“David’s my friend, too,” I say. “Not just Ethan’s brother.”
“How’s Ethan doing?” Mom asks him.
“I wish I knew. I can’t communicate with him for a while. They want him to get settled in first.”
“I guess that makes sense,” she says uncertainly.
“Not really.”
“I’m sorry we couldn’t help more.”
“You were really great,” he says. “Coming over and talking to my father and stepmother . . . I’m sorry I wasn’t more grateful at the time. I’ve just been a little overwhelmed by the whole thing.”
She shakes her head. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
It occurs to me that, for all her flaws, my mother is a Very Nice Person. I go over to her and give her a hug.
“What’s that for?” she asks.
“I don’t know. Just felt like it.”
“Someone’s in a good mood,” she says, and her gaze flits over to David and then back to me, eyebrows slightly raised. So maybe she did notice his lips. And mine? I probe them gently. Yeah, they’re swollen.
Ivy says to David, “Why can’t you talk to Ethan? Why does he have to get settled first?”
Mom says, “I think the teachers are probably worried he’ll get homesick if he talks to his family too soon.”
Ivy turns to her. “But if he gets homesick, he should go home.”
“Sometimes you have to get past the homesickness. I’m sure that’s what they’re hoping will happen—that even if he feels homesick at the beginning, he’ll get more comfortable over time.”
“I wouldn’t get homesick if I went away.”
“Says the girl who’s never spent a night away from home,” I say. It’s only a slight exaggeration—we’ve gone on a couple of road trips, but she’s always shared a room with me and Mom, and she’s also always hated it. She’s never been on a sleepover by herself.
I touch David’s arm. “Hey, now that my mom’s home, I can use her car. Want me to drive you home?”
“I need to go back to school. I left my backpack there.”
“I could drive you to school and then home . . .”
“If you insist.”
I go with him to retrieve his backpack. The hallway’s deserted, so he and I steal a kiss against the row of lockers. Then I push him away. “I thought you were morally opposed to PDAs.”
“Yeah, they’re gross,” he says, and leans in again.
I hold him off with the palms of my hands against his chest. “I’d hate for you to have to do something that makes you uncomfortable.”
“I’ll survive.”
“Come on,” I say, and shove him toward the exit. “Let’s go. But admit you were wrong about that whole kissing in public thing. It’s not such a crime.”
“It is when I’m not the one kissing you.”
“Were you jealous of James? Even back then?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “Not exactly. And you guys were pretty annoying. I was sincerely disgusted by you—”
“Thanks.”
“But I’ll admit that if I’d been standing where he was standing, I’d probably have had a different view of the whole thing.”
“The funny thing is, he was jealous of you for a while there.”
He snorts. “I seriously doubt that your ex has ever been the slightest bit jealous of me. Look at him. And look at me.”
“I’m not comparing you two—”
“Because I’d lose.”
“Well, yeah, but only in looks and personality.”
Now it’s his turn to thank me sarcastically.
I say, more seriously, “James knew I shared something with you that he couldn’t. Not that he wanted to. But still.”
“You mean Ivy and Ethan?”
“Yeah. He didn’t get why I cared so much about her. To be fair, I don’t think he’s all that into his own siblings. He’s kind of self-centered. In the most likable way possible.”
“Is that why you broke up?”
“A little bit. And maybe a little bit because I was starting to like another guy.”
“Yeah? Who?”
“Don’t be an idiot.”
He shakes his head somberly. “It’s going to take me a while to really absorb this. Girls like you don’t like boys like me.”
“There aren’t other girls like me,” I say. “I’m unique. And don’t you forget it.”
We decide to make an In-N-Out run—David’s in no hurry to get home. “It’s too weird to be there without Ethan. He’s been my constant companion pretty much my whole life.”
But he has an AP physics test to study for, and I have a paper to write, so after we eat, I drop him at his house and go home.
No one’s downstairs. I go up to my room and find Ivy on her bed, playing on her iPad.
“We had dinner without you,” she says as soon as I walk in. “It was chicken and peas. Mom said you went to In-N-Out with David. Why didn’t you take me?”
“Sorry. I will next time.”
“Are you and David going to be boyfriend and girlfriend?”
“I think so.”
“You said that wouldn’t happen.”
“Believe me, Ives—no one’s more surprised than I am that I was wrong about that.”
“Everyone makes mistakes,” she says, which is another thing we’ve told her so many times that she recites it mechanically. “Don’t feel bad about being wrong. But I want to go to In-N-Out with you next time.”
“Okay. What are you watching?”
“A funny cat video.”
I’m not a fan of cat videos, but I feel like hanging out with my sister right now, so I curl up next to her on her bed and we watch it together, laughing at the exact same moments.
Thirty-Five
I HAVE TO TELL SARAH about me and David or she’ll be hurt I didn’t. So I invite her to go out for frozen yogurt later that evening. She’s up for it—the great thing about Sarah is that she’s always up for ditching homework and doing something fun—and we meet up at, ironically, the same fro-yo place where David and I brought our siblings for their first “date.” It’s hard not to cringe as I walk in and remember how certain I was that I was doing something brilliant that day.
