11 Before 12

by Lisa Greenwald

  Moms don’t need to know everything. A little bit here and there, but not everything.

  “I see,” my mom says, and sips her water.

  A tiny little twitchy guilt feeling settles into my stomach. Maybe I should’ve told her. Maybe it’s mean to keep stuff from her. I mean, she is my mom. And she’s going through a lot, not having my dad around to talk to.

  But no. I can’t tell her. Not yet.

  “Detention was terrible. I can tell you that much, so I will be doing all that I can to behave myself so that I never have to go back there again,” I explain.

  My mom rubs her eyes in her I’m-tired-and-frustrated way and I feel bad that I’ve caused her to feel this way. I should be doing all I can to make things easier for her, and I seem to be creating more problems. But the thing is, I’m pretty sure that’s what kids do. And parents are just supposed to be okay with it.

  I add an “I’m sorry” for good measure and take another piece of salmon avocado roll.

  “I wish you had told me,” she says. “I want to ask you something.” She pauses for a million years. “Is there something I’m doing that makes you and Ryan not want to talk to me?”

  Oh my God. How easy is this? She is literally handing me the opportunity to check Have a mature discussion with our moms about their flaws off the list.

  I can JHH by myself when we’re on our way to the car.

  I slowly sip my water and plan out what I’m going to say. “I guess I just feel a lot of pressure,” I start and realize I have no plan for how to continue. “You’re so great and stuff.” Okay, buttering someone up can help. “And I want to do great and I want you to be proud of me. And so that’s a lot of pressure. And it’s, like, hard to be a kid with all the schoolwork, and social media makes it seem like everyone is living the perfect life all the time.”

  “Go on,” my mom encourages.

  “And, like, the thing is, I’m not sure you really get it,” I add. “You don’t know what it’s like. You didn’t grow up with a cell phone! And also, stop snooping on my Instagram! I thought I warned you—”

  “You left me no choice,” she says. “We get emails from school all the time about cyberbullying and inappropriate pictures posted online, and you don’t talk to me, and you’ve been acting so . . . off. And I worry so much about your friendships since Brooke and Lily. And now that you’re not talking to Ari, I really worry. So . . . I had to.”

  “Not cool.”

  “You and Ryan don’t talk to me,” she says. “So I’m not able to understand what’s going on with you.”

  I look down at my empty plate and wish I had more sushi to eat. I always wish I had more sushi to eat.

  “I’ll try to share more,” I say. “But do you promise to listen and not just tell me what to do? Can you promise to try and put yourself in my shoes?”

  She sniffles and says, “I promise.”

  “And also, there’s one other thing,” I add, and realize I’m not done with this talk. “Sometimes I feel like you just want me to be a baby forever. And you’re so worried and overprotective. You don’t want me to walk around the neighborhood alone. You still think I should be in bed by nine thirty.”

  I stop talking when I see little puddles in the corners of her eyes.

  “I know,” she says. “I know you’re not a baby anymore.”

  “Okay.” I deep-sigh and look down at my plate. I pray that my mom’s stopped crying.

  “Sometimes I just really miss the old days,” she says. “When we’d walk home from preschool holding hands, and I’d put out snack buffets. And we’d cuddle in bed after your bath, and I was able to fix every little thing with a Band-Aid or an ice cream.”

  She sits there, crying quietly at the table for a minute. She’s crying in a restaurant, and everyone is looking at us. The waiter comes over but then stops when he sees her crying and backs away.

  I make a scrunched-up, awkward sorry face, and he mouths that he’ll come back.

  Moms aren’t supposed to be sad in front of their kids. It’s not fair. Moms are supposed to smile and pretend that everything is fine and deal with their sadness about kids growing up and marriages falling apart later.

  “I’ll try,” she says. “Really, I’ll try.”

  We order mango sorbet for dessert, and we stop this conversation and move into my mom telling me how her friend Nancy is planning a family trip and maybe we’ll go with them, and don’t I like Nancy’s daughter? And on and on.

