by Jen Klein
I saunter toward him, hyperaware of how much thigh and upper boob I have on display. Ian’s eyes are wide and horrified. He slams the cash register drawer closed and hurries out from behind the counter. I glance at his brother as I pass by. His eyes are identically wide, but less horrified and more intrigued.
Ian meets me in the center of the store. “What are you doing?” he hisses.
“Fixing this,” I hiss back. Out loud I proclaim, “I miss you! I miss your voice and your presence and your…mouth.”
“You miss his mouth?” It’s Ian’s brother, who has moved closer to us. He looks wildly interested.
“Yes!” I tell Ian’s brother. “Yes!” I also tell Ian. Then, because I’m really trying to sell this, I grab Ian by the head, I surge at him, and I smash my face into his for a mind-blowing kiss.
At least, that’s what I hope it looks like from behind me. In reality, I share a mind-blowing kiss with the back of my thumbs that I have pressed against Ian’s mouth. To his brother, it should look like I’m passionately cradling Ian’s head, instead of going for broke on my thumbs, channeling every first kiss and every last. They’ve all prepared me for this moment. When I finally pull back, Ian is staring at me like I’ve grown horns.
“Wow,” his brother says.
Ian makes a swipe for my hand. “Come on.” Then he glances at his brother. “I’m going on break.”
“But you just got here—”
Ian doesn’t even pretend to listen. He rushes me out of the store at the speed of light. Or at least he tries to…but my boots have very spiky heels, and when we cross the entrance, I trip on the flooring strip and almost twist my ankle. Ian grabs me and we cling to each other, resulting in a very weird hobbled gait as we make our way to the closest bench. “What the ever-loving hell was that?” he asks as soon as we’re seated.
“Cooper told me I’d outed you.” I try to convey the intensity of my atonement with an earnest gaze. “I’m so sorry. It was wrong, and I would never, ever do that on purpose. I’m just trying—”
“I know,” Ian says. “I never thought it was on purpose.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know that, too.” We sit there in silence for a moment, until Ian breaks it. “Thanks for the kiss, but Brody—my brother—isn’t gonna buy it.”
“No?” Come on, I put my heart and soul into that fake kiss.
“I already told him everything about Cooper. Told our mom, too.”
“How’d that go?” I’m not sure what else to ask.
“Not awesome.” Ian looks at his carefully laced shoes. “But it was time.”
“Maybe, but it should have been in your control.”
“Oh, I’m not arguing with that. I wish it had happened differently.” Ian glances over at me and manages a slight smile. “But it didn’t. So now it is what it is, and everything I’m dealing with at home—my brother and everyone—I’d be dealing with at some point, whether you pushed it to happen or not.”
“I’m so, so sorry.” Because there’s nothing else to say.
“I know,” Ian says. “I forgive you.”
It’s the thing that makes me realize he is good enough for Cooper after all.
Not that it’s my decision.
It’s not.
“Cooper told me about you and Ardy,” Ian says. I tighten up. I cannot stand to hear more about Ardy’s problems at Ian’s school. Except Ian doesn’t look triumphant or like he’s telling gossip. Instead, he looks compassionate. “I shouldn’t have repeated what people said about him. I didn’t know him. It wasn’t fair.”
And that’s what makes me love Ian. Because not only did he forgive the unforgivable, but he admits his own wrongdoing.
“I forgive you.” I mean it. I so mean it.
“Still.” Ian leans—just the tiniest bit—toward me. His shoulder brushes mine. “I feel bad.”
I also lean toward him, just enough that I can feel the warmth of him against my skin.
Because I am showing a lot of skin.
Ian pulls back and turns to give me and my skimpy outfit a once-over. “So, this is what you thought I’d like if I were a straight boy?” I shrug, and Ian smiles. “Wanna hear something great?”
“Please.”
“My little sister, Claire, heard me arguing with my brother and Mom.”
“That’s the opposite of great.” My heart sinks for that sweet little kid, hearing such an ugly grown-up conversation. Knowing that some people can have such a hardness in their heart, even for people in their own family.
“No, listen.” Ian touches my arm. “She was like, ‘What’s the big deal? It’s how his heart was made to love.’ It shut my mom and brother down. I think they at least heard her.” He smiles. “Kids don’t show up hating other people on their own. That has to be taught.”
That, at least, is a sunny spot in this day. “I’m glad Claire has you to teach her.”
“Yeah, me too.” He scans my face. “You know Cooper misses you, right?”
“I miss him, too.” God, I miss him. I scoot closer again, sliding my arm around Ian’s waist, and give him a quasi hug. “You might be okay.”
“Yeah, the jury’s still out on you.”
It makes me laugh. It’s nice to laugh again.
* * *
I dork around the mall for a while, and then I head for home. When I get there, Cooper’s waiting on my porch. That fedora is on his head, jammed down almost to his eyebrows, and the sight of it—and him—makes me smile. I get out of my car and he rises, stepping to the ground. “Got something to say to me?”
“Ian has a big mouth,” I tell him.
“Can’t argue with that.”
