Starfish

by Akemi Dawn Bowman

  I turn to my mother. She looks 100 percent guilty. “You opened it? Why would you open my letter?”

  “Because,” she starts with a defensive laugh, “we weren’t talking, and if it was good news I didn’t want to have to be fake and suddenly happy for you. I needed time to prepare.”

  “Time?” I repeat.

  “It came yesterday. Don’t be mad.”

  WHAT I WANT TO SAY:

  “Don’t be mad? You opened the most important letter of my life yesterday and didn’t even tell me. And you did it because you needed time to prepare!”

  WHAT I ACTUALLY SAY:

  Nothing. Because she said she needed time to prepare. And that means . . .

  My heart thuds. And thuds. And thuds.

  Oh my God. Oh my God.

  I look back at the envelope. It’s so thin. How can it be so thin if it’s a “yes”?

  I start to pull the letter out. I need to see the words. I need to—

  “You didn’t get in,” Mom blurts out before I get the chance to read anything at all.

  My heart implodes inside my chest.

  She stands up, her arms folded in front of her. “I’m sorry, Kiko. But you didn’t get in. I know you really wanted it, and even though I’m still very upset with you, I do mean it. I’m sorry.”

  I don’t even realize I’m crying until Mom turns into a blurry pink and peach blob. We stand there for a while, me leaking tears like a broken faucet and Mom pulling her arms closer and closer to her own chest.

  Somehow I find the strength to move my feet, and when I’m alone in my room with the door closed and my thoughts drowned out with music, I open the letter.

  I get as far as “We regret to inform you” and then the letter is in the trash can and my face is stuffed so far into my pillow that it practically absorbs into my red, screaming face.

  • • •

  I don’t paint anything at all.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Everyone is talking about college at school. At least, that’s how it feels. They’re either talking about college or graduation tomorrow—doesn’t anyone have anything else to talk about? It’s not like everyone else hasn’t had their letters for months. They’ve had plenty of time to share their college acceptance stories. I haven’t been accepted anywhere, and I feel like my soul has been turned to ash.

  “I’m so sorry, Kiko.” Emery stares at me with big round eyes—eyes that say, “I don’t know what to say or do to make you feel better.”

  Gemma and Cassidy keep looking around the cafeteria uncomfortably. I guess they don’t know what to say either.

  “Can we talk about something else?” My voice shakes.

  Emery tells me about her graduation outfit. Gemma talks about getting her hair cut. Cassidy talks about kissing some guy from her English class.

  I try to listen, but it’s hard when “We regret to inform you” keeps pounding inside my head.

  Ceramics class is even worse because Mr. Miller remembered how badly I wanted to get into Prism. When he asks, and I tell him I was rejected, I get to watch the disappointment color his face. It’s only a drop of what I feel.

  “Well, you can always reapply next year. I’m sure it was very competitive. What are you going to do now?”

  It’s a great question. The question, I guess.

  What am I going to do now?

  I have no backup school. I have a mom who has been encouraging me for more than a year to stay at home and go to community college—which, quite frankly, sounds only a tiny bit better than bathing in acid and letting a coyote eat my legs off. I don’t have anything against community college; I just can’t imagine spending another year living at home with Mom.

  And Uncle Max.

  I feel terrified. I feel completely lost.

  Oh my God, what am I going to do now?

  • • •

  I stare at a blank piece of paper until I crumple it into a ball and stuff it beneath my textbook.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  When I open the front door, I see Emery holding up two containers of Ben & Jerry’s. She’s wearing a minidress covered in cartoon cats and a smile that no one could possibly say no to.

  “Half Baked or Chubby Hubby?” she asks, bouncing on her toes.

  “Half Baked,” I reply, stepping out onto the porch and pulling the door shut behind me. There’s no point inviting her in—Mom’s home.

  I take the ice cream from her and we sit on the step, our legs stretched out onto the walkway. Emery’s are so much longer than mine.

