Where It All Lands

by Jennie Wexler

  “What happened?”

  “We were the finale. Two drum solos back to back. Me, then him, then me, then him again.”

  “I bet you crushed him,” I say, nudging Shane with my shoulder.

  “I annihilated him,” Shane says, smiling. “But then the whole school ripped into him. He was the older kid who got beat by a seventh grader. He quit drums and picked up football. And that’s when it started.”

  “Same stuff used to happen to me at my old school. At least you have Drew,” I say.

  “Drew doesn’t need to protect me,” Shane says, an edge to his voice. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. It seems to me that he sticks up for you because he cares about you.”

  “He sticks up for me because my dad asked him to, and some days I feel like a charity case. Some days I wonder if he would be friends with me if we weren’t neighbors and bound by some pact he made with my dad.” Shane grabs both drumsticks in one hand, cutting off the beat. He pinches the bridge of his nose and tugs on the brim of his hat. The parking lot is almost empty now, except for a couple cars and littered garbage. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’ve never told anyone that.”

  “What happened?” I ask, trying to meet his eyes, but he stares hard at those drumsticks.

  “My dad got sick. The kind of sick where you know you’re going to die. I was twelve and I didn’t get it because I didn’t think anyone could die, you know? But Dad knew, and he sat us down together and asked Drew to look after me, like a big brother. My dad loved Drew, probably as much as he loved me. And Drew loved him right back. And after he was gone, we were inseparable. Still are. But some days I wonder if the immensely popular Drew Mason would still be friends with someone like me if he hadn’t made a promise all those years ago.”

  “I’m sorry about your dad,” I say, my mouth going dry. Anything else I could say would sound like a cliché. “You’re lucky you’ve had a best friend for so long. And I don’t think he sticks up for you because he made a promise. You seem like someone worth sticking up for.”

  A small smile breaks free on Shane’s face as he glances at me from under the brim of his baseball hat. He places the drumsticks on the ground by his feet, his eyes anticipating what I’m about to say next.

  “I wish I had someone like that at this school,” I say. “It sucks starting over all the time.”

  “How about…” Shane takes off his hat and his hair looks almost blond in the afternoon light. “I can be that person. The one who has your back.”

  “You don’t even know me.” I laugh, the kind of breathy laugh that feels forced and lonely. “And besides, in a year or two my dad will get transferred to another team and I’ll move away, and you’ll forget all about me.”

  “I wouldn’t forget. I won’t forget,” he says with conviction, like he wants me to know how much he means it. Maybe I’m finally making the kind of friend I always dreamed of. The kind that sticks around forever.

  Shane rolls his shoulders, which must be so sore from practice, and kicks at the gravel with his sneakers. He scoots closer to me and takes in a deep breath. “Would you, uh, maybe, want to…”

  I shift away from Shane, hoping the space between us will be enough to stop him from asking me the question I assume he’s about to spill. If he asks me out it’ll ruin it all, and I need his friendship more than anything right now. The fact is, people like Shane don’t come around often. He’s so easy to talk to, like he’s been in my life all along.

  “Would you want to … I mean.” Shane curls the brim of his hat in his hand before sliding it on his head. I hold my breath.

  A car honk blares from Mom’s silver Lexus as it slows beside us, the window rolling down.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she says, her brown hair corkscrewing in every direction. Joey sticks his tongue out at me from the back.

  “Stevie, get in,” he yells as his feet kick at his car seat.

  I stand and say, “Mom, this is Shane Murphy. He plays the drums.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Naomi.”

  “You too,” Shane says, scrambling to his feet. His eyes linger on my face and he opens his mouth but closes it again, a vise clamping shut.

  “I should get going,” I say. “Talk to you later.”

  “Okay,” Shane says, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, the genie still sticking out of the zipper. Shane has a quiet kind of strength that you might miss if you weren’t looking. But I notice and I bet that genie will be back tomorrow.

