by Dante Medema
“We’re headed out,”
she says, jingling keys
and clutching a water bottle.
“Five-mile hike.
Be good.”
Kodiak pulls his hat over his ears,
rolling his eyes on his way downstairs
to his room for me to follow.
Things going through my head:
I’m about to be in Kodiak’s room.
With him.
While his parents are gone.
What did he mean when he said he was mad at himself?
Is he going to try to kiss me?
Do I want to kiss him? (Of course I do.)
My heart already knows him.
Even if everything is so messed up, I know him.
“They must trust you. A lot.”
Kodiak points upstairs
where the sound of his mom closing the door
reverberates through the whole house
making me suddenly aware
that my skin
is tingling.
“They’ve never left me alone with a girl.
Especially after last year.
Liv and I—”
He looks over at the couch,
in the corner
of his room
probably remembering being
tangled up with Liv
the way
he thumbs his guitar strings.
Liv was unruly,
unkempt,
unavoidable.
She filled up a room,
with her loud voice
and purple hair
the way she filled his heart.
I’ll never
be the girl
who fills up a room.
Kodiak must see something change
because he leans in, putting his hand on my knee
and whispering,
“What’s wrong?”
My heart
I want to be free too.
Unkempt and unruly the way it might have been
if my “Maybe” life had happened.
I’m so tired of safety.
Of wearing the life vest,
and doing the right thing.
Playing moments like this in my head.
Wondering if Kodiak
would love the version of me
who grew up strumming Jack’s guitar
instead of reciting Shakespeare.
Just for today,
I want to be the girl who grew up
unruly
unafraid
free.
I turn into Kodiak.
I pull him close
and press my lips to his
before I can think
of all the reasons
I
should
not.
Kissing Kodiak
is like opening a book.
The way his bottom lip drops
ever so slightly,
like I’ve tempted the spine apart.
Then my fingers linger
along the side of his arm,
tickling the surface of his skin
as if I’m keeping track of my spot.
How his pace quickens,
my pulse throbbing
against his touch—
heart pounding,
mind racing,
straight to the point in the book
where I want to stay up all night
trapped in its pages,
until there’s nothing left.
It’s the bookmark he places,
when he comes up for air,
breathless,
my mouth swollen
from the stubble on his face,
while we’re tangled like a pretzel in his bed.
He pulls away,
kissing my eyelashes
and says, “You surprise me,
Cordelia Bedelia.
You always surprise me.”
GeneQuest
Genetic Family Conversations
To: Jack Bisset (unavailable)
From: Cordelia Koenig (online)
Jack,
I think I freaked you out, and I’m sorry.
It’s weird. I spent my whole life thinking I was supposed to be this one way because of how I was raised. Now, it’s like I’ve discovered a whole new side to myself, and I want to know more. I feel like if I met you, it would help explain things I’ve always wondered about.
I’m not mad that you blocked me on Instagram. I get it. I should have been honest from the start.
Please, just think about meeting.
Cordelia
GeneQuest
Genetic Family Conversations
To: Cordelia Koenig (online)
From: GeneQuest ([email protected])
The following email could not be sent.
This user no longer exists.
To: Jack Bisset (unavailable)
From: Cordelia Koenig (online)
Jack,
I think I freaked you out, and I’m sorry.
It’s weird. I spent my whole life thinking I was supposed to be this one way because of how I was raised. Now, it’s like I’ve discovered a whole new side to myself, and I want to know more. I feel like if I met you, it would help explain things I’ve always wondered about.
I’m not mad that you blocked me on Instagram. I get it. I should have been more honest from the start.
Please, just think about meeting.
Cordelia
Jack Bisset
Me: Did you actually delete your GeneQuest account?
Sana-Friend ♥
Me: I am finally writing again!
Sana: Yeah? Was it about surprising me by outlining this stupid project?
Me: Uh. No. Poems.
Sana: Srsly.
You were right. Maddy is really awesome at helping with the written portion.
She wants me to write an outline today.
I shit you not.
Meanwhile, my soccer protégé down the street is moving.
So no more protégé.
Me: Wow.
What are you going to do?
Sana: No idea.
I’m screwed.
UNLESS . . .
Maybe you could ask Iris to come over and record a few videos. I don’t think I have many left.
Me: Yeah. Sure.
Sana: What’d you do today?
That wasn’t helping me with my project?
