“What? That’s awesome!” I say.
“I think your not-so-secret Facebook group has started to go viral. There were all those terrible comments everywhere and then suddenly, other people start posting about how amazing the food was and that it was worth the trip, and it just spread. People have been coming from all over the area. It’s kind of incredible. We’ve never been this busy.”
I squeal and give Farida a giant hug, and I feel a small weight lift from my chest. I’ve felt so guilty about Farida’s family and Tigris getting dragged into the mess that is my life, but I feel a tiny bit better hearing that sometimes you can drown out the hate.
She hugs me back. “So I can’t hang out this afternoon, but I can give you a ride home.”
I make an exaggerated sad face at her but say, “I’ll take it! And my mom said we’re going to dinner at Tigris tonight, so I’ll guess I’ll see you there. If we can get a table …”
She laughs. “You can be such a dork sometimes.”
“Just sometimes?”
When we’re in the car, I’ve recovered enough to come to a realization. “I don’t know why I’m so upset. I never really thought I had a chance to win, especially after what happened with Rob, and I just hoped the video was enough to make people think.”
“The vote was close,” Farida says. “And you beat Amy and her never-gonna-happen platform into third place.”
“A lot closer than Ken thought it would ever be. Especially after we went against his advice with the video.”
And it made Chris speak up in a way he’d never done before. Maybe he’ll do it again, the next time his friends are being idiots. Maybe for now, that has to be the victory.
“Since I’m not going to be class president, I’m going to have some spare time. So I’m going to talk to Ms. Elias about joining the school paper. I think it’s early enough in the year that I can,” I tell Farida.
“That’s cool,” she says. “Maybe you can get them to write about some of the less-covered activities at school.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Great minds and all that,” Farida says as she pulls up in front of the house. “Go sulk for a while, but remember, giving up isn’t an option. Okay?”
I give her a solidarity fist. “Right on. Sulk first, but keep fighting.”
“I think you finally got it,” she says, giving me a hug before she drives off to work.
I’m sitting on the sofa, eating ice cream out of the container with Peggy curled up next to me, watching Gentleman Prefer Blondes so I don’t have to risk a news story with Mayor Abbott’s face. The self-pity is flowing strong. Even ice cream straight from the container isn’t putting a dent in it.
“Peggy, I’m a LOSER. Do you hear me? I LOST,” I proclaim to the dog. She ignores me, keeping her eyes on the ice cream container.
The doorbell rings, startling both of us. Peggy barks and jumps off the sofa. It’s not like I invited anyone besides Farida to my SulkFest. This is supposed to be an exclusive fest.
Adam is standing on the doorstep with a bag of chocolate chip cookies.
“These are for you,” he says. “Because you’re a winner as far as I’m concerned.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“And also, because rumor has it there’s a SulkFest going on here. I was hoping you’d let me join it.”
“Welllllll … it was supposed to be a party for one—okay, two if you count Peggy—but it looks like you know the secret password,” I say, nodding to the bag of cookies. “Come on in.”
“What would you like to drink? Milk, soda?” I ask Adam, who has trailed behind Peggy into the kitchen. “Although you look waaaaaay too cheerful to be sulking, if you ask me.”
He quickly puts on a laughably exaggerated pout. “Milk is the only acceptable drink with chocolate chip cookies. Unless that would be too joyful, and in which case I’ll take a glass of hemlock.”
“Um … just want to point out that this is a SulkFest, not a Socratic Execution.”
Adam smiles, and his single dimple appears. I can’t help but give a small grin back.
I pour us both glasses of milk. We go back into the living room and sit on the sofa to indulge in movies, cookies, milk, and all the sulks. Peggy stands guard by Adam, looking up at him hopefully with big brown puppy eyes.
“She’s sussed you out as the weakest link,” I tell him. “That didn’t take long.”
“What? No way! I’m like … titanium alloy. I’m superstrong. I will not bend.”
