The Art of Adapting

by Cassandra Dunn

  “Right,” Abby said. Her heart was hammering. She figured Caitlin was setting her up for something, a rude remark or a cheap shot, but she was trapped. What else could she do but play it out? “So, I heard you changed schools?”

  “Yeah.” Caitlin smiled, as if thrilled about it. “I guess now the soccer team will be a million times better, without me on it.”

  “You weren’t bad,” Abby lied.

  “Please. I hate soccer. My mom just told me I needed a sport because I was getting fat. The best part about switching to Madison, aside from the fact that the kids there are awesome, is that I missed team tryouts. Win-win. I’d much rather be in drama club anyway.”

  “Oh,” Abby said. She was so confused. Who was this girl, and what had happened to the old Caitlin? “You’d be great up onstage.”

  “I know, right? Totally where I belong.” Caitlin flipped her hair and giggled.

  They both bought two tickets and stood near each other, fidgeting while they waited for their guests. Emily finally showed up and took her ticket from Abby with her mouth hanging open as she stared at Caitlin.

  “Hey, Emily!” Caitlin said, like they were friends or something. Em looked at Abby and Abby shrugged. They were seated inside the theater when Caitlin came in, hand in hand with a handsome guy they’d never seen before.

  “I guess that explains that,” Emily said.

  “There’s no explanation for that,” Abby said. The guy was carrying Caitlin’s drink, food, even her purse. “But whatever.”

  “Not your problem anymore,” Emily said, which was true. Abby smiled and nodded.

  “She kind of apologized,” Abby whispered as the lights dimmed.

  “Really? Did you say you forgave her?”

  Abby replayed the conversation in her mind. She shook her head. “Nope.”

  “Good for you,” Emily said. Being unforgiving was totally out of character for Em. Abby laughed and hugged her.

  The next day she went over to Mr. Franks’s house, to meet Celeste in person for the very first time. Abby was nervous, standing on the doormat, Byron idling at the curb to make sure she made it safely inside before taking off.

  Mr. Franks opened the door. He was wearing shorts and a faded T-shirt with a surf company logo on it. Out of his teaching clothes he seemed less intimidating.

  “Hi, Abby,” he said, smiling. “She’ll be right down. Come on in.”

  He waved at Byron, who would be in his class next year, and Abby took a deep breath and stepped in.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked. She followed him through the living room, where the coffee table was hidden under stacks of papers and magazines, into the kitchen, where there were dirty breakfast dishes still sitting in the sink. It was all so normal. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, being in a teacher’s house, but she hadn’t expected it to feel like any old home. “Lemonade?” he asked. “Homemade.”

  “Sure,” Abby said. He poured half a glass of lemonade, filled it the rest of the way with sparkling water, slid it across the counter toward her. “Thanks, Mr. Franks.”

  He cringed like a cartoon character, overdramatically. “Oh, no,” he said. “In my house please call me David. I’m on vacation. You call me Mr. Franks and I feel an instant compulsion to take roll.”

  Abby laughed and noticed his wife was out back, kneeling in a vegetable bed, picking ripe red tomatoes and placing them into a basket. There was a girl with her, sitting on a chair and talking to her, but not helping.

  “That’s Marie, Celeste’s older sister. It’s so nice to have them both home.”

  They were such a normal family. Abby had to reconcile it with her image of him as her teacher. Except that he was more than just her teacher. He was the first person who’d really seen her. She sipped the sparkling lemonade, perfectly tart and sweet and bubbly and refreshing.

  “Thank you,” she said. “For, um, talking to me. I guess Celeste told you that I’m getting help.”

  He smiled at her and nodded. “You look happy. Healthy.”

  Abby heard a clatter of footsteps down the stairs and coming up behind her. She turned just in time to see Celeste running toward her, arms open. “Abby!” Celeste nearly toppled her off the barstool with the force of her hug.

