The Art of Holding On and Letting Go

by Kristin Lenz

  I traversed the wall until my fingertips were raw, my toes numb. I walked home with my forearms burning. I found Grandma standing in the yard, staring down at the soggy, dead flower beds. The plastic flowers from the window boxes lay in a heap on the straw-like grass. They had been covered in snow for so long, I had forgotten about them. She just stood there, surveying the yard, looking lost.

  “Are you going to plant some new flowers?” I asked. “I could help.”

  “Nah.” She shook her head. “It’ll probably snow tomorrow.”

  “Whatever.” I wasn’t going to let her get me down.

  I tossed my climbing shoes and chalk bag in the corner of my room and checked my phone. Fully charged with one text. Coach Mel.

  Miss you.

  I squinted at the picture. The team was at the exhibition event in Tennessee. There was Becky in a star-spangled skimpy outfit, Zach’s arm around her shoulders, one hand raised in the peace sign.

  I clicked off my phone. Whatever. I didn’t want to think about competition climbing; I just wanted to enjoy the feeling from my dance across the stones.

  But I couldn’t stop checking my phone. I looked at the picture from Coach again, zoomed in and studied the climbing wall in the background.

  Still no word from Tom.

  44

  Stupid Michigan. Winter was back by Monday. Grandma wasn’t being negative, she was being realistic. The last dried-up bloom on my Christmas cactus crumbled in my fingers. The plant arched and stretched toward the stingy daylight. The cold seeped through my jacket as I trudged to school. A mist of frozen rain and tiny snowflakes spat into my face. I couldn’t believe it. What kind of place was this? Why would anyone want to live here? Weather that plays tricks on you, never-ending winter.

  I shoved my hands into my coat pockets, my fingers automatically searching for the smooth stone from Mount Chimborazo. It wasn’t there.

  I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and carefully felt the lining in my pockets. I pulled one pocket inside out, then the other. No holes. No stone.

  I nudged the slushy snowy ground around my feet and bent down to peer closer.

  I started walking again. Maybe it fell out at home. I’d look for it later. It was just a stone. But my heart thumped and my stomach turned twisty. It wasn’t just a stone.

  I turned around and half-ran, splashing through slushy puddles. I slipped on a slick patch right in front of the house, landing on my hip, my hands thrust into the snowy bank trying to catch myself. The cold shock made me gasp.

  I shoved myself up, my hands stinging, my pants soaked. I blinked back tears and choked on a rising sob.

  Grandpa opened the front door and eyed my wet pants. “Oh no, did you fall?”

  I threw my backpack to the floor and yanked off my boots. “My stone is gone!”

  “What stone?”

  “My stone from Chimborazo. Uncle Max’s stone. It’s always in my pocket.”

  “It fell out when you fell down?”

  “No. It was already gone.” I ran down the hall to my room, my eyes scanning the floor along the way. I dropped to my hands and knees in my room, searching the carpet.

  “What does it look like?” Grandpa asked.

  “It’s about the size of my thumb, oval shaped and smooth. Shiny black with a coppery line running through it.”

  He backed out into the hallway. “I’ll check in the living room and kitchen.”

  I felt my way all around my room without any luck. I sat back on my heels. Think, think, when did I last notice it in my pocket?

  Grandma appeared in my doorway. “Grandpa said you lost something from your coat pocket? A precious stone?”

  I nodded. “It must have fallen out somehow. I know, don’t say it. If I would just hang up my coat like I’m supposed to and not toss it on the floor …”

  “I washed it yesterday.”

  “My coat?”

  “It was so warm outside and you left the house without it, so I thought it’d be a good time to wash it.”

  I closed my eyes, trying to contain the explosion of anger rising up from my gut. Why couldn’t she leave my stuff alone?

  “You didn’t empty the pockets first? You pulled that note out of my jeans the other day.”

  “Let’s check the washer and dryer,” she said.

  I popped up and dashed past her to the laundry room. Please, please, please.