  She pulls two spoons from her bag and passes one to me. We eat in silence, watching the street and letting the sunshine warm us.

  “I really thought I’d get in,” I say quietly.

  “I know,” she says.

  I scrape my spoon against the ice cream, and cookie and fudge goo dribbles down the side because it’s softening quickly in the summer air. I swipe my finger against the container before it drips onto my leg.

  “Sorry. I didn’t bring napkins,” Emery says.

  “Like I’d waste perfectly good Ben and Jerry’s Half Baked?” I shake my head and press my finger to my mouth.

  She laughs and takes another bite. “I kind of wish you were coming to Indiana.”

  “I can’t follow you around the country,” I point out. “Although to be honest, now I kind of wish I was too. God, I’m going to end up in community college. I’m going to end up here.”

  I feel like my organs are all made of stone and they’re crushing me from the inside.

  She shifts her body slightly so she’s facing me, her eyes almost stern. “I know it’s not your dream, but community college isn’t the end of the world. I mean, maybe you could still take some art classes and apply to Prism next year. You’re the best artist I know. I doubt it had anything to do with how good you were—they probably just had too many applicants.”

  “Maybe.” I tuck my legs in so my heels are against the step. “The hardest part wasn’t the rejection. It was having to see everyone’s faces when I told them I didn’t get in. I wanted Prism so bad, but I also wanted the proof that I could do it. Does that make sense?”

  I keep picturing Mom’s face. It was like she knew I wasn’t going to get in. She knew and I didn’t, and she might as well have stabbed me in the heart because that’s how it felt to see how she knew.

  Emery looks back toward the driveway. “You care too much about what other people think. I mean, so what if you fail? So what if it takes a few tries? You’re following your dreams. It shouldn’t matter to anyone else how long it takes you or what your journey is like—it should just matter to you.”

  “You sound like a doctor already,” I say.

  “I’m stealing some of the bullet points from my scholarship essay, but I feel like they work here.”

  I feel myself start to relax. Emery usually has that effect on me.

  The door opens from behind us, and when I look over my shoulder I see Mom in white jeans and a striped tank top.

  “Why are you girls sitting out here? Don’t you want to come inside? I made a pitcher of iced tea.” She steps back, holding the door open wide.

  Emery and I glance at each other suspiciously. Mom never lets us invite our friends inside. Our house might as well be wrapped in yellow crime scene tape—that’s how much of a big deal she’s made over the years about keeping people away.

  “Come on, before the flies come in,” Mom says in her singsong voice.

  Emery hurries after me and I lead her into the kitchen. The TV is off, and there’s a large glass pitcher on the counter with three cups in front of it.

  I set the ice cream down cautiously and sit down at the breakfast bar. Emery copies my movements, eyeing me like she thinks she’s on a hidden-camera show.

  Mom starts pouring tea into the cups, her blond hair pulled back into a high knot. “So, Emery, I heard you’re leaving for college early. You always were so into your academics.”

  Emery nods, her fin
gers twisted together in her lap. “I’m in a hurry to start my life, I guess. The sooner I get my bachelor’s, the sooner I can get into med school.”

  Mom smiles brightly. “You sound so much like Kiko. Always in such a hurry to fly away.” She looks at me with all the blueness of her eyes, like she’s not talking to Emery, she’s talking to me. “It’s not so bad to have to stay near home though. When I was younger, our parents couldn’t wait to kick us out of the house. I wanted my kids to know that they could stay as long as they needed, so they could take their time and decide what they wanted to do with their lives.”

  I’m not sure what she’s doing. I’m not sure what part of this is real. Maybe it’s her way of apologizing about our fight, or sympathizing about me not getting into art school. I don’t understand, because she never makes it easy.

  I can’t help it—I don’t believe her. If she wanted to tell me this, why couldn’t she have said it to me in private? Why did she have to invite Emery inside—which she never does—just to tell her how good of a mom she is?

