by Kristin Lenz
“Way to go! High five!” Kaitlyn and Nick said as soon as my feet touched ground. Then they laughed and slapped each other’s hands.
“5.12b?” Nick asked.
“Oh yeah.”
Grandpa was sitting in his usual chair when I got home. He lowered the newspaper. “Your mom called while you were gone.”
I sighed. “Great timing. What did she say?”
“Not too much, we got cut off again. They climbed a mountain in Patagonia. I meant to look up the name afterwards and find it on the map, but now I’ve forgotten it. She said to tell you how much they miss you.”
I scoffed. “Did she say when they’re coming home?”
Grandpa shook his head. “Nope, that’s when we got cut off.”
“Convenient.” I jumped up and hung from the doorframe.
“Monkey. Don’t let your Grandma see you.”
I hopped down and shook out my wrists. My fingertips stung and my forearms burned from all my attempts on Nemesis.
“That Kaitlyn looked different today,” Grandpa said. “No raccoon eyes or black lips.”
“Yeah. She took off her goth face to climb. Didn’t want to sweat and smear it all over.”
“How does she do climbing with her hand?”
“You know about her hand? She usually keeps it hidden in her long sleeves.”
“I noticed it that first day when she picked you up. I was about to shake her hand, but all at the same time I realized my hands were greasy from working on the car and that her hand was misshapen.”
“She’s pretty sensitive about it.”
“My father lost some fingertips in his woodshop. I’m sure it was hard at the time, but I never saw it slow him down.”
“Kaitlyn’s like that too. She does all kinds of stuff with that hand. She hasn’t actually tried climbing yet; she just watches. But I think she’s getting closer.”
He nodded. “You said ‘goth?’ As in gothic? Hmm. She wants to be left alone, but also to be seen, to be noticed.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, every generation has a version. When your mom was that age it was the punk rockers. She even went through a punk stage herself.”
“My mom?”
Grandpa chuckled. “She came home from a friend’s house once with chunks of hair streaked bright pink. Oh, she gave your grandma fits. Still does,” he said and went back to his newspaper.
24
The week before Halloween, Grandpa bought tons of candy and hid it so we wouldn’t be tempted to eat it before trick-or-treating started. I looked all over the house but never did find it. Grandpa wouldn’t reveal the hiding spot, but did say that he moved the candy several times. I noticed that some of the bags were open when they finally came out of hiding. He’s a sneaky one, that Grandpa. Grandma was her usual cranky self.
She walked into the living room just as I jumped up to hang from the doorframe.
“Cara, get down! How many times do I have to tell you?”
I hopped down and cracked my knuckles.
Grandma winced. “We’re shutting off the porch light at eight o’clock. I’m only giving out candy to the little ones. Those big kids are nothing but trouble coming round here in the middle of the night. Norman, you bought too much candy again.”
Nick was going to a college party with his brother, but Kaitlyn said she wasn’t into dressing up. (I could see why, she did it everyday.) We decided to hang out at Kaitlyn’s house and pass out candy. Her parents had their own party to attend.
“My mom went as Cat Woman in this slinky-dinky outfit. She kept twirling her tail and meowing and rubbing up against my dad who was dressed as a flasher. Trench coat with shorts on underneath, I hope to God. They’re so disgusting.”
It was a perfect sweater-weather night. Cool and clear. The moon shone through the skeleton tree branches, porch lights lit up the street. We passed out miniature chocolates to miniature princesses, ghosts, and a string of cartoon characters. Later in the evening, Nick stopped by on his way to the party.
I wouldn’t have recognized him if he had just walked by. He was dressed all preppy with a pink oxford over a pastel-yellow polo shirt with the collar flipped up, and a sweater tied around his shoulders. Tan chinos with shiny penny loafers. The only clues to his previous identity were his purple black hair and the ever-present hemp necklace.
“What do you think of me now?” he said, turning around to model his outfit.
We cracked up. “What did you do, raid your dad’s closet?” Kaitlyn said.