It’s pretty unfair that I got a boyfriend out of all those dates and Ivy didn’t.
On the other hand, she doesn’t want a boyfriend and probably never will.
Sarah’s a few minutes late, so I text with David until she shows up, and then we get our frozen yogurt and sit down with it.
We talk about some minor stuff and then she sits back and regards me thoughtfully. “Hey, Chloe? Would you tell me if it bothered you that James and I spend time together? Because you’re both my friends, and I don’t want to lose either of you.”
“I don’t mind at all. I think it’s great.”
“Okay.” She seems a little dubious. “But we’d always rather you joined us, just so you know. I mean, yeah, it’s a little weird still for James, but he told me he really does want to stay friends with you.”
“I’m glad he has you to talk to. Seriously. And I’m glad I have you to talk to, because I have something important to tell you.”
“Is it that you’re going out with David Fields?”
I stare at her, my spoon frozen in midair on its way to my mouth. “Oh, my God. How did you know?”
“Oh, please.” She waves her hand dismissively. “I’m not an idiot, Chloe. I notice things. Plus Brandon Seltzer’s brother saw you guys at Starbucks today making out, and it’s kind of already gotten around.”
“We weren’t making out!” I amend that. “Well, not at Starbucks anyway.”
“Ugh. David Fields? Really?” Then she covers her mouth. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t judge. It’s your life. And I know you guys have the whole sibling thing going on. And you did say he’s different when you’re alone . . .”
“He is.” I lean forward, eager to make her see that this is
a really good thing. “He’s kind of great, actually. I mean, I know I thought he was awful, and I don’t blame you for thinking that too, because he likes to pretend to be the worst, but he isn’t, not really. He loves his brother, and he’s a good human being. He’s just a little damaged.”
“Well, who isn’t?” Sarah says gaily.
“Exactly.”
We smile at each other in mutual understanding before digging into our frozen yogurt.
But then I look up again. “Oh, wait—does James know? About me and David?”
“No idea. I haven’t said anything to him. But someone else might have. You want me to tell him?”
“That would be amazing. Do you mind?”
“That’s what I’m here for,” she says. “That and to tell you that Jana hooked up with some random guy from Harvard-Westlake at Brandon’s party last week who turned out to have a girlfriend who’s Helena Saperstein’s cousin. You missed all the excitement.”
“Tell me,” I say fervently. There’s nothing I want more right now than to hear some juicy gossip that’s not about me. “Tell me.”
Ethan is finally allowed to call home, but Mr. and Mrs. Fields won’t let David talk to him. “We can’t trust you to stay upbeat,” their stepmother says.
“She’s probably right,” I point out when David calls me afterward, upset. “Even when things are good, you’re not exactly ‘upbeat.’”
“I wouldn’t have upset him,” he says irritably. “I just want to know how he’s doing, but all they asked him was whether he needed more underwear. They couldn’t get off the phone fast enough.”
“They’ll let you talk to him eventually, right?”
“They said when he calls next week I can talk, but only for a minute or two.”
After that second call, he drives over to my house and texts me from his car so I can come out and we can talk in private.
“How was it?” I ask as soon as I’m in the car with him.
“Confusing.”
“Why? How did he sound?”
David rubs his forehead. “He’s just so bad on the phone. It’s impossible to get a real conversation going. I asked him how he was doing, but all he said was ‘fine.’ And then he talked for a while about the movies they’ve been showing.”
“Did he sound happy or sad about them?”
“He was annoyed they showed a Disney movie because—and I’m quoting—‘those are for little kids.’ But he liked that they showed a Clint Eastwood movie.”
“He doesn’t sound miserable.”
“I don’t know. It’s not like he would ever say, ‘I’m unhappy here, take me home.’ I mean, if he could express what he was feeling and ask for help, he wouldn’t need to run away. Running away has always been how he lets us know he’s unhappy. And he can’t run away from there. They’ve got him locked up tight.”
“When can we visit?”
“That’s the one good thing. I called the school when my parents weren’t around and asked when Ethan can have visitors, and they said I can come up next weekend.”
“Yay!” I say. “And I can come too?”
He grins. “I didn’t ask whether I could bring you, because I didn’t want them to say no. But you’re coming with me.”
“Damn right I am.”
David is tense during the long drive up to the boarding school. He doesn’t talk much, and when he does, it’s more snarling than talking.
“Can we stop for a cup of coffee?” I ask after we’ve been on the road for a while.
“I want to get there before lunch,” he says. “Why didn’t you have some before I picked you up?”
“I did. I just wanted more. But it’s fine.”
We drive for another ten minutes. I poke around on Instagram and Twitter, figuring it’s better to amuse myself than to try to get civil conversation out of him right now. Then he exits the freeway and pulls in at a Starbucks.
“I thought we weren’t stopping.”
“You wanted coffee.”
“But I don’t want to make us late.”
“It’s fine.” He gets out of the car, and I follow him inside. We get in line. He nudges my shoulder with his. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m really glad you’re with me today. But I won’t relax until I see him.”
