Incoming Text Messages During the Closing
Credits of Halloweentown
Rafael
Now you have my number and you can text me. Happy?
Me
Very.
Rafael
I’ll probably throw this brick away tonight.
Me
You won’t. You’ll become an addict like the rest of us.
Rafael
I think your mom is watching us.
Me
Hence the beauty of the text message.
Rafael:
Hence! This is all very sophisticated.
Me
What’d you expect?
Rafael
smh
c u l8r
Me
No. Stop.
I can’t sleep.
I close my eyes, and my mind drifts off and rewinds the night until I’m in the kitchen with Rafael. In my imagination, my back is pressed up against the kitchen sink. The smell of spearmint gum is as strong as if he were actually there with me. Headlights from a car pass through my window. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter to keep the fantasy from slipping away. I say something flirty and funny before leaning in for a kiss.
If only real life was as easy as a daydream.
With a sigh, I flick on the lamp by my bed, pick up Know Your Onions, and try to lose myself in its pages. But images of Rafael’s hurt expression won’t leave me alone. Nausea floods my stomach as I replay the moment when he stuck out his hand for me to shake.
It’s the same nausea I got the day Parker Evans found those pictures of me with the braces and the acne and lumpy, lopsided boobs. At twelve years old, I had the brilliant idea to stuff my bra with toilet paper. When Mom took my picture, I thought it was because I suddenly looked more mature. Not because I looked like a silly little girl playing dress up, and she wanted pictures to post online. When Parker passed those pictures around school, I felt humiliated. Worse than that, I felt exposed. Suddenly, I didn’t just feel awkward. I was awkward. Full stop. Parker had the receipts, the tangible proof that I was a loser, and it was proof that every kid at school could carry in their pocket. There was no hiding from it.
My embarrassing doorstep scene with Rafael may not have been caught on camera, but I still feel humiliated, like anyone who looks at me will see how pathetic I am. My cell phone sits on the table next to my bed, mocking me with silence. No texts. No calls. No direct messages or likes or comments or any of it. Ugh. Thanks to social media, there are so many ways to be ignored.
Rafael probably hates me now, which is understandable. I invited him here to watch a lame, old movie with my family and then made him play board games with my family. And then, because none of that was bad enough, I basically told him I’m ashamed to be seen with him.
I’m the worst.
I pull my pillow over my face and groan. My head hits something hard. I toss the pillow aside and grab Mom’s journal, tilting it toward the light for a better look.
Holding it in my hands makes me feel uneasy. My gut tells me she wouldn’t want me to read it. The entire reason people keep journals is to write down the things they can’t say out loud. She doesn’t like people to know her real secrets. Her life is misleading that way. Thousands of people double tap her pictures every day and think they know Ashley Dixon, but they don’t know that she dyes her gray hair, edits her smile lines, and drinks diet soda for breakfast. They don’t know that she cries herself to sleep at night when she misses my dad. They don’t know that one of her perfect daughters is sitting here in bed thinking about betraying her privacy.
Privacy. As if that word has any meaning in our house. Poppy and I have never had any, so maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world to take some of Mom’s.
January 15
I’m not pregnant. I think Jason is more disappointed than I am. Logically, I know we’re still young and we have plenty of time to get pregnant, but it’s still hard not to be disappointed after another failed month. There’s nothing I want more than to hold my baby in my arms. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Even when I was in high school I knew I wanted to be a mom.
In high school, my mom ran track and wrote for the school newspaper. I close my eyes and picture a younger version of Mom doing normal teenage stuff, but the image doesn’t compute. All I can see is my forty-two-year-old mom running around a track with a baby strapped to her body in one of those slings. I can’t think of her as anything other than a mom. Apparently, neither could she. It’s so weird that she thought about babies when she was my age. Sometimes it’s hard to believe we’re related.
I turn to the next page.
