The Art of Holding On and Letting Go

by Kristin Lenz

  Kaitlyn stretched her legs out in front of her, tapping her clunky boots together. Nick looked bored, doodling on his notebook.

  Mrs. Plaster continued, “It sounds like this is a popular question. I’m sure many of you will find yourself in this situation at one time or another, both boys and girls. And in fact, some of the best, loving relationships start off as friendships.”

  I sneaked a look at Kaitlyn. Her face was blank.

  “So what do you guys think you should do? You like someone more than a friend, how do you let them know?” Hal threw the question out to the crowd.

  “Have a friend tell her for you,” a boy shouted.

  “Yeah, saves you the embarrassment if they don’t like you back.”

  “Text her.”

  “Ask him to Sadie Hawkins!” A group of cheerleaders cheered.

  I couldn’t help it, my cheeks flamed. I tugged my hair out of its ponytail and let it fall in front of my face. I hung my head and doodled in my notebook like Nick. I wanted to see what Tom was doing, but no way was I looking anywhere near his direction. I drew a tiny snowcapped mountain peak. By the time the bell finally rang, I had an entire mountain range stretching across the top of my page.

  I stopped at my locker before lunch and out fell another note. Seriously, I was so done with this place. I shoved the note into my back pocket unopened.

  Kaitlyn and I were the first to arrive at our lunch table. The sun shone through the windows and glistened off a row of icicles dripping off the roof.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Kaitlyn said.

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Come on. Listen. This is serious stuff. You want to go back to California, right?”

  “It’s not going to work. Don’t worry about it, Kaitlyn.”

  Ashley the Virgin Goth Girl and Brett the pierced face guy actually smiled at me as they came to the table. I nodded hey, then leaned closer to hear Kaitlyn over the increasing clamor.

  “No, listen,” she said. “I was thinking about what you should do. Even though your parents sent you here, they wouldn’t want you to lose touch with the rest of your life that was important to you. Wouldn’t they want you to go back to California at least for a visit?”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “I’m saying that you should go back, but you don’t have to do it on your own. We could plan it as a trip, together. I mean, if you wanted me to come too.”

  I looked at her, digesting this new idea. I smiled. “I’d love for you to go with me.”

  Kaitlyn clapped her hands. “Yay! We could go for spring break.”

  “What about spring break?” Nick plunked down his lunch tray. “You in bikinis, running wild?”

  “Shut up. We are going to California,” Kaitlyn said.

  “Oh man, I want to go to California.”

  “You are not invited.”

  “How come? I’d behave. Please.”

  Kaitlyn rolled her eyes. “We haven’t even made any plans yet. So hold your horses. First things first. We need to find Cara a date for Sadie Hawkins.”

  “Did you hear who asked Tom?” Nick asked.

  “I don’t even want to know,” I said.

  “Ann-Marie Fidesco.”

  “No!” Kaitlyn scrunched up her nose.

  Big surprise. “Forget it. I don’t even like him anymore.”

  “Maybe he’s such a nice guy, he just didn’t know how to say no to her,” Kaitlyn said.

  “He’s Mr. Basketball Star. She’s Miss Wannabe Popular Cheerleader Skank. I don’t see anything wrong with this picture,” Nick said.

  “If she were, like, a nice cheerleader, a sweet person, then it could be understandable,” Kaitlyn said. “Or if she was irresistibly gorgeous, or smart, or anything, just not Ann-Marie Fidesco.”

  “Maybe he just wants to get laid.” Nick said.

  Kaitlyn crossed her arms and glared at him. I had already been crossing my arms and glaring for most of the conversation.

  “This is Cara’s crush we’re talking about. We are not going to give up on him that easily.”

  “Says who?” I said.

  “Maybe he’ll need rescuing at the dance. There’s no way he can actually like her. So, all the more important for you to be there.”

  “I still think you should ask my brother,” Nick said.

  “No, she should ask my brother!” Kaitlyn said.

  “I’m not going,” I said, crossing my arms even tighter.

  One of the dripping icicles broke from the roof and shattered on the sidewalk below. The shards sparkled like cut glass.