“No, I mean his mouth is actually big. My hand spent some time in very close proximity to it—which I presume he’s already told you—so it should know.” I hold up my hand to talk like a puppet saying the words: “He’s a terrible kisser.”
Cooper’s lips turn up at the corners. “I beg to differ.”
Dropping my hand, I shrug. “However, he does seem to be reasonably good at making you happy.”
“He has his moments.”
I step onto the bottom porch stair and turn so I’m looking Cooper in the eyes. “You should be happy. Be with him and be happy and be yourself. I never should have asked you to be anything else.”
“Here’s the thing.” Cooper runs a hand through his hair, sending it straight up in the air. “I might be trying on a couple of different versions of me. Next year, college, a whole new crop of people. All bets are off. I might be ‘cute librarian.’ Or ‘emo hipster.’ Or ‘clove cigarette cool.’ ”
“Not that one.” I make a face at him. “I don’t want to visit a dorm room that smells bad.”
“I’m just saying, I might try some new things, so be aware of that.” He takes a step away from the porch so he can look over my revealing outfit. “Speaking of being aware, are you aware you’re barely dressed?”
“Ooh, that reminds me—stay right here.” I make it to my room and back to the porch in under a minute. I wave a plastic bag at Cooper. “Got a present for you.”
He takes the bag and opens it wide. The late-afternoon sun hits the T-shirt inside, blazing the white letters to life: NOT STRAIGHT. Cooper can’t stop his grin. “This is badass.”
“Fifteen percent off.” And then I throw my arms around him. “Let’s not break up anymore, okay?”
“Okay.” We hug for a moment, and then Cooper says, “So how are you going to get that boy of yours back?”
“I don’t think I am.” My shoulders droop all of their own accord. “I broke his heart when I didn’t mean to. I’d need an army to convince him to trust me again.”
Cooper looks at me thoughtfully. “I have three words to say.”
I smile at him. “I lo
ve you, too.”
“Nope.” He doesn’t return the smile. “Three different words.”
I puzzle for a moment. “I give up?”
This time Cooper’s smile is huge and bright and all-encompassing. “Hashtag Lark Karma.”
What?
There’s a thing that California people say when summer hits: It’s a dry heat. As if that makes it okay for the hot air to slam into you like a wall when you come out of your air-conditioned house, or for the handle of your car to scorch your fingers when you try to open it.
Graduation day is a dry heat, proving the rule instead of the exception. I don’t hear movement in the house, so I assume Dad is off to work and Mom is off to her day. Leo’s supposed to help at Wheelz this morning, so he’s gone, too. I shower, get pretty, and head out. There’s at least one thing I can do for Ardy that he can’t do himself.
It takes a total of eleven minutes from when I pull into the hospital parking lot to when I return to my car. Either my mission is accomplished or I’ve sent the impossibly gorgeous Trissa Jefferson back into Ardy’s orbit.
No matter which one it turns out to be, it was the right thing to do.
* * *
When I get to Wheelz, Leo is perched on a trackside stool, a cardigan draped over his shoulders as he watches the handful of early kart drivers. “It’s a thousand degrees outside,” I tell him.
“It’s cold in here.”
Not to me. The air still feels good after being outside.
“Warning.” Leo jerks a thumb toward the back. “All hell is breaking loose.” He pulls his cardigan closer. “She says she’s putting his things in the guest bedroom.”
I take a seat next to him. “Do you want me to take you home?”
“I don’t know.” Leo doesn’t look at me. “Sorry I texted. It’s supposed to be your big day.”
“Yeah.” I don’t tell him the real reason why that’s true. “What got them started this time?”
“Everyone in the community loved the Spring Fling Thing so much that all the other schools are approaching them for special events. Some church groups, too. People are putting down deposits in advance, and there’s all this extra money. Dad’s hiring an extra assistant manager, for real this time.”
“Then why are they fighting?”
Leo sighs. “Because that’s what they do. It’s never been about the hours or the work or the money.”
It’s like the world makes a sudden lurch beneath me. I grab the edges of my stool for support, flicking my gaze to the track so Leo won’t see my inner turmoil. Before us, the vehicles continue their rotations. Some fast, some slow, all moving along the same path. Many cars, one pattern: around and around. Not getting anywhere but broken, only to be fixed and sent back to go around and be broken again.
I turn to my wise little brother, everything falling into place. “It’s never been about anything at all.”
Leo nods. “I don’t think they’d know what to do if they agreed on things. They like it this way.”
“Or they’re used to it. They can’t imagine anything different, so they keep things the way they are.”
“Yep.”
It’s something I’ve avoided forever, that conflict. While my parents choose it, continue it, perpetuate it.
“Hey, Leo.” He looks at me. “How are we remotely functional human beings?”
“Who says you’re functional?” Then he grins to show he’s kidding. I sling an arm around him.
“Doofus.”
“Sister to a doofus.”