  CHAPTER 3

  Shane

  Drew rolls a keg through the living room into the kitchen and out to the back patio. I shake a bag of Doritos into a bowl and head outside, a bag of pretzels tucked under my arm. Drew pushes the keg upright and grabs a package of red Solo cups. He tears the plastic open with his teeth as he pumps the keg. He frees a cup and fills it with frothy foam until clear liquid spills from the barrel.

  “Want?” Drew extends the cup in my direction. The sun falls to the earth, fading oranges and reds dominating the sky. Perfect time of day, in my opinion, an ending that also feels like a beginning. But tonight I’m kicking myself for fumbling the ball, not that I have any right to use that expression. The only sport I attempt to play is basketball, and only with Drew on his driveway, so it doesn’t count. Anyway, I completely blew it with Stevie. What’s even more pathetic is I’m still carrying around that penny, like I might actually have a chance.

  “Not yet.” I wave Drew’s cup away, but truthfully, I hate to drink. I can’t think straight and when I have one too many falling asleep is even more impossible than when I’m sober. I know it’s not supposed to work like that. Drew passes out after a few too many beers. Me, my mind circles like water going down a drain, and I start to think about Dad and how I wish he were still here. And that’s just too much for me to deal with.

  Drew sits on the couch propping his boots on the fire pit. I chuck the bag of pretzels on one of the cushions. The fire warms my cheeks as I extend my hands to the flames.

  “Remember how we used to make s’mores out here?” he asks, the whites of his eyes lit up by the firelight. “The best damn s’mores in all of New Jersey, your dad would say.”

  “He insisted we add peanut butter, remember? That man was a genius.”

  “Total Einstein,” Drew says, and then it’s quiet again, the memory of Dad filling the space between us. The fire crackles into the air as the sleepy sky slowly fades to black. I can practically taste the marshmallows and chocolate and graham crackers, and of course, the peanut butter.

  “Is Stevie coming tonight?” Drew asks, and I sit next to him, letting out a long sigh. “Please tell me you asked her.”

  “Okay, I asked her.” I deadpan, glaring at him.

  “You didn’t ask her?” Drew taps me on the shin with his boot.

  “I didn’t get a chance. Brent Miller kind of stole my thunder. Maybe if you hadn’t stepped in, I wouldn’t have looked like such a complete dork.”

  Brent Miller steals my thunder once a week on average. It’s been that way since middle school and sometimes I think I hate him for it. I should hate him for it. But I can’t ignore the rumors that swirl around our small school, the random bandages and bruises he shrugs away as football injuries. I can’t hate him. Not completely. A tiny part of me wants to help him, if he would quit being such a jerk and let me.

  “You’re not a dork.”

  “Who’s not a dork?” Lainey asks as she appears on the patio and throws a bag of cups at me. I miss, and they fall on the ground next to my sneakers.

  “No one,” Drew and I say in unison as he retrieves the cups and sets them on the table next to the fire pit. Lainey raises an eyebrow then shrugs.

  “Thanks for the keg,” Drew says, pouring himself another cup. My older sister is cool like that. She’s at Rutgers but comes home whenever I need beer for a party. Not that I ever throw real parties. I would need to be friends with way more people for
that.

  “You’re welcome,” Lainey says, taking the cup from Drew. A frayed olive messenger bag covered in peace sign and pot leaf patches hangs from one shoulder. Her eyes narrow on Drew. “You look like you haven’t showered in a week,” she says, taking a sip of beer. He smirks, shaking his head.

  “You look like a farmer who came back from a Dead and Co. show,” he counters, nodding at my sister’s overalls, vintage Grateful Dead concert T-shirt, and tan Birkenstocks. Her hair, which hangs in two long braids, doesn’t help.

  “Going to a Dead and Co. show.” Her green eyes come alive. She’s the only one in our family who has cool eyes. The rest of us are stuck with this weird in-between color, which is not really green but not really brown. Drew called them puke eyes once when we were little, mad at me for something I can’t even remember. “They’re at the Garden.”

  “That show isn’t for a couple weeks,” I say, stacking Solo cups on the table by the keg, and she laughs.

  “Ah, little brother, what is time really?” Lainey’s eyelids droop so slightly, I almost don’t notice.