January 17
I’m so mad at Jason I can’t see straight. We got into a fight about something stupid over dinner. I don’t remember what started it, but then everything spiraled out of control. Before I knew it, we were yelling at each other and I told him that he’s working way too much and that he never wants to spend time with me and then he got mad at me and said I don’t appreciate the fact that he’s in school full time and working. By this time, I was crying into my spaghetti and he stormed out the front door.
I know it wasn’t fair to blame him for working so much but I get so lonely sitting here all night waiting for him to come home. When I have a baby, it will be better. I’ll be able to spend my time with her (or him). If I ever have a baby. I’m starting to doubt it will ever happen.
This is the kind of thing that Mom would never write in the blog, because it’s not perfect. Messy, uncomfortable, real life has never been Ashley Dixon’s forte.
My eyes begin to droop near the end of January. I slip the journal back under my pillow and finally nod off to sleep.
My hands are jittery by the time I get to school on Monday, but it turns out I don’t need to be nervous. Rafael acts as if nothing ever happened, like he forgot all about the weekend.
Relief washes over me when he sits next to me at lunch, but paranoia is hot on its heels. Despite the way our nights ended, there was also a lot about the weekend that was really great. Eating candy corn, teaching him how to use Scratch, and the thump of my heart when he got close to me in the park come to mind. I don’t want him to forget all of that. Is it possible that three minutes of awkwardness were enough to trump two evenings spent together?
Rafael is friendly and funny at lunch, but he keeps a careful distance from me and spends most of his time talking to Poppy and Olivia. At least he’s still talking to me. Despite everything I’ve done, he’s making an effort to be my friend.
The week drags. One school day seems to multiply into a hundred, and by the time the final bell rings I’m itchy with the anticipation of getting home to read Mom’s journal. You couldn’t pay me to read her blog, but for some reason, I can’t make myself put down her book of secret thoughts. I lock myself in my room and read until my eyes start to burn. In early March, she finds out she’s pregnant. From then on, she writes about being sick, how happy she is, and lists of baby names.
It’s the most interesting part of my life until Friday morning at breakfast.
“Jackson’s in town this weekend. I invited him and Cami over for dinner tonight.” Mom washes down a bite of toast with a sip of Diet Coke.
I choke on my cereal. “What? Why is he in town?” I didn’t think I’d have to deal with him until Thanksgiving break.
“He totaled his car. Everyone is fine, thank goodness, but Cami’s taking him to buy a new one. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.”
“We don’t really talk anymore.” I turn to Poppy. “Did you know he was coming home this weekend?”
She shakes her head. “Please. I talk to the boy less than you do.”
“Not possible,” I mumble into my breakfast, remembering the unanswered texts and the others with bare-bones responses. My body is trained to blush when Jackson’s name comes up, and the familiar heat starts creeping into my chest. It’s a bad habit that’s impossible to
shake.
Mom frowns. “You have been friends for so long. You should try to stay in touch.”
“Emily and Erica and I are hanging out after dinner.” Poppy turns to me. “You can come, if you want.”
“Hard pass.”
“They’re not who you think they are.” Her voice is firm, but I’m not interested in rehashing an argument we’ve have a hundred times.
“Jackson will be bored if you leave, Claire,” Mom says. “And anyway, Cami told me he’s excited to see you.”
I sit up a little straighter. “Really? He said that?”
Poppy narrows her eyes. “I thought you didn’t care what he thinks.”
I silently curse my skin for blushing without my consent. “I don’t.”
Judging by the way Poppy rolls her eyes, she doesn’t believe me. I can’t say that I blame her.
“Have you ever been to Boo! At the Zoo?” Rafael asks from across the lunch table, where Olivia is sitting by his side. I try not to be jealous of their close proximity but fail spectacularly. Poppy is next to me, folding a car wash flyer into one of those cootie catchers we used to play with when we were kids.
I shake my head. “What is it?”
