return to the dock. Thank God this day is almost over.
As I pull into the garage, I can see my mom through the garage-door window, peeling carrots over the sink. The last thing I want to do is rehash the fight. Or the test. Or listen to my mom reassure me that everything will be okay. A positive outlook is her default response to adversity, and right now, I’m content with keeping my bleak one.
“Hey! How was the midterm?” she asks the instant I open the back door.
“Horrible.”
Her face falls. “That bad?”
“Worse.” I move toward the back stairs before she can ask if I want to talk about it. “I’ll be in my room.”
“Your SAT score came,” she calls after me, sounding hesitant. “Envelope is on the table.”
I turn and look. A single white envelope stands out against the dark cherry of the kitchen table. I walk back to the table, pick it up, and turn it over in my hands. “I wasn’t expecting this till Monday,” I say.
“I know.”
We both stare at the envelope, at the small white rectangle with my name on it. “I don’t want to open it now, okay?”
Mom nods. “Just wanted you to know it was here, honey.”
I carry the envelope with me upstairs. What a fitting finale to what might actually be the worst day of my life. It seems crazy that a person’s future could depend so heavily on one number. But without a solid SAT score, top schools won’t even look at you. Unless, of course, you give them one of those this-is-why-I-suck-at-standardized-tests essays to explain it all away, but that generally requires having or feigning some sort of learning disability. For a second, I’m envious of Caitlin.
Envelope still in my hands, I kick off my shoes and climb under the covers. I lay the envelope beside me and stare up at my star-covered ceiling. My plan was to re-create Cygnus, but what I ended up with looks less like a diving swan and more like a deformed cross. I draw my left knee up to my chest, feeling for the scar on my foot. So much has changed since that night. I’m not running cross-country anymore, Josh and I barely talk, and as of four hours ago, I no longer have a best friend.
A lot can happen in five weeks.
You’re a self-absorbed bitch.
A lot can happen in five minutes.
I sigh and roll over onto my side, curling my body around the envelope. The contents of this innocuous-looking rectangle will determine my future. For a girl whose practice scores are all over the map, that’s terrifying. If my score isn’t within the median, I’m screwed. Panic starts to creep in. It sprouts in my stomach, then spreads to my chest. I’ve wanted to go to Northwestern since Career Day in seventh grade, when Brandon Grant’s mom, a features reporter for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, came and spoke to our English class. Ava Wynn-Grant. She was so stylish in her navy pants and cropped blazer, and so articulate. I literally wanted to be her. She was a journalist, so I wanted to be a journalist. She went to Northwestern, so I wanted to go to Northwestern. And every scholastic decision I’ve made since then has been with those two goals in mind.
I wonder what path I’d be on if Ava Wynn-Grant had been an attorney or an actress instead.
Heart pounding, I slide my finger under the envelope’s white flap and slowly inch it open. When I see how I did—not a Caitlin-level performance, but better than I was expecting—my eyes well up with tears. The only person I want to share this with isn’t speaking to me. I tuck the envelope under my pillow and lie back against it, squeezing my eyes shut. The noise is still there, that sharp static from this afternoon. I give in to it, letting it drown everything out.
There’s a soft knock at my door. When I open my eyes, my dad is standing in the doorway, holding two bowls of ice cream. What daylight was left is now gone.
“What are you doing home from work?” I ask, rubbing my eyes.
“It’s seven thirty already,” he replies, nodding at the clock on my nightstand. “I brought you a snack,” he adds, holding up one of the bowls. “Cookies ’n cream.”
I manage a smile, scooting over to make room for him on the bed. “Did Mom authorize this?”
“Your mother is busy making some very complicated-looking chicken dish that will likely not be ready for consumption until next Saturday. I figured we needed something to tide us over.” He sits down next to me and hands me a bow
l. We eat in silence for a few minutes, both flipping our spoons over before each bite so the ice cream lands squarely on our tongues.
“I heard you had a rough day,” he says, pecking at a big chunk of Oreo with his spoon. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Caitlin and I got in a fight.”
He looks surprised. “That’s not like you two.”
“I know.”
“What happened?” he asks me.
“I told Tyler that Caitlin liked him. Things just kind of snowballed from there.”
“I take it she didn’t want you to?”
“Worse,” I say miserably. “It’s not even true. And I knew that, but at the same time, I had this feeling that maybe she liked him, even though she didn’t know it yet.” I shake my head, appalled at my own carelessness. “I’m an idiot.”
“Maybe not your finest moment,” Dad concedes, “but it certainly doesn’t sound unforgivable.”
“Caitlin was really upset,” I tell him. “She said some pretty awful things to me.” My eyes fill with fresh tears.
“Well, if I know Caitlin, there’s something else going on.” He pauses, then adds gently, “And if I know you, dear daughter of mine, that isn’t how the fight ended. So what’d you say that you now wish you hadn’t?”
“Am I that predictable?”
“Predictable? Not in the least. Prone to impulsive emotional outbursts?” He smiles. “On occasion.”
I look down at my striped comforter. There’s a black pen stain next to my big toe. “I was so mean,” I whisper. “She’ll never forgive me.” A tear begins its descent down my cheek.
“You won’t know that until you apologize,” he says.
I want to tell him he doesn’t know Caitlin as well as I do, but instead I just nod. The tear drips from my chin to the comforter, forming a perfect wet circle.
Parallel Page 20