Close. One.
Sisters. Two.
Far. Three.
Hurt. Four.
Alone. Five.
These are five things.
These are five things about me and Zelia.
I close the notebook and put it under my pillow.
Chapter 17
The next day, I wait for Ty at lunch. The jacaranda tree by the arbor smells like sweet and spicy peppers, the purple flowers floating above our heads in clouds. Jīchan says that Washington, DC, and Japan have cherry blossoms; we have jacarandas. And the blooms last longer. I settle myself under it, perched on the edge of the calf-high concrete planter, trying to relax.
Ty walks up, clutching a cafeteria tray with a quesadilla, rice, and canned peaches on it, his shoulders hunched and his sandy-brown hair falling over one eye. As he approaches, my body starts to squinch up, too, like it’s reacting to his I don’t want to be here vibes.
Maybe I’d rather not be here, either, but at least I have the good manners not to show it. Then I smile because that sounds like something Dad would say. And then I frown because that means I’m actually learning something at Cotillion, which is kind of against my whole argument for not going. Anyway, it’s about considering other people’s feelings.
Which is also sort of like improv. You can’t just do what you personally want all the time, as if nobody else is important.
As I’m thinking all this, Ty kind of glares down at me. “I can’t believe I still have to work with you.”
Hello to you, too, I say in my head, and my blood freezes up again. He already doesn’t like me, so anything I say can and will be held against me. Instead of answering, I shrug and avoid his eyes. When I’m quiet and look people in the eye, they sometimes get mad, act like I’m challenging them. Hudson says that’s because gorillas do it and humans are still basically primates.
I sit down cross-legged on the concrete and open the Chromebook on my lap.
“This is the most useless assignment ever,” Ty declares.
That’s what I think, too, but I don’t say so because I’m too jammed up inside. Besides, if I agree with Ty, he’ll disagree just to be contrary. Sort of like Luke. “Where’s your Chromebook?” I look around.
Ty sits down next to me, balancing his food tray. “It got soda on it.”
Oh. That’s not good. Ty will have to pay for that. Or his parents will.
“Let’s get this over with.” He nods at me. “You want to type or do you want me to?”
I open the laptop. Obviously I’ll type. I don’t want him spilling stuff on my equipment. And I definitely don’t trust that chocolate milk, which comes in a plastic bag thing.
“So we have the napkin. What do we like about the napkin?” Ty says. “It’s, uh, paper. It’s a square.”
Paper. Square. I type these words. Absorbent. Need them when you eat messy foods, like ribs and ice cream.
When I look up, Ty’s staring at me intently. He’s so close to me I can see flecks of brown in his blue eyes. “Are you not going to say anything?” he says.
At this pressure, my words curdle and crumble. I turn the screen so he can see what I typed. He glances at it, nods. “Good for the planet?” he adds.
“Are they?” I automatically say, and he glowers. Was I supposed to accept that? I type it in. “I mean, cloth might be better.”
“But you have to wash the cloth ones and use water.” He holds up the napkin. “This is recycled.”
You have to cut down trees to make paper, and you need water to grow the trees, I almost tell him. I don’t know which is better, now that he says that. We can research later.
Ty pulls a small white paper bag out of his backpack. My nose recognizes it before I see it. He opens it and removes a chocolate cupcake.
“Hey.” Cecily’s here. “Whatcha doing?”
“We’re painting a fence. What does it look like we’re doing?” Ty says this lightly, not as annoyed with Cecily as he is with me, and she grins.
“I brought paint. I’ll join you.” She mimes using a paintbrush.
Ty’s standing, empty tray in hand. “Well, I’m done. I’m going to play some kickball.”
What? He’s already leaving? I shake my head. But we haven’t gotten to really work on the script. Let’s just do this thing already, I want to say, but by the time I form the words, Ty’s disappeared across the lunch arbor.
“Sheesh.” Cecily tears open her Lunchable. “Did you steal his precious ring or something?” She launches into a Gollum impression. “Precious. My precious.”