* * *
Our caps and gowns are shiny yellow. When the entire senior class is gathered in the hallway behind the gymnasium to await the ceremony, we look like the surface of the sun. I’m huddled in a corner with Cooper, facing out so I can surreptitiously scan the crowd for Ardy, but I don’t see him in the moving, blazing swarm of yellow. I do see Rahim, though. He catches my eye and winks. “You ready?” Cooper asks me.
A tremor of terror runs through me, but before I can answer, Katie appears, shoving between us. “Ugh,” says Cooper. “Buzzkill Barbie is here.”
“Shut up.” Katie says it as a reflex, but she’s looking at me. “Are you really doing this?”
“Yes,” Cooper says.
Katie doesn’t act like she even heard him. She keeps her violet eyes trained on mine. “Lark?”
“Yes,” I tell her, and am surprised to see sudden tears shimmer from behind the barely visible glow of her contact lenses. “Are you okay?”
Katie nods, reaching out to grip me by the shoulders. She blinks, and a tear spills from each eye. “You are the weirdest person I know.” Except the way she says it, all tender and quiet, it sounds like a compliment.
She lets go, spinning abruptly and walking away. Cooper and I stare after her.
“What’s up her ass?” he asks.
“I think that’s how Katie does love.” I look at him and grin. “She should try something different.”
“Like a game,” we say together, smiling.
Just then Wade and Will pass behind Cooper and glance at me. Wade grins, and Will shoots me a thumbs-up sign. I look back at Cooper. “I’m ready.”
I see Ardy when we start lining up outside the gymnasium doors. Our bright yellow sleeves brush as we pass each other. We both stop walking, which makes Tyler bump into me from behind and say, “Dude.” Neither Ardy nor I say anything; we only look at each other. It’s like outside the art room, except this time we’re not touching…but every bit of the ache and longing is still there.
At least it is for me.
Then the doors are opening and we’re being ushered inside. I take a deep breath in preparation for my uncertain future, and I head in. One of three hundred yellow rays of light.
The gymnasium is a swaying, whispering blur around me. I know my parents and Leo are out there in the bleachers, but I haven’t seen them. I’m sitting ramrod-straight in my hard plastic chair between Aaron Daniels and Jessica Dent. Wade Collins is in front of me and to the left. Ardy must be many, many rows behind me.
But I can’t think about that now. I can’t worry about where he is. I need to focus on…oh, I don’t know…not fainting, maybe. I feel as hard and plastic as my chair. Petrified by what’s about to happen.
Our principal already made her opening remarks from the podium at the center of the stage. The junior marching band played our fight song, and our valedictorian gave her speech. Then we were treated to a medley of current pop songs blasting from the gym speakers while a slideshow of the past four years of our lives played across the giant screen behind the stage. It came to a close, the final image of our entire senior class fading to darkness, and our salutatorian spoke.
And now that’s all over. It’s actually happening. The real thing. The true event. Why we’re all here…
Xena Abernathy is the first to walk across the stage. Principal Barlow leans over the microphone, and a second later we hear Xena’s name echo throughout the gymnasium. Our principal shakes her hand, giving her a rolled-up diploma tied with a yellow ribbon, and Xena flashes us all a quick peace sign. There’s a sprinkling of applause, and then she’s leaving the stage. Principal Barlow is focused on the next student.
As Valerie Addison walks toward her, I realize my hands are tapping against my left leg. I force them into stillness, but it reminds me—one went first.
One always goes first.
Every time, one person has to go first.
Rahim Antoun—third to walk across the stage—is supposed to kick everything off. As he mounts the stairs, I hold my breath. It all hinges on him. If he bails, if he makes a last-minute decision not to follow through, I’m dead in the water.
Our principal leans forward, Rahim’s name reverberates, and they do the shake-and-diploma thing. Rahim keeps walking, my heart basically ceases to beat,
and he pauses by the two flagpoles on the left side of the stage. I think most people are focusing on Amy Amherst, who’s ascending the stairs on the opposite side, so they’re not paying attention to Rahim easing a hand into his yellow robe. They’re not watching him pull out a cardboard square.
I don’t think anyone notices—except maybe Rahim’s parents, I have to assume—until Rahim reaches high on the school flagpole and slaps the cardboard against it. Allowing the entire gymnasium to see what’s there: a blank yellow square.
There’s a collective head turn from the crowd, followed by a gust of whispered questions. I can hear some of them around me: “What’s Rahim doing?” “What’s that mean?”
I keep my eyes fixed firmly on the stage. I pretend I don’t hear the questions, and I definitely pretend I don’t know what the hell is going on. Principal Barlow glances at the flagpole and the yellow square, falters in her pronunciation of Carolyn Arnold’s name, and then shrugs. I slump back in my seat, relieved. Either the principal thinks it’s a harmless senior prank, or she’s empowering our emotions, like we do here. She’s not going to stop it.
Excellent.
The ceremony is uneventful until—as I’m standing in my row, ready to line up for my turn—Wade Collins takes the stage. After he receives his diploma, he also pauses by the flagpoles. A second later there’s a new square under the first. This one is turquoise.
“I guess it’s our school colors?” Jessica Dent whispers from my right.
