Vivi presses her lips together. She’s judging Prisha for having a purse with wet wipes and caring about being dirty, but Vivi’s not the one covered in paint.
“Thanks,” I tell Prisha as I wipe my face.
Knox bounces up with Colby following. “Cookie Mistake?” he says hopefully.
“We can’t go to the bakery like this,” Vivi says. “We, in this case, meaning Lilla.”
The worst of the paint is gone, but my arm is still stained blue. I can only imagine what my neck looks like.
“We could bring something out for you,” Knox offers.
I shake my head. “I want to get cleaned up. You go ahead.”
“I’ll walk home with you,” Prisha says. “It’s on my way.”
Vivi looks at Prisha and then at me. “If that’s what you want?”
I can tell Vivi doesn’t like this. Prisha’s best friend moved away last year, and she thinks Prisha’s auditioning me to take her place.
“You don’t have to give up your cookie because I want a shower,” I say. This is true. But it’s also true that I want to talk to Prisha, so I feel guilty. “Check in tonight?”
Vivi’s about to answer when Colby wipes his wet-paint-covered arm across Vivi’s cheek and runs away. Vivi shakes her head and takes off after him. Knox waves and follows.
I go in the other direction with Prisha, trying not to feel like my choice means more than it does.
CHAPTER 10
Girled
As soon as we’re on our own, Prisha says, “Can I ask you something?”
“I guess?” I say, worried it’s going to be about Vivi. I like Prisha, but I’m not ready to tell all.
“How are you so good at noses?”
I laugh. Talking about drawing is a relief. “It’s like anything else. You have to pay attention to the light and shadow. Not think about what they’re supposed to look like.”
She asks more questions about pencils and shading and blending stumps. It’s fun to get all up in the detail of it. Vivi and Knox love my drawings but could not care less how they’re made.
“Are you going to try for the arts program?” Prisha asks.
“I don’t know.” It might be nice to talk about this with someone who isn’t so worried about what I choose. We’re at the corner of the elementary school where Prisha goes one direction and I go in the other, so I point to the playground. We each take a swing.
“Are you exhibiting?”
Prisha shakes her head. “Didn’t make the cutoff.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I didn’t expect to.”
It’s hard to know what to say to this. Ever since we’ve been little, we’ve been sorted into these groups for reading and math, and no matter what they call them, we all know the rankings, but we mostly don’t talk about them. I never thought about it before, but if I picture the table where I sit at lunch, it’s all kids who have been in my reading group since third grade.
“Really, Lilla,” Prisha says with a grin. “No biggie. I want to go to Morningside anyway.”
She looks like she means this. And Colby didn’t seem to care all that much either, even though he’s always been in the advanced math groups with me and Vivi. I can’t imagine being okay with not making the cutoffs. Even though I don’t think I want to go, I’m glad I scored high enough to get in.
Because if I’m honest, part of the reason I’m afraid to say no to the magnet school is I don’t want people to think I’m not smart. This is not a great look, I’m starting to see.
“I can’t decide what to do,” I tell Prisha.
“Why not exhibit and decide later? You’ll have all year to change your mind if you get in.”
“I mean I can’t decide whether to try for STEM or art. I tested into both.” I say the last part a little apologetically.
“Which do you like better?”
“Art, probably. But my mom thinks I should do science because there aren’t enough girls and feminism.”
“That’s why my mom thinks I should stop cheerleading,” Prisha says. “She says the whole point of Title Nine was to make sure girls could do ‘real sports.’”
I wish everything wasn’t so hard. That I could chose not to go to the magnet school without feeling like I’m letting down my whole gender. “Do you ever feel like there are too many rules for how to be a girl?”
“Are you kidding?” Prisha says. “My whole life is rules.”
“Be smart, but don’t show off,” I say.
“Do well in school, but don’t try too hard.”
“Be pretty, but don’t care about how you look.”