  They pulled back and looked each other over. Mr. Franks was right, they had very similar body shapes. Celeste was lanky and lean, but strong, and developed. They laughed and hugged again. They spent the afternoon on an old tire swing out back, sitting knee to knee and catching up.

  “So, I need to hear more about this boyfriend,” Celeste said. Abby gushed about Gabe until she was sure Celeste was sick of it, then asked about boys in college.

  “Oh, they’re still high school boys, in a lot of ways. Immature. But taller, filled out. And better-looking.” They laughed and ate off the platter of fruits and vegetables that Mrs. Franks served them, freshly picked, sweet, ripe, and juicy. They spun in circles on the tire swing until they were dizzy.

  “College is exhausting,” Celeste said. “Classes, studying, epic finals. Plus staying up all night with the cool people you meet. I just want to lay low this summer. Recharge my batteries. Lounge around the beach with you and see tons of movies. That sound good?”

  Abby was thrilled to hear that Celeste wanted to spend more time together. Abby adored her. She was everything Abby wanted to be. “That sounds perfect.”

  “But I won’t cut into boyfriend time. New love keeps you very busy. I have old high school friends I need to catch up with, too. Don’t you worry about me.”

  “No, I want to see you. A whole summer of you and Gabe and the beach. I have a best friend, too. Emily. She doesn’t get all of this, really. But she’s trying.”

  “I’ll share you with her, too. Maybe we can all see sappy girlie movies together. The ones boyfriends can’t stand.” They giggled and ate tiny red strawberries, freshly picked by Celeste’s mother and still warm from the sun.

  Abby and Gabe saw each other every day, except when they were with their dads. She missed him terribly on those days.

  Gabe came over after a whole day apart, and Abby was so happy to see him that she jumped into his arms. He laughed and swung her around in a circle. Once he settled her down on the ground again, she held up the bag holding his shirt. She’d brought it to her dad’s the previous night, slept with it on her pillow next to her.

  “I need to exchange this shirt,” she told him. “The smell of you is fading.”

  Gabe laughed and pulled his shirt off, right there in the living room. He handed it to her, took the one out of the bag, and put that one on instead.

  “Done,” he said. It was the first time she’d seen him without his shirt on. He was even more beautiful than she’d imagined: tan and lean around his ribs and waist, with defined muscles across his chest. She blushed and looked away even though he was already dressed again.

  “I need a new one, too,” he said. “Before I go.”

  “How long can you stay for?” she asked.

  “How long do you want me to stay for?”

  “Forever?”

  “Forever, then.” He smiled and put his arm around her. Abby led him to the couch. He sat and she sidled up to him, resting her back against his chest. Gabe wrapped his arms around her and held on tight.

  “You said you were going to explain it today,” he said.

  “Or we could just cuddle and not talk at all,” she suggested.

  He kissed the side of her head. She turned to face him and he rubbed noses with her, then kissed her. “Nope. Talk.”

  Abby sighed. She’d told him about finally meeting Celeste Franks, how awesome she was and how excited Abby was to spend time with her. Then of course Gabe asked how she ended up getting to know Mr. Franks’s daughter in the first place. An innocent question, but it had freaked Abby out. Gabe didn’t know the truth about Abby, and she liked it that way. But he could tell there was something there, the way she’d shut down suddenly. He wouldn’t le
t it go. She’d promised to tell him today. She turned away from Gabe, rested the back of her head against his shoulder.

  “Celeste is like me, that’s all. We both have issues with food. Somehow Mr. Franks knew. He gave me her number.” She snuggled deeper into his arms.

  “Okay. So what are the issues?” he asked.

  Abby tensed. She wanted to be the drama-free girl of his dreams. She didn’t want him to know this about her.

  “I don’t really like to eat,” she said.

  Gabe laughed, the rumble of his chest passing through Abby’s back. “What does that mean?”

  Abby chewed her lip and laced her fingers through his. She shook her head. Jenny had told her she needed to do this, draw Gabe into her support circle. But it was too hard.

