14 Hollow Road

by Jenn Bishop

  “When you were a baby,” I say.

  “Let me tell you, it’s no picnic going to the emergency vet with a towel-eating dog at midnight when you’re home alone with two little kids while their dad’s on a business trip.” Mom is smiling at Dad as she says it.

  “Sorry!” Dad laughs. “I didn’t exactly give Hank instructions to eat the towel while I was gone. He managed to keep his towel cravings under control when I was around.”

  Mom shakes her head. “Thank you, Hank. For always keeping our lives interesting.”

  “To Hank,” Dad says, raising an imaginary glass up into the air. “For being one of a kind.”

  All four of us hold up our imaginary glasses. “To Hank,” I say.

  “To Hank.”

  If any of the construction workers are watching us, they’re probably wondering what in the heck we’re doing.

  We each take a moment alone at Hank’s grave to say our final goodbyes. When it’s my turn, I crouch down and pat the bare dirt. I whisper, “I love you, Hank.”

  Mom asks if I want to take a tour of the house, now that they’ve put in all the exterior walls and framed the rooms, so I follow her inside. One of the construction workers gives us hard hats to wear. The hat makes my ears stick out, but Mom says I’m not allowed inside without it, so I keep it on.

  There’s sawdust everywhere, and it makes my nose itch. Each room we go into has at least two guys hammering away. I have to put my fingers in my ears a few times when the drilling gets too loud. We check out the new living room, which is pretty much the same size as our old living room, and the new downstairs bathroom. Pipes are sticking out, but there’s still no toilet or sink. The new kitchen is bigger and will have a different layout than our old one. At least, that’s what Mom says. But right now it all feels so empty without cabinets or a kitchen island. Will this really be ready in time for school?

  I follow Mom up the stairs to the second floor. Our old house had three bedrooms, but the new one has four. Mom and Dad’s bedroom is over the garage this time, and twice the size, with a huge window looking out at the street. Cammie’s room and the guest room are in the front of the house. Toward the back is my room and the bathroom that Cammie and I will share.

  “So, what do you think of your new room?” Mom asks as the hammering quiets down.

  I step through the doorway for the very first time. My old room was in the front of the house, but it makes sense for this to be my new room; it’s the second-biggest bedroom after my parents’. Through the side window, I can see into Greta and the Germ’s backyard.

  There’s a bigger window looking out into our backyard. Outside is a dry patch of grass where our old swing set was. Mom and Dad will have to get Cammie a new one.

  Beyond our backyard used to be the forest. Evergreens and maples as far as you could see. The trees were so tall, though, that you couldn’t see very far. But not anymore.

  What I see now is the path the tornado took, how it kept going past our house and deep, deep into the forest. The trees completely flattened, all lying down in the same direction, like pickup sticks.

  “It won’t always look so desolate.” Mom stands right behind me. “New plants and trees will grow. Nature has its way of rebuilding.” She places her hand on my shoulder. “What do you think?”

  I take it in. The whole room. My room. It’s completely empty and new. A true blank slate. I can decorate it however I want. That’s what Mom keeps telling me. I get to choose the paint color, the furniture, the posters. Everything. It won’t feel like a little-kid room anymore, the way my old room sometimes did. Maddie’s teen room, Mom calls it.

  “I love it.” The feeling almost takes me by surprise. “Are they going to be done with the house by the time school starts?”

  “That’s something Dad and I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re working as fast as they can, and I promised Peg we’d be out of her hair by the time summer ends.”

  “So, where are we going?” There’s this tiny lump in the back of my throat. Maybe Avery’s not the only one moving. What if we have to live somewhere else when school starts?

  “We’re going to have a little adventure in a trailer. Right in our yard. It’ll be like camping.”

  “We’re going to live in a trailer?” Trailers are so tiny and cramped. And with all four of us? “Will I have to share a bed with Cammie?”

  Mom laughs. “No, no, no. We’ll have separate sleeping areas. It’ll be a tight squeeze for sure, but, Maddie, remember this: we are really, really fortunate.”

  “I know.” I hope my face matches what I’m saying. Mom doesn’t mean we’re lucky that a tornado took out our house or that we get to live in a trailer. She means we’re lucky we get to build a new house, right here where we’ve always lived. Luckier than Avery’s family.