I giggle. “I wish.” I shrug. “I don’t know.” I chew my bottom lip. I hope Mr. Sukow gives us class time to do this. We’re working on other units, too, not just these projects. I don’t want to give up any more of my free time to Ty. Maybe I’ll just do it all myself, and Ty can put his name on it.
That’s it, I decide. That’s exactly what I’ll do.
Cecily and I keep talking all through lunch. When the bell rings, I realize two things. I haven’t thought of Zelia once.
And hanging out with a new person no longer feels like the first day of middle school.
Chapter 18
I’m in my room trying to do homework. Nana Linda will be here in a half hour to take me to the developer community meeting. I don’t want to think about that, though, because thinking about that makes my armpits sweat.
Luckily—or unluckily, I guess—I’m having enough trouble with this project that I can’t think about the meeting. This advertising assignment is obviously cursed. Not only do I have to deal with Ty, I’m now having a ton of technical difficulties. The app’s frozen. I restart the Chromebook. The thing whirs and whines—it’s probably about to die. One more awesome thing to happen.
In the kitchen I hear Mom and Dad clinking around, doing dishes after dinner and chatting in low voices. Sometimes I hear Mom giggle and I know Dad’s probably kissing her or something. Ew. But I remind myself that I’m lucky. Zelia told me that she loved watching my parents together. Hers got divorced years ago and she barely sees her father. “You’d rather have them kiss than fight, wouldn’t you?” she said once when I complained about their caramel-level gooeyness. That made me change my viewpoint.
Zelia can always do that for me.
While I wait for this thing to reboot, I try calling and texting Zelia. I want to talk to her, tell her about my problem with Ty. Our conversation got so weird so fast last time.
But she doesn’t answer. I try not to worry about whether Zelia’s in a coma on top of everything else. If something was wrong with her, her mother would have told us.
I think about texting Cecily, but I barely know her. I mean, I went to her house, but is she going to care about my problems? What if she thinks I’m a weirdo for telling her my secrets? Right now she thinks I’m pretty cool. I don’t want to mess that up.
I better not say anything.
“Ugh,” I groan out loud. When it finally opens again, my file is nowhere to be seen.
“Crud.” I look all over the folders for it. Nothing. I do a search.
It’s like it never existed. Luckily, it’s after dinner and Hudson’s home. I go knock on the boys’ door, my Chromebook in hand.
Luke flings it open. “What do you want?” He doesn’t bother to take out an earbud. He and Hudson have rules that if they’re both home, they listen to music on their phones instead of playing it on speakers. Luke’s music is so loud I can hear it when the headphones are inside his ears. Once again, he hasn’t showered yet after soccer, and he smells like grass and a hundred teenage boys.
I wrinkle my nose. “You’re going to go deaf.”
“What?” Luke says, leaning forward with his hand cupped around his ear.
“I said, you’re going to go deaf!” But then I see him laughing. That joke is never funny no matter how many times he does it. I roll my eyes. “Is Hudson in there?”
Luke acts like he’s going to keep blocking me with his body, but then his
phone buzzes and he turns to get it off his desk. I leap in.
Hudson’s sprawled out on the bottom bunk, books and papers everywhere, a giant pair of bright green headphones over his ears. Somehow out of this chaos, a straight-A average will emerge. No matter how late he has to stay up, Hudson will get it done. Sometimes Dad has to come take books out of his room so Hudson will go to sleep.
I’m not looking forward to high school. I don’t think I can work that much. Just thinking about it turns my armpits into geysers.
Hudson takes off his headphones. “Almond?” He offers me a small bowl. He eats them every two hours to keep his blood sugar stable, he says, and his brain working.
I take one, even though they’re unsalted and taste like cardboard. Not that I’ve ever had cardboard. “I need help.” I feel bad for asking, seeing all his homework, but Hudson nods and pushes his laptop aside and pats the quilt. On Hudson’s wall, over his bed, he’s tacked up lots of photos of him dancing. Him in New York last summer. Him with all his friends.
