by Farrah Penn
Jay grins. There are three T’s.
His movie ends up being The Fast and the Furious, which I guess near the end, but I stump him with Shrek. We play back and forth for the rest of class, stopping occasionally to scribble important information from Mr. Densick’s slides.
With ten minutes of class left, Jay draws up another hangman board. On the top he writes NAMES.
I guess O, I, E, T, S, D, and A before I finally lose. Right before the bell rings, Jay fills the rest of the blanks in for me: Kira Kay.
I don’t realize I’m smiling until Jay looks at me. I try not to read into it, but how can I not? That was his old nickname for me. The nickname he gave me when we were going out. But we are not going out anymore. So why would he write that?
The bell rings. It seems to jolt Jay from his thoughts, and he slams his notebook shut with more force than necessary. He doesn’t look my way once as he gathers up his things and leaves the classroom.
I run into Whitney as I’m walking to my car after Wavettes practice.
“Oh!” she says, after nearly colliding with me as she cuts through a row of cars. I’d gone to the locker room to change into my purple boatneck top and jeans, but she’s still wearing her red Wavettes tank top and black dance pants. I thought she’d left by now, but maybe she stayed after to talk to Jay. “Um. Sorry.”
It’s the first time we’ve been alone together since making posters at Raegan’s house. She looks distracted, like she’d rather be anywhere else. I think back to my twelve steps. I know I have to try to make amends for the both of us, and I know it won’t be easy. She’s made that much perfectly clear. But I have to keep trying for the sake of our friendship.
“Hey, so,” I start. “I was thinking, do you maybe want to hit up the mall before Breck’s thing on Saturday?”
Cedarville’s mall is nothing spectacular, but when we were in middle school we spent way too much time there. We’d split an overpriced cone from Häagen-Dazs and spend the rest of the time wandering in and out of stores only to end up watching guys from the high school at the indoor skate park.
“My mom’s making me go to my grandpa’s birthday brunch,” she says.
Disappointment drapes over me. “Oh, well—”
She looks toward her car. “I should get home.”
“Okay.” I give her a small wave as she begins to head in that direction. “See you.”
Just like that, I am dismissed. It hurts more than I want it to.
I’d told Lin what happened in Raegan’s kitchen on Saturday, and she’d told me to give her time. But a part of me was angry. I know I’d been unresponsive, but she wasn’t exactly Miss Communicative when she started dating Jay.
I’m walking to my car when I pass Alex’s beat-up Chevy. My insides twist with guilt. Alex has three more detentions to complete for what he wrote on the board. If I hadn’t choked during Radical Races, he probably wouldn’t have done it.
I stare at his dented bumper. The green paint is fading from sun damage, and the door to the bed of the truck is completely missing. It’s easy to tell that this car has been loved for a long time. He’s not even embarrassed by it. I watched him pull into the parking lot yesterday morning with the windows rolled down.
With nothing but homework to do, I jump into my car and drive to 7-Eleven. I’m in the mood for a Slurpee, and since the summer days are dwindling down to fall, I decide to take advantage of it one more time.
I walk to the back and pour myself a cherry slush. As I make my way toward the register, I pause at the candy aisle. Before I can think about what I’m doing, I pick up a pack of my favorite candy, Starburst, the tropical kind. I used to carry a handful in my backpack in eighth grade, and Alex and I would use the discarded wrappers to write notes to each other during class. He even taught me how to make a bracelet out of the wrappers, learned courtesy of Marlina’s crafty side. His was red and mine was yellow.
I pay for my sugary loot and head out the door.
When I’m back in the car, I make a right instead of a left and drive back to the school parking lot. Alex’s car is still there. Good. I pull into the empty space beside him and fumble for a Sharpie in my book bag. On the candy packaging I write, From my refined taste buds, to yours.
I hop out of my car and slide the stick of Starburst under his windshield wiper. I don’t leave my signature. I have a feeling he’ll know who they’re from.