Me: I went to Kodiak’s.
Sana: Yeah you did.
Me: Come on . . .
It’s not like that.
He’s my partner.
Sana: Dude. I get it.
If Emma Fucking Daniels started knocking down my door
I’d be all over her too.
Now that you’re not . . .
Preoccupied
Wanna come hang out and we can work on stuff together?
Me: Yes! I’ll be right over.
Kodiak Jones
Kodiak: Well that was an entirely ineffective work session.
Me: What?!
How?
I’m feeling incredibly inspired.
Kodiak:
Me: I’m actually writing right now.
A real poem.
Kodiak: It’s been that hard lately?
Me: Yeah.
I feel stuck.
Like before all this
everything I wrote about was just emotional.
Emo teenager stuff.
But this thing with my DNA—it’s bigger.
Kodiak: If that happened to me I don’t know what I’d do.
Me: It certainly feels like a crisis of character.
Question.
Do you feel like your ancestry shapes you?
Or the way you were raised?
Kodiak: My situation is completely different.
Me: I know.
Just answer.
Kodiak: Yeah.
At least on my mom’s side.<
br />
They’re Tlingit.
My ancestors share this history. A story.
Stories.
Basically my whole project is how that shared history was passed down generationally.
And trying to keep it alive in a fresh new way.
Me: What if you didn’t know all those stories?
Wouldn’t that be sad?
Kodiak: Yeah.
Me: I want to meet my dad.
Kodiak: I get that.
Me: It’s hard because I know he’s scared too.
And all the way in Seattle.
Kodiak: It’s not that far.
Me: It’s far enough to be a mess.
My DAD dad doesn’t know, remember?
Kodiak: Okay.
I hesitate to say this.
Only because I’ve been trying to keep my shenanigans to a minimum.
And there are all sorts of ways this can make it even more complicated.
But you do know the poetry conference is in Seattle right?
Me: It is?
Kodiak: Do you even read those emails anymore that Ms. Nadeer sends?
Me: Yeah, I should do that.
Kodiak: Well. If you’re going to go you better hurry.
The deadline for the permission slips and paperwork is tomorrow morning.
Sister Bea
Bea: Hey.
Hello?
Okay. I guess you’re not talking to me?
When you get this, call me.
To: Cordelia Koenig ([email protected])
From: Vidya Nadeer ([email protected])
Subject: Re: Conference
Dear Ms. Nadeer,
Please consider me as a definite go on the conference. I’ll fill out the proper paperwork tonight and make sure to get it to you right away. While the poetry contest at the end sounds appealing, I do not think I’ll have anything prepared enough.
Also, I am sending some of the poems I’ve been working on lately. It’s not much, but it’s all I have. I assure you that my project will display my best work and be completed on time.
Sincerely,
Cordelia Koenig
Jack Bisset
Me: Completely unrelated but I’m coming to Seattle. I still want to meet if you’re up for it. Let me know!
Sana-Friend ♥
Me: Okay.
When I get there I need to borrow your internet stalking skills.
Sana: Oh honey . . .
If you think for a second I haven’t already internet stalked the SHIT out of Kodiak you’re cray.
Me: What?
Sana: Wait.
That’s not who you want me to stalk?
Me: No . . .
But what did you find?
Sana: Wait.
Only if we stop saying stalk.
I’ll never fulfill my ambition of being Veronica Mars if I don’t stop saying “stalk” and totally legitimize myself by saying “investigate.”
Me: Okay. INVESTIGATE.
Sana: So who?
Me: My biological father.
Sana: Oh shit.
Me: Yeah.
Sana: What do you want to know?
Me: Address?
Place of employment?
I know he works at a music studio in Seattle.
But that’s it.
Sana: Uhhhh.
Delia?
This feels a little weird.
Me: I know. Trust me?
It’s important.
Sana: Can’t you ask him where he works?
Me: No.
Sana: All right.
Come over.
I’ll stalk him.
And you can do my project.
Me: IF I CAN’T CALL IT STALKING YOU CAN’T CALL IT STALKING!
Past the waterlogged soccer fields
just beyond the highway
lined with spring-cleanup trash bags
is Sana’s trailer
that feels like home.
All warm,
without heat.
The raindrops hitting the roof
make pinging sounds that remind me
my ears still hear the world beyond
the voice in my head that says,
You don’t belong, and you never will.
