All Our Worst Ideas

by Vicky Skinner

  “What are you talking about? You don’t want to go to Missouri State? Then why didn’t you say something?”

  “It’s not Missouri State,” I say. I could build another lie, but this has to end. Might as well be now. “I don’t want to go to college.”

  She freezes, her whole body going still and her eyes going wide like I just told her a meteor is about to crash right into our living room. “What?” she finally says, her arms stiff at her sides. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the fact that college isn’t for me. I want to own my own record store, and I think I can do that if I stick with Brooke. I don’t want to go to college.”

  “Where is this all coming from?” she asks. “You’ve never said anything to me about wanting to own a record store.”

  I throw my hands up. “Because the only time you talk to me is when it’s about college. What about everything else? What about asking me about my girlfriend or about my job? Or about how Dad is doing? You don’t care if I have friends. You don’t care if I’m happy. You just care that I go to fucking college!”

  She looks shocked for a second, but then her jaw tightens. “Don’t talk to me like that. This isn’t about us, Oliver. This is about you lying. Gap year, huh? I can’t believe you. Were you just going to string me along and let me pay for everything while you lived comfortably, never growing up and never doing anything for your future?”

  “Hey, I pay rent here!”

  “Oh, give me a break, Oliver. Paying rent does not make you an adult.”

  I look at her, my mom’s face so packed with shame and disappointment that my chest starts to ache. “I wasn’t going to string you along,” I say, insulted that she would even suggest it.

  “But you were never planning on going to college.” She says it with such finality that I know it’s not really a question, but I answer it like it is.

  “No, I was never planning on going,” I say. Because it’s the truth. Ever since all this started, the GPAs and the standardized tests and the applications and the transcripts, I’ve known that college isn’t the place for me. Everyone was planning the next four years of their lives, and I was just waiting for the moment that they would move on and forget about me. And they did, right on schedule. I told myself I was still trying to decide, but I always knew.

  I think of Amy, waiting for me in her empty house. She’s a valedictorian, and she doesn’t care if I go to college and get a degree. It doesn’t matter to her. She thinks I’m worth something without all that.

  “College is not going to make me successful, Mom. It’s not some magical ticket to a successful life. There will be too many people, and the classes will be boring, and I’ll be in debt for the rest of my life.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “But it’s also an opportunity. And you will never make it anywhere in life without it.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “Enough with the language.”

  I want to roll my eyes because I’m nineteen, and I can talk however I want, but she’s already moved on.

  “This is not how it works, Oliver. You will go to college, and you will get an education.”

  “No, I won’t. You can’t make me.” I realize I sound like a child, and that just makes me even more mad. She’s so fucking capable of turning me into a ten-year-old.

  “Is this about your father?”

  I bark out a laugh. “You mean my father, who gave up his entire life for us? My father who still wasn’t good enough after sacrificing everything?”

  “Your father who never made anything of himself. Ever. He could have gone to school, like I did, and gotten an education, but instead he decided that he was too good for all that. And now look at him.”

  We stare at each other, our mouths clenched, our eyes angry.

  “You don’t get to be the one that decides someone’s not worth anything because they didn’t make the choices you did.” I know the words finally strike something in her because her eyes go wide, her mouth pops open a little, and I think maybe she’s going to concede. Maybe she’s going to finally tell me that I’m right, and that she’s been judging the situation all wrong this whole time. But that’s not how it happens at all.

  Her eyes alight with fire, and she says, “I think it’s time for you to find somewhere else to live.”

  “What?” Her words cause a pit to open inside me. Not because I don’t want to leave, and not because I’m scared of not having somewhere to come home to. It’s the fact that she’s the one to pull the trigger. That she’s kicking me out. My own fucking mother.

  “Fine,” I say, then turn and walk away from her so she won’t know how upset I am. She’s right. It’s time for me to find somewhere else to live. I can feel her watching me as I pack a few bags, can feel the heat of her gaze as I grab a handful of clothes, an extra pair of shoes, things that’ll get me through until I can come back and get the rest of it.

  I gather my bags in my arm, sling my backpack on, and when I turn back to the door, Mom is blocking the way, and I wait. I wait for her to tell me that she didn’t mean it. I wait for her to tell me not to go. We stand like that, looking at each other, until, with a downward curve of her mouth, she steps out of the way to let me pass.

  AMY

  I DON’T KNOW why I’m so nervous. It’s not like it’s the first time we’ve ever been alone together.

  My heart thumps wildly when he knocks on the door, and I have it open in seconds, but what I find is not my Oliver, the one who smiles at me and holds my hand and lights up the whole world. This Oliver is frowning, his eyes exhausted and his body slumped.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, stepping back to let him in.

  He looks down at the carpet between our feet—mine bare, his in sneakers. He shrugs, and I’m worried, for just a second, that he’s going to shut me out again. That he’s not going to tell me.

  But then he says, “My mom kicked me out.”

  “What? Why?”