“Be athletic—as long as it’s soccer, softball, or field hockey—because cheerleading’s too girlie and basketball isn’t girlie enough.”
“Tell the truth, but don’t hurt anyone’s feelings.”
We’re quiet for a minute, and I push back so I can swing up into the air. Prisha copies me.
Thinking about Kate’s dress code, I say, “It’s gotten worse lately.”
“I know. All the rules felt different when we were kids. Maybe because I knew I’d outgrow them. But it seems like there’s more every year.” She leaps off the swing and I follow.
“Most people say ‘girl’ is a noun,” I say. “But last year my English teacher said it’s really a verb, and I think she’s right. I keep getting girled. Mom and Vivi both seem so sure there’s a right way to girl, and they don’t think I’m doing it.”
“But maybe there’s more than one right way?”
“Maybe,” I say. “But no one else seems to think so.”
I take a quick shower upstairs with Mom’s good shower gel. Then I head to Dad’s because it’s a downstairs night. Mom’s not around, but I’m not surprised. She goes out a lot when I’m not here.
On my way down the back stairs, I hear voices. A man’s and a woman’s.
My stomach feels sick. I’ve seen Knox’s parents date other people, so I knew this was coming. But still. I’m not ready. I’m not.
I sit on a step and think about what to do. The woman laughs. Only it’s not a woman. It’s Mom.
I slide down the stairs, and even though I know better, some wild Parent Trap stuff is swirling through my mind. What does this mean?
I’m close enough now to see them sitting at Dad’s kitchen table. Mom picks up a glass of wine and swirls it. “I miss this,” she says. “You have to tell me what to buy. I’m so bad at it.”
“I’ll send you pictures of the labels.”
Should I go in? Interrupting feels super awkward, and they’ll stop talking if they see me. I’m really curious about what they’re doing.
“That’d be nice.” She looks at the table for a while. “So, should I do this?”
“Yes. You don’t want to give this up. Again. That’s how we ended up here in the first place. And you’re not going to find something that works better. Not for a few years, anyway.”
She nods. “Okay. And maybe it will make things easier for you.”
“Not likely. When you’re not here, Lilla is.”
“When are you going to tell her?” Mom asks.
“I’m not. There’s no one serious. What about you?”
“Not yet. She doesn’t need to know unless it happens.”
Shaking, I stand up. I thought I wanted to hear this, but I was wrong. I creep upstairs, planning to come back down loudly so they’ll know I’m here, but on the way, a sob breaks through, and I run back into Mom’s.
Lying on my bed with my door shut, I hear their words again and again. My divorced parents at a table, talking and laughing. Planning together. Keeping secrets.
From me.
Mom and Dad always say the divorce wasn’t about me. But how can I believe that when what they want is to be left alone.
When you’re not here, Lilla is. I can’t stop hearing Dad’s words. Talking about me like I am a burden. Like he wishes I was gone.
And so he can do what? Go out on date
s with No One Serious? And not tell me, even though he keeps Mom—his divorced ex-wife—up to date.
And Mom? What is she not telling me? Does she have a No One Serious—or is it something worse? What would even be worse?
I stay on my bed for a long time—until Mom knocks on my door.
“Lilla? You’re not supposed to be up here tonight.”
Right, I think. I’m crying in the wrong bedroom. I tell her I’ll be right down and sneak into the bathroom to wash my face with cold water.
Because I don’t want to manipulate anyone with my tears.
CHAPTER 11
Upended
Dad and I make spaghetti Bolognese. He shows me how to chop onions, sauté meat, and break down canned tomatoes. At dinner, I ask what he’s working on, and he talks about some Dutch impressionist paintings some guy found in his basement. They are going to revolutionize the way we think about brushstrokes or something. I don’t know. I’m not really paying attention, but he’s talking art, so he doesn’t notice.
Afterward, we do the thing we always do. He asks if I’m okay. I tell I’m fine. He believes me.
I don’t ask who he’s dating. Or why he won’t tell me. Or how he’s going to see her when Mom goes wherever she’s going.