  “Kiko already knows what she wants to do though, don’t you, Kiko?” Emery nudges me with her knee. She looks up at my mom. “She’s so talented. Prism doesn’t know what a huge mistake they’ve made.”

  Mom sips at her iced tea. “Everything happens for a reason, they say.”

  I pull my eyes away from her because talking about Prism—especially to Mom—is still too raw.

  Emery straightens her back. “That’s true—like running into Jamie again after all these years. It’s fate.” She squints her eyes at me and pulls a goofy smile.

  I feel my cheeks start to warm and distract myself with an obscenely long gulp of tea.

  Mom sets her glass down carefully. “Jamie Merrick?”

  I nod.

  “When was this?”

  “At that graduation party,” I say.

  Mom looks around the kitchen like she’s distracted. “Well, I’m sure that must have been nice for you.”

  When Mom’s back is turned to us, I shake my head at Emery to keep her from saying anything else. I don’t want Mom to know anything else about Jamie. She likes to sniff out joy and squash it like a house spider.

  I don’t want my memories of Jamie getting squashed.

  When Mom turns back to us, her eyes fall to Emery’s forearm. “Are those tattoos?”

  Emery doesn’t pull her arm away like I would have—she pushes it closer to my mom. “Yeah. Want to see?”

  “And your parents were okay with that?” Mom’s mouth doesn’t close, even when she stops speaking.

  Emery shrugs. “They’re kind of laid-back about body art. I mean, I’m salutatorian, so I guess they figured I can’t be a complete mess if I’m getting straight A’s.”

  Mom’s giant soccer-ball eyes land on me next. “Do you have any tattoos? You better not.”

  “No.” I snort. “I hate needles.”

  “You don’t have any tattoos, Mrs. Himura?” Emery asks.

  “She does,” I hiss to Emery.

  Mom points her finger at me. “But I didn’t get it when I was underage. And I completely regret it because I was young and didn’t understand that tattoos were forever.”

  “How did you not know they were forever? Isn’t that like saying you didn’t know ice cream was cold?” I raise my eyebrows.

  Mom rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. Sometimes when we’re young, we don’t understand the concept of forever. We live too much in the moment.”

  “Can I see it?” Emery leans over the counter.

  “No, you most certainly cannot,” Mom says, pouring herself more tea. When the glass reaches her lips, she adds, “It’s not in a child-friendly spot.”

  Emery explodes with laughter, and Mom just watches her with a strange smile on her face. She looks proud—like she thinks she’s won Emery over.

  Except I know Emery. She laughs at everything. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

  I don’t realize I’m scowling until Emery nudges me again and mouths, What’s wrong?

  I shake my thoughts away and try to enjoy my time with Emery, because there’s not much of it left.

  We drink more tea, eat way too much ice cream, and then Emery has to leave. I walk her to the door and she makes a face like we’ve just stepped into an alternate dimension and she has no idea how to react.

  When I walk back into the kitchen, Mom is facing the doorway, her back to the counter. She’s standing there, stoic and eerie, and there are tears streaming down her face.

  My first instinct is concern. “What’s wrong?”

  Mom takes a few erratic inhales and wipes her tears away with her fingers. “Do you really hate me so much that I can’t even get to know your friend a little better?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You looked so irritated that we were having a good time together. I was only trying to be nice.”

  “I don’t care if you want to talk to Emery. You just confuse me. I mean, we had a huge fight. We weren’t even talking. And you never let people inside,” I point out.

  Mom pulls her lips in and shakes her head. “I don’t mind if the house is clean.”

  I grimace. I’m pretty sure she means she doesn’t mind as long as it’s her idea and on her own time. But I don’t say that.

  “It’s hard for me too, you know.” She’s still wiping tears away.

  I don’t understand—she was smiling a few minutes ago. How does someone go from smiling to crying? I’m the one whose college plans recently imploded. Why is Mom acting more emotional than me?

