by Amanda Grace
When she dumps the coins into the register and looks up, her eyes meet mine. She grins, and I find myself smiling back. There’s warmth there—I didn’t realize it was what I was waiting to see.
It’s what I needed to see.
The man shuffles off, his receipt in hand, and I waltz up to the register.
“Double cheeseburger,” I say. “And French fries.”
She raises a brow and doesn’t punch the key on the register, as if she doesn’t believe I’m really ordering this.
“I quit gymnastics,” I say, a heartbeat later.
One corner of her mouth lifts and she hits the key to ring in my food.
“And one of those little ice cream flurry things.”
“M&M or Oreo?”
“Both.”
She keys it in, then waits, as if I’m going to order more.
“It was Xanax,” I blurt out, and heat rushes to my cheeks as I glance around, thankful no one is within earshot. I probably should have thought this through a little better, but the truth has been bubbling up since the moment I walked out of the gym, just waiting to be set free.
“What?”
“What I was hiding in my hand that first day we talked, in the bathroom at school. It was a pillbox. Xanax.”
Zoey swallows. “Oh.”
“I’ve been getting so stressed out all the time, and it’s all I can do to hold it together. My mom had the pills prescribed a couple of years ago, but I didn’t use to use them much. Lately, though, I’ve wanted them, more and more.”
“And now?”
“I threw them away. Which was really stupid,” I say, my cheeks burning. “I think I’m going to get withdrawals or something. So if I have a total meltdown in about two hours, I might have to go back to the gym and dig through the trash can.”
Zoey grins and punches another key. “That’ll be $6.42.”
I hand her a twenty. “Do you have time to sit with me?”
She glances at the clock beside the counter. “Uh, yeah. Sure. Let me tell Rita I’m going on break.”
I accept my change and go find a seat next to the window, where the sun is bathing a table in warm yellow light. A few minutes later Zoey shows up, food tray in hand. When she sets it down I realize she’s doubled the order, one meal for me and one for herself.
“So, tell me about this big epiphany,” she says, unwrapping her burger.
“I don’t know. It’s just … I can’t do it anymore. I just want room to breathe.”
She nods, her mouth full of burger.
“There was a time I really did enjoy gymnastics. In the beginning I improved really fast. I was the best, easily. And I like to be the best.”
“You don’t say,” she jokes.
“I know, but gymnastics kind of embodied my personality. It was all about precision and drive and practice. I could be exactly the person I wanted to be every time I was out there.”
Zoey studies my face. “When did it become something else?”
I take a big bite of my burger, as a way to give myself some time to think, then chew slowly. “I guess … when it stopped coming easy. When I had to actually work for it. When I had to see what it was like to fail. And then I started hating it.”
“Well, that’s good,” she says, tossing a fry at me.
“I wish I’d realized it sooner. But at least I finally did.”
I smile. There’s something about this moment, about being honest with Zoey, honest with myself, that feels freeing. Like I could float right out of here on a cloud of bliss.
“What does Liam have to say about this?” she asks, popping another fry in her mouth.
“I haven’t told him yet.”
“Who have you told?”
“You,” I say.
“Oh.” She grins.
“I just thought you’d get it,” I say. “I’ll tell my brother later.”
“I do,” she says. “Get it, I mean. I get what this means to you.”
“Thanks.” I crumple up the empty burger wrapper, realizing I practically inhaled the thing, and then pick up the spoon for my ice cream.
“You should try dipping your fries in the ice cream,” Zoey says, doing just that. I watch in fascination as she sticks a fry right into the ice cream, scoops some up, and then pops it in her mouth.
“That’s gross,” I say.
“Don’t knock it til you try it.”
So I do as she directs, dipping the fry into the ice cream and eating it. “Huh,” I say, trying another. “Pretty good.”
“Yeah.” She picks up a spoon and rips open the plastic wrapper. “So my mom got a new job. We should be able to move to a better neighborhood.”
“That’s amazing!” I say. “You must be pumped.”
She nods, her smile surprisingly serious. “I am. It’s weird—all of a sudden all these possibilities are there. I might actually apply to college.”
We fall silent for a moment, our mouths full. Zoey sticks her spoon back into her ice cream, leveling a look at me that makes my heart skip a beat. It’s … intense. Searching.
“It’s been a week,” she says.
“Since?”
“Since you said you’d tell your brother. Remember? You said you needed a week. You’ve had it.”
“Tomorrow makes a week.”
She stares. “So you’re going to talk to him tomorrow?”
I swallow. Is that what I’ve just agreed to? But I can’t. I don’t want to. He’s going to freak out. I can’t just be like, Oh hi, Liam, I’m dating your girlfriend so you’re going to have to break up with her.
“I’ll try.”
“You can’t just try,” Zoey says. “You have to.”
“I know.” I sit back in my chair and set down my spoon. “What time are you off?”
“Ten,” she replies.
“I’ll come back and give you a ride.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
We sit in the sun for what feels like only moments longer before Zoey’s break is over and she has to go back to work.