FIFTEEN
WEDNESDAY ROLLS AROUND, AND EVEN though it’s almost officially fall, the weather is still a swampy eighty degrees. That doesn’t stop most freshmen from wearing cozy sweaters and riding boots—as if they aren’t a walking sweatbox.
I feel proud about one thing in particular, though. After a long conversation with Lin, she decided to give Breck a chance on the decathlon team.
“If he misses even one practice or does anything to ruin our chance at state,” she told me in the parking lot before school, “I will bake him a cake filled with laxatives.”
I let Breck know his bowels are on the line, but he swears his basketball schedule won’t conflict.
I end up giving Nonnie back her Queen CD later that evening. She’s sitting at the kitchen table reading the comics from Sunday’s paper. Her hair is wrapped in giant curlers and she’s wearing an embroidered gown with bright-red flowers. I know Freddie Mercury is her savior, but he’s not mine.
With Saylor now working night shifts at 7-Eleven, Nonnie volunteering at the shelter, and my dad working late, our schedules aren’t aligned anymore—which means I haven’t been subjected to more uncomfortable dinners where everyone compliments Peach’s cooking and pretends like this entire situation is completely normal.
Peach continues to dish out kindness like she dishes out her from-scratch casseroles. She also continues to make my lunch, wash everyone’s laundry, and keep the kitchen tidy. While I appreciate all she does, I can’t help but wish she’d focus more on getting her own life back on track and not putting it off by staying here. Every day that they stay here is a risk. Even though I haven’t had another phone call from Margaret, there’s still a paranoid part of me that thinks she’ll somehow find out.
Then there’s the fact that Peach continues to spend so much time with my dad. It sends me into a fit of blind anger. Sometimes they go out front and sit on the porch swing and, I don’t know, talk for like… hours. I can hear them laughing from my room. He looks happier than he has in years.
Which makes it hard for me to manipulate everyone into leaving.
The only upside to the week is when Peach goes to buy groceries. My dad joins me on the couch and we watch the latest episode of Crime Boss. He even makes us a plate of what he called his homemade nachos, which are just chips sprinkled with shredded cheese that he pops in the microwave for a minute. It’s nothing fancy, but it doesn’t need to be. We take turns trying to guess the murderer and for the first time in a while, it feels like it’s only the two of us.
Aunt June calls me later that evening when I’m in my room.
“Hey, sweets,” she says when I answer. “I just wanted to check in. How are you?”
I consider telling her about the recoverees living here. I know my dad hasn’t said anything to June because she would have already brought it up. It seems like something he would have mentioned to her, but I don’t know. Maybe he thinks she’ll get the wrong idea.
“Good,” I tell her. “I miss you. And those mini pretzel bagels you used to get from that coffee shop.”
She laughs. “Lord knows I’ve eaten enough of those for five lifetimes.” She clears her throat, and her voice suddenly grows serious. “Listen, doll, I was wondering how your dad is doing? Honestly?”
I grip the phone tighter. I could tell her the truth. She could maybe figure out a way to get these people out of here so that things can go back to normal.
But what if it doesn’t happen, and I’m sent back to Portland?
“He’s good,” I say. “Honest.”
I hear her exha
le. “Well, if you need anything—”
“I know. Thank you.”
And just like that, I’m keeping my father’s secrets all over again.
On Thursday, I’m stressing over the fact that Algebra II is still kicking my ass. I haven’t been called up for any more Radical Races, but I’m getting C’s and D’s on most of my homework assignments. Maybe I’ll find Alex’s sister in the library next week, even though going in for tutoring makes me feel more insecure than I already am.
Alex received my package of Starburst, though. Yesterday he made a production of stealthily eating them in class, grinning at me like he knew I was the mysterious candy bearer. When I caught his eye and grinned back, he dropped a few in the palm of my hand, along with an empty wrapper.
I won’t say it’s the best, but it’s close.
I use another wrapper to write back.