  “She found out about my college plans. Or lack thereof. Got really pissed. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” His voice breaks on the last word, and I put my arms around him, pressing up on my toes.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I say in his ear, feeling the way he trembles against me. “Everything’s going to be fine. My parents will let you stay here tonight.”

  His trembling subsides, and I feel him take a deep breath before he wraps his arms around me, lifting me up off my feet. “I guess I just wanted her to see me the way you do,” he says. “Like I’m not a failure.”

  I wrap myself around him tighter, closing my eyes and feeling the plaster of his cast digging into my back. “You are anything but a failure, Oli. You just have to figure out what you want to do next.”

  He holds me like that for another minute, and then he lowers me back to the floor, until I’m craning my neck to look up at him again. “I’m here,” I tell him, holding his face between my hands. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”

  His eyes search my face for a long time, and then he’s bending forward, kissing me, pressing me back against the wall of our entryway until I can’t breathe between him and the wall. Oliver has never kissed me like this before: urgent and desperate. It’s scary and exciting, and I can’t stop kissing him, holding him to me, letting his hands roam every part of me that he can find.

  “I’m here,” I say again.

  I can’t remember ever being this close to another person, ever feeling so wrapped up in someone else, so close that our bodies don’t feel like two separate bodies anymore.

  “I love you,” I hear him say, low, under his breath, like he doesn’t mean for me to hear him.

  I close my eyes and press my face into his shirt, latching on to him. My heart is screaming, but I can’t say it back. Because I’m not sure if what I feel for Oliver is love.

  He makes a quiet sound against my neck and then spins us around, moving toward the couch, where he lays me down gently and settles his
weight on me. The urgency has faded, his kisses turning long and slow, and I can feel myself ready to cry because I want to love this boy. I want to feel this way, this feeling of safety and acceptance and something so kind and intimate, forever. I want Oli. My heart wants him.

  So even though I don’t say it back, I press my mouth to his and try to show him anyway.

  OLIVER

  I SLIP OUT of Amy’s house when we hear her parents’ minivan pull into the driveway, moving out the back door quick, even though my body feels heavy and drugged from almost an hour of Amy’s mouth on mine.

  I walk the two blocks to my truck, but as soon as I’m in it, I’m not sure what to do next. Amy offered to talk to her parents, insisting they would let me crash on the couch if I need to, but I have other options.

  Really, I only have one option. The option that makes the most sense.

  I drive to Independence.

  Dad’s porch light isn’t on when I pull up in front of his house, but the lights are on inside. There’s a good chance the porch light doesn’t even work. It’s kind of early, and his truck is still parked in the driveway, although he must be getting ready to leave for work soon.

  As if on cue, the front door opens. Dad turns and props the screen door open with his back while he locks his door. I watch him until he turns around and his eyes catch on my truck, parked against the curb. He frowns in my direction and then walks around the front of the truck, looking both ways before he steps into the street. He comes around the side and knocks on my window.

  “Oli?” he says when I’ve rolled it down, letting in the cool evening air. “What’s going on?” His eyes flit down to the bags on my passenger seat. It’s hard to get used to him like this, clear-eyed and sober.

  “Could I stay with you for a while?”

  AMY

  “OKAY, WELL MAYBE I can text you on my lunch break,” I say into my phone as people file into AP bio. I know I have to get off the phone before our teacher sees, but it’s hard when Oliver sounds so sad, so lonely. He’s been living with his dad for a few days, but he says it feels like years, and I can’t even imagine. I wouldn’t have any clue what to do if my parents kicked me out, other than sit on the floor and cry.

  “You should come see me on my break.”

  Jackson drops down in the seat next to me, and I turn my face away, lowering my voice because I know that he’s the kind of person to eavesdrop, and I really should have thought this through before having this conversation in AP bio.

  “I can’t come see you every time I’m off work. That completely defeats the purpose of my not having to work. I have homework to do.”

  He sighs. “Homework schmomework. I miss you.”

  I smile down at the table, scratching at the black surface with my nail. “I miss you, too. Maybe I can come over and hang out tonight. What time does your dad leave for work?”

  He makes a humming noise in the back of his throat. “Not sure. I think he has a meeting tonight before his shift. I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay.” My voice has gone soft, the way all of me does when I talk to Oli. “Text me.”

  “Amy,” Oli says loudly, like he’s afraid I’ll hang up before he can get his next words out. “I love you.”

  I open my mouth to say it back, want to say it back so bad, but Jackson shifts on the chair next to me, so I just say, “Bye, Oli,” and hang up.

  “You and your boyfriend are so cute,” Jackson says as soon as my phone is back in my pocket.

  “I would appreciate it if you’d mind your own business.”

  “Yeah? Well, I would appreciate it if you’d make your personal phone calls somewhere else.” He turns away from me, and I just roll my eyes because he’s acting like a fourth grader, and it’s embarrassing. For him, not me.

  “Did you get the answer for number five, because I struggled on it for like an hour,” he asks, his voice completely normal, like we’ve been discussing homework this whole time.