  “Hey,” he said. “I’m sorry I laughed. I just don’t know what you mean.” She nodded but couldn’t respond. Her insides were doing battle against themselves. “You know you can tell me anything,” he said.

  “What if it’s a bad thing? What if you don’t like me anymore after you hear it?”

  “Seriously?” he said. “Abby, I’m crazy about you. Nothing you say right now will change that. I promise.” She turned and looked into his deep green eyes, got lost in there, and had to look away. “Trust me. Please?”

  Abby took a deep breath, closed her eyes so she couldn’t see his reaction. “I’m anorexic,” she whispered. “That time I fainted at school? It was because I hadn’t eaten in three days. Celeste is, too.” Abby ducked her head, eyes still shut tight, withdrawing. “I have a therapist I see every week about it. I’m getting better, but it’s still there.”

  Gabe hugged her, kissed her temple. They sat like that for a while, just quiet and thinking and feeling. His arms were still around her, but Abby was sure she felt him slipping away.

  “It’s okay if you don’t like me anymore,” she said.

  Gabe turned her to face him. “Of course I still like you,” he said. “How could I not like you?”

  “You want a no-drama girl.”

  “You are a no-drama girl. Look at you. Even now. Steady as a rock.”

  Abby smiled and he smiled back, and she suddenly felt exactly as steady as a rock, like maybe she could do this after all. With Gabe and Celeste and Jenny and Matt and the window, with her and Lana having their close moments again, with Gloria on her side, and even Byron looking out for her. Fight this fight against food and have the perfect boyfriend and best family and good friends and be happy and whole and not scared anymore.

  Gabe touched her hair, traced the line of her cheek, rested his thumb on her chin. “You know how I keep saying you’re the prettiest girl I know?”

  “Yeah.” Abby held her breath.

  “Well, I don’t mean anything to do with being thin. I mean the whole package. Your eyes and smile and hair and speed and strength. Your brain. Your humor. Your heart. The way you light up when you look at me. But here’s the thing. You’re an amazing athlete. And athletes are eaters, you know? I mean, it can be smart eating, just healthy stuff, but every calorie translates into energy, speed, stamina. Food isn’t your enemy. It has no power over you. It’s just fuel. I’m sure you already know all of this, from your therapist, and I’m not doing anything to help right now.”

  Abby let her breath go, and a landslide of worries went with it. He didn’t really understand the food thing, not completely. But how could he? He was a teenage boy, an eating machine. But she liked his analogy, of food as fuel and nothing more. And she really liked that he admired all of those things about her. She was going to write it all down in her journal later, the list of good Abby qualities, as seen by the perfect and beautiful and amazing Gabe Connor.

  “You are helping. Really. Just by listening and not judging. By reminding me of the other things you like about me.”

  “Love about you,” he said.

  “There’s a lot that I love about you, too,” Abby said.

  “Well, then, I’m glad that’s settled.”

  He grinned, big enough to show his one crooked tooth on the bottom, her absolute favorite. He kissed her and held her and she let go, fell safely back into his arms, into the moment, her head resting on his chest, his heartbeat soothing and strong against her cheek. She nuzzled into Gabe’s arms and closed her eyes, drifted away on a sea of lavender and Gabe-smell.

  She pictured little-girl Abby, and felt exactly as safe and loved and happy and capable as that little girl. They held hands and skipped off together, Abby and six-year-old Abby. They were fearless together.

  36

  * * *

  Byron

  All of those secret phone calls Trent was making? Turned out they were to that girl, Fiona, the one he’d hooked up with last summer. She was coming back to town, to spend her summer break with her divorced dad again. They were making plans to see each other as much as possible. When Trent finally came clean, Byron was so relieved. He felt less weird about Betsy if Trent had a girlfriend, too.

  “I guess it’s different this time, you know? Not just a hookup thing. But, like, I like her. And I guess she likes me, too.”

  “Wow. Good for you,” Byron said.