You have questionable taste.
After he reads it, he gives me a playful glare, tossing a mango square at my head.
“Mr. Ramos!” Mrs. Donaldson scolds. “If you know this material well enough to become distracted, then perhaps you can lead the class in an example?”
I give Alex a look of sympathy. The last thing we both need is another detention from this class. But before Alex slides out of his seat, he glances over at me.
Worth it, he mouths.
I’m about to walk into art history when Lin pulls me aside.
“Raegan’s mad at us,” she says.
My good mood instantly deflates. I really don’t need another friend mad at me right now.
“What? Why?”
Lin rolls her eyes. “Because we’re going to Breck’s party this weekend and she’s not.”
I throw my hands up. “So why doesn’t she just come?”
“Because she’s President of Leadership Council and doesn’t want to”—Lin uses air quotes—“‘tarnish her reputation.’”
I sigh. At least it’s not my fault. I’m actually looking forward to his party. For one, it’ll give me the opportunity to drop the sympathy stigma in front of most of our classmates and show them that my life is totally normal. It’ll also give me the opportunity to hang out with my friends as a group and work on the goals of my twelve steps. But it makes it hard to focus on being a better friend to Raegan when she’s upset that we’re going in the first place.
When school lets out later that day, I go to my locker and grab the change of clothes I packed. There’s no way I’m picking up trash in jeans, especially in this insufferable heat. Thankfully, Raegan scheduled our practice on the field at five thirty—going over and over our routine in the afternoon sun is never something I look forward to the day before a game.
Alex walks up just as I’m closing my locker. He smiles at me and like a reflex, I find myself smiling back.
“Are you still going to the Earth Club cleanup?” I ask.
“Yeah, for sure.” He opens his locker. “Want a ride? Carpooling seems like an approved Earth Club activity.”
I shrug. Why not?
“I’ll meet you in the parking lot,” I tell him, holding up my change of clothes.
“Sounds good.”
I head into the girls’ bathroom and lock myself in a stall. I send a quick text to Lin and tell her I’ll be there in a few, and then I pull on an old, faded tank top and my black dance shorts. I throw my hair up into a ponytail, grab my bag, and walk outside.
Alex is sitting in his truck, windows down. As I walk closer, I hear jazz blaring from his speakers.
I open the passenger door and climb in.
“Interesting music choice. Are you sixteen going on sixty?” I joke, then want to kick myself. Way to kick things off by making them awkward.
Alex jabs a finger at the dial, but I notice his face flush. “Ha ha. No. This thing’s stuck.”
I try and keep my voice even, playing it off. “To a jazz station? That’s unfortunate.”
“Tell me about it.” He puts the truck in drive. “But it’s made me well-versed in jazz musicians. You know, in case I’m ever on Jeopardy!”
I laugh and just like that, the tension breaks.
His Chevy is just as worn on the inside as it is on the outside. There’s a large crack running down his rearview mirror and chunks of leather are peeling away from his seats. The vents don’t blow any air, which is probably why the windows are rolled down, but he taps his hands on the wheel like it’s a brand-new BMW.
I notice he’s not wearing his infamous double shirts, but a plain white tee paired with black soccer shorts. Pieces of his dark curls fall over his eyebrows when he glances at me. I quickly look away, flustered. I don’t want him to think I’ve been, like, gawking at him.
This would be an ideal time to bring up his text.
i know my timing is off…
And yet, I can’t bring myself to start that conversation. Not when we’ve been getting along so well as friends. Besides, it’s Jay who I want to reconnect with. Even though he’s adopted a slightly full-of-himself attitude, he’s still the same Jay from freshman year. A person can’t change that much.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
“Hey, so,” I begin, “wasn’t today supposed to be your last day of detention?”
“Yeah, but it turns out Mrs. Donaldson loves Lin. She was a star student in her geometry class last year,” he explains. “When I told her only five people signed up for the Earth Club cleanup and that Lin was bummed about it, she gave in and let me go do this instead.” He picks up a piece of paper from his console. “All Lin has to do is sign this to tell her I was there. For proof.”
