by Ann Aguirre
“Some of us are heading over to the Coffee Shop to wait for our rides,” Theo says.
I take that as an invitation, but I’m not interested. “I need to get started on my homework, but thanks. Next time?”
“Totally,” Kimmy says.
“That wasn’t horrible,” Mel is saying as the four of them stroll off.
“Next meeting’s at the library, usual time,” Gwen shouts and gets random finger gestures from people who are so done for now.
“So what’s next, Princess? Can we save a kitten from a tree?” Lila opens her eyes obnoxiously wide, so she looks like an anime character.
“Not tonight. I have to get home. And please don’t call me that.”
“Sorry.” She actually sounds it. “Old habits.”
I surprise myself by asking, “You want to come?”
She pauses, cocking her head in apparent contemplation. We’ve never done that, but she said she wanted us to be better friends. That means hanging out, right? Since I’m new at this, I’m winging it.
Finally she says, “Why not? Let me call my mom.” The conversation that follows is reassuringly normal. I hear Lila’s side, answering typical parental questions, then she hands me the phone with a sigh. “She requires corroboration that I’m running with a new crowd.”
“Hi, this is Sage.”
“Nice to meet you. Well, sort of.” Lila’s mom sounds friendly, curious, and desperately hopeful. “Did Lila really participate in some kind of project?”
“Yes, ma’am. We cleaned up the vacant lot between the dry cleaner’s and the hardware store. You can drive by and check it out if you like. I think it looks great. I’ve invited her to dinner at my house. If you want, I can have my aunt call you when we get there.”
She’s a little choked up. “No. No, that’s all right. I’m so happy she’s making some new friends.”
“Bye, Mrs. Tremaine.” I hand the phone back to Lila, who leans her head back in the classic Why-God-why pose.
“Well, that ranks among the more humiliating moments in my life. She doesn’t trust me at all anymore.”
“How come?” I ask.
“I got busted with some weed a while back. The stupid thing is, it wasn’t even mine. And I know everybody says that, but it really wasn’t. It was just stupid. Everything I’ve done in the last two years is stupid, starting with Dylan.”
“Dating him or dumping him?”
She cuts me a look. “What do you think?”
“The first thing.”
“Brilliant.”
When I turn, I nearly run into Shane, who’s come up behind me. His cheeks are flushed from wind and sun, his hair tumbling into his eyes. My fingers itch to brush it away, like he did for me once, but I’m not brave enough, especially with Ryan and Lila looking on. I tell myself that his smile warms just for me as he gazes down, that his so-blue eyes gain sparkle, but that might be wishful thinking. I wasn’t kidding when I said I don’t know anything about guys. If I did, surely I’d have figured out Ryan’s not-so-cunning scheme long before he told me.
“I’m heading home,” Shane says, like he needs to tell me.
“See you tomorrow.” It’s a nothing of an exchange, but I’m smiling when I include Ryan in that statement, offering a parting nod.
“You want me to walk you home?” Ryan asks as Shane moves off down the sidewalk.
Lila takes half a step forward. “We’re fine.”
I know Shane has a five-mile walk ahead of him, and there might not be anything to eat. Dammit, I know too much about him now, and it bothers me. He doesn’t want me to feel sorry for him; and I don’t. I just desperately want to take care of him because, from what he’s said, it’s been a long time since anybody did. Since his mom was sick, she couldn’t, and his dad bailed. Plus, it will be dark soon—before I can think better of it, I run after him, leaving Lila and Ryan staring.
“Wait!” I’m digging into my backpack as I run. “You need some tape.”
“I do?” He’s adorable in his bemusement.
“Yes, it’ll keep you from getting hit at night.
“You realize there will be four cars on the road, maybe, the whole way home?”
“I don’t care. Please wear it?” If he makes me admit I’m worried about him, I will melt into a puddle of embarrassment. But I seem to have internalized my aunt’s fears.
“Okay, damn.” But there’s a fond note in his exasperation. I hope. Muttering, he takes the reflector tape and sticks it on his army jacket. “Better?”