  Trent looked him over. “This doesn’t mean it isn’t weird that you’re with my sister, you know. It just means that I’ve got my own girl.”

  “Sure,” Byron said. “Hey, maybe we could even double date sometime.”

  “That’s disgusting,” Trent said.

  Byron shook his head. “Whatever, jackass. At least you’re no longer obsessed with my mom.”

  “Nah,” Trent said, leaning back on the couch with his hands behind his head. “Lana and I, we had our chance, but that’s over now. I’ll try to let her down gently.”

  Byron launched into a handstand on the arm of the couch, right over Trent’s head. “Take it back or I drop right on you.”

  “Don’t get all aggro,” Trent said. “Just a damn joke. Betsy’s got you so hard up you lost your sense of humor?” Then he jumped off the couch just as Byron dropped down, aiming to squash him. Byron was even more annoyed because Trent was right. He and Betsy had fooled around a bit, lots of kissing and pressing their bodies together with their clothes still on, but they still hadn’t gone all the way. Byron thought he was going to explode sometimes. But other times he wanted to take it slow, to show Betsy he was nothing like those college jerks. He was in it for the long haul.

  “Don’t you talk trash about my girlfriend, asswipe.” Byron jumped off the couch into some mock-karate position he’d seen in a movie.

  “Don’t you tell me how to treat my sister, jerkwad.” Trent picked up a ruler from the coffee table and held it, swordlike, out to defend himself.

  “Are you two morons kidding me?” Betsy said from the bottom of the stairs. She sashayed in between them, hands on hips, and gave them both a stern look. “Grow the hell up.” She tapped her foot in irritation. Byron looked down to see she was wearing pink fuzzy slippers with bunny ears that flopped whenever she tapped. The three of them broke up laughing and fell onto the couch. Byron took Betsy’s hand and she squeezed it. Maybe they weren’t sleeping together yet, but Betsy was a lot more fun these days. She rolled her head in Byron’s direction and puckered up, blew him an air-kiss. He caught it in his stomach, like a sucker punch of love, and grinned back like an idiot. She still had that effect on him. He was hopelessly gone on her. She used her pink-painted nail to trace a heart on the inside of his wrist and it tingled all over his body.

  It was almost time for him to head to campus for the parkour meeting. Sometimes Betsy came along, but today she had a dentist appointment. It was always hard for Byron to leave her, but he couldn’t see skipping parkour to sit in a dentist’s waiting room with bad music, terrible magazines, and that horrible drill sound in the background. There weren’t as many of the guys getting together for parkour now that it was summer and half the group had headed home to Mom and Dad until fall rolled back around, but Byron still went twice a week. Graham was g
iving him a ride. He’d come a few times to watch. He sat on the grass with the hot coeds and cheered Byron on, which was equally embarrassing and cool.

  After finishing his run, Byron sat next to Graham and guzzled the water and ate the sandwich Graham had brought.

  “You’re crazy, doing those stunts,” Graham said. “I don’t know how you haven’t broken something.”

  “We’re more careful than we look,” Byron said. “We practice a bunch in the gym before we take it out here.”

  “You’re a smart kid,” Graham said. Byron thought it might be the first time Graham had called him smart instead of athletic. Abby was the smart one, everyone knew that. He shrugged and smiled. Graham was better these days. Calmer. Tax season was long over and he wasn’t such a stress case. He worked reasonable hours and sometimes even blew off work early to take Byron to parkour. Sometimes they grabbed dinner together after. A couple of times Graham even invited Betsy to join them. He was becoming a normal dad, a real one, not a cardboard cutout, and not a disappearing-act one like Trent and Betsy’s.

  Graham and Ivy had broken up, as Byron had predicted. Graham was tight-lipped about the details. All he said was, “A realist and an idealist. Not the best match.” Graham had more free time now that he was single again, and Byron was happy to be getting a fair chunk of it. He hoped it would last and wasn’t just a phase.

  “I have a little something for you.” Graham pulled a white envelope out of his pocket and held it out it to Byron.