  “You guys always act like I’m not interested in you—but nobody is ever interested in me, and I don’t get mad about it. You guys never want me around.” Her face crumples like she’s about to cry even harder, but the sob never comes.

  “That’s not even true. I do want you around. I invited you to my art show, didn’t I?” She’s the one who didn’t want to be there.

  She looks up at the wall, ignoring my question. “I wanted to be here today, hanging out with you and your friend.”

  Again—she wants to be there as long as it fits into her schedule. I don’t know what to call that, but I certainly wouldn’t call it “wanting to be around.”

  “I feel like you’re embarrassed by me,” she says, her eyes beginning to pool once more.

  “You don’t have to cry,” I say, shifting awkwardly near the doorway. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say; my second instinct is to feel bad for her. “I don’t think those things at all.”

  “I feel like all my kids hate me. My parents never did a thing for me, and I don’t hate them. I don’t get it.” She sniffs.

  “We don’t hate you,” I tell her. The ice starts to thaw, just a little bit, just enough for me to forget that Mom makes the world feel dark.

  “I want us all to get along,” she says quietly. “I do love all of you. I mean it.”

  I nod. My third instinct is to hope—hope that this is some kind of turning point, or that her crying is some kind of sign that things will change.

  It’s strange—hope can make you forget so much, so quickly. That’s why hoping is so dangerous.

  Afterward, Mom gives me her credit card and says she knows I need clothes, so she wants me to order some new things as a graduation present.

  I even manage to forget all about Prism until I’m lying awake in bed at night, realizing I haven’t sketched a single thing all day.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  When the ceremony is over, I sit on the steps of the auditorium with my scarlet-red graduation robes folded in a pile next to me. Emery is somewhere behind me, fluttering around like the social butterfly she’s always been. I sit there, watching the cars disappear from the parking lot one by one, tapping my feet against the concrete and thinking about what I’m going to do with my life.

  When I look back across the pavement, I catch sight of a familiar face.

  Jamie’s hands are stuffed in his pockets, and he lo
oks like he hasn’t decided if he’s moving forward or backward.

  And then he smiles, raises his hand, and waves.

  I wave back, a little too excited, and my chest tightens the closer he gets to me.

  “Congratulations.” He’s standing at the edge of the sidewalk a few feet away.

  “Thanks. What are you doing here?”

  “My cousin is in your class, remember?”

  “Oh yeah. I knew that,” I say. Rick is standing with his parents next to their car. He’s still wearing his graduation robes.

  Jamie brushes his finger against his thick brow. I get the feeling he’s trying to think of an excuse to leave.

  And I feel like I need to give him one. “I’m not sitting here by myself. I’m waiting on Emery,” I say. “So, you know, don’t feel like you have to come over and say ‘hi’ or anything.”

  “No, it’s not—” He stops himself and studies me instead. It takes him a while to say anything, and when he does, he shakes his head like whatever he was thinking doesn’t matter anymore. He sits down next to me, his long arms draped over his knees. “So, what’s the plan? You off to college next?”

  I flatten my mouth. “I was hoping art school, but I didn’t get in. I’m still trying to come up with a plan B.”

  He pauses, holding on to his words like they aren’t quite right in his head yet. “I’m sorry, Kiko. I know how much you always loved to draw.”

  I lift my eyes and follow the trail of his sharp jaw to his dark hair, which is just starting to curl above his ear. I’ve missed him so much. I’ve missed the way we were together. I’ve missed the way he always made me feel, like I was interesting and normal and funny.

  Like I was someone worth being interested in.

  He grins. “I still have some of your drawings, you know. The ones of us as different superheroes are my favorites.” He laughs easily. “Do you remember Klepto Kiko? And Jamie Juggernaut?”

  “Oh my God, yes!” I burst into a fit of laughter. My head rolls to the side and both my hands fly up to cover my face. I can hear Jamie laughing too, and suddenly I really do feel like I’m six years old again and we’re laughing the way we did when we thought we’d stay best friends for the rest of our lives.