Then Peg puts her chin on his knee, and he looks at me with a sheepish and completely adorable smile. “Uh, is it okay if I give her a little bit of cookie?”
“What was that about being super strong and unbendable?” I say.
He flashes me an okay-you-got-me smile and gives her a cookie crumb, making sure there’s no chocolate.
“You’ve got a friend for life now,” I tell him. “Peggy is easily bought.”
“How are you holding up?” he asks. “I mean, I’m glad Peggy is my BFF and all, but it’s you I really came here to hang with.”
“I’m okay,” I say, because that’s what everyone expects. But Adam isn’t just anyone, so I decide to be honest. “Well, no. I’m not. I’m sad. I’m disappointed. I guess I was dumb enough that I still wanted to believe, deep down, if you do the right thing in life, everything turns out okay. But it doesn’t. I should have known better. I lost, and it feels horrible and it stinks.”
He takes my hand. As our fingers twine together, I feel a small pulse beat between us. “Yeah, it does stink. Big time,” he says, running his thumb over my knuckles in that way he does. Tingles spread all the way to my toes. “And it’s not being dumb. The fact that you hold on to ideals is one of the things I like about you. It’s like the opposite of my dad, who calls himself a realist, but is really just a complete pessimist. He wouldn’t see the glass half full even if it were overflowing onto his lap.”
I look at him, surprised. “I was expecting a pep talk.”
“Is that what you want? I thought this was a SulkFest.”
“No!” I exclaim. “At least … not yet. Right now, I want some time to feel sorry for myself. Then I want the pep talk.”
“Noted,” he says with a grin. “Do you have a specific timetable set out yet, or are we going with the flow?”
“If I’m still in self-pity mode tomorrow morning, then hit me with a Grade-A Pep Talk.”
“It’s a deal,” he says. “Now, how about another cookie?”
He hands me the bag and we each take one. “To Stella,” Adam says, touching his cookie to mine. “Who was by far the best candidate as far as I’m concerned.”
“Thanks. Even if that wasn’t good enough to win.”
We both take a bite of cookie and munch. When Adam has swallowed, he takes a drink of milk and then says, “Here’s sulking at you, kid!” riffing off Humphrey Bogart’s line in Casablanca.
I laugh. “Hey, I’m still allowed a few more hours!”
He gently turns my face toward him. “I know,” he says softly. “Feel as bad as you want.”
And he leans forward and touches his lips to mine, which doesn’t feel bad at all.
“Was that okay?” he asks. “I was hoping that might aid the cheering-up process.”
“I think that actually helped,” I whisper, snaking an arm around his neck and pulling him closer. “But I only have one data point. We need to do further experimentation just to be sure.”
“I love a girl who feels strongly about the need for scientific inquiry,” he says. And then he kisses me again. I’m glad he is so obliging with research data.
After several more data points, I tell him, “This might be better than chocolate chip cookies. At least that’s my current hypothesis.”
Adam bursts out laughing. “Now, that’s what I call a compliment.”
He puts his arm around me and I curl into him. We sit in silence for a minute or two, which isn’t at all awkward. We’re j
ust enjoying the quiet of the moment.
“So this isn’t a pep talk,” Adam starts. “No way do I want to deny you any all-important feel-the-feels time. But … I just want to say … even though you lost the election to Chris, it’s not like you didn’t achieve anything. You helped change the conversation. Where you won is that you made Chris think enough to act differently from how he normally would. That’s making a difference.”
“We made him think. It wasn’t just me. It was definitely a team effort,” I say, thinking how I couldn’t have done this without Farida, and how hard she works every day to change the conversation. Even when I mess up, she hasn’t given up on me yet. I feel a rush of gratitude for my best friend. She pulled us all together: Ken, Adam, everyone we interviewed.
“Permission to say one more mildly pep-talky thing?” Adam says.
“Permission granted,” I say. “But keep it short.”
“I was thinking that even though your campaign is over, there’s another pretty important campaign that’s happening right this minute. I mean, I don’t want to infringe on your sulk time but …” He hesitates.