The boys have a desk at one end of the loft bed, and another against the wall. They only sit at their desks to play computer games and store junk, as far as I can tell. Luke climbs back on his bed, his phone in hand, texting someone. “Who are you talking to?” I ask.
“None of your beeswax,” Luke says.
Hudson waves to me. “Let me see your Chromebook, Ava.” First Hudson tries fixing the program, digging around in the memory and files. “This a free app?” He sighs. “I think it ate your project.”
A fluttery feeling rises. “Can’t we get it back?”
“I’m going to email the developer.” He shakes his head. “Just write it on paper.”
“But Ty and I used the app!” I cry out.
“I’m sorry, Ava.” Hudson taps out an email. “That’s the problem with free apps. They’re buggy. But maybe the developer has a way of retrieving it.”
Luke taps away on his phone. “Mr. Sukow is super picky about doing it his way. You should redo it in that app.”
“Then you help her. Make sure it’s getting saved right.” Hudson pushes the Chromebook toward him.
“I don’t have time.” Luke texts away.
“You have time to text, but not to help your own sister?” Hudson makes a grab for Luke’s phone, but Luke holds it out of the way.
I get a panicky feeling, the way I always do when this stupid equipment fails. Some new problem comes up all the time—no internet connection, printer won’t work, can’t sign in to the school system. I wish all my classes used paper and pencil.
The project’s not due for a few more weeks, but I’m still worried. Occasionally my anxiety makes me slow and gummed up, so my 504 plan says I can ask for extra help and get extra time. But I hate doing it. It’s like admitting I’m an idiot or something, even though I know that’s not true.
Sometimes when I ask, I can see the teachers thinking, Why does she need extra time for such a simple project? Like last year, I needed more time to finish a book report mobile. I was so worried about messing it up that I had a hard time starting, until before I knew it was due, and Dad made me ask my teacher. Everyone else in the class did it on time.
I’m afraid Mr. Sukow will think I’m not smart. He told me my writing’s hilarious, so this project has to be really good, too, or he’ll be disappointed. The whole class will think, That Ava’s a one-hit wonder.
Luke taps away on the keyboard. “It’s simple, Ava. Did you save it like this?” He shows me.
“I save stuff on Google Drive all the time. I’m not stupid, Luke.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You pretty much did,” I say. “Your tone.”
“I have no tone.” Luke taps around some more. “Just redo it.”
I shake my head, frustrated tears already starting. “I don’t remember all our words.” Ty’s going to hate me. He’ll blame me, even though it’s not my fault.
“Stop whining.” Luke puts down the Chromebook. “Why should I help you if you’re not even going to try?”
The room starts going blurry. I rub my temples, my breath hot and fast in my throat. “I am trying.” In my chest comes that strange, heavy feeling. No hummingbird this time. More like a raven.
“Then email Mr. Sukow!” Luke explodes. “What’s the big deal?”
My chin drops to my chest.
“Cut that out.” Hudson frowns at Luke. “You’re stressing her. That’s not helpful.”
“Well, she’s got to learn how to deal with the real world sometime,” Luke argues. Luke hardly ever argues with Hudson. Maybe it’s because Hudson’s still a head taller than Luke, or maybe it’s because Hudson’s always been our leader, the one who made sure neither of us got hit by cars when we crossed streets or went through parking lots. “Otherwise she’ll just fail at everything in life! She won’t even try to solve her problems.”
Hudson smacks his laptop closed. “You don’t have to be a jerk about it.”
“She’s always trying to get out of work.” Luke points at me. “Like the bathroom. I got in trouble for that, not her. Mom yelled at me.”
“I highly doubt Mom yelled at you about the bathroom,” Hudson says in his most high-and-mighty voice. “The only time I’ve ever heard Mom yell at you is when you ran into the street after a ball when you were four. And that was to get you to stop.”
Luke stands and kicks the side of Hudson’s mattress. “You always take her side.”
What Luke’s saying is all true. Hudson does always take my side. I did mess up the bathroom thing. I do try to get out of things, like rewriting that letter for the Port of San Diego and figuring out this program. I am going to fail at everything in my life. My crying starts for real now, big fat tears streaming out of my eyes, and it’s hard to breathe.