“Yeah. Thank you.”
“G’night, Princess.” Somehow, when he says it, I don’t even mind … because he doesn’t mean it as a jab. Shane touches my nose lightly, then goes, glimmering, down the darkening street.
“That was kind of adorable,” Lila observes when I retrace my steps.
Ryan doesn’t seem to think so. In fact, he looks like I punched him in the stomach. He makes a good recovery, though, pasting on a smile. If I didn’t know him so well, I’d think he was fine. This is how his face looks just before killing a bug. Ryan loathes insects.
“So, taco night.”
I hope he’s not expecting an invite. My aunt’s chipotle seitan tacos are delicious; and he won’t be having any for a while. “Yep. Have a good night.”
Lila takes my arm in case I’m tempted to linger, but I’m not. I push my bike for a block before saying, “It’s over two miles. I’ll pedal. You can ride.”
“Seriously?” She shakes her head, but climbs on it.
This is less fun when I’m doing the work, but it’s good for me. It’s half past seven by the time we get to my house. The lights are on inside, which means Aunt Gabby is home and cooking. I push through the front door, calling out a greeting, and wipe my feet. She comes to the kitchen doorway, wearing her cute sunflower apron.
“Oh, you didn’t tell me we were having a guest.” But she’s glad.
Though she never says anything, she worries about my socialization. She thinks I try too hard to be positive and she’s afraid I don’t put enough effort into making friends. But she doesn’t realize how tough it is not to backslide after a bad day. I keep my temper under lock and key and, mostly, I’m okay. I treat rage like an alien that hides in a corner of my brain. My aunt is devoted to ensuring my life is as normal as possible—and I’m happy I’m done with therapy, finally. If I lose it, even once, I’ll have to go back, which is why I take such care never to lose my temper.
“This is Lila.”
Who says, “I’d shake, but we’ve been garbage picking. Is there somewhere I can wash up?”
“This way.” I show her to the bathroom, decorated in Aztec style, with orange and yellow accents. In the middle of winter, it’s a burst of much-needed warmth.
“Cute house.”
I beam because my aunt and I spent hours picking out things together; she said it would make me feel more at home—and she was right. I love this house. It’s pretty much the only real home I’ve had since I was seven years old.
“Dinner’s done!” Aunt Gabby calls.
At first, Lila is skeptical of seitan tacos, but once we load them up with peppers, onions, cheese, pico de gallo, and sour cream, her eyes say, “yum.”
“I’d probably eat a shoe, prepared like this.”
My aunt grins. “You’ll love it, I promise.”
“You should try her lasagna,” I say, three tacos later. “She makes it every other Sunday because the cheese poundage she uses is a sin somewhere.”
Lila laughs. “I could be down with copious amounts of cheese. Huh. Why does that sound so wrong?”
I make the I-can’t-even face at her while snarfing the last of my black beans and corn.
Smiling, Aunt Gabby starts to clear the table, but I jump to my feet. “No way, it’s my turn.”
Though I don’t say so, it’s always my turn. I have to earn my keep. Lila raises a brow at me; I guess she’s never seen anyone so eager to clean up. I have my reasons.
<
br /> My aunt relaxes back into her chair with a tired, appreciative smile. “Thanks.”
It’s nice listening to them talk while I work. My aunt seems to like Lila, who’s on her best behavior, though she’s still a little sharp on some notes. She wouldn’t be herself without a little sarcasm. Their laughter is warm, contented, and I enjoy the feeling. It occurs to me that this is the perfect time to talk to my aunt, while there’s a witness.
“Uhm. I have good news and bad news,” I say at the next pause.
Aunt Gabby comes over to the sink, propping a hip beside me. “Bad first.”
This is SOP for us. “I got two Fs, both in geometry. One was a test, the other a quiz.”
Through clenched teeth, she asks, “What’s the good news?”
“I found a tutor, and I think I did a lot better on the quiz I took today. He said he can help me bring my grade up to a B by the end of the term.”
“That is good news. Okay.” Aunt Gabby exhales, pushing the stress out of her body. “I’ll spot you a couple of bad grades, but you better not bring me a D or an F on your report card.”