I give a playful gasp. “You used my best friend as an excuse.”
“I didn’t, I swear.” He glances at me again. “I told you I was going to do this anyway. Even before detention. Besides, I need volunteer hours.”
“For what?”
“College apps. I figure I better start now so I’m not attempting to cram it all in my senior year.”
That’s a good point. Why hadn’t I thought of that? I’ve barely thought about college, let alone the SATs.
“Do you know where you want to go?”
Alex grows quiet for a moment. “I think I might stay fairly close. UT Austin or Rice, maybe the University of Oklahoma.” I notice the lack of excitement in his voice. “They have a good film program.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Want to try that once more, with feeling?”
Alex meets my gaze for a moment. He looks surprised that I’ve called him out, but what he doesn’t realize is that I am the queen of lackluster replies. I perfected my technique in Portland when I told my classmates I transferred due to my mom’s job. It was easier than explaining the truth. Besides, I’ve known Alex long enough to know that he’s wanted to attend film school in southern California since forever.
“It’s complicated,” is all he says.
I know that feeling well enough, so I don’t push him.
Alex pulls into the parking lot across from the lake. We don’t say anything as we get out and head toward Lin’s designated picnic table. Earth Club’s President, Holly Macintyre, is pulling on a pair of plastic gloves as Lin opens a box of trash bags.
Aside from the four of us, there’s Colton. Lin had to bribe him by buying him three slices of pizza at lunch, but he’s here. Well, physically here anyway. He’s wearing his headphones, no doubt daydreaming of playing stadium tours.
“Hey!” Lin says when she spots us. She takes a few steps away from Holly and whispers, “This turnout is awful. I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her as she hands us a pair of gloves. “The next one will be better.”
She gives us an unsure smile.
Holly divides us into two groups. Alex and I will take the west side of the lake, and they’ll take the east. Lin reminds us to stay hydrated, gesturing to one of the water canisters they’ve borrowed from the football team. Then we split up.
There isn’t much t
rash on the picnic side of the park, so we wander to a secluded area of trees. That’s when we stumble upon an array of smashed beer cans, stained napkins, and forgotten tubes of ChapStick.
The west side of Winsor Lake is where the seniors come to party. They have to wander pretty far into the woods to avoid gaining attention from the cops with all the noise and music. Whitney used to say she couldn’t wait until we were seniors so we could party here, but I don’t see the fun in standing around in the middle of the forest watching everyone else get trashed. It’s not that I’m against everyone having a good time. I mean, I’ve tried my fair share of cheap beer and spiked lemonade. I’m just not exactly comfortable watching other people get wasted—probably because I’ve watched my dad do the same thing too many times.
Alex takes in the stretch of discarded beer cans. “I never understood why Marlina loved coming here.”
I glance up at him, surprised. It’s as if he read my mind.
“Right?” I add. “Why can’t it be cool to keep hanging out at Sonic or something?”
“Probably because you can’t have sex in the back of your car at Sonic.”
“Valid point.”
I forgot that this place is also an STD landmine. As we toss away more crumpled aluminum and loose beer caps, I find myself wondering how far he went with Lacey. Heat fills my face. I shouldn’t care. That was freshman year, which feels like forever ago.
Jay and I did everything but. I always pictured him as my first. If I’m being honest, maybe that’s another reason why it’s so hard to see him with Whitney. But is this the new Jay—the one who brags about girls bringing him beer at parties and who flirts a little too openly and obviously despite having a girlfriend—someone I still want?
“So,” I say after a minute, searching for a new topic. “Ana…”
“Alex,” he corrects.
I shoot him a playful stare. “Ana. Your sister?”
“I doubt she parties out here, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Alex discards an empty chip bag. “She knows our mom would wring her neck if she came home drunk.”