  Nancy’s daughter is okay, kind of boring. Her name is Becky and they live in New Jersey and we see them once a year. But a vacation would be nice, I guess.

  I doubt it’ll happen, but it’s put an end to the conversation we were having before, so that’s a good thing. Everything feels lighter after that, more manageable.

  We drive home and pick Ryan up on the way. I half hope my mom will tell me to go ring the bell and then Tyler will answer, and we’ll talk and smile at each other for a second. But then I half hope that my mom will just honk and Ryan will come out. Maybe I’ll catch a glimpse of Tyler in the entryway.

  But neither of those things happen.

  We pull into Tyler’s driveway, and Ryan and Tyler are out front playing basketball. I want to sink through an imaginary hole in my seat. Now I have to see Tyler in front of Ryan and my mom when I’m already feeling awkward from dinner. Or maybe he won’t notice me. He’ll just say good-bye to Ryan and go inside.

  The seconds that take place between when Ryan sees that it’s us and puts the basketball down, and when he gets into the car feel like three million years.

  Ryan gets in the backseat and mumbles out a tired “Hey.”

  I think I’m in the clear, but a second later, Tyler appears at my window.

  “Hey, Kaylan,” he says.

  Okay. Does he not realize that my mom is sitting right here? And my brother is in the backseat? What is he doing?

  “Hey.” I freeze. I can’t think of anything to say. I don’t know how to act right now.

  His breathing sounds loud, like really loud, and even though there’s a window and a car door separating us, I feel like it’s the closest we’ve ever been. It feels too close. His breathing feels like it’s directly in my ear. I can’t look at him.

  Instead, I stare at the dried-up mud on the toe of my left sneaker. Must clean that.

  “Just wanted to let you know that we need to finalize our acts for the talent show pretty soon,” he says. “I, um, wasn’t sure if you knew.”

  “Oh, um, okay.” I run my words together. “Thanks.”

  “Cool. Later.”

  He walks away from the car and I keep staring at my muddy sneaker and pray that my mom and Ryan stay quiet. Please don’t say anything. Please don’t say anything.

  For a few minutes, it’s totally silent in the car, and I’m nervous about what’s to come. And then my mom starts asking Ryan about his homework and why his science teacher called and said he’s failed the last two quizzes.

  I feel like the meanest person in the world, but I’m actually grateful for the distraction. The attention’s not on me. And no one said anything about Tyler.

  Phew.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  A FEW DAYS LATER AT lunch, I try to get the Whatevers to help me come up with an act for the talent show. They don’t seem interested. At all.

  June says, “Kaylan, I told you a hundred times you should play the flute. You’re good at the flute.”

  I’m not sure why she doesn’t realize that would be really lame and boring, and why she doesn’t realize that I’m not good at the flute. She’s never even heard me play.

  And then Cami says, “What about some kind of dramatic reading of celebrity tweets?”

  Her mom is a high-powered agent or lawyer or something, so Cami sometimes acts like she’s twenty-five and she knows about all sorts of stuff that doesn’t make any sense to me.

  “I’m not on Twitter. I don’t know how it even works,” I say, and then I start to realize
that I may be shooting down everyone’s ideas. “But thanks for all the suggestions.”

  “So join it,” she says. “I’ll show you during study hall. But honestly, you don’t need to be on Twitter to read tweets.”

  I really don’t even know what she’s talking about, so I tell her I will give it some thought and I go back to finishing my lunch.

  “You’re never going to believe this convo I had with my mom last night,” I overhear Ari say from the end of the table.

  Saara starts asking me about the English essay, but I try to avoid conversation so I can eavesdrop.

  “What happened?” Sydney asks.

  “Oh yeah, you texted me about that,” Marie adds. “How did it go?”

  My throat stings, so I take a sip of water and keep listening.

  Ari raises her eyebrows and says, “She was like, I want to be close with you, and I want us to make a time each week that we spend together, just the two of us.”

  “And?” Sydney asks.

  “And I was like, okay . . . but it seems weird, right?”

  “I dunno,” Kira says. “It’s kinda nice. My mom works all the time.”