“I need a marker.” Poppy opens my bag and paws through it until she finds a teal Sharpie. She pulls the cap off with her teeth and begins scribbling fortunes on the small paper square.
“It’s a Fall Festival-type thing at the Phoenix Zoo this weekend. They have lights in the animal exhibits and music and food. Want to go with me?” Rafael’s eyes light up the way they did the first day I met him, and he looks more excited than he has all week.
Poppy whistles under her breath as she continues to write.
I ignore her and focus on Rafael, thrilled that he’s asking me on a date.
He turns to Olivia. “You and Poppy should come too.”
Poppy’s head snaps up from her fortunes in time to see my smile slip off my face. He’s not asking me on a date. It takes a few seconds for my mouth to catch up with my brain and realize I still want to say yes. How could I say anything other than yes? A night at a Halloween festival with Rafael is bound to be a blast, even if it’s not a date.
“We can’t. We have a family dinner tonight.” Poppy’s voice brings me back to reality and layers on extra level of disappointment. She scribbles another fortune.
“On a Friday?” His eyes dart between us.
“With family friends,” I clarify, hoping he’ll realize that I’m not blowing him off. “Someone is coming in from out of town.”
“Can you get out of it?”
I shake my head. “Sorry.”
“I’m free tonight,” Olivia says.
Poppy puts the cap back on the Sharpie and folds the origami cootie catcher. She pinches the bottom between her index fingers and thumbs and holds it out to Olivia. “You’re first!”
Olivia points to one of the quadrants and Poppy pulls it back to see which one she chose.
“Smiley face?” I ask, staring at the face-like blob with a gap tooth.
“Jack-o’-lantern. Duh. H-A-L-L-O-W-E-E-N.” Each time she says a letter, she moves her fingers to open the cootie catcher up and down or side to side. Olivia chooses one of the inside quadrants. Poppy opens it and shoots me a look.
“What does it say?” Olivia cranes her neck to read the fortune. Rafael laughs and puts his hands behind his head, clearly amused by our venture into elementary school entertainment.
“Something spooky will happen to you this weekend,” Poppy reads in a low, husky voice.
“Ooh. Sounds intriguing. What do you think, Rafael?”
He looks at me, and I turn away from his gaze so he won’t see my jealousy. “Definitely! We should hang. It’ll be fun,” he says to Olivia.
“Your turn.” Poppy thrusts the cootie catcher at me, nudging my nose with the sharp paper corners. I don’t feel like playing anymore, but I point to one of Poppy’s sketches anyway.
“B-O-N-E-S.” Her fingers move the paper back and forth.
Rafael leans his chair forward on its two front legs to see the picture. “Dinosaur?”
“Dog skeleton,” Poppy says as she opens a paper flap. I choose a quadrant for her to read. “You will have a romantic weekend with an old flame. Interesting.”
I jump at the sound of Rafael’s chair slamming back to the floor. He picks up a French fry and jams it in his mouth.
After we’ve left the cafeteria, I grab Poppy’s hand before she can run to class. “What the hell? Is that really what my fortune said?” I’m dimly aware that it sounds like I believe in fortunes, but what I believe in is Poppy’s inclination to meddle.
She shrugs. “I’m trying to help you.”
“Well, stop.”
“Why are you so worked up?”
Because I have to spend the weekend with Jackson. Because Rafael is going out with Olivia. Because I cannot stop reading my mom’s secret journal even though I know she wouldn’t want me to. “I . . . I don’t know. Just mind your own business, okay?”
“Poppy’s Paper Fortunes make no promises.” She winks and saunters off, leaving me with nothing but an uneasy feeling.
Incoming Text Messages
Jackson
Guess who’s coming to town?
Me
Sorry about your accident. Glad you’re okay.
Jackson
Thanks
You’ll be around Friday? I think we’re coming for dinner.
Me
Would we even be friends if it weren’t for our moms?
Jackson
What?
Me
Never mind. I’ll be here.
