by Farrah Penn
“Wow. It’s loud,” Raegan says as we shove our way forward.
Lin snorts. “What’d you expect, a symphony?”
Lin and I bob our heads to the rhythmic chugging and wailing of the guitars. Raegan eventually gives in and attempts to enjoy it. When they announce the last song, we have a contest to see who can headbang the longest. Surprisingly, Raegan wins.
After Colton churns out the last note, the singer grabs his mic and proclaims, “We are A Feast of Blood and Gore—good night!”
Lin raises an eyebrow. “What a name.”
“Truly,” I agree.
“He was good, right?” Raegan says, then looks around. “I’m going to grab some water.”
“I’ll go with you,” I say.
“Bathroom,” Lin says, then gestures in the opposite direction. “I’ll catch up.”
We part ways, then head to the tiny beverage station and order our waters. As we wait, I turn to Raegan.
“Hey, um, don’t take this the wrong way,” I begin, using this as my opportunity to be a better friend. She’s been so busy with schoolwork and presidential projects leading up to homecoming that I haven’t really had a chance to talk to her. “But are you okay? I’ve noticed you’ve taken on a lot this year.”
Raegan smiles, but I can see the tiredness in her eyes. “I know I have. It’s just—” She pauses for a moment. “Did you know my mom never went to college?”
“She didn’t?”
“No, and neither did my grandma. Just my dad. So I’ll be the first female in my family to go. And it’s not that I’m worried that I’ll get in, because duh. I’m bound to get in somewhere.”
I smile at her confidence. “Obviously.”
“The thing is, I want to go to a good school and I want to get a scholarship, but… I also want to be around to help my mom with the baby. I’m finally going to have a sibling, but after next year I’ll be gone.” She meets my eyes. “So, yeah. I guess I’m worried they’ll both need me.”
A girl with bright-pink hair hands us our waters. I quickly thank her, then turn back to Raegan. “She’ll be fine. They both will.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. They have your dad. And it’s not like you’ll never visit. Plus, this baby is going to have, like, the best big sister role model on the planet.” She laughs. “But you have to live your life, too.”
As soon as I say it, I remember the conversation I had with Alex. How I was worried about leaving my own dad when I go off to college. Why is it easy to give someone else this advice when I’m worried about the exact same thing?
“Look who I found!” Lin announces as she walks over to us, Colton right behind her.
“I’m so stoked you made it.” His smile is bright enough to light an entire city.
Raegan playfully nudges his elbow with hers. “You were great, seriously.”
“Remember us when you’re famous,” I add.
Colton blushes, but before he can get another word in, two girls rush up beside him. One has dirty blond hair and is wearing a leather jacket with a delicate silver quill necklace, and the other has straight black hair that matches her black skater dress and Converse high-tops.
“Way to kill it tonight,” the blond girl says.
Colton modestly shrugs, then turns to us. “This is Elsie and Devon. They go to East Meadow High. And this is Kira, Raegan, and Lin.”
“My brother’s the singer,” the black-haired girl—Devon—explains. “You know, the one with awful taste in band names.”
“Very descriptive,” I say.
“A little too descriptive,” Elsie replies. “We were talking about going to Waffle House. Y’all feel like joining?”
“We actually have to get going. Curfew.” I glance at Colton. “Maybe next time?”
He grins. “Yeah, that’d be rad.”
We say good-bye, then find our way to Raegan’s car. She drops Lin off first, then swings by my house. I want to tell her she doesn’t have to worry so much, that things will be fine. But how can I promise her these things if I don’t know for sure?
“You know, this was fun,” Raegan says. “We should do it more often.”
My mood lifts. “Definitely.”
As I’m getting out of her car, I hear, “Kira?”
I turn.
“Remember to wear your spirit color on Monday.”
I give her a thumbs-up. As I walk inside, my cell chimes with a text.
JAY: how was the show
Jay. Jay is texting me. It’s a little surprising, considering he’s with Whitney. I debate on texting back right away, but ultimately I end up crafting a reply.