  “Are you high?”

  “Maybe.” A Silly Putty smile stretches across her face and she laughs a slow-motion laugh. “I gotta jet. Larry’s out front. Be cool around Stevie.”

  Lainey gives the beer back to Drew and says, “Later.”

  “Who’s Larry?” Drew asks, but she’s already heading around the house to the front gate. Drew shifts his eyes to me.

  “Some guy from her anthro class.” I rip open the bag of pretzels and pour them into a bowl on the table.

  Drew shrugs and takes a sip of beer.

  “You told her about Stevie?” Drew raises his eyebrows. “Bro, chill.”

  “I am chill,” I say as my phone vibrates inside the pocket of my gym shorts. I pull it out and read the message.

  Any chance you can help me with All-State? It’s Stevie, by the way.

  “What?” Drew asks, grabbing for my phone. “Who’s texting you?”

  I flip the phone in his direction. Drew shakes the hair out of his eyes and reads the text.

  “Ask her to come tonight.”

  “What if she says no?”

  “What if she says yes?” Drew grabs my phone and starts tapping at the keys. He smiles and hands the phone back to me.

  Me

  Having a party tonight at my house. Wanna come by?

  My pulse escalates at the invitation. She’s going to say no. I smack Drew in the arm and he smacks me back, causing my phone to slip from my hands and drop to the paving stones beneath our feet.

  “That better not be broken,” I say, picking up the phone and reading the screen, which is thankfully still intact.

  Stevie

  Can’t. I told Ray I’d meet her at Dino’s

  “Told you she’d say no,” I say, showing Drew the text.

  His eyebrows furrow, the screen’s glow casting shadows on his features. His eyes flick up from my phone.

  “She’s friends with Ray?”

  “Apparently,” I say. “Since when do you care about Ray?”

  “I don’t.” Drew’s full of it but I don’t press him on the issue. Ray shattered him last year and he refuses to talk about it. Can’t say I blame him. Drew grabs my phone again and taps out a text.

  “I am perfectly capable of writing my own text messages.”

  “You sure about that?” Drew’s still tapping away at the keys, not bothering to look at me. “Even though I wish it was me Stevie’s texting, it’s you. And if it has to be you, don’t throw away your shot.” He smiles again, like he just finished painting a masterpiece. I grab the phone from him and read the text, which he hasn’t sent.

  Me

  Too bad. But I can still help with All-State. Wednesday after school?

  “What if she says no?” I ask again, still staring at the screen.

  “Dude, she’s the one who asked you for help. It’s just a text message.” Drew grabs for my phone, but if I want to get to know Stevie I have to make it happen, not Drew. Maybe I’ve spent my entire life in my best friend’s shadow because I let him watch out for me. I guess part of me wanted to honor Dad’s wish so badly that I always defaulted to Drew. But not this time.

  I grab my phone and erase Drew’s message because it doesn’t sound like me. I rewrite the text, my finger hovering over the send button.

  Me

  Have a great time at Dino’s. And yes, I can help you with All-State. How’s Wednesday after school?

  I read it and reread it, and reread it again.

  “We’re not getting any younger,” Drew sings at me, leaning back on the couch and taking another sip of beer.

  “Shut it,” I say, reading the text again. I take a deep breath and press send. “Okay, sent.”

  Drew stands and peers over my shoulder at the three little dots dancing on my phone.

  Stevie

  Wednesday is great! Thanks, Shane. Sorry to miss the party.

  “Congratulations, you have officially asked out a girl,” Drew says, patting me on the back.

  “It’s not exactly a date,” I say, shoving the phone in my pocket, stuffing down a small smile.

  “But it’s a start.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Stevie

  A neon sign that reads Diner perches on top of a low building, casting pink-and-blue light on the sidewalk. I prop my feet on the dashboard as Mom puts the car in park, her curly hair up in a messy bun. She glances at Joey, his little legs scissor kicking in his car seat. My stomach fizzes and churns, and my pointer finger throbs. A frayed cuticle hangs from my nail, begging to be torn off, but I force my hand into a fist.