  Nothing on the floor, nothing in the washer, nothing in the dryer.

  “What about the lint trap?” Grandpa asked behind us. “Sometimes I find coins in there.”

  “I already emptied it and didn’t notice anything,” Grandma said.

  “The trash.” I went straight to the bin in the corner.

  “Uh-oh,” Grandpa said. “I emptied it last night. It’s garbage day.”

  We all froze. The unmistakable sound of the garbage truck was right outside. I ran to the front door. Our silver metal garbage can was upside down at the curb. The truck rumbling on to the next house.

  My shoulders sagged.

  “I’m sorry, Cara,” Grandma said.

  I shook my head and retreated to my room. I stripped off my wet clothes and climbed into bed. I curled up and hugged little Tahoe. I wanted to have a miserable-sorry-for-myself cry, but the tears didn’t come.

  45

  I told myself the stone didn’t matter. It was just something I’d become attached to, and I needed to let it go. When I got back to California, my real rock collection—the ones that Uncle Max had found for me— would be waiting. If they hadn’t been damaged by the fire.

  But my fingers still automatically probed the inside of my coat pocket, and I kept my eyes on the ground, always searching.

  Back at school, Kaitlyn and Nick acted the same as always. Friends. Tom acted pretty much the same as usual too, but maybe like a closer friend. Was I imagining it? He greeted me with his crooked smile and pink splotched cheeks in the hallways, and he stopped by my locker to chat more often. In Algebra II, he sharpened my pencil like always. But now our fingers brushed each time, and once, he put his hand on my shoulder as we walked back to our seats. My shoulder tingled through the rest of class. But that was it. He didn’t ask me out, and we never talked outside of school. Did I dream the dance, the way he had held me close? It was like it never happened. And I told myself it didn’t matter. There was no point in me taking the initiative with him; I wasn’t staying here.

  “That’s just like Tom,” Kaitlyn said at lunch. “I’m telling you, he’s never had a girlfriend, ever.”

  I had a Spanish quiz next, so I flipped open my notebook for one last scan of the words. Another paper airplane popped out from its hiding spot. I plucked it up by the edge of a wing like it was toxic and tossed it to Kaitlyn.

  “Are you kidding me?” she said, unfolding and flattening the note. “I don’t even know how to pronounce this.”

  Nick showed up as Kaitlyn slid the paper back across the table for me to see.

  I read aloud. Perfect block printing, black pen. Such completely differently handwriting from the messy scrawl of the other note.

  “Texas,” Nick said.

  “Yep, there’s a big bouldering comp every year. Last time I was there, my wrist was injured, and I totally blew it.” I clasped my hands and cracked my knuckles.

  “So the first note was about one of your successes, a 5.14 climb, and this note is about one of your failures,” Nick said.

  “Nick!” Kaitlyn swatted him.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Maybe it’s a challenge. And there was another note in my locker last week right before the dance.”

  “Fork it over,” Kaitlyn held out her hand.

  “I left it at home. It was like the other notes with the messy handwriting, but the message was the weirdest one yet.” I recited the words in a deep, mysterious voice. “He should have said yes. Turn him into your belay slave.”

  “You are so busted, Nick!” Kaitlyn said with a shove.

  “W
hat? Why am I always getting blamed for these things?”

  “We are the only two who knew about Cara asking Tom to the dance.”

  “Correction, there is at least one other person who knew.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Duh. Maybe Tom’s the one sending the notes.”

  “Oh c’mon,” Kaitlyn said. “Why would he do that? Why would he pretend to be someone else?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “He already told me in person at the dance. If he was going to send a note, he could at least be himself.”

  “Well, maybe he told someone else. I mean, if he liked you, one of his friends would know about it, right?”

  “That’ll be easy to narrow down. He hangs out with the whole freakin’ basketball team,” Kaitlyn said.

  She turned to look at Tom’s table. Just Tom and his basketball buddies wolfing down piles of food. No girls. Ann-Marie had relocated back to the cheerleader table.