  For just a second, I stare at him. “You’re kidding, right? What makes you think I’m going to help you after what you did?”

  Jackson slams his book on the table, making me jump. “Because I apologized, and I really didn’t mean to fuck things up for you.” His eyes find mine, and there’s something about the way he looks at me that has me completely rattled. His eyes drop, and I can’t look away. “Because I need help.”

  I can feel myself wavering. Jackson has always had this power over me. I think about Petra offering to tutor me even though I’ve been awful to her. Does Jackson deserve the same kindness? Maybe. But I’ve never done to Petra what Jackson did to me.

  I turn away from him slightly so that I don’t have to look at his downtrodden expression anymore. “You should have thought about that before you acted like a jackass.”

  He sighs, but I don’t turn to look at his face. Because I know myself well enough to know that I’ll forgive him, and he doesn’t deserve it.

  AMY

  I’M JITTERY. I want to go see Oliver. I want to feel his arms around me. When I get home, it’s to all four of my siblings running around like chickens with their heads cut off and my mother shouting at them in Spanish. Carlos is in the living room watching TV as if he can’t hear all the commotion, and I immediately plug my ears.

  “Mama!” I shout, but with all five of them screaming, no one can hear me. “Mama!” Still nothing but now my mother is chasing my little brothers around with one of her wooden spoons, and I’ve completely given up trying to get anyone’s attention.

  I drop my bag by the door, kick off my shoes, and walk to the mailbox in my socks. I’m the only one in the house who gets the mail for some reason, and because of this, our mailman hates us immensely. There’s always a week’s worth of mail crammed into the box, and today is no different.

  Today is different, however, because today, on top of our stack of crumpled mail is a large white envelope, pristine and undisturbed.

  For that, I will love my mailman forever.

  My hands tremble when I reach in and pull out the envelope. I’m too scared to look at it and too excited not to. And when I finally peek at the return address, my heart leaps up into my throat.

  It’s from Stanford.

  I decide immediately that I don’t want to open it inside. I don’t want all six of my family members breathing down my neck. So I stand there, my feet in the street, and rip open the envelope as cars drive by behind me.

  Dear Amaría,

  Congratulations! It is with great pleasure that I offer you admission to the Stanford University Class of 2025.

  I hold in the scream.

  But just barely.

  Then, very calmly, I put the letter back in the envelope and hide it behind my back while I go into the house. Once I’m inside and certain no one is paying attention to me, I slip the envelope into my backpack and hike it onto my back while stepping into my shoes.

  “I’m going to the library to study!” I call to no one in particular, and then I make a run for it.

  AMY

  I GO STRAIGHT to Oli’s dad’s house in Independence. I haven’t actually been there yet but Oli sent me the address as soon as he moved, and I plug it into the GPS on my phone. I don’t see any vehicles besides Oli’s truck in the driveway, and I pray that his father isn’t home. I don’t want to share this moment with anyone but Oli.

  As soon as he opens the door, I throw my arms around his neck.

  “Hey,” he says, and I don’t miss the fact that he’s freshly showered, his hair still wet and his skin smelling like soap.

  I push him away so that I can reach behind me to pull the letter out of my backpack. When I wave it in his face, his eyes go wide.

  “Did you…?” He snatches it out of my hand and his eyes scan over the page before he lunges at me, lifting me off my feet.

  I laugh into his neck, but when he sets me down, the laughter fades and next thing I know, we’re kissing. I’m not even sure who initiates it, but he lifts me off t
he ground, walking with me wrapped around him, down a hallway.

  “Is your dad home?” I pull back to gasp.

  He shakes his head and then covers my mouth with his again. I close my eyes and clutch him tight until I feel his bed beneath me. He’s kissing me everywhere he can reach, and I’m trying not to shake with nerves.

  “Are you sure?” I ask when he sits up on his knees to take his shirt off.

  He nods and then he’s on top of me again, his weight the most welcome pressure. “I love you,” he says. “I want to. Do you want to?”

  I nod. I let him take my clothes off and then watch him as he takes off his own. When he comes down on top of me and his hips find mine, I bite him on the soft curve of his shoulder.

  And he whispers that he loves me over and over.

  OLIVER

  EVERYTHING SEEMS A little like bliss on Tuesday. I have a hard time focusing at work, choosing instead to daydream about Amy’s skin, about Amy’s arms around me, about the sound Amy made last night when her nails dug into my shoulder.

  “Dear God,” Brooke says to me when she comes into the stockroom to check on me. “Could you be any more obvious?”

  My mood falters a little, but only a little because I don’t think the actual apocalypse could kill my mood right now. “Obvious about what?”

  Brooke leans against the wall, crosses her arms over her chest, and sends me an oh please look. “It couldn’t be any more obvious that you got laid last night if you were wearing a neon sign. In fact, I think I have an I got lucky sign in the back of my car; want me to go get it?”

  I roll my eyes, and my smile slips all the way. “Shut up, Brooke. It’s none of your business.”

  Her eyebrows shoot up. “Wow. That was a defensive response. Must have been really special.”