Jackson
Cool. See you soon!
Butterflies bang painfully against my ribs when I open the door and see Jackson standing in front of me. He looks just as good as he did the last time I saw him.
No. He looks better. Older, even though it’s only been a few months.
Sun-bleached curls fall across his forehead. He’s wearing flip-flops, shorts, and a tank top. His ever-present uniform. He flashes a smile, revealing the whitest teeth I’ve ever seen outside of a toothpaste commercial.
“Hey, Clarabelle.” The nickname from my childhood catches me off guard, and suddenly he’s pulling me in for a hug. Behind him, Cami steps into the house. She’s almost six feet tall with an athletic body that she developed running marathons. Her dark blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and her teeth glisten as white as Jackson’s. Mom and Poppy walk into the room, and in a matter of seconds everyone is saying hi and hugging each other and acting like we’re long-lost relatives at a family reunion.
The sun sets over our swimming pool while we eat burgers on the patio. Everyone chats happily as we pass the food around, and it feels like no time has passed, especially when Jackson puts his arm around me and pulls me close for the benefit of Mom’s camera. Mom and Cami gossip about the neighbors, while Jackson and Poppy argue over the merits of Arizona State versus UC San Diego. I close my eyes and can almost make myself believe that it’s last spring, that prom hasn’t happened yet, and that Jackson still lives in the house down the street instead of in a dorm room by the ocean.
I’m hit with a vivid memory of two summers ago. Jackson was stretched out on a pool floatie, his golden abs on glorious display, his damp curls falling over his forehead. I pretended to need a drink, but when I climbed out of the pool I snuck a picture of him. Not because I wanted it for myself (though I did), but because I wanted other people to see it.
Poppy was the first to notice the Jackson Effect. The way pictures of him got more likes and comments than any others. My status rose simply by Jackson’s proximity. It was the first time in my life I was getting more attention than Poppy. I pretended not to care, but in that moment, I knew my facade was a lie. Poppy could never compete with that picture. Jackson was my ticket to first place.
Cami lifts her gla
ss and looks at Mom conspiratorially. “Have you told the girls the news yet?”
Poppy raises an eyebrow at me. I shake my head in response.
Mom glances at me. “I was going to wait until it was official, but I guess I can tell you now.” She takes a drink, pausing for dramatic effect. “When you girls reached one million subscribers, I put out some feelers and the most amazing opportunity fell in our laps.”
I shift in my chair uneasily. Mom’s had this Cheshire-cat grin before, and it always leads to something bad.
“STARR Network wants to film a Poppy and Claire reality show!” She claps her hands together. Poppy flies out of her chair and tackle-hugs Mom.
“Why?” An entire show about our lives? Don’t people know enough about us?
“Your vlog is funny and stylish and they love the way you play off each other. And the way that video of you went viral?” She shakes her head, smiling at the memory of my humiliation. “They think it could be a hit!”
Poppy pulls me up and throws her arms around me. “Can you believe it?”
I look at Mom. “When would this happen?”
“They want to film for ten weeks next fall.”
“What about school?”
“Who cares about school?” Poppy laughs in my ear. I push her arms off me.
“You could take a couple classes, but nothing that keeps you too busy,” Mom answers.
I sink back into my chair as everyone around me celebrates a future I don’t want.
“Let’s get the wine!” Cami and Mom disappear inside. A giddy Poppy follows soon after to meet up with her friends, leaving Jackson and me alone on the porch.
“Wow. Can you believe that?” I shake my head, dazed by the speed with which my entire future has changed.
He puts his elbows on his knees and leans forward over his clasped hands. “It’s pretty exciting.”
“Is it?” If Jackson thinks this is something I’ll be excited about, he doesn’t know me at all. Maybe he never did.
He drums his fingers on his legs as silence falls between us. It seems almost impossible that we used to have so much to say to each other. Now that he’s in college, we have nothing in common.
Just for Clicks Page 12