“Yes! I did. Just call me Chip the Third. Where’s my tennis racket?”
Too funny. He continued, “Come with me. I’ve got extra clothes, you can go as Buffy and Muffy. No wait, you guys should just switch clothes. Cara’s already got the prep thing going on.”
“Hey,” I protested.
“She’s not a prep,” Kaitlyn said. “She’s got more of an REI thing happening. Or Moosejaw.”
“True,” Nick said. “She could be one of their cover models.”
“What’s Moosejaw?”
“A local shop,” Kaitlyn explained. “They always have funny ads with hot, au naturel adventure girls.”
“Oh please.” I rolled my eyes. I could see Becky on a magazine cover. I was just one of the guys.
“You’re no stranger to photo shoots,” Nick said. “You’re in the climbing magazines.”
“I was climbing, not posing.”
“Whatever. Are you two having another sleep-over? Another pillow fight in your-”
“Give it a rest,” Kaitlyn said and whizzed a miniature Hershey’s at his chest. “What do guys do when you sleep over? Sit around in your boxers having burping contests?”
“You ever see someone light a fart on fire?” Nick said.
“You. Are. Disgusting. Go away!” We pelted him with more candy bars, and he jogged away, laughing.
We retreated to the house with a handful of candy each, leaving the rest in the bowl on the porch for the late crowd.
“You sure you don’t want to go to the party?” I asked.
“Not me. You?”
“No. I don’t really get into stuff like that.”
“Me neither. Not anymore anyway. I used to go with Josh sometimes, but…”
“What?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “You’re the sophisticated world traveler. You’ve probably been to some awesome parties.”
Ha! Maybe I had experienced different things than Kaitlyn and Nick and others who never really left their hometown. But sophisticated?
“I’ve been all over with my parents, but we usually camped. We weren’t high-styling luxury travelers. I’ve learned a lot about other cultures though.”
“Like what?”
“Like, there are German words that we don’t have at all. A single word that captures an entire idea. Like, waldeinsamkeit.”
“Bless you,” Kaitlyn said.
I laughed. “It means forest solitude. Thoreau used hundreds of words to describe that, and the Germans just sum it up in one perfect word. And did you know that in Chinese there is no such word as ‘coincidence.’ ”
“Really?”
“Yeah. So think about the meaning of that. That nothing ever happens just by chance. There’s a reason or some sort of force or energy behind it.”
“God?”
“Maybe. God, spirits, angels, nature, fate. The Chinese call it yuan. Destiny. But I guess it depends on what you believe.”
“I don’t know what I believe,” Kaitlyn said. “But it’s interesting. Like with us. The way we met. It seemed like a random event, just a coincidence that you sat at our lunch table and we started talking. But maybe there was more to it. We were meant to be friends. Something drew us to each other.”
“Exactly,” I said.
“Do-do-Do-do.” Kaitlyn wiggled her fingers. “Spooky.”
25
Kaitlyn gave me a ride to my next Road Rules class, and I couldn’t help thinking about
yuan, destiny. How maybe it wasn’t just a coincidence that I ran smack into Tom my first day in the cafeteria and then he turned up in my driver’s ed class. As Kaitlyn pulled up in front of the building, Tom rode up on his bicicleta. He hopped off, locked his bike around a lamppost, and loped through the doors without noticing us.
Kaitlyn swatted me with the back of her hand. “That was Tom Torres!”
“Yeah. He’s in my class.”
“Get out! He’s such a cutie.”
“Yeah. Too bad he’s gay,” I said.
“What?”
“Ha-ha. Gotcha.”
“Oh funny, ha-ha. But you know, he’s never had a girlfriend.”
“I was kidding! Don’t even go there.”
“He’s one of the cutest guys at school. Such a baby face. Most of the jocks are getting it on with some chickadee, but not Tom. He flirts and everyone loves him, but he never asks anyone out.”
“Maybe he’s waiting until he gets his license.”
“I never thought about that. I wonder why he didn’t take driver’s ed earlier. What do the Chinese call it again?”