  “We’re here.” Mom states the obvious, but I don’t budge. “You planning on going inside? I have to get Joey home and to bed.”

  “Is this a party?” Joey’s tiny voice squeaks from the back seat.

  “Nah,” I say, glancing at his chubby cheeks. “Just some friends hanging out.”

  Not yet friends. More like the glimmer of friendship, the possibility. I check my phone and reread Sarah’s last text.

  Sarah

  Just go out and have fun.

  Me

  I might puke.

  Sarah

  You got this. Walk inside and be the girl I know and love. They’ll all love you too.

  Me

  I miss you.

  Sarah

  Stop texting me and walk inside.

  If only Sarah was inside the diner, maybe then I could walk in with ease. But instead she’s across the country, too far away to pump me up and make me forget about my nerves.

  “You’re great at making friends,” Mom says, placing her hand over mine. “Go inside and have fun.”

  I’m the worst at making friends, but I smile through every move and tell Mom I’m fine. But I’m not fine. This time, this town, is different. Moving across the country in high school sucks so much more than being the new girl in fourth grade or middle school. No one cares about making new friends by the time they reach high school. That door has closed, and I have to find a way to pry it open instead of walking through. At least Ray seems cool, possessing the kind of self-assuredness that reminds me of Sarah. Sarah would have physically forced me out of this car by now, yammering in my ear about a new band I had to listen to, distracting me from myself.

  Mom unlocks the door and says, “Dad’ll be here at eleven to pick you up.”

  “I can Uber it home,” I say. Less mortifying than Dad pulling up outside the diner.

  “You haven’t seen him much all week,” Mom says, which is true. He’s been working extra-long hours to impress the team. Same story, new season. “He will be here.”

  I reach for the door handle as Mom leans to me and kisses my forehead.

  “Just be yourself. And remember to have fun,” she says as I open the door.

  “Love my Stevie,” Joey yells from the back seat.

  “Love you too, buddy,” I say before heading for the diner, the fr
ont door displaying the word Dino’s, the n partially faded. I catch a glimpse of Joey’s hand waving furiously from inside the car as Mom honks once and drives out of the lot. I take a deep breath and push the door open, a strand of metal bells clanging against the glass. The black-and-white checkerboard floor throws me off balance. I scan the restaurant for Ray, but the fluorescent lights knife into my eyes and all I can see are rows of powder blue booths, all of them full. The smell of french fry grease floats through the air, mixed with something sweet like milkshakes or maybe the ornate cakes lining the front display case. I pick at my thumb as my eyes frantically search each table. I shouldn’t have come here.

  “They’re back there,” says an older man sporting a graying beard and mustache. A full head of white hair sticks up from his head and a stained apron hangs from his neck. A small nametag on the front of his shirt reads Dino. “They’re always back there.”

  He nods at a group of booths in the back of the restaurant. Ray stands on the bench and waves her arms at me like an airport tarmac worker.

  “The booths are for sitting only, Ray,” shouts Dino as he wipes his hands on the front of his apron.

  “Sorry, Dino!” Ray waves me over and plops back down. I ball my hands into fists to stop picking and take a deep breath. When I reach the booths, Ray slides over and pulls me next to her. I sink into the vinyl.

  “Guys, this is Stevie,” Ray says, and it’s déjà vu, the same scene from all my past schools. The one where I’m on display, new eyes staring at me, like I’m an exhibit at the zoo. I run my hand through my hair and tug at the bottom of my ripped jean shorts. “This is Tom Walker, Jenna Reed, and I think you’ve already met Brent Miller.”

  My stomach shoots into my throat as Brent eyes me from across the booth. He bites off the end of a french fry and smiles, his light brown hair so shiny with gel it almost looks wet. A small Band-Aid covers a patch of skin above his right eye.

  “You have anything else you want to say to me, new girl?” Brent’s still smiling, like he’s messing with me, but not in the way that he messes with Shane. It’s like he’s amused by me, like I’m a cute wind-up toy from the drug store. He laughs to himself and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, missing a small drop of ketchup on his chin.