ME: should’ve come to see for yourself! but they were great.
JAY: yeah, really should’ve. the movie blew.
JAY: where you at? meet at Sonic?
I pause, uncertain if I want to hang out with Whitney and Jay right now. It’d be one thing if Whitney was the one reaching out since things are still off between us, but on the other hand, the two of them are 3 and 6 on my twelve-steps list. At this point, I can’t afford to say no if I really want to make progress.
ME: not too far. see you in a few.
Since it’s 11:30, I send another quick text to my dad, assuring him I’ll be home within the hour. But when I drive up to Sonic, I spot only Jay sitting on a red plastic picnic table. Hesitant, I pull my car into an empty space, then get out to meet him.
“Where’s Whit?” I ask as I walk up.
“Hello to you, too,” he jokes, slurping on his drink. “Took her home after the movies. Said she had a headache.”
“Oh,” I reply, suddenly feeling weird. I don’t want Whitney to think I’m hanging out with Jay behind her back and get mad. I mean, I did assume she’d be here. It’s not like I can be at fault for that, can I?
His finger hovers over the order button on the menu board. “Want anything?”
On the other hand, Jay asked me to come here specifically because he knew we’d have one-on-one time. Since I’m trying to reconnect with him, I should at least see where it goes.
Right?
I sit down next to him. “Fries?”
As Jay places the order, a few freshmen at another picnic table catch my attention. They’re wearing Cedarville colors, and one of the guys hooks an arm casually around a girl wearing a festive red ribbon in her hair. He whispers something to her, and she bursts out laughing.
It reminds me of my freshman year with Jay. The unexpected wave of nostalgia hits me hard and fast.
“So,” he says. “Colton’s on the road to fame and glory?”
“Seems promising.” I spare a quick glance at him. He’s wearing a simple white shirt and basketball shorts, and his hair looks slightly neater than the day before. “Is that a blue raspberry slush?”
He shakes his cup. “Nope, got tired of those. It’s a chocolate shake.”
“Oh.”
It’s odd, but the slight change of his drink option feels like a betrayal. I tell myself it’s all in my head. Jay’s welcome to order whatever he wants.
But still.
The fries are delivered, and I set the carton between us so we can share. We eat in silence for a few moments. When the breeze shifts, I catch a faint scent of the body spray he wore when we dated. Even though he’s changed so much since I left, I can’t help replaying the good moments over in my head. Our kisses in dark theaters. The thinking of you texts.
Jay shakes his empty milkshake cup, gesturing to a garbage can sitting a few feet away. “Think I can make this into the trash?”
“You’re on the basketball team. I hope you can make it.”
He grins. “Rude.”
“How is that rude? That’s a fact.”
Jay aims, then glances over at me. “How about a little support?”
“Does your ego need it? Is that you, Breck?”
“Oh, fuck off.” He flings the cup perfectly into the bin with a satisfying thud. “Nothing but net.”
I la
ugh, shaking my head. “Two points.”
“That’s clearly three.”
“Whatever makes you feel better.”
He scoots closer to me, an easy smile spreading across his lips. Then his hand is on my bare knee, and my heart jumps in my throat.
Jay’s eyes lock with mine. “You look nice tonight.”
I want to tell myself it’s an innocent compliment, but when his hand ever so slowly creeps higher up my thigh, I know it’s not.
My smile disappears as I immediately shift both of my legs away from him. Because even though there are spurts of moments where being with Jay feels so natural, he’s with Whitney. Whitney, who is part of the reason I agreed to come here in the first place. And what does this say about Jay, who’s clearly trying to make a move on me while he’s with Whitney?
“No.” There’s firmness in my tone. “I don’t think—”
Next to the carton of fries, Jay’s phone chimes with a text. Because I’m both nosy and curious, I glance down, which is how my eyes read: hey, if you’re coming, bring beer. From Jennifer. The same Jennifer that was at Breck’s party, I’m sure.
Jay doesn’t waste time texting back. “Winsor Lake,” he explains, obviously aware I read it. “Got a fake ID last weekend. They want me to come party. And bring more booze.”