“Yuan.”
“Go yuan with Tom.” She shoved my shoulder.
I laughed and scooted out of the car.
“Keep your eyes on the road!” Kaitlyn called out.
This time, my group was assigned to the assistant teacher. We gave Elizabeth a “sorry for you” frown as she followed Mr. Demetrios. Tom and I walked to the other car.
“How was the pupusaria?”
“Ooh, listen to your rrrrr’s. Bien, bien.” He grinned and nodded at me. “Delicioso, as usual. I totally stuffed my face.”
The assistant teacher wore jeans tucked into cowboy boots that clomped, clomped on the asphalt. He told us to call him Billy, and he asked me to drive first.
I glanced at Tom in the rearview mirror, and he gave me a thumbs-up. I was so distracted I shifted the car into reverse instead of drive and lurched backward.
“Whoa, whoa, easy does it,” Billy said. “Slow down and focus on what you’re doing.” He said it in a nice, encouraging way. He didn’t yell like Mr. Demetrios.
I forced myself to ignore Tom.
“We’re going on the freeway now. Take a right.”
I headed down the entrance ramp to the freeway, slowing down as cars whizzed by in the next lane.
“No, no, speed it up. You want to go as fast as the other cars. Put on your left turn signal. There you go, a little faster. You’re going to merge in a second.”
Merge! There were too many cars. They were all in the way. Where was I supposed to go?
“Don’t slow down, keep up your speed. The other cars will let you in. You can do it,” Billy said, continuing in his calm, soothing voice.
And just like that, I was over in the other lane. It worked! Cars were passing me in the left lane. I pressed down on the gas pedal again.
“Woo-hoo! Way to go!” Tom and Trudy yelled from the backseat.
“Pick up your speed just a bit, keep up with the rest of the traffic. You’re doing great.”
I was afraid to take my eyes off the road for even a second, but I grinned the whole time.
Parallel parking was our final task to accomplish. We practiced in a parking lot with bright orange cones. Billy let us listen to the radio, and Jason Derulo came on. Tom gyrated in his seat, spun the wheel, and sang, “Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle,” before Billy changed the station. Trudy’s jaw had dropped at the lyrics, Tom ran over two cones, and we all ended up in hysterics.
We staggered out of our car, still laughing, and caught up with Trudy’s sister, Elizabeth.
“Donald Demetrios is despicable,” she said with a scowl. “You three were having too much fun out there.”
“How come you two are just learning to drive now?” Tom asked the sisters.
“Oh, we just never got around to it,” Elizabeth said. “We’re old-fashioned ladies.”
“And we had old-fashioned husbands,” Trudy added. “But now it’s just us, and we’ve got places to go!”
“You go girls!” Tom gave them a double high five.
Trudy and Elizabeth giggled again as they slapped his hands.
When they left, I walked with Tom over to his bike.
“I can give you a ride home if you’re game,” Tom said and patted the handlebars.
I would have hopped on in a second if Grandpa weren’t already on his way.
“My grandpa’s picking me up.”
“Yeah, that’s probably a better idea. But I’ll offer it to you again when I get my license.”
I felt like jumping into the air and doing a backflip, but I just grinned, holding his gaze for a second. I spun the beaded bracelets around my wrist. “How come you didn’t take driver’s ed over the summer?” I asked. “I think Kaitlyn took it last summer.”
Tom shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s kind of embarrassing,” he said, hunching his shoulders up around his ears. “I was in an accident a few years ago. After that, I was afraid to ride in a car. It got better, but it still makes me nervous to be the driver.”
He bent over, pretending to walk with a cane, and said in a shaky voice, “I drive like a little old lady.”
I laughed.
“I was busy teaching at a basketball camp in the summer, so it was easy to put off.”
I was about to ask him about the car accident, but Grandpa pulled up in the rumbling Mustang.
“Chido.” Tom let out a soft whistle and walked over to check out the car.
I settled in the front seat, and Tom leaned in the window. I introduced him to Grandpa.