  Mom’s smile fades away, and her eyes crinkle at the corners. “There’s something else we need to talk about, hon.”

  She knows. Kiersten’s mom must’ve called to tell her what happened. Or maybe Gabby’s. I swallow hard. “Oh?”

  “Naomi called earlier this morning when you were in the shower.” Avery’s mom, not Kiersten’s. “They found another place to stay. A rental that’s close to where Mr. Linden works.”

  “They’re leaving Hitchcock?”

  Mom nods slowly.

  Since the night Avery came home upset, I haven’t heard for sure what’s happening. But he and his parents left town a few days after the pool party to visit relatives. Was that when they broke the news to him?

  I try to imagine a bus ride to school without Avery, but I can’t. Sure, he got sick a few times and missed school, but not often. I can’t picture it.

  “He’s leaving for real.” It comes out almost a whisper. Suddenly I remember that thought I had when Avery first mentioned moving. To invite Avery and his family to stay with us. We have the guest bedroom, and Cammie and I could share a room. But none of that matters now. It’s not like there will be any extra room in a trailer.

  And besides, I don’t even think Avery would want to keep living with me.

  I take a few steps toward the other window in my room and stare out it, toward the Germ and Greta’s house. They’re out on their swing set, swinging and yelling at each other. Like me and Avery used to when we were little.

  Mom lingers in my room. She doesn’t make me talk about it the way Dad would. She gets it. How sometimes there’s nothing left to say. Sometimes it’s too late for talking to make any difference.

  After a few minutes, Mom clears her throat. “Dad’s going to take Cammie to the movies this afternoon. You want to come to the design center with me to look at paint samples? Check out some furniture for your room? We haven’t had nearly enough Mom and Maddie time this summer.”

  “Okay.” I wonder if Mom has noticed me not talking about Kiersten this whole week. If she has, she’s not saying anything.

  Mom lets Dad and Cammie know about our plans as we start the walk down the street back to the McLarens’ house. We pass right by Avery’s. One of the blue tarps that’d been covering the gaping hole where the roof should be has blown off. It’s tangled up in a tree on the edge of their yard.

  I wonder if Avery and his parents even know. Or if it matters, since it looks like they’re never going to live there again.

  “Maddie? Come on,” Mom says. “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us today.”

  I pick up the pace and don’t look back again.

  At the design center, Mom and I pore over binders of wallpaper and strips of paint colors. There are at least a thousand different shades of white, it turns out. Not that I want white for my bedroom. White is boring. Mom agrees. She brings over this binder of light colors. Pale blues and mint greens.

  I keep coming back to a page with shades of light pinky-orange, and I press my finger to a color called Desert Coral. The sample is sort of the color of Peg’s cat Louie’s nose, but I don’t tell Mom
that.

  “How about this?” I ask.

  Mom leans over for a closer look. “Oh, I like that one, Maddie. It has a lot of warmth to it.”

  Warmth? I shrug. “So, are we done?”

  Mom laughs. “Well, that’s one room taken care of. What about your and Cammie’s bathroom?” She lifts a heavy binder of wallpaper and plunks it down in front of me. “I was thinking of an accent wall behind the sink. Something…unique. Maybe a print?”

  I flip through some pages. There’s a crazy orange-and-green wallpaper with mushrooms and bunnies that looks like it came from the 1970s. I show that one to Mom.

  She snorts, and the guy from the design center turns his head in our direction. We both giggle. “That’s a little too Alice in Wonderland for me, thanks. But I like the idea of something with animals. Don’t you think Cammie would like one with animals?”

  We decide the red one with zebras is a little too crazy but then find a bird print that’s perfect. Interesting enough that you want to look at it, but not so interesting that anyone who uses our upstairs bathroom will think we’re crazy.

  Two things done. Only about five million to go.

  —

  After finishing up at the design center, Mom brings her tote bag full of furniture catalogs and a few pads of Post-its into Fred’s Pizza. We’ve got plenty to keep us busy while we wait for our pizza.

  We grab a booth by the window, and I open up the Ikea catalog. There’s a white wooden bed that looks perfect for my new room, so I press a hot-pink Post-it on that page. But then on the next page there’s another bed I like, so I put a Post-it there.

  I take a sip of ice water. Choosing is exhausting.