“A true hero,” I say, but even I hear the joke fall flat.
“Something like that,” he mumbles.
A pang of annoyance stabs me in the chest. Why? Why have I been pining after someone who’s clearly chosen to hang out with me, his ex-girlfriend, behind his actual girlfriend’s back? Someone who he’d then ditch out to pick up beer for a party? Maybe that’s who Jay has become. The one who’s always searching for the next best thing.
“I should go, anyway.” I can’t shake away the weirdness that’s been slowly encroaching on me. “Thanks for the fries.”
“Oh—uh, no problem.” I feel him watching me as I hop off the table. “Um, hey?”
I turn back to him, wondering if he’s going to say he’d rather stay here with me, that spending time together sounds way better than some party at the lake. Because that’s the Jay I know. The guy who’d pick me over boozing it up in the woods.
Instead, he tosses me my car keys. “Can’t really go anywhere without those, right?”
“Right.” I force my lips into a tight smile. “Have a good one.”
An uneasiness sits in the center of my chest as I walk away. I can’t quite explain it. It’s not until I brush my teeth and slide into bed that I’m able to pinpoint my feelings a little more clearly: Maybe it’s impossible to reconnect with someone who’s not who they used to be.
TWENTY
I DO NOT, IN FACT, remember to wear my spirit color on Monday.
It’s first day of Spirit Week, but I’m not in a peppy mood. It’s another reminder that homecoming is a few days away. I’ll be dateless, which shouldn’t be a big deal, but it feels like it.
The theme today is Class Colors. Juniors were encouraged to wear green, but my black Earth Club shirt with a minimally green recycling sign paired with my plain jeans did not impress Raegan, who sat down at lunch looking like a leprechaun threw up all over her.
“You could have made a bigger effort!” she huffed. “The winning class gets to exempt a final at the end of the year, you know.”
I did know. I just didn’t care.
I’m still slightly annoyed by my interaction with Jay on Friday. At lunch, Whitney didn’t seem fazed when he talked about winning four rounds of beer pong at the Winsor Lake party, nor when he reenacted how Breck projectile vomited in the back of Hudson King’s pickup. I gave up finishing my ham sandwich after that story, but I couldn’t quite shake missing the Jay I thought I knew freshman year.
Coach Vasquez pulls me aside after Wavettes practice. She tells me if I can’t bring my Algebra II grade up to a C, I’ll be suspended from performing at our next game. I should feel motivated to work harder, but a tiny part of me wouldn’t be disappointed if I were kicked off the team.
The thought takes me by surprise. Wasn’t this one of the things I desperately wanted? To bring me closer to Raegan and Whitney?
I tell her I’ll work harder, but my feelings toward the Wavettes do nothing to lift my craptastic mood.
As I’m walking across the parking lot to my car, I spot Alex. My heart flips dangerously. He’s lying in the bed of his pickup on his back with his eyes closed, his earbuds plugged in. What a weird place to hang out. Why is he still here?
I’m in no hurry to go home, so I wander over to him. My shadow falls over his face, indirectly gaining his attention. When he sees me standing there, he smiles.
“Sunbathing?” I ask as he pulls out his earbuds.
“Ha, no.” He sits up. Today he’s wearing an olive-green T-shirt over his typical black long-sleeve shirt. “I’m waiting for my little cousins. They have an extra hour of ESL after school.”
I glance across the street at Cedarville Elementary. “That’s nice of you. To wait for them, I mean.”
He shrugs, pushing a few untamed curls away from his face. “They like walking home, but my mom doesn’t like them crossing that busy intersection off Rosewood and Main.” He squints up at me, studying me for a second. “You okay?”
The question throws me off momentarily. I’m surprised that I’m so transparent, but then again, Alex has always been able to read my moods.
“Sorry,” he adds. “You just look, I don’t know… deflated?”
“Oh,” I say. Then, “Yeah, I don’t know.”