“Uh, so, I’ll see you in a bit,” I say.
“Okay, see ya then,” she calls over her shoulder, disappearing behind an employees only sign.
Zoey
The next day, as I’m walking home from work and wondering whether Olivia has had the talk yet with Liam, I hear a deep rumble building behind me. When it slows down, I glance over my shoulder to see Liam’s glossy red Jeep Wrangler.
He rolls down his window—manual, not automatic like his sister’s car—and waves at me, flashing that same dopey smile I’ve come to know.
There’s no way Olivia has talked to him yet. Not when he’s flashing me that kind of a smile.
“Need a ride?”
I adjust my backpack, swinging it more fully over my shoulder as I smile back. “Sure. Thanks.”
I round the Jeep and toss my bag into the backseat, then grab the roll bar and haul myself up into the passenger seat. Six inch lift, Liam told me the first day I rode in it. I feel like it should have been installed with a step stool attached.
It’s fitting, really, that Liam would drive around in this sporty, lifted jeep while Olivia prefers something sleek and fast and pricey.
“How was work?”
Why are we talking about work? Why don’t we just talk about the weather while we’re at it?
Olivia really should have told him about us by now. What the heck is she waiting for?
“Zoey?”
“Uh, what?” I ask, realizing that the Jeep is moving and I’m not buckled up. I snap it into place just as Liam pulls up to a stop sign.
“I said, how was work?”
“Oh, you know, same old same ol
d. It was pretty quiet.”
“That’s good.”
“Mhmmm,” I say noncommittally.
The Jeep roars off again, down a side street alongside Wright Park. It’s quiet now, though. Dark. I absently wonder if Carolyn convinced Mom to take her here today, before the sunset and the evening chill.
“So, I was thinking,” Liam says, as he takes a corner at thirty and I’m forced to grab onto the little bar in the dash.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Uh, so Homecoming is coming up at Stadium.”
“Oh?” I ask, feigning dumb, panic rising. He can’t ask me to Homecoming. I’m supposed to be breaking up with him!
“Uh-huh. In two weeks. I was hoping you’d like to go with me.”
“Oh,” I say, trying not to cringe. I’m not going to be with him in two weeks.
But how can I say that now? Olivia wants to talk to him first. I don’t want to drive those two apart. He means too much to her.
But … I don’t want to do this anymore, either. I don’t want to be with Liam.
“Um, I’ll have to check and see if I work that day,” I say when I realize he’s still staring, waiting for an answer.
“Yeah, cool. Let me know.”
And then we’re pulling up at my house and Liam’s putting the Jeep into neutral, pulling the parking brake. I glance up at the windows, finding them blazing with light. Carolyn and Mom are definitely home.
“Oh, uh, you don’t have to walk me up. My mom will want to grill you. But, uh, thanks for the surprise ride.”
“Sure. Text me later, okay?”
“Yeah. Will do.”
But maybe I won’t have to. Maybe Olivia will talk to him first.
I realize too late he’s leaning over to kiss me, but I’m half out of his Jeep and dropping to the sidewalk. I give him an apologetic smile, then slam the door and head toward my house. My phone chirps.
I smile when I see there’s a text from Olivia.
Be ready in ten minutes. I’m picking you up. We only need a half hour, and then I’ll bring you back home before you turn into a pumpkin.
I laugh, shoving the phone back into my pocket and pushing my way into the house. Maybe she wants to strategize about what to say to Liam. Or, heck, maybe she wants us to talk to him together.
As I step closer inside the house, I hear it:
Music.
The beat-up boom box in the kitchen is blaring out a country song. And then I glimpse my mom, boot-scootin’ sideways across the cracked, stained vinyl, followed quickly by my sister.
“Heel, toe, heel, toe, twist,” my mom calls out over the music, apparently teaching Carolyn how to line dance.
I break out into laughter. Not at them, but with some weird mixture of amusement and relief and … I don’t know.
What this is, in front of me, is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s my mom, beaming from ear to ear as if an entire semi-truck has been lifted from her shoulders and she’s throwing her head back, screaming in relief. Until this moment, I don’t think I truly realized just how hard those years of job searching was for her.
And my sister, the black eye all faded away, can sense it too. She’s spinning and laughing, her hair whipping wildly around her shoulders. I want to fall to my knees with relief, but that seems too dramatic, and besides, it’s all I can do to stand there in the entryway, a silent observer as the two of them twist and twirl around the tiny space, never bumping into the cabinets, the fridge, anything, their steps fluid, their bodies graceful.
This is what I’ve wanted, forever and ever. It was never about money or nice things. It was this. This moment of knowing we’d be okay. Of seeing my mom free, relaxed, her head tipped back to the skies even though she’s inside a house with a cramped, low ceiling. Alive. Of knowing, once and for all, that Carolyn will make it out of here, will be stronger than ever.
The song finally ends and the spinning slows, and when my mom tips her head back, she’s beaming at me. “Hey. Didn’t hear you come in.”
“Wonder why,” I say, dropping my bag onto the couch. “Something smells good.”