I don’t tell him that I heard their conversation. Or where I want to go to high school. Or that I’m so tired of moving back and forth between their apartments. Or that I might have a crush on one of my best friends and have no idea what to do about it.
Dad asks to see my portfolio. “You should probably go with your pencil drawings. Your portraits are strongest. Most original. But maybe one other? To show range? You can’t just rely on your test scores. Talent matters too.”
I look back at him. I could do it right now. Say what I want.
My mouth opens, but the words that come out are, “I’ll go get my drawings.”
After we finish, I text Vivi and Knox.
Lilla: You’re right, Vivi. I need help.
Vivi: What are you talking about?
Lilla: I can’t tell my parents anything.
Knox: Did you get hit in the head at paintball? Of course you can’t tell your parents anything. They’re parents. It’s like the definition.
Vivi: You need practice. Try something easy first. Find out the world doesn’t end because they’re unhappy with you.
Lilla: Like the artichokes?
Vivi: Not that easy.
Knox: Artichokes?
Vivi: I’ll come up with something.
Knox: I have a bad feeling about this.
Lilla: That’s what you always say.
Knox: Someone has to.
A moment later, Vivi texts on our just-the-two-of-us chat.
Vivi: You okay?
Lilla: Not really.
Vivi: Make up my bed. I’ll be there in 15.
Lilla: You’re the best friend in the entire world.
Vivi: You’re trying. I know it’s hard.
I wait on the porch. When Vivi gets here, she sinks onto the stairs and puts her head on my shoulder. All of the joy that pulsed behind her texts is gone.
“What happened?”
“I didn’t get picked for the museum,” she says in a small voice.
“Oh, Vivi.” I wrap my arms around her. “Why not?”
She rests her head on my shoulder. “She said I wasn’t a good match for the children’s museum. My crafts were too complicated, and I didn’t seem to like little kids.”
“Well…” I say. I want to support her, but Vivi doesn’t like little kids. She calls them germ factories.
She laughs. “I know. They’re the worst. Kate asked me what I’d do if a kid was sad and wanted to go home, and I said call their mom to come get them because we didn’t need crying kids at camp.”
I cover my mouth with my hands. I can’t help it. “Vivi!”
“It just came out,” she says, a little smile starting.
Sometimes keeping things to yourself is the right decision. It isn’t the time to tell Vivi this though.
“What about the science camp?” The kids who go there are a little older, and Vivi’s a science prodigy. She’s perfect.
“Nope. She said they had some unusually strong applicants for science this year, and she’d call if there was an opening.”
Uh-oh. I am the unusually strong applicant. One of them anyway. I never thought I would take Vivi’s spot. Especially since I wanted the children’s museum all along. I feel terrible. But also—even though it seems wrong—a little proud. Kate thought I’d be better at this than Vivi.
The only things I’ve ever been better at than Vivi are drawing and gymnastics, and I’ve always believed that’s only because she never tried either one.
Before I can figure out what to say, my phone buzzes.
Knox: Guess what??? Children’s museum! Colby too!!!
Even though I’m sad for Vivi, I smile at Knox’s exclamation points.
“Figures,” Vivi says, typing into her phone. “I guess you got art then?”
She’s looking at her screen, so I don’t have to answer. Which is good. It was only this afternoon she was upset with me, and I don’t want to go back to that.
Vivi: What did you say when she asked what you’d do if a kid cried?
Knox: Build a fort with the giant blocks for him to hang out in until he felt better. I think I got extra points for assuming it was a boy.
Lilla: Giant fort was going to be your answer whatever the question, wasn’t it?
Knox: Obvs. You guys are going to be so sad with your oil paints and your microscopes while Colby and I are living it up in the fake grocery store.
It’s not the time, but I am, in fact, totally jealous.
Vivi: That’s not how it’s going down.
Knox: Why? Did they put Lilla in science too? That’s awesome.
Vivi: No. They didn’t pick me.