“Wow, this is an incredible ride,” Tom said. “It’s totally mint.” “Yep, I’ve tried to take good care of her.”
“You gonna let Cara drive it when she gets her license?”
“Sure, before I put it up for the winter. I’m guessing she’s going to want her own car down the road though.”
“You are so lucky,” Tom said to me. “My parents both drive Cadillacs. GM has tried to make it sleek looking, but it’s still a boring middle-aged boat of a car.”
Grandpa chuckled. “My winter car is a Taurus. Now that’s a boring boat of a car, but it drives a lot better in the snow than this machine.” He revved the engine. “Cadillacs are good, safe cars, too. You can pick Cara up anytime if you’re driving a Cadillac.”
Grandpa winked at me. I stared at him, eyes wide. Grandpa!
“It’s a deal,” Tom said.
I sneaked a peak at Tom, then eyed Grandpa again, warning him not to say anything else.
Tom waved good-bye as Grandpa pulled away from the curb, and I waved back. I watched him in the side mirror. He was still standing there, admiring the Mustang as we roared away.
26
The next day at school, Tom jogged up behind me and Kaitlyn and draped an arm around each of us. He flashed a grin, said, “Morning ladies,” and then he was gone, motoring down the hall. Two girls brushed past us. One of them bumped into Kaitlyn, threw a nasty glance her way and said, “Excuuuse meee,” then giggled with her friend. They hurried ahead, catching up to Tom, and flanked him on either side.
“What was that all about?” I asked.
“Ann-Marie Fidesco. Wannabe cheerleader. Birdbrain, skank. That’s about all you need to know.”
“She has a problem with you?”
“She has a problem with everyone outside of her elite group of phonies. She went to my old middle school for a year before she moved to this school district. Swimming was part of our gym class, so we had to change and shower before we got into the pool. She went around and told all the guys that I was a true redhead. You know, meaning that I had red hair everywhere. She was responsible for my nickname that year. You don’t even want to know what it was.”
“What?”
“Not telling.”
“Come on.”
“Fire bush.”
My eyes popped wide, and my lips twitched into a grin.
“
Yeah, funny now, not then.”
“It’s not funny, I’m sorry. Is that why you started dying your hair black?”
“God no. That was ages ago, in seventh grade. Ann-Marie moved the next year. Unfortunately, I had to follow her to this high school, but the nickname did not come with me. I don’t know if she even remembers me.”
We saw Nick at his locker and stopped to say hi. He was wearing a studded dog collar around his neck.
“What’s this?” Kaitlyn asked, reaching out to touch the black, studded band.
Nick stepped back out of her reach. “What’s it look like?” he snapped.
“Bite my head off already. What happened to your hemp rope? You never take it off.”
Nick glanced at me then back at Kaitlyn. “My brother came back.”
“When?”
“Last night. He just got out of jail.”
“Wow.”
“This morning he was gone. So was the cash from all of our wallets and my dad’s credit card.”
“Oh, Nick.” Kaitlyn stepped closer and touched his shoulder.
Nick slammed his locker shut, shook his head, and stalked off.
Kaitlyn looked like she was trying to decide if she should go after him. “Did you follow that?”
“Not really. He has another brother?”
“Yeah, Mike. He’s a few years older than Nate. Nick’s the baby. And he’s always worshiped Mike. But Mike started getting into drugs and trouble a few years ago. He wasn’t crazy bad or anything, he just had a hippie-Grateful-Dead-free-love kind of attitude. His dad bailed him out a couple of times, trying to keep everything quiet, then he turned into a total control freak. Mike had these amazing long dreads, and his dad made him cut them all off. After that, Mike took off with some girl and no one knew where they were for a while. Then they found out he was in jail down in Florida. And his dad wouldn’t even help him. He’s a lawyer! His dad said it wasn’t his job to be Mike’s lawyer, it was his job to practice ‘tough love.’ ”
“What about their mom?” I asked.
Kaitlyn shrugged. “She doesn’t like things to be messy.”
“That’s crazy. I don’t get it.”