“It’s cool. Since I’m not going to be class president, I was thinking I might talk to Ms. Elias about joining the school paper. But what did you have in mind for my post-SulkFest time?”
“Nice! Well, what if we volunteer for Jack Witham’s campaign? You know, the guy running against Mayor Abbott?” Adam suggests. “I’ve looked into his position on the important issues, and I think he’s seems to support the right policies. No matter what, he’s better than the alternative.”
“That doesn’t take much, given what Mayor Abbott’s been doing,” I say. “What would we do as volunteers?”
“I don’t know. Probably get out the vote calls?”
I realize that as bummed as I am about losing the election, the thought of being able to do something that might help defeat Mayor Abbott makes me feel better.
Action is better than inaction.
“I like that idea and I’ll look into his positions,” I say. “Thanks to you, I think I can safely say the sulking phase of these proceedings is now over.” Smiling at him, I add, “Let’s move on to strategy.”
Adam’s smile is huge—and adorable. Strategizing might have to wait a few minutes.
Roadrunner, man—
I did it. When I say “it,” I kind of mean two “its.” The first “it”—I went to the counseling office at the college.
Ms. Rosner, the counselor, said that I shouldn’t feel alone. That there are other people coming in feeling like I do. In fact, there are enough other vets here at the community college that she reached out to a local nonprofit to organize a specific group just for veterans.
At first I was like, “Nah, not my thing,” when she talked about the group. The thought of having to let it all hang out in front of people I don’t know just seemed a bit too out there.
But then I realized that I write to a dead friend. (No offense, dude, but that’s a fact we both have to face.) Why was I being such a wuss that I can’t talk to people who are alive?
Then I remembered the day I got the Dear John letter from Sandra. I thought she was going to wait for me to get back and instead it was “Dear Rob, this is the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write. I wish I could tell you this face-to-face, but I can’t. So I’m just going to say it. I’ve met someone else.” And just like that, the vision I’d had of the world I would be coming home to, the dreams that kept me going, were gone. Poof. Hardest letter she had to write? Wasn’t so fun to read, either.
You remember that day? Each of you helped me in your own unique ways. Garcia kept telling jokes until I was laughing so hard that I cried. And it didn’t matter if I cried a little over Sandra then, because I was laughing at the same time. Miller started composing me a profile for some dating website, making me sound way more interesting and funny than I actually am. When I asked him what the point of that was because it wasn’t like I could actually go on a date with anyone while I was deployed, he said some cryptic pseudo-Yoda garbage like “Wide the sea is, fish many are in it, fishing never stop one must.”
I think I threw a flip-flop at him, missed, and hit Robinson by accident. Of course, then Robinson and I had to wrestle, which helped me work off some of the anger about the letter.
I realized maybe that was like group therapy in a way.
Kayla had already sent you your Dear Jason letter, so you knew what I was going through.
So I told Ms. Rosner I’d go to the veterans’ group.
I walked out of there feeling like I’d taken a step toward something. I wasn’t sure toward what. But somehow, strange as it might sound, I felt a little lighter than I had going in.
I had a little time before my next class, so I went to the cafeteria to get a cup of coffee.
Guess who was sitting there, all alone at a table?
I bet you’re wondering if it took me twenty-nine attempts to NOT go talk to her.
My first thought was to pretend I didn’t see her and go sit at the opposite end of the cafeteria. Because what if she figures out all the bad things about me?
But then I decided to be brave and let hope happen. Why does that feel just as scary as going outside the wire? It never used to. Did the war change that?
So I went over with my coffee and asked, “Is this seat taken?”
And she smiled that smile, man, and said, “I’ve been saving it for you.”
I can almost imagine going on a picnic again. Not to the beach yet—the mountains, maybe. And at least now I can imagine someone there with me. Someone with a really amazing smile.
Who knows, maybe someday it might happen.
If I don’t end up in jail first.
ThunderGeek out.