Seconds later, her phone rings. She goes over to the porch swing. A big part of me wants to follow her, so I can wrap my arm around her and so I can hear what they’re saying. But she needs him more right now. And whatever giddy, girlie nonsense I felt this afternoon about Knox and his Suddenly Adorable Freckles, I am not getting weird about my two best friends talking on the phone.
When Vivi puts her phone away, she pats the swing. I join her, pulling my legs up under the big sweatshirt I put on after my shower. It’s cooled down a lot since the afternoon.
“What did he say?”
“That I’m too brilliant to waste my time working with kids.”
I know that Knox doesn’t really think this. He’d love to be a teacher, but I’m glad he said it. I put my head on Vivi’s shoulder. “He’s right. And now you can do that coding camp. Where you will dominate.”
“Yeah. And Colby offered to duel whoever took my place, but I said he didn’t have to.”
This would maybe be a good time to tell her who’s taking her place, but I don’t want to risk making her angry again.
“You know this doesn’t have anything to do with how smart you are?”
“I guess. But it kind of makes me wonder…Do you still think I’ll get into Grover?”
“Of course.” Vivi’s math scores were in the ninety-ninth percentile, which means literally no one did better than her, and she wrote an app last year that people actually downloaded from the Internet. It’s perfect for the showcase.
“Hey,” Vivi says. “I was so worked up about myself I forgot all about you. What’s going on here?”
I take Vivi inside and we curl together on my bed while I whisper to her everything I heard Mom and Dad say.
Dad pokes his head in at one point, asking what we’re up to.
I say, “Girl talk.” This is mean because it makes him feel like I’d tell Mom if she were here, but I’m in kind of a mean mood. Let him feel left out for a change.
Vivi says that Dad is probably seeing someone, but says even though it’s gross, it probably isn’t serious if he doesn’t want to
tell me. My brain thinks she’s right, but my stomach disagrees. I can barely even think the word—stepmother.
If I feel like a visitor here now, what will it be like when some unknown woman lives here? Or—shudder—if there are children? Stepsisters? Stepbrothers? Step-pets?
Vivi says I can move in with her if that happens. And that would be better than living with strangers, but still. I am an only child, and I am not made for sharing bathrooms. Also, I don’t like when animals lick me. Though, now that I think about it, Vivi’s sister also licks.
Neither of us can figure out what’s up with Mom. Maybe it’s another trip, but I don’t know why that would be a secret. She goes off bug-hunting a couple of times a year. Vivi thinks she wants to travel more and Dad didn’t want her to and that’s why they got divorced and now she’s afraid to tell me. But that doesn’t make sense. He never seemed to mind when she was gone. (I guess that should have been my first clue.) And I never made it hard for Mom. I fall asleep wondering why she won’t tell me what’s going on.
In the morning, Vivi leaves at ridiculous early o’clock for soccer camp, and a little later, Dad goes to the museum. Instead of going up to see Mom, I play Infinite Monkey Cage podcasts, eat cereal out of the box, and work on my dream house.
Last year for my birthday, I got a kit to build a balsa-wood bungalow from my grandparents. It came with wood and a little lumber cutter and real architect’s plans. It’s taken ten months, but I’ve got it framed up, and I’m putting shingles on the roof. That’s the last step before I get to do the inside.
In the beginning, I liked the challenge of reading the plans and cutting the wood just right and thinking about the way the colors on the walls would work together. But since the divorce, I’ve spent more time daydreaming. I can imagine living somewhere like this someday. A little two-bedroom home I get to decorate all by myself and fill with only the books and art and music I choose.
And when I’m working on the house, I can believe that someday I will have a life that can’t be upended by anyone else’s unhappiness.
CHAPTER 12
Fine
At noon, I head out to meet Vivi at her soccer camp. We’re going to have lunch at her house before she reveals her next Summer of Brave challenge. I’m a little worried. It could be anything.
Summer of Brave Page 5