“Me and Carolyn made a pizza,” she says. “It’s Hawaiian if you want some.”
“Sure, maybe in a little bit.”
“Okay.”
“How was your first day?”
When she grins, I think I could count all her teeth. “Amazing. I’m going to be in charge of twelve other maids, and the last supervisor left lots of notes and instructions before she quit to take care of her sick dad. I have my own office!”
“That’s great,” I say.
“It is. And the thing is, this place is different. Everyone in upper management at this hotel … they earned it. They really like to promote people. There’s a future there. I could become more than a supervisor. I could become the hotel manager someday.”
My eyes sting before I can blink. “Oh Mom,” I say. Walking to her, I let her envelop me in a hug. “You deserve this.”
Neither of us speak for a minute, and when I realize Carolyn is standing awkwardly to one side, I grab her and yank her in, and the three of us hug under the ugly bug-catcher light, basking in the glow of the future.
“So where are we going exactly?” I ask, slamming the door of Olivia’s car and following her down the sidewalk.
“You’ll see,” she says, slapping the crosswalk button.
It must have been waiting for us, because it flashes the walk symbol almost instantly.
“Can you believe we got a perfect hundred on our assignment?” she asks as we cross the street.
“We worked hard on it.”
“I know, but I never get As. I’m stoked.”
We approach the archways of Tacoma’s Union Station. It’s not even a train station anymore, just an elaborate brick building with iconic archways. Every time I see it I think of some bygone era, when riding trains was glamorous. I picture ladies with big traveling gowns and fancy trunks arriving by carriage, excited for some grand adventure.
I push away the image as Olivia leads me under the arches, the cool night air blowing my hair out of my face. Ahead, a bridge glows, awash with a rainbow of color.
The bridge of glass. Below it is the freeway, a neverending stream of cars. But here, the blown glass vases and flowers and butterflies and twists and turns of glass … each piece of art is incased in its own clear cube. The walls of the bridge must be ten feet high, and the span of the bridge …
I’ve been up here during the day before. I thought it was pretty seeing the elaborate glassworks, which are almost like spun sugar. And I’ve passed by before in a car, drove right underneath and thought it looked nice all lit up.
But at night, up close and backlit, it’s breathtaking.
“This is … ” I say, my voice trailing off as I stop in front of one particularly large vase. It must be four feet tall by itself, but it’s got a dozen blown-glass flowers, too, as if it’s a whole flower arrangement.
“I know,” Olivia says, her breath on my ear.
I turn, my back against the wall of glass displays. “Why are we here?” I ask. She can’t have talked to Liam yet. I just saw him. So why all the secrecy?
She smiles. Pulling a single flower out of her pocket, she dramatically going down on one knee. She holds the flower out, and it looks identical to the one behind me—the blown glass flower in the vase.
“Zoey Thomasson, will you go to the Fall Fling with me?”
I stare, slack-jawed, unable to move.
She giggles. “Don’t freak out. Everyone will think we’re just friends. Girls dance together all the time at these things. In case you didn’t notice, there’s kind of a guy shortage at Annie Wright.”
I swallow. “But it’s in two weeks.”
Olivia furrows her eyebrows. “I know.”
I purse my lips. “Your brother just invited me to his homecoming dance. It’s the same weekend.”
It’s like I stole the breath from her lungs. She goes from a goofy, on-one-knee pose to dropping down to sit on her heels, staring up at me from the ground. “Oh.”
“I’m not going with him,” I say.
“But you’re his girlfriend. You have to go with him.”
I laugh, and it comes out ugly and bitter. “No, Olivia, you were supposed to talk to him today! I don’t want to be with him anymore. If you don’t tell him, I will.”
“But he’s never going to forgive me! Don’t you get that? He’s never liked a girl before, not like he likes you. He deserves to be happy.”
“But it’s not real,” I say. “Not like it is with us.”
“He’s going to hate me,” she moans.
“Really, Olivia? You’re chickening out? Are we just supposed to stay like this forever? Am I supposed to just be with both of you? When are you going to call it off? When I’m marching down the aisle with him?”
She finally climbs up off the cement floor so that we’re eye to eye. “That’s not fair.”
“What is fair? Dating him forever so you don’t have to take me away from him? So you can stay the perfect sister in the hopes you’ll always remain best friends? News flash, Olivia—he’s sick of your neediness. He told me he wants you to get your shit together.”
I’ve gone too far. I know it instantly by the expression on her face. It’s like she shuts down, recoils all at once, reels every last feeling, every confession, inside her iron walls. And when she looks into my eyes again, she’s the old Olivia, the one who ruled our school with an iron fist, whose perfection gleams from every photo.
“You know what?” she says, her voice cracking. “Take the light rail or walk home or something. I’m so done with this.”
I rush after her. “Stop!” I say, yanking her arm back.
She stops but doesn’t turn around, not right away. She stares at the ground in front of us, struggling to pull herself together.
“This isn’t what I wanted, you know,” she says a moment later. “This isn’t who I thought I was.”
“And it’s who I planned to be?”