Rob’s lawyer debates if they should push his court date until the Monday after the election.
“Then if Abbott loses, it might be easier to get a plea deal,” Rob says. “But if he wins, it might be harder.
“Is it worth taking the risk?” I ask.
“That’s what we’re paying Ms. Tilley the big bucks for,” Dad says. “To give us advice and to deal with those contingencies.”
“We decided to push it,” Rob says.
I want Mayor Abbott to lose for many good policy reasons, but now it’s even more personal.
“I’m volunteering for Jack Witham’s campaign,” I tell them. “We start tomorrow after school.”
“You never told us that,” Mom says.
“That’s because I only decided to do it yesterday.”
“That’s my girl,” Dad says. “Gets knocked down but gets right back up again.”
“Unlike your son,” Rob mutters.
He might as well have shouted through a megaphone for the effect it has on my parents, especially Dad, who looks like my brother just sucker punched him.
“Why would you say such a thing?” Dad asks in a quiet, even voice.
“Seriously? Like you haven’t made it clear I’m pathetic for not being able to get my act together?”
“Rob, that’s not fair,” Mom says. “Your father—”
“No, Val, let him talk,” Dad says. “Better we get this out in the open.”
I sit, shocked and silent, wanting to be anywhere but this dinner table at this particular moment. But then I remember Rob saying: “I hope your classmates are smart enough to see that they’d be lucky to have someone like you at their six. I know I am,” and I feel ashamed. Because now that he and Dad are about to go head-to-head, I want to turn tail and run like the coward I am. I’m the worst six-haver ever.
“You met Mom with your guts hanging out. But you came back and got on with your life, so why can’t I?” Rob says. “It’s not like I’ve got any scars to show for my tours, right?”
“It’s not about physical scars—”
“Val, I said let Rob speak,” Dad cuts Mom off.
Mom flashes Dad an angry look, but she stays quiet—at least for now. I put down my knife
and fork, because I can’t eat another bite while this drama plays out in front of me.
“You were saying?” my father says to Rob.
But Rob’s clammed up now. He pushes his food around his plate with his fork. The silence is suffocating. I might choke from it.
“Come on, Rob, what’s on your mind?” Dad says. “Let’s clear the air.”
My brother just keeps pushing food around and avoiding my dad’s gaze. I want to kick him under the table and tell him to spit it out. Anything to break the tension.
Instead, I sit there, listening to his fork scraping and my dad’s breaths getting louder and slower as he waits and my mom’s getting quicker as she becomes more anxious and Peggy gets up and starts pacing around the table because she can sense our heightened emotions and it’s freaking her out, too.
“Spit it out, Rob. If you’ve got something to say, look me in the eye and say it.”
Still no words. This is SO AWKWARD.
“You want to know what’s on my mind? FINE!” Rob explodes, flinging his fork down on his plate so hard that food spatters onto the table. He pushes his chair back and stands up. “You never let me forget that you made it through your war without losing it. That you’re a real man. Heck, Mom’s more of a man than I am, right, Dad? And Stella—she gets knocked down, but she’s just like you! She gets right back up again. NO BIG DEAL!”
My fists clench under the table. How can Rob say it’s no big deal for me to get up and keep moving forward when bad things happen? He has no idea.
“Well, I’m sorry that I’m such a disappointment to you, Dad. Maybe I should have just bought it instead of coming home.”
There are words you should never say to the family who was worried about you dying every day during each of your twelve-month deployments.
My brother just said them, and I’m done.
“How can you say that to us?” I yell at him. “Can you even IMAGINE what it was like while you were away?”
I’ve been so quiet that my outburst takes everyone by surprise, especially Rob, whose mouth falls open in shock.
“Stella—” Dad says.
“No! I’m not going to shut up and let Rob speak, Dad. Not after that.” I stare down Rob. “If you think my life is so easy, think again. We’ve all got stuff to deal with. You’ve had to deal with a lot more, I get it. But we’re all part of it. So stop acting like it’s only happening to you.”
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