  “So now we have two mysteries,” I said. “Two different sets of handwriting, two different kinds of messages. Different people are sending these notes.”

  Sleet pelted the window next to our table.

  “And what’s up with this weather,” I grumbled. “This sucks.”

  Kaitlyn shrugged and said, “You just have to enjoy the surprise warm days, but you can’t expect them to stick around for sure until April or even May.”

  “May!” I groaned. “I’m never going to make it.”

  “That’s why there’s spring break. It’s less than a month away. We’ve got some major planning to do.”

  “California, here we come!” Nick beat his hands on the table in a drum roll.

  “We does not include you!” Kaitlyn said.

  Grandma was inching her way around the living room with her feather duster when I got home from school, but she paused in front of the TV.

  “Those hotels should turn them all away. Serves them right for letting those kids in without their parents.”

  Grandpa’s face was mostly hidden behind the newspaper. If Grandma was expecting a response, it wasn’t coming from him.

  I kept moving toward the sanctuary of my room but caught a glimpse of wild Florida spring breakers on TV as I passed through.

  Oh great, now how was I supposed to ask Grandma and Grandpa if I could go to California? Grandma was going to think I was trying to go on a party spring break trip.

  I opened my closet doors, sank down on my knees, and pulled out the cardboard box filled with my books and magazines. Grandpa had offered to build me a bookcase, but I had told him no. Setting up my books would feel too permanent. I couldn’t do it. I was losing myself. I didn’t know who I was anymore.

  I skimmed my books looking for answers. John Muir wrote, Here is calm so deep, grasses cease waving … Wonderful how completely everything in wild nature fits into us, as if truly part and parent of us.

  Going to the mountains is going home.

  I would approach Grandpa first. He was the most understanding, the most reasonable. I didn’t want to make Grandma any more anxious. I would tell Grandpa about my plan to go to California for spring break with Kaitlyn. And if he said no, well, I would just have to go without his permission, without his help. I would find a way. I had to.

  46

  I kept trying to catch Grandpa alone, but Grandma always seemed to be within earshot. Kaitlyn and I needed to make our plans; I couldn’t wait any longer. I’d ask Grandpa to take me practice driving after dinner. When it was just the two of us in the car, I’d make my spring break case.

  But before I could bring it up, he surprised the crap out of me. We were sitting down to dinner when he dropped the bombshell.

  “Cara, we’ve noticed that you’ve been making a real effort to study and complete your homework. Your grades have improved remarkably. We’re really proud of you.”

  Grandma nodded in agreement, but her lips pressed together into a firm line. The wrinkles in her forehead furrowed deeper.

  I nodded back. We were all sitting around the table like bobbleheads. No one had started eating.

  “We have a proposal for you,” Grandpa continued. “And if you’re not comfortable with this, you speak right up. Because your feelings are the most important here.”

  What was going on?

  Grandma’s eyes were fixed on Grandpa’s and her fingers gripped the edge of the table. She looked like she was going for a car ride.

  “We’d like to take you on a spring break trip. You haven’t said anything, so we weren’t sure. But we thought maybe you’d like to go back to California for a visit.”

  My heart rose into my throat.

  “I thought it might help you to be back home again, in the mountains.”

  I met his gaze. Words went unspoken, but they were there: fire, cabin, Uncle Max.

  “But if you’re not ready for this, we—”

  “No, no, I’m ready,” I squeaked.

  Grandpa beamed. Grandma still had a death grip on the table.

  “But how will we get there? I mean, Grandma can’t fly, or ride in the car.”

  “Right, Grandma and I have been talking about that. And we decided to rent an RV.”

  Oh my God. I was going to be RVing across country like a retiree. Freaking hilarious.

  “It’ll be just like being in a house,” Grandpa said.

  Grandma didn’t look convinced.

  “Can I take a friend? We’d have room, right? In a big RV. Kaitlyn could come with us?”

  “If you’d like.”

  “And our friend Nick? Can we bring him too?”