  “Just as friends, you know, no pressure, just fun.” Kaitlyn reached over and touched my arm with her missing-fingers hand. “And this is the other thing I was thinking. Your parents sent you here, to go to school because they wanted you to have these experiences, right? And your uncle, he would want you to go to the dance and have fun too. Don’t you think?”

  She gently squeezed my wrist. “Maybe it’s time to move forward. For both of us.”

  And that’s how I ended up going to Sadie Hawkins with a totally hot college guy.

  41

  The high school powers that be decided this year’s Sadie Hawkins dance was not going to be a casual affair. Last year’s theme was a country barnyard dance, and there was more activity in the haystacks than on the dance floor. So I’ve heard. This year’s dance was supposed to be classy, to encourage students to be on their best behavior. Not quite semiformal like homecoming, but classy chic. Whatever that means.

  I told my grandparents the Thursday before the dance, half hoping it was too late to get a dress. Grandma didn’t even twist her mouth in irritation, but told me to follow her down into the basement. She went over to the area where I had seen the goose’s little clothes hanging up and rifled through a few garments draped in cellophane bags. She took them down one hanger at a time and handed them to me. We carried them upstairs and draped them over the couch. Dresses. Dresses my mom had worn to dances during high school and college. Each one beautiful in a simple, nonfussy way. Just like my mom. I touched the silky fabrics: black, turquoise, red, lilac.

  Grandma sniffled, and I glanced over at her. Her eyes were shiny. Grandpa came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.

  “I remember her wearing these dresses just like it was yesterday,” Grandma said, her voice wavering. “You’re welcome to wear them, she would want you too. I don’t guess they’re in style now though. We can buy you something new.”

  Seeing Grandma on the verge of tears, I swallowed hard. I hadn’t thought about Grandma feeling hurt before, just angry. Then I remembered what Grandpa had said about everyone grieving in their own way.

  The lilac dress looked the most outdated, with a ruffle around the scooped neckline. But the others were so elegant and simple, they looked timeless. Taylor Swift could have worn them to the Grammys.

  “I’ll try them on,” I said.

  I gathered up the dresses and took them to my room. I sat on my bed and stared at them for a long time before I took them off the hangers. I was almost the same size as my mom. The sleeves were a little too tight on the black dress; my biceps were strong from climbing. Mom wasn’t a climber back then. Even though I knew I wouldn’t wear the lilac dress, I tried it on. Just to see what she had looked like. I stood in front of the full-length mirror that hung from the back of the bedroom door and looked at the nineties version of my mother.

  Was she the woman I wanted to be?

  I took off the lilac dress and replaced it on the hanger. Red or turquoise? Mom must have looked stunning in the turquoise one, with her electric-blue eyes. But I had my dad’s chocolaty brown eyes. I stepped into the red dress, pulled it up over my hips and slipped the spaghetti straps over my shoulders. Once again, I faced my mother in the mirror. The dress was perfect.

  I held out my arms and turned a slow circle, following my reflection. My sunshine highlights had faded, but somehow in these past few months, my muscular p
ecs had morphed into actual boobs. I was no Becky, but I had curves. I turned and looked over my shoulder. My arms looked strong, my triceps cut, my back sleek and ripply when I flexed. I was a climber girl, a climber’s daughter. But I am not you, Mom.

  I opened the door and strutted down the dim hallway. The living room was ablaze with the setting sun through the front window.

  Grandma sucked in her breath when I swept into the coppery glow. I smiled and twirled a pirouette, piano notes of smooth jazz drifting in from Grandma’s kitchen radio.

  “Woo-wee!” Grandpa whistled. “You look beautiful.”

  “Just like Lori.” Grandma looked at Grandpa, nodding. “Doesn’t she?” She touched the flowing skirt of my dress, the red satin shimmering in her fingers.

  Grandpa tilted his head, studying me. Then he placed his hands on Grandma’s shoulders and pecked her cheek. “You know who Cara looks even more like?”

  Grandma turned her gaze to Grandpa.

  “You,” he said.

  Grandma shook her head, but smiled, her cheeks flushing.

  Me? Look like Grandma? I raised my eyebrows, but Grandma and Grandpa locked eyes and drifted back in time.