“I won’t, I promise.”
“I’ll have to get medieval.” She tries to maintain a stern look but she just can’t do it, and we both burst out laughing. “So, a he-tutor? A not-Ryan he?”
Oh, crap.
“Yeah.” Hopefully I’m not the color of a Christmas ornament right now.
“Hot?” she asks Lila.
Who tilts her head and asks, “Shane?”
I nod.
“Then yeah,” she tells my aunt. “A little grunge, a little emo, but a hundred percent cute.”
“He is not emo.”
“Sorry. Dreamo.” She’s not sorry at all; she’s loving this, and so is my aunt.
Who asks, “Is that a thing?”
“No,” I say at the time Lila answers, “Totally.”
“Dreamo is not a thing.”
Lila has an argument ready. “Sure it is. Dreamy plus emo equals dreamo. Shane.”
Aunt Gabby laughs. The worst part is, if she means it, like, he daydreams a lot and doesn’t talk much, then yeah. Well, whatever. I’m not bickering with them. Muttering, I finish up the dishes, and by this time, it’s almost nine.
“Where do you live, Lila?” my aunt asks. “I can run you home.”
“It’s not that far. I could walk—”
“Forget it,” I say. “Unless you plan on letting her cover you in reflective tape.” The irony of me coming across protective with Shane doesn’t escape me.
“Never. Not in a thousand years.” Lila shakes her head repeatedly.
“Then get in the car.”
While my aunt gets her keys, Lila hugs me unexpectedly. “Thanks. Your aunt is great. I mean, seriously great. You’re so lucky.”
“I know.”
“The way you two are together, it’s seems so easy. You can actually talk to her without worrying she’ll rip your head off or give you an hour lecture.”
“Yeah. I’m lucky all right.”
But I wonder if Lila would still think that if she really knew me. I wonder if she’d still want to be my friend.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When my aunt gets back from dropping Lila off, I remember to ask, “Do you know of any place that’s hiring?”
She cocks her head. “Aren’t you happy at the Curly Q?”
“Not for me. For my friend. Shane.”
“The dreamo guy who’s tutoring you in geometry?” She knows perfectly well who he is.
But I nod anyway. “Yeah, he could use a part-time job after school.”
“I saw a sign that they were looking for somebody over at the P&K.”
“Better than DQ. I’ll let him know. Thanks.”
“Not a problem.” She sinks down onto the couch with a weary sigh.
I head to the kitchen to make tea; it’s our nightly ritual, one we started early on, so we’d always have a few minutes a day to catch up. Prowling through the cupboards, I look at all the interesting and exotic choices. Tonight seems like it calls for some green matcha, so I boil the water and prepare the cups. There’s something calming about the process, and by the time I bring the cups back to the living room, she’s already curled into the pillows.
See how helpful I am? There’s no reason to send me back to state care. I’m an asset. I don’t cause trouble. I make your life easier. I hope she thinks that when I do nice things. I hope she keeps me.
She takes the mug and warms her fingers around it before taking a sip. “So tell me.”
“How do you know there’s anything up?”
“You just confirmed it.”
I have to smile. It would be impossible for me to put anything over on my aunt. She’s ridiculously smart. So I dump the whole mess with Ryan in her lap, hoping it will distract her from Shane. I am not ready to talk about him. Maybe there’s nothing to say, anyway.
“So,” I finish, “do you think I’m overreacting?”
She looks positively astonished. “Ryan? We’re really talking about Ryan.”
“Yep. Apparently he’s got game.”
“I suppose this explains a few things,” she says thoughtfully.
I summon a smile. “I kinda wish he was gay.”
Aunt Gabby ticks the points off her fingers as she considers. “Let see if I have this straight. You’re hurt because he went after some older girl when you kind of liked him. You’re upset that he used and lied to you … because that’s not the way you treat a friend.”
“That’s the gist.”
“Do you still like him?”
“Not as a boyfriend. But … I’ll probably forgive him. Eventually.”