  They’re quiet after that, but I get the sense there was more to that conversation than what Ari’s saying. How her mom probably made her biscuits for breakfast this morning with fresh raspberry jam from the farmer’s market to make her feel better.

  I bet she fulfilled the mature discussion with our moms about their flaws thing.

  I feel the strongest urge to run over to her and tell her that we need to do the JHH right now. But maybe she did it on her own, in the mirror.

  Even if we’re not talking, we’re doing the same things at the same time. We’re on the same wavelength, like BFFs should be.

  I’m by the garbage, throwing away my lunch bag, when I see Ari walk right by me. She’s with Marie and Kira.

  They look at me, and I half smile, about to bring up the mom talks and the JHH, but then they look away.

  Thankfully Jason comes up to throw away his trash and I relax a little. I take a deep breath and force myself to put the Ari drama away for a minute. “What’s up?”

  “Nada,” he says. “Want to study for that history test after school? All the teachers are giving the same test this time.”

  I think about it for a second. I wonder why he’s not studying with Ari. Or maybe this is a trap to get us to be friends again. Either way, Jason’s smart; I bet he’d be a good study partner.

  He continues, “My mom went grocery shopping yesterday and our snack inventory is at an all-time high.”

  I can’t help but laugh. Jason just has this way of making the most mundane things feel great. Sometimes in life you need that. Actually, you probably need that at all times.

  “Sure,” I say, and my stomach turns bubbly. Not that there’s any reason to be nervous. Jason’s just a friend. A good friend.

  “Awesome,” he says, after finishing the last sips of his water. “And we can work on your act, too. Seriously, I know I’ve said it a hundred times, but I think the competitive clementine peeling is really going to put you above and beyond your competition.”

  “Okay, Jason.” I pat his shoulder, and then jerk my hand away like I’ve just touched a hot burner on the stove. Why did I touch his shoulder? I didn’t plan to touch his shoulder. It just happened. Like, my arm reached out without my realizing it, and then extended from my body, and my hand landed on his shoulder.

  “See ya, Kay.”

  Kay? He’s calling me Kay.

  My heart pounds as I walk to math.

  This is Jason. I need to calm down.

  The rest of the day seems to go in slow motion. One minute I’m excited about the Jason study session, and the next minute I’m coming up with excuses like food poisoning so that I can bail.

  Finally, after my last-period pop quiz in Spanish, I’m at my locker packing up when I feel a tap on my shoulder, and I jolt.

  “Are you coming straight to my house or going to your house first and then walking over?” Jason asks. Everyone else around us at the lockers overhears and makes ooh faces at each other, like what’s up with Kaylan and Jason, and why haven’t we heard?

  I ignore it, but my face burns.

  “Um, I’ll go to my house and drop most of my stuff, change into something more comfy, and then meet you at your house,” I say quietly. The truth is I’m already wearing a zip-up hoodie and my most comfy jeans, but I think I need a few minutes alone in my room to prepare for my first-ever study session with a boy.

  This is a big moment. I need to pump myself up in the mirror, talk to myself, stuff like that.

  Plus, if I walk to his house with him, our hangout will start that much earlier, and what if we run out of stuff to talk about by the time we even get to his house?

  That would be terrible.

  “Sounds good,” he says. “Later, Terrel.”

  I’m walking home from the bus stop, the way I do every single day. I look for Mrs. Etisof. I know I need to get to Jason’s, but I really feel like chatting today. I kinda want to bring up the talk I had with my mom. And maybe the Ari stuff, too.

  Oddly enough, I don’t see her on the porch or hear her.

  “Mrs. Etisof?” I call out. I wonder if I should ring her bell. This is so strange. She’s always outside. “Mrs. Etisof?”

  “Kaylan?” I hear her call, unsure of where it’s coming from.

  I look around, walk up the path to her front door, and peek around the side.

  “Kaylan, over here,” she says. “In the back.”