  The song on the radio shifted to the sultry sound of saxophone. Grandpa grasped Grandma’s hand and slowly spun her around, then they waltzed like I imagined they did on their wedding day. He pressed his cheek to hers, and he winked at me. So fast, I almost missed it. They glided across the living room carpet, embraced by the yellow glow of the lamps, the evening sky deepening to violet.

  42

  Kaitlyn, Nick, and Josh picked me up for the dance. Josh had driven down from Michigan State that afternoon. He was tallish and thin, probably Tom’s height, but without the crooked grin and wavy hair. Josh’s red hair was cut short and spiky, and a sprinkling of freckles dotted his nose. I saw a flash of Kaitlyn-Katie without her charcoal smudged makeup. Grandpa said he looked like quite the gentleman in his dark-gray suit with a red tie. (Kaitlyn had told him to match me.)

  Even with her heavy makeup, Kaitlyn looked beautiful. She wore a black halter dress, and the contrast with her pale, milky skin was stunning. She kept her hand hidden in a loosely draped black cashmere wrap.

  No suit for Nick. He wore black jeans and boots, and a T-shirt printed to look like a tuxedo. He kept his arm around Kaitlyn as we walked into the school. There was a look on his face, I had seen it before, but now I knew for sure what it meant. That question from our health seminar popped into my head. What do you do when you’re friends with a girl but you like her more than that?

  The cafeteria had been transformed into a dim and pulsing nightclub. The lunch tables had been cleared away, silver streamers floated from the ceiling, and a disco ball sent sparks spinning around the room. The DJ yelled, “Whoa-oh oh!” over the thumping music. Ann-Marie Fidesco squealed as she flashed past us, boobs bobbing in her strapless dress. She pulled Tom behind her.

  I jerked my gaze away before he spotted me and followed Kaitlyn and Nick over to their group of goth friends. They stood in a corner, clustered together, looking bored. Virgin Goth Girl was a southern belle vampire in a white corseted dress. She eyed Nick and swiveled her hips to the music. Nick was oblivious. Josh had a faint smile on his face, bemused. Kaitlyn grabbed my hand and said, “What are we standing around for? Let’s dance!”

  And we did. The four of us together, crazy on the dance floor. I made myself bob to the mindless beat of Justin Bieber, and I truly let myself go when the music shifted to the classic song from Footloose. I wasn’t going to think about Tom. We formed a small circle and took turns swinging each other around. Josh and Nick were wild dancers, with their long arms flapping out to the sides, jumping and spinning. Then the music shifted from fast to slow in a second, and Josh was there with his arms around me, and Kaitlyn and Nick were right next to us.

  Josh held me at a comfortable distance. He tried talking to me, but I could hardly hear him, so after a couple what?s we stopped talking. Kaitlyn and Nick talked and laughed while they danced, moving closer and closer to each other, then Kaitlyn rested her head on Nick’s shoulder. He bowed his head against hers.

  Would Tom hold me like that? I wouldn’t be able to rest my head on his shoulder. I’d rest against his chest, and he could rest his chin on the top of my head. And his arms would wind around my waist, igniting my skin with electric sparks the length of my spine. And if I looked up, and he looked down, our lips might … was he dancing right now, holding Ann-Marie close, her big boobs squashed up against his chest? I scanned the room and found Tom on the sidelines. Alone. Well not alone alone, but with a couple of guys. Most importantly, he was not dancing with Ann-Marie; she was MIA.

  The slow song ended, and our group headed for the jugs of lemonade to refuel.

  I was examining a tray of cookies when Tom appeared next to me, bumping his shoulder against mine.

  “Hey,” he said. “Who’s the mystery guy?”

  “Oh, he came down from MSU,” I said.

  “Ooh,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

  I giggled and rolled my eyes. “He’s Kaitlyn’s brother.”

  “Hey, a college guy is a college guy. You look amazing.” He swept his arm from my head to my toes. “And you seem to have grown a couple inches taller.”

  I straightened my spine and lifted my chin. I’d forgotten how tall the heels made me. Not quite cheek to cheek with Tom, but close.

  “Where’s your date?” I asked.

  Tom winced. “I think she’s puking in the bathroom, but I’m not really sure. She was trashed before we even got here.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Uh-huh, serves me right. I never would have asked her out. She asked me in front of a bunch of her friends, and I just didn’t know what to do.”

