by Lehman, Kim
I blush. When I look down again I see that Grayson made a comment on the page. It reads: “You win! P.S. Best embarrassing moment ever!” I want to hide under the desk and never come out.
When the bell rings at the end of class, Ms. Ming reminds us of the upcoming test at the end of the week. “Don’t forget to keep studying. I don’t grade on a curve, so you’ll want to make sure you’re prepared.” Half the class has already exited the room by the time she’s through talking. I’m still at my desk packing my things.
Standing next to me, Grayson adjusts his backpack on his shoulders. “That was awesome,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re too cute.”
I almost drop the book I’m lifting. My head snaps up. Did he just call me cute? I think he did. I think he actually used the word “cute.”
“So, you still up for studying today? I’m thinking we can walk to the bookstore. It’s only a couple blocks from here.”
I know the store he’s referring to. It’s four blocks in the opposite direction from my house, which is already three miles from school, and I’m not sure how I’ll get a ride home. “Sounds perfect.”
“Cool.” He smiles. “Meet you in the lobby after school.”
“I’ll be there.”
Miles
I think there are moments in life you will remember forever, instances when you can recall exactly what you were doing, what time it was, the smells around you, the sounds, and insignificant details, like what you were wearing, what you ate that day, or what the weather was like outside. Mom and Dad have talked about moments like that. Mom remembers the Challenger explosion from back when she was a kid. She was just entering high school. Their class was watching it on TV. She said the moment it happened you could practically feel the earth move beneath your feet. Everything became so still, like life was moving in slow motion.
Dad has a similar story. He’ll never forget when the Philadelphia Phillies won the 1993 National League Championship, because he was at the game with his dad (my grandpa). They were sitting behind home plate. My dad can close his eyes and recall everything about that day. It was a few months before his dad passed away of a heart attack. I never did meet my grandfather, but from what my father tells me about him, he was an incredible man.
As I watch Charlotte walk across the courtyard with Grayson, smiling, laughing, oblivious to everything else, I realize that this day—in my Gap jeans and collared, short-sleeved, button-down shirt in the back of bus number eleven-thirteen, the leaves beginning to change colors on the trees outside, and the scent of diesel fumes and vinyl filling my nostrils—is one of those moments I’ll remember forever.
Charlotte
The bookstore is way more crowded than I thought it would be. Large, communal desks are scattered around, filled with people reading and writing. Seems like a lot of kids from our school come here to hang out and do work. Most of the desks are occupied.
“Let’s go upstairs,” Grayson says. “There are usually empty tables and it’s a little bit quieter.” I follow him up the escalator. “This way,” he motions. We end up in a corner of the store, behind a bookshelf labeled RELATIONSHIPS. Seems ironic.
The table he chooses is a lot smaller than the ones downstairs. It’s pressed up against the wall. There are only two chairs side-by-side. “I’ve studied here a few times before. No one ever comes over here.” He tells me. “This is the perfect table.”
For...? It seems he might want to add more to that sentence. For studying? For talking? My pulse accelerates. For making out?
We both sit down. My hip brushes against him. “Sorry,” I say, shifting. He doesn’t seem to notice. Opening his bag, he slides his algebra book onto the table.
“Okay,” he says, giving me the biggest smile I think any guy has ever given me. “Where do we start?”
I’m trying to focus but his face makes it difficult. “Uh...let’s do the hardest problems first and then work backward.”
“Sounds good. I’m all yours.”
I nervously chuckle. “Right,” I say, feeling my face flush as I thumb through the textbook. “Why don’t we turn to page fifty-seven?”
When I’m almost on the page, I notice Grayson lift his hand out of the corner of my eye and move it toward my face. Next thing I know he’s touching my cheek, gliding his finger over my ear. My body spasms. I look at him and gulp.
“Sorry,” he says. “You had a few strands of hair on your face.”
I’m pretty sure I’m blinking in slow motion. “Thanks,” I squeak out.
He smiles at me again, “No problem,” then he adds, “Hey, we’re not going to study all night, right? I’m thinking maybe we could grab a bite next door later. I’m starving.”
Did he just ask me out?
Miles
Lani plops down onto the area rug next to my bed. I’m completely disengaged; my thoughts are on Charlotte, but Lani doesn’t care. She’s talking for both of us, asking questions, then answering them herself. She tells me about her day—the teacher asked her to take off her hat in Spanish class. Today Lani decided to wear cowboy boots and a cowboy hat to school, and the teacher didn’t like the hat. She said it was distracting. Lani refused to take it off—told the teacher that honoring prior historical periods and cultures was part of her belief system. “Would you tell a Muslim woman to take off her hijab, or a Mennonite woman to remove her bonnet? I think not,” Lani had argued. Ten minutes later, she was in the principal’s office. “She totally overreacted,” Lani explains. “I was just joking, trying to prove a point. I mean, was it really necessary to send me to the principal’s office?” She huffs. “Anyway, the principal gave me two days of detention for my first offense. I still haven’t told my parents. They’re going to lose their shit.”
Most of what Lani says filters in and out. I’m trying to focus, but it’s not easy. My mind has been all over the place for the past twenty-four hours. I catch the tail end of her next sentence.