  Grandma and Grandpa raised their eyebrows at each other.

  “We’d need to talk to their parents first,” Grandpa said.

  “This is perfect!” I jumped out of my seat and kissed Grandpa on the forehead. “I have to call Kaitlyn.”

  Grandma found her voice again. “You can call her after dinner,” she said, nodding at my plate.

  I sat back down to gulp my meal, my knee bouncing up and down, spastic like Elvis leg on a climb.

  47

  I squeezed through the hallway crush of students to get to my locker, popped it open, and out tumbled another note. I swiped at it, missed, and my books and folders slid out of my arms, dumping to the floor. The crowd hopped around my mess, and the note disappeared under a trampling of sneakers and boots. It slid down the hall. I snatched it off the ground, brushed off the grit, and unfolded the squares. Slanty messy writing in pencil.

  A confession! Really? My insides squirmed. A climber? Jake was a regular at the gym but didn’t have access to my school. Tom was at school but didn’t go to the climbing gym. Nick had access to school and the gym, but he’s sworn up and down that he wasn’t my stalker.

  I couldn’t sit still all day. Mom would have said I had ants in my pants. It felt like ants were running up and down the entire length of my body. I was jumpy and twitchy. In Algebra II, I was so distracted I almost forgot to meet Tom at the pencil sharpener. I scurried over just as the bell rang, stumbled, and dropped my pencil. Tom and I bent over to grab it at the same time, cracking our heads together.

  “Oh,” we groaned, holding our heads and laughing at the same time. “Not again.”

  “Oy vey,” Tom said, grasping my hand to pull me up. “Call us King and Queen Klutz.”

  “Muy torpe,” I said.

  His lips curved into his cute crooked grin. “Ooh, you’re getting good.”

  The algebra problems on the whiteboard made me dizzy, so I focused on the back of Tom’s neck as he hunched over his notebook, his cute ears peeking through his wavy hair.

  He twisted to look over his shoulder at me. I held his gaze and smiled; he winked.

  I must confess. Who?

  I told Kaitlyn and Nick about the latest note at lunchtime. They both had to work after school. So that definitely ruled out Nick. Kaitlyn said she’d race to the gym as soon as she got off work.

  I found Jake in the bouldering cave at Planet Granite. H
e traversed the wall, eyes on his next handhold, and didn’t notice me coming in. I stood behind him in spotting position as he prepared to pull himself over the roof. He twisted his arm up to reach the next hold and caught sight of me.

  “Argh!” he yelled and fell, taking me down with him. He landed smack on his chalk bag, sending up a puff of powder.

  “What’re you doing sneakin’ up like that?” A streak of white chalk smeared with sweat across his brown cheek.

  I laughed. “Get off me, you weigh a ton,” I said with a shove.

  He jumped up and swatted the air to clear the haze of chalk dust.

  “You’re here early,” he said.

  “I didn’t know I had a set time to be here.”

  “I mean you’re earlier than you usually get here.”

  I shrugged. Was it just me, or did Jake look nervous?

  “Over here.” He motioned to the corner. “Me and Nate finished puttin’ up a new route.”

  I read aloud the word written on lime-green tape at the start of the climb: “Metamorphosis.”

  “Yeah, I named it after you.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “As in Kafka?”

  “Huh?”

  I shook my head. “Never mind.”

  “I was trying to think of a song title, you know, ’cause you’re a rock star. Get it? ‘Rock’ star?”

  I raised my eyebrows higher.

  “Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t get it. Metamorphosis. Because you used to climb like a caterpillar, and now you soar like a butterfly.” He acted out the transformation, slowly flapping his hands, creeping forward on tiptoe, then floating his arms up and down.

  Too funny. I couldn’t lower my eyebrows. I couldn’t help it, he was just so darn cute. “Are you turning poetic on me?”

  Jake hung his head and shrugged.

  “Metamorphosis, huh?” I scanned the new route, lime-green tape marking the holds all the way up and onto the ceiling.