  He looked right at me, open and honest, and I held his gaze.

  “Would your college guy mind if I stole a dance?” he asked.

  I glanced over at Josh. He was standing next to Nick, joking around, pantomiming something. Kaitlyn watched me with a huge grin and wiggled her fingers in a wave. I smiled back at her. Tom took my hand and led me out to the dance floor. He held me closer than Josh, his hands sliding from my hips to the small of my back. Our thighs brushed together, and he peered down into my face, a wavy lock flopping over his forehead. Every molecule in my body roared.

  “Tom, I’m back!” Ann-Marie clamped her paws around his bicep. She reeked. One of her dopey friends slurred, “We got to get her out of here. Mr. Halloway’s already giving us the stare down.”

  Tom looked back and forth from me to Ann-Marie and her friend. He stepped away, but grasped both of my hands and squeezed. “Sorry, Cara.” And then he was gone. He stalked ahead of Ann-Marie, leading the way, letting her friend half-stumble with her.

  Kaitlyn came up beside me. “Well, that sucks.”

  “Yeah.” I sighed. “But it was a nice sixty seconds.”

  Grandpa was reclining in his chair reading a book when I got home. He wore his usual bedtime outfit, flannel pants and a sweatshirt, which was exactly what I wanted to be wearing at that moment. I kicked off my shoes and flopped on the couch.

  “How was it?” he asked.

  “It was fun. I like dancing, but my feet are killing me.”

  Grandpa chuckled. “You’d think your feet would be as tough as stone after cramming them into those tiny climbing shoes of yours.”

  “I know, but wearing heels is a whole other thing.”

  “Grandma tried to wait up but she got too sleepy. She said she hoped you had a good time.”

  “Thanks,” I said, yawning. “I’m beat. See you in the morning.”

  I limped to my room and struggled out of my dress. I hung it back on the hanger, and whispered, “Thanks, Mom.”

  Freshly laundered and folded clothes from Grandma were stacked on my desk with a note resting on top. Blue-lined notebook paper, folded into a small square.

  The note I had shoved into my jeans pocket last week, unread.
I unfolded the paper, square after square. Slanted, messy writing, in pencil.

  43

  In the morning, I reread the note. What the hell? Should I be reporting these to someone? But the notes weren’t actually threatening; they were just weird.

  He should have said yes. Was the note writer talking about Tom? Only Nick and Kaitlyn knew about it, unless someone else at school had heard. I thought I had ruled Nick out, but … Who was doing this!

  I tossed the note onto my desk and checked my phone for the first time in days. Dead. I plugged it into the charger. Tom had never called me before, but he could get my number. I remembered the warm weight of his hands on my hips, on my lower back. I watched my phone, but the screen stayed black. My rumbling stomach sent me to the kitchen.

  “Wait until you go outside, Carabou. It’s like spring,” Grandpa said with a smile.

  He was right! Spring was here. After gray skies and subzero temperatures for months, forty-five degrees and sunny felt downright balmy. I would have bundled up in heavy fleece in California if it was below fifty, but today I only needed a sweatshirt. I knew right where I wanted to go. I stuffed my climbing shoes and chalk bag into my backpack and headed out for a walk. After half a mile, I found the spot. I stopped under the railroad viaduct and ran my hand along the stones that made up the wall. I had ridden my bike past this spot on the way home from Kaitlyn’s, but it turned too cold before I had a chance to return and check it out. It was perfect for bouldering.

  It was dim and cooler out of the sun, and my breath puffed into the air. I rubbed my palms together for warmth. I was the only one around. Not like back home in the Angeles Forest where there was almost always someone else hanging out in the most popular climbing areas. I had to tell Jake about this place.

  “Echo!” My voice reverberated off the stone walls.

  I pulled on my climbing shoes and tied the chalk bag around my waist. Climb on, I said to myself. No jug holds here, no brute strength needed, no dynos. Just a graceful, deliberate dance across the stones. The rock climbing puzzle. Finding the perfect matching pieces. Crack to crevice to nub to flake. When every piece falls into place, it’s like a dance, a delicate but powerful balancing act. The art of holding on and letting go at the same time.