“I know,” I say, and I do. “I’m not mad. I totally get it.” I’m worried, too—what happens if the place is awful and Ethan’s really unhappy? It’s easy to say we’ll rescue him. It’s another thing to do it. And what if the place is only moderately bad, and Ethan is okay but would rather be home? Do we leave him there, drive away, try to forget that he wants to come with us?
The caffeine was a bad idea—it only makes me more nervous.
Thirty-Six
“WELCOME TO PRISON,” David mutters as we stop at the gate guard booth.
The guard does carefully check both our IDs before giving us visitor passes, but none of this is all that different from what I went through at Ivy and Ethan’s high school. And once we drive in, the place is a lot prettier than a prison—not that I’ve ever actually been to a prison, but I assume most of them don’t have nearly so much in the way of trees and paths and low buildings and sunlight.
We park where the guard told us to, in a space marked VISITOR in front of the main administration building. Neither of us says a word as we get out of the car and walk inside, where there are lots of sofas and chairs and big windows looking out on more of the campus.
The woman sitting at the front desk is tall and thin and looks like something out of a Roald Dahl book illustration—all spiky hair and spiky limbs and spiky eyebrows. She does not give me a warm feeling, and my heart sinks.
David explains why we’re here.
“Visiting hours aren’t until eleven on Saturdays,” she says. Spikily.
I glance at my watch. We’re only, like, twelve minutes early.
David points that out, and she says coldly, “I’ll see what I can do. Have a seat.” She waves toward the sofa as she picks up the phone and presses a button or two.
We ignore the sofa and wander toward the windows. I lean against the frame and watch David as he gazes out at the buildings and fields. A few weeks ago, I’d probably have said his face was expressionless, but I can read him a lot better now: there’s tension in his cheek and in the slight tuck of his bottom lip under his teeth and in the line between his eyes. He’s right on the edge, and a single word might make him explode. So I stay quiet.
It feels like forever before we hear someone come in from a side door. We both whip around, but it’s not Ethan. It’s a young man, probably about twenty-five or so. His dark hair is already receding from his forehead, and he’s slightly sweaty around the temples, but he has a nice smile. He’s wearing sweatpants, a T-shirt, and sneakers.
“You guys are here to see Ethan Fields?” he says.
“Yeah,” David says. “I’m his brother, and this is my friend Chloe. Where is he?”
“He’s just finishing up an activity. I’ll walk you over to him, but I’d like to talk for a second first.”
“Can’t I just go see my brother?” David’s voice is barely civil, but the man doesn’t seem bothered by that. His voice stays calm. “I’ll be fast, I promise. Please.” He indicates the sofa, and I promptly walk over and sit down and glare at David until he reluctantly does the same.
The guy takes a chair facing us. He leans forward and clasps his hands between his legs. “I’m Sammy. I’m one of Ethan’s primary helpers.”
“Helpers?” David repeats.
“We offer support in the life skills areas—getting up, getting dressed, going through the day’s routines—”
“Ethan doesn’t need help with any of that.”
“Believe me, I know. He’s amazing. He makes my job easy. But he’s still technically under my care a lot of the time, and I want to fill you in before you see him. First of all, he’s doing great. He fits right in and already has lots of friends. He’s
attentive in school and joins in a lot of activities with a good spirit. He’s been a wonderful addition here.”
David says, “You wouldn’t exactly tell us if he were miserable.”
Sammy says calmly, “I would tell you if I had concerns, and I don’t. I’m not saying life here is sunshine and daisies every single minute. Ethan did have a rough first week. He seemed to feel he was sent here because he had misbehaved, and we had to convince him that this is a school, not a punishment.”
“Don’t kid yourself,” David says. “My parents definitely sent him here as a punishment.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Never mind. When you say the week was rough, how rough?”
“He tried to run away a couple of times. He couldn’t get past the gate, so his safety was never in question, but he got pretty upset when he was stopped.”
Even though Sammy couldn’t sound more matter-of-fact, his simple words tear at me. Ethan desperately wanted to go home and couldn’t. At my side, David shifts restlessly, and I know he’s feeling it too.
“But that was only at the very beginning,” Sammy says. “He actually settled in faster than most. He’s pretty content here—except when someone puts on a movie or TV show that he doesn’t approve of. He has strong feelings about entertainment—I’m sure you know that.” He smiles at David, who doesn’t smile back. “But we’re working with him on expressing his opinion once and then letting it go. He’s learning. He’s not there yet, but he’s learning.”
“Great,” David says. “Can I see him now?”
Sammy holds up his hand. “Just one more thing. Ethan is really starting to feel comfortable here, but it’s early days still, and it wouldn’t take a lot for him to feel unsettled again. Please try to be positive. Even if you believe he’s being punished in some way by being sent here—and I’m not sure you’re right about that—I’d ask you not to communicate that sentiment to him.”
“Okay,” David says, standing up. “If he’s as happy as you say, I’ll try to keep him feeling that way. But he’s not a baby or an idiot—if he tells me he’s miserable, I’m not going to try to convince him he’s not.”
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