“Then you need to ask yourself why you’re punishing him. Is it ego or are you trying to teach him a lesson?”
“I’m not—” I start, but I totally am.
I’m changing my life, hoping he’ll see how awesome I am and be sorry he went after this Cassie person instead. Which is so immature since I don’t even want to be with him. Sometimes I hate how perceptive my aunt is. She’s also incapable of being mean to anyone, even the hyper-querulous Mr. Addams, who gets in line with four things at the P&K and then argues for half an hour about the price of three of them. Gabby says he’s just lonely.
“You think I should forgive him, don’t you?”
“Is it worth damaging your friendship permanently?” she asks. “Everybody makes mistakes, sweetheart. But if you can live with the possibility that this silence between you might last forever, if that’s what you want, then go ahead.”
“No,” I say softly. “But I also don’t want the whole school thinking we’re back together.”
“Make it clear you’re not.”
“How?” I demand.
“Post it on Facebook.”
Sometimes she just doesn’t get it. “It’s not like the whole school sees my wall. And it would be so lame to write, ‘Dear World, I have forgiven Ryan McKenna, but we are not dating.’”
“I see your point. Then let him squirm a little longer and see what you come up with.”
“Thanks.” I finish up my tea and lean down to hug her.
When I pick up my backpack, I can feel that it’s vibrating. I don’t let on as I carry the bag down the hall. Once I’m in my bedroom, I pull out my cell and check. Four texts from Ryan. Before I read them, sadness suffuses me. Even after I forgive him, things will never be the same between us.
Text one: its been a rly long time since i felt this bad
Text two: i miss u, i hate this
Text three: so do u like him?
Text four: just tell me what to do
That’s the problem; I have no idea. But my aunt’s words echo in my head, and I work my thumbs over the tiny keypad on the phone. Once I type the reply, I hesitate before hitting send.
i dont know
His answer comes so fast that he must’ve been watching for a possible reply. at least ur talking to me again, thats a start
<
br /> I leave it there because I don’t know what else to say. After plugging in my phone, I head to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. Peering closer, I see that my cheeks are positively aflame with new freckles from the lot cleanup. Awesome. I spit and rinse, exhausted by this point.
Unlike some nights, I have no trouble whatsoever sleeping, which means I wake up late. I get ready in a hurry, then gulp a quick breakfast of oatmeal and fruit. Aunt Gabby is running around with one shoe, but I don’t have time to help her look for it. I aim a kiss at her, but she darts off, so I only hit the back of her head. Close enough.
“I’m gone,” I call, grabbing my phone and my backpack.
My bike is in the shed around back, so I run for it. At this point I’m not even sure if I match, but hopefully, the outfit’s not horrible. I grabbed the first three things I found in my clean laundry basket, so this could be interesting. I pedal like crazy for the first mile, and then—because I’m tired—I slow down. If luck’s with me, I made up enough time so I won’t catch a tardy.
When I coast into the parking lot, a few people are still milling around, but not many. So the warning bell’s already rung, leaving me about a minute to get to class. No time to stop at my locker, but I have everything I need in my backpack. I go through the hall at a dead run, ignoring the teacher who yells at me. I manage to dive into my chair as the second bell rings.
With a start like this, I figure the day’s going to suck.
Only it doesn’t work out that way. Classes are fine; or at least, I don’t get in any major trouble. I sit quietly, turn in homework when requested, and once, I even make eye contact with Ryan and give him a half nod. He still looks exhausted and sad, and I don’t notice anybody who looks worse, which makes me feel good. So I leave him a Post-it on his locker; I can’t tell him he’s everything, but …
You tell the best stories.
He’s already reading it as I pass by. I don’t know what he expected to see, but he seems happy I reached out. Maybe forgiveness won’t take as long as I thought. I’m smiling when I get to Mackiewicz’s class, where I get my quiz back … and it’s a C+. I can’t wait to show Shane. He’s already looking at me expectantly, so I flash my paper, and a huge grin spreads across his face. The bruises are fading, finally, so he’s even better looking in that quiet way.