“...then he asked me out. I couldn’t believe it. I’ve been dropping hints for weeks and he finally asks me out.”
“Who?” I say, pretending like I care.
“Pratt Banes,” she says like I’m a total moron.
“Oh.” I nod. “Right.” I have no idea who that is, and I didn’t know she liked anyone.
She continues to blabber about what Pratt said to her. When she starts talking about lipstick colors, my brain and my emotions explode. I have to interrupt.
“It’s over, isn’t it?” I ask, deathly afraid to hear the answer.
Because I had stopped her midsentence, she’s still sitting with her mouth open and her eyebrows up. Slowly her features relax and her expression softens into sympathy. “I’m not gonna sugarcoat it, Miles: it’s not lookin’ good.”
“Did you talk to her?”
Lani nods. “She called me on the way here.”
“And?”
She sighs. “They had a really good time. They just studied, but she said they talked a lot.” She pauses before delivering the wrecking ball. “And you’re right. It sounds like he likes her. He asked her to study with him again tomorrow.”
I hang my head.
Lani sits on her knees. “There are other girls,” she says in an attempt to console me.
All it does is make me feel worse. I shake my head. “Not for me.”
Charlotte
After I get home from studying with Grayson, I find Alexa in the kitchen staring at her phone. “Hi!” I say, feeling my smile getting wider by the second. I don’t even care that Alexa doesn’t respond. Gliding around the kitchen, I grab a glass from the cupboard, toss in a few ice cubes, fill it with soda, take a long sip, set the glass back down, spin around, and lean my elbows on the counter before letting out a belch and a sigh. The only thing missing from my jubilant entrance is a Broadway show tune.
“You’re disgusting,” Alexa grumbles, acknowledging me.
“Where’s Mom and Dad?” I ask, unfazed by her attitude.
She go
es back to glaring at her phone. “Where do you think?”
I remember now. Uncle Paul and Aunt Claire’s. Mom mentioned they would be there tonight. “What are you doing?” I ask Lex.
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not talking to you, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Okay. She’s in a bad mood. Not surprising. With a shrug, I hum a song by Bastille and grab my soda.
“Do you really have to do that?” she barks, scrunching her face.
“What am I doing?” I say.
“You’re dancing around like a spaz,” she responds. “What’s that all about?”
I was secretly hoping she might ask. Facing her, I take another sip of soda and beam. “I was studying at the bookstore with this guy in my algebra class and then we went out for dinner. Lex, he’s seriously one of the hottest boys in our grade and he’s so nice.” I don’t know why I tell her. Maybe it’s because I’m so excited that it feels like my insides are going to burst out of my pores. Or maybe it’s because I so badly want to connect with Alexa that I think by telling her that I went out with a cute, popular boy, she’ll somehow be more proud to be my sister.
She scoffs, “Please. If you think he likes you, you’re wasting your time.”
My smile fades. It’s as if a brick shot out of her mouth and landed on my face. Clearly the excitement or happiness I’m expecting will not be reciprocated. While I’m still processing her words, she feels the need to add, “I mean, seriously, I can tell by the way you’re hopping around that you’re really into this kid, but if you’re trying to convince yourself that he likes you too, you’re an idiot.”
“You don’t even know him,” I say, swallowing the pain.
She takes a deep breath and rolls her eyes. Her disposition goes from sour to pungent. “I don’t have to know him. Trust me. Save yourself the heartache and face reality.”
My chin falls into my chest.
“Oh,” she continues, because she obviously has not said enough to make her point. “And if you think that makeup shit all over your face is gonna help, it won’t. Nothing will.”
I more than flinch at the sting of her words. It’s like my bones are caving in, one by one, toppling onto one another, bringing me down with them. But then, just when I feel like I’m going to crumble, something strange happens. The blood begins to boil in my veins. My spine straightens, my hands clench, and a fire deep in the pit of my stomach pushes my voice. “You’re a bitch,” I blurt out.
Alexa gasps. We both stare at each other with the same shocked expression. She can’t believe what I said and neither can I. “Hold on—” she starts.
I cut her off. I’ve never stood up to Alexa before, but something inside of me takes over. “No! You hold on.” I take a step toward her and raise my voice. “Why are you mean to me? What did I do to you? You’re supposed to be my sister! You’re supposed to care about me and stick up for me, and I’m supposed to do the same for you. But you don’t care about anyone but yourself! I’ve tried to understand you, but I don’t. I’m sick and tired of the way you treat me. You know what...you’re right. I must be an idiot, because my whole life I’ve looked up to you!” I shake my head as she stares back, a blank, emotionless, uncaring expression on her face. It looks like she is going to try to say something again, but I don’t give her a chance. “No more, Alexa. No more condescending remarks. No more comments about my clothes or what I look like, and never again will I look up to you. I’m done. In fact, I don’t want to look at you at all.”
She huffs, her eyes look confused, like they’re searching for something to say.
Not wanting to hear another word that comes out of her mouth, I grab my soda, turn away from her, and walk up upstairs. When I’m finally in my room, I close the door, take a deep breath, and lean against it. My heart is racing so fast it feels like my chest is going to explode. I can’t believe I just said all of that stuff to my sister. I can’t believe I totally told her off. What did I just do?