  I walk around her house, and find her on the back deck, staring into a slightly cracked-open window.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “I got locked out. I knew it would happen sooner or later. I’ve been so forgetful lately. My daughter has an extra key, but she’s in Japan for work. . . .”

  “Um.” I look at her for a second. “You’re never inside. Are you sure you want to go in now?” I laugh, hoping that will make her feel better.

  She smiles. “Do you think I can dive in through this window? Is it open enough? I can’t tell. I’m not good at depth perception.”

  Is she serious right now? She’s seventy years old and she wants to dive into her living room through an open window. Aren’t her bones brittle? I always see commercials about osteoporosis.

  “I don’t think so, Mrs. E.” I fold my arms across my chest, and survey the situation. “Maybe a locksmith?”

  “Eh, I hate to bother. People are busy.” She pauses. “But I need to take my afternoon pills.”

  “I have an idea,” I say. “I can crawl in.”

  “Oh, Kaylan! Your mother will have my head if you get hurt,” she says.

  “It’ll be fine!” I assure her.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Totally!” I clap and get a surge of excitement about this. “I used to do gymnastics. Remember? I’d cartwheel all the way from my lawn to yours.”

  “I do remember!” She pauses and thinks for a second. “Okay, I’ll be here to spot you. Thankfully, the carpet in there is very padded.”

  I stretch a little, and then curve my arms forward like I’m about to dive into a pool. I bend my knees a little and turn onto my side. I make it halfway through the window, and then Mrs. Etisof boosts me the rest of the way holding my legs, like we’re in some kind of wheelbarrow race, and both of us start to laugh.

  “We’re a good team, Mrs. E,” I laugh. “We should enter some kind of contest!”

  But then I’m in. I unlock her back door and grab her keys off the kitchen table. It’s covered with newspapers and art supplies and half-filled glasses of water. Mrs. E seems disorganized, kind of like I feel about life right now.

  Maybe we’re all a little disorganized.

  “Voilà!” I hand them to her, as soon as I make it back outside.

  “You’re a hero, Kaylan Terrel!” She hugs me.

  “I don’t know about that.” I smile. “But I’m
happy to help!”

  My heart sinks a little, thinking about Mrs. Etisof all alone, locked out. I’m not even sure how long.

  I walk home and reassure myself that I’m not alone—I have my mom, and Ryan when he’s not being a jerk. And I guess I have my dad, even though he barely comes home to visit us now that he lives in Arizona. I miss him, though. I miss the way he’d leave the Sunday comics for me on my seat at the kitchen table every week. And I have Jason, even though he makes my stomach hurt sometimes. And Tyler—well, I don’t really have Tyler. But I wish I had him. And he makes my stomach hurt, too.

  I am alone. Kind of.

  I’m alone without Ari. I wonder if I took it for granted that I’d always have her with me. How we planned that we’d go to college together, and be roommates, and then eventually we’d live in the same neighborhood, in houses next door to one another.

  I don’t have her now. And I don’t know if I’ll ever have her back.

  And that’s what really hurts.

  TWENTY-SIX

  BY THE TIME I MAKE it to Jason’s I’m so pumped about my rescue mission that I can barely focus on the studying. I’m so good at crawling through windows—I should probably be better at yoga. Maybe I do need to give it another chance. . . . I wonder if there is a way to make diving through a window my talent show act.

  The inside of Jason’s house is all colorful, and the walls are covered in family photos and little artistic prints, but there are still some moving boxes in the corners.

  We go up to Jason’s room, and there’s a pile of folded laundry on the dresser. His boxers are on the top of the pile and they’re plaid and colorful and it freaks me out that I’m sitting so close to his underwear.

  “You okay, Kay?” Jason asks, and then cracks up. “Get it—’kay Kay?”

  I groan. “I get it. I just crawled through a window to unlock Mrs. Etisof’s house,” I tell him. “I’m, like, so proud of myself.”

  “You’re a rock star.”

  “Thanks.” I laugh.

  He makes a fist and holds it under his mouth like he’s a reporter with a microphone. “Did you ever think you’d be able to squeeze through such a small space?”