Alex is still staring at me, and I know he’s willing to listen. I don’t want to tell him about Coach Vasquez and my D in Algebra II, because then he’ll just ask why I don’t go to Ana’s tutoring sessions in the library. And I need to. Desperately. I also don’t want to tell him about things at home, either.
So I keep it vague. “I’m trying to get my life back, I guess. Coming back isn’t what I thought it’d be.”
Alex doesn’t respond right away. Instead he scoots over on the bed of his truck, making room for me. I sit down next to him. A breeze shifts, and I catch the familiar scent of his laundry detergent.
“I mean, I should be happy to be back on the team, right?” I hear myself saying. “I shouldn’t dread going to practice.”
“Ana quit Debate Club her sophomore year. She said it wasn’t as fun as it was freshman year. Things change, I guess.”
“It’s just—” I shake my head. I don’t know if he’ll understand. “I made a lot of mistakes when I went to Portland. I dumped Jay and stopped talking to all my friends. My grades dropped. I wasn’t involved in any activities, and I had, like, no family.” When I look at Alex, I’m relieved to see he’s not giving me a pitying look. “I want the life I had before all that happened. I know it won’t happen overnight, but I’m trying to get there.”
“Well, all your friends love you. And you’re practically over-involving yourself in school stuff. I wouldn’t worry too much.”
I glance down at my jazz flats. Untrue. Whitney is still tentative around me, even though she’s the one who went behind my back when she started dating Jay.
I blink. Where did that thought come from? I’d never let myself dwell on that fact too much, but I feel like I do have the right to be upset about it. We used to tell each other everything.
I push thoughts of Whitney aside. “It’s not only that. My dad and all the re—” I catch myself. No one knows about the recoverees living with us, and I don’t want to change that. I backtrack. “All the, uh… problems we’ve been through together.” I pick at my thumbnail. “It feels off.”
Alex looks across the parking lot. “I know. I mean, I don’t know how it is exactly, but I know with my dad gone it’s… different.”
I glance over at his profile. “Your dad’s not here?”
Alex’s mom and dad opened Rosita’s after they gained their citizenship here, before Alex or his sisters were born. From the way Alex ta
lked growing up, Rosita’s was his parents’ pride and joy. They’re also the hardest working people I’ve ever met.
Alex doesn’t speak for a moment. Silent seconds tick by. I’m wracking my brain for a subject change when he says, “He’s been in Mexico trying to sell property—the original Rosita’s restaurant. We could really use the money, especially with Ana going off to college next year. But the whole selling thing is more complicated than we thought.”
“I’m sorry,” I say earnestly. “That sucks.”
He nods his head in agreement. “The hardest part is not knowing when he’ll be back. It’s… I don’t know. I guess I see so many kids here take their parents for granted. My friends are like, you’re so lucky you don’t have your dad breathing down your neck all the time! But I want him to come see the sets I build for the theater shows and be there for Ana’s academic awards and, I don’t know, be at dinner with us every night.” He glances down at his paint-stained Converse. “I wish I had that, you know?”
I lick my bottom lip. I do know. I know because I have that now with my dad—because he’s trying. I also have Nonnie’s pep talks. Saylor offering to teach me yoga. Peach’s kind gestures of making my lunch and driving me to the DMV and asking me about my day.
Why do I want them to leave? Because I magically expect my life to go back to normal when they do? Because if they leave, my relationship with my dad will be better? None of that is guaranteed.
My throat is tight. I have to swallow a few times so my voice doesn’t break. “I know,” I say, feeling like a gigantic hypocrite all over again.
We’re quiet for a moment, absorbing each other’s silence.
Finally Alex turns to me. “Is this what you want?”
I’m confused. “What do you mean?”
“The old life you’re trying to re-create,” he clarifies. “Are you sure it’s what you really want?”
I feel my lips part, but I can’t think of the right words to push out. I am trying to re-create my old life. And for what? Because everything will automatically be better? It wasn’t better before my dad left for Sober Living, so why am I so willing to believe my twelve-steps list will make me happy?