“Go take a walk,” Hudson tells Luke, and Luke stomps out. My oldest brother puts his arm around my shoulders. “Ava, don’t worry. It’s only homework.”
He knows saying don’t worry doesn’t work. It’s like telling the sun not to set. I lean into him and sob, and feel stupid for crying. Hudson doesn’t understand how it is to work with Ty. It feels like my whole future depends on this one assignment.
I leave their bedroom and run down to my bedroom. I can barely breathe, and I hope it’s because of the tears and not my heart. It thumpity-thumps, and my chest feels hot.
I look at my ICD pacemaker monitor, at the picture of the doctor. Should I press it? Is this an event? No. It’ll pass. Besides, if I press it, the doctors will charge us money, for looking at the report. Instead, I blow my nose until it’s dry, and lie back on my bed.
“These are five things,” I say out loud, to distract myself. My voice sounds weird all alone in my room. I don’t really ever talk when I’m alone. I change out of my grungy sweats into some slightly nicer jeans. “These are five things about . . . Luke. Stinky. One!” My voice is quiet. I imagine Miss Gwen telling us, Louder! Faster! so I shout the count back to myself like someone else said the word. “Stubborn. Two! Know-it-all. Three! Mean. Four! Ridiculous. Five!” I scream at the end. “Five things. These are five things!”
“Are you talking about me?” Luke yells from down the hall.
“Not everything is about you, Luke! Sheesh!”
In a little bit, I feel better. I get up and wash my face and brush my hair. It’s almost time for Nana Linda to pick me up for the meeting. I look at myself in the mirror. My skin’s a little red, but it’s not bad. No one can tell I’ve been crying.
Maybe that’s what I was really being upset about—having to go to this meeting. I shake my body like I saw Miss Gwen do, top to bottom. “You can do this, Ava.” I nod at my reflection.
“Who are you talking to?” Luke asks from outside the door.
I open it and push past him. “To Ava Andrews.”
“Improv’s making you weird,” he calls after me.
The doorbell rings and I go to answer it. Nana Linda stands on the porch step, dressed in a
black tunic and leggings with a black knit scarf laced with gold thread on top. “Ready?”
I close the door. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The meeting’s in a room in one of the Navegando Point restaurants called the Fish Place. There are about a dozen chairs set up in front of a podium, and I count just five people besides the five Brancusi Group workers. I’ve never seen any of them before, and they’re all ages and genders. They amble over to the coffee and pour themselves some. Maybe they’re just here for the coffee.
I spot Brett Rosselin with four of her coworkers. “Welcome,” she’s saying. “Welcome, welcome.” She gives me a bright smile and I get the feeling that a robot is smiling at me.
I wonder if she read our emails. I want to ask, but to be honest, Brett Rosselin kind of scares me. She definitely would play a villain in a movie.
Nana Linda will ask her during the meeting. I don’t have to do anything. I clutch Nana Linda’s hand as we move around the room. They have a model of the new plan on a table. It’s like a miniature village, all laid out under Plexiglas. There are even tiny people walking along the water.
My heart drops. It looks even worse as a model than it does as a drawing.
“We are committed to keeping our existing Navegando Point businesses running while adding new ones,” Brett Rosselin says. She sounds like one of those TV people who speak up for the president and people like that. Shiny and tinny.
Lie, I want to shout. What about the ones that are already closed? What about the improv theater? Nana Linda raises her hand as if she’s had the same question.
“No comments until the end,” Brett Rosselin says. “For those members of the public who signed up to speak before the meeting.” She blinks at Nana Linda with her fake smile. “Did you sign up?”
Before the meeting started? I’m pretty sure Nana Linda didn’t sign up for anything—we came in and sat down. Nobody said anything. She stiffens. “No,” she says.
I look around at the bored-looking people sipping their coffees and checking their phones. There are just five other “members of the public” here. Who signed up?
Five Things About Ava Andrews Page 10