I slide down the backside of the door, until I’m sitting on the floor and I smile.
Holy shit. That felt really good.
Miles
Later in the evening, just after eleven o’clock, I wake up to someone yelling down the hall. As I become more coherent, I realize it’s my mom. She doesn’t usually yell, which makes me think that something is terribly wrong, so I jump out of bed and race toward the sound of her voice in her bedroom. When I open the door, I don’t see her. Then I hear more yelling, and that’s when I realize she’s inside her walk-in closet with the door closed. “Goddamn it, Dale! It’s a simple question! If plans changed, why didn’t you at least call?...Are you kidding?...You have to be kidding...Because that sounds like the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard!...How did you lose your phone? And you couldn’t use someone else’s phone?...Oh, that’s great. Of course! Of course you don’t know the phone number for your own son. That would require you to remember something!...No! Don’t put this on me. It’s not my fault...No! I’m not going to wake him up. I’m sick of you disappointing him! I’m—”
I open the door to the closet. Startled, Mom almost drops the phone. Her face turns white at the sight of me. I can hear Dad yelling her name. “Tracy? You still there? Tracy!”
I hold out my hand. “Let me talk to him.”
Mom shakes her head. “No. It’s late, it’s not a good idea.” I know she’s trying to protect me.
I nod to let her know it’s okay, and I keep my hand extended.
She sighs. “Dale,” she says, her voice much more calm, “Yes. I’m still here. No, I didn’t hang up. Uh...I was just...Miles came in. Yes...He wants to talk to you, too.”
Slowly she hands the phone to me.
“Hi, Dad.” I wait for the usual.
“Hey, Bud!”
That’s it.
“So...” He doesn’t waste much time explaining himself. “I’m so sorry about this past weekend. My flight got in Wednesday night and I was so tired, I headed straight to the hotel for the conference and—”
“Conference?” I cut him off.
“Yeah, the conference. In Philadelphia.”
“I didn’t know you had a conference.” I would have remembered him telling me that.
“Miles, I told you, that’s why I was coming out there,” he says this in a tone that implies I should have listened more closely.
“Actually, I thought you were coming out to see me.”
There’s a short pause. “Well, yeah, that too, but I had a conference I was attending for work first and then—”
“You never told me that.”
“I’m sure I—”
“No. I would have remembered.”
“I’m sorry, Bud. I really thought that—”
“So why didn’t you call?”
“That’s what I was trying to tell you. My flight landed, Sheila and I drove to the hotel—”
“Sheila was here too?” Why does that not surprise me?
“Yeah. She has some friends in Philadelphia, so she came along. Anyway, the next morning I woke up and discovered my phone was gone. I must have left it on the plane. I have no idea where it went. It was the worst trip. I missed half a day of the conference because the hotel was helping me work with the airlines to try and track it down.”
“So did you?” I ask.
“What?” he says.
“Track it down.” I say.
“Oh, yeah. It’s kind of funny, actually. I left it on the counter at home. It was sitting right here when I got back.” He chuckles. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner.”
Hilarious.
“So, why didn’t you stop by?” I wonder.
“What do you mean?” He seems genuinely confused by this question.
“While you were here? You know where we live. Why didn’t you come over?”
He stumbles with his response. “Well...I sort of know where you guys are. It’s been a while and I didn’t have the address, and because I spent the first part of the day
trying to track down the phone, I—”
“We’re listed. If you look up Mom’s name, you can find her address online.”
“Oh. Well, I didn’t even think about—”
“When did you get home?” I ask.
“From the conference?”
“Yeah.”
“We left on Saturday,” he says.
“Why didn’t you call me yesterday?”
Silence.
“Dad?” I press.
He sighs. “Okay, look, I actually got home today. Sheila and I took a detour to visit her daughter in college. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you more upset. But, hey, why don’t we make plans for another weekend next month. Let me make it up to you. Whaddaya say? Huh, Bud?”
I say nothing.
He gives me a minute. “Miles?” I can hear a mild tinge of desperation in his voice as if he actually cares.
“I think you’re trying really hard to be a good dad,” I say.
“I am,” He sighs, a sense of relief in his voice.
“But here’s the thing,” I say. “Some people just aren’t fatherly-inclined. I just don’t think this is the right role for you. Maybe you should try something a little more suited for your schedule. Like a pet rock, or goldfish maybe?”
The other end of the line is silent for a moment and then he says, “You’re upset.”
I clearly received all of my intelligence from my mom.
“I’m not upset,” I tell him honestly. “I was upset when you left me at five years old. I was upset when you missed my sixth, seventh, and eighth birthdays, and I was upset the first ten times you called me to make plans and never followed through. I stopped being upset a long time ago.”
“What can I do?” he says, sounding tired.
“What you always do,” I tell him. “Nothing.” Hanging up, I hand the phone to my mom. “I’m going back to bed,” I tell her, walking away.
She calls after me, concerned. “Miles?”
I turn around. “I’m okay, Mom.”