Sana’s trailer says otherwise.
It whispers:
You fit perfectly.
In Sana’s room
sitting on her bed,
just a mattress
flopped on the floor,
littered with pillows.
Here
I don’t have to pretend I don’t know.
That I have been ignoring Bea,
while Jack ignores me.
Or pretending Mom isn’t falling apart,
drinking too many glasses of wine at dinner.
Or pretending not to see
the way Dad looks down at his plate too
like he’s trying to rearrange the table
to fit us all.
Sana hugs me
and whispers,
“Tell me everything, Cordelia.
I know something is wrong.”
I hug her back
and spill
E
V
E
R
Y
T
H
I
N
G.
How I talked to Jack.
How it felt like my whole life
was leading up to finding him.
How he disappeared as soon as I said I wanted to meet.
How I knew it was because he was scared.
That maybe seeing me was too much for him,
because it all felt like too much for me too.
How it hurt so badly
to think he needed to cut me out
when I just wanted to know him.
I tell her I booked a ticket to Seattle.
I forged my parents’ signatures on the permission slip,
but I’ll tell them later.
If I can figure out where Jack lives
I might be able to see him while I’m there.
Then maybe I’ll know who I am.
I tell her about Kodiak.
How my heart already knows him,
and when we kissed
and pretzeled
and touched
I felt free.
Alive.
Like it was supposed to be that way.
Even though I know she worries about me
and she’s scared I’ll get hurt
or pregnant
or whatever,
this is what I want.
And I know they’re both crazy things.
That I want to meet Jack.
That I want to be with Kodiak.
But I can’t help what my heart feels
No matter how silly.
This.
Is.
What.
I.
Need.
“Fucksticks.
Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
Sana reaches for my hand.
“Because,”
I say,
“How could you understand?
I don’t even understand.”
“If anyone gets daddy issues,
it’s me.”
“It’s different.
Your dad died when you were little,
my mom kept mine from me.”
“Delia,” she starts,
but I cut her off.
I feel my nose pinch
tears trailing down my cheeks
like the raindrops on her roof.
“And the Kodiak thing.
If you think he’s bad,
how can I like him this much?”
“Oh Cordelia.
My beautiful, sweet friend.
Don’t you see it has nothing to do with not liking him?
Dude. Kodiak is awesome.
I get the appeal.
But I�
��m worried for you.
You may have grown up together
but you’re from very different worlds.
And I’m scared you can’t see
that even if he’s not bad
it doesn’t mean he’s good for you.
But see,
it’s not just Kodiak—
I don’t think any guy is good enough for you.”
Missed call from Mom- 6:17 pm
Missed call from Mom- 6:49 pm
Text from Mom- Honey.
We need to talk.
Where are you?
Missed call from Dad- 6:57 pm
Missed call from Mom- 7:20 pm
Text from Kodiak- Your mom is looking for you.
She called my mom.
Are you okay?
Missed call from Mom- 7:24 pm
Missed call from Mom- 7:24 pm
Text from Bea- Not that you’ll respond, but Mom just texted me.
She’s worried about you.
Call her back when you get a second.
And while you’re at it, call me back.
I really need to talk to you about something.
Missed call from Mom- 7:24 pm
Text from Mom- Cordelia.
I’m starting to get worried.
Mom
Me: Hey
Sorry
Sana and I were hanging out.
My phone was on Silent.
Mom: Oh.
Okay.
You need to come home.
We got an email from Ms. Nadeer.
Apparently we signed a permission slip last night?
Me: I can explain.
To: Cordelia Koenig ([email protected])
From: Julie Koenig ([email protected])
Subject: Fwd: Pacific Northwest Young Poets Conference
Look familiar?
To: Julie Koenig ([email protected])
From: Vidya Nadeer ([email protected])
Subject: Pacific Northwest Young Poets Conference
Dear Julie and Andrew,
I’m so pleased that Cordelia decided to come to the conference. I’ve brought it up many times this semester because I truly feel she will get so much from it. Thank you for supporting her in her craft and completing the necessary documents so quickly.
Soon I’ll be sending a detailed parent email about what to expect that includes a more specific schedule of our events there this year, including the spoken word contest on the last day. But the conference will be a long-weekend conference. We will arrive in Seattle very early on a Friday morning and return late Sunday night.
Best,
Vidya Nadeer
“Is this about him?”