  “What about this one?” Mom shows me a girlie white iron bed in the PB Teen catalog.

  “Too old lady.”

  Mom laughs. “Don’t let Peg hear you say that.”

  “I won’t.” I take another long drink of water, nearly finishing the glass.

  Mom smiles and returns to flipping through her catalog, folding the corners when she finds something she likes.

  After finishing with the Ikea catalog, I take a break for a moment and stare out the window. I imagine what my room will look like with the Desert Coral walls, all this new furniture, and maybe some new posters. I’m still staring out the window when a blue Volvo station wagon pulls into one of the front parking spaces and Gabriella, her mom, and her sister come out.

  My mouth goes dry, and I reach for my water, but there’s only ice left in the glass.

  “Do you need another water?” Mom asks. “I’ll try to catch the waitress when she comes back. Shouldn’t be long till the pizza’s ready.”

  I wish I were sitting on Mom’s side, so my back would be to the door, but instead, I’m facing right toward the door as it opens, jingling the bell. Gabriella comes in first, followed by her sister and their mom.

  I pull out another catalog from the tote bag. Even though I don’t really like any of the furniture in it, I keep putting Post-it notes on all the pages. A leather chair that looks like it belongs in some lawyer’s office. An ugly brass desk lamp. A magazine rack for a doctor’s office. If I can just keep my head down and seem busy, maybe they won’t stop by.

  “Looks like you’re finding lots of good stuff in that catalog.”

  I look up at Mom. Behind her, Geena, our waitress, walks toward us with the pizza. Pepperoni and cheese, my favorite. Except there’s this lump in my throat, and another in my stomach.

  “It’s a hot one,” Geena says. She pulls out a metal rack for the pizza to sit on. It takes up so much of the table that we have to put the catalogs away.

  “Can we have a refill on the water?” Mom asks.

  “Sure thing.” Geena heads back to the kitchen.

  I try taking a slice for myself, but the cheese is so gooey that Mom has to help, struggling with a knife and a fork to separate my slice from the rest of the pizza. While Mom’s grabbing her slice, I glance at the table where Gabriella is sitting. Her mom and sister are laughing about something, but Gabriella is staring down at her phone.

  I wonder if she even saw me.

  “What are you waiting for?” Mom asks.

  “It’s too hot still.” I blow on my slice.

  “Like that’s stopped you in the past,” she teases, biting into the tip of her slice. Mom always chews with her mouth closed, like me, not like Cammie and Dad, who basically eat like animals. And Hank, he ate like an animal, too. Though, to be fair, he was an animal. I pick at my crust.

  The waitress comes by with a pitcher of ice water to refill our glasses. “Anything else I can get you?”

  Mom’s mouth is full of pizza, so I answer, “No, thank you. We’re all set.”

  Geena heads over to Gabriella’s table next. I try not to look, not to keep checking, but I can’t help myself.

  Mom looks in that direction, too. “Is that Gabriella? We must’ve missed them come in. Go on over and say hi, honey.”

  “But the waitress is there now.”

  I take the smallest bite of my pizza and start chewing. I saw this article online once when I was supposed to be doing homework about how, ideally, you should be chewing each bite twenty-five times. No way do I ever chew something twenty-five times, but right now I try. One, two, three, four.

  The waitress has left their table. I could go over now and talk to Gabriella. I should.

  Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.

  “Mads, what’s going on?” Mom asks.

  I point to the food in my mouth.

  “You’ve been chewing that bite for so long it’s probably disintegrated.” She looks me right in the eye. The edges of her eyes crinkle. “Maddie?”

  I glance over at Gabriella. She’s wearing a new purple headband. She must have replaced the one I stole from her. Stole from her.

  I’d never stolen anything before. Not even when the Dippin’ Dots cart was left unattended at Six Flags and pretty much our entire fifth-grade class helped themselves to some dots. Not even then.

  But I did it to Gabriella. Took what was hers.

  As if that would even out what she’d done to me.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I say quietly.

  The pizza slice goes limp in my hand when I pick it up. I take another bite. This time I only chew a few times before I swallow.

  “Maddie, you know I can’t accept that as an answer. Come to think of it, you haven’t had much to say about Kiersten and Gabriella for the past week.” Mom sighs and rubs her forehead. “You know you can come to me if you need to talk about something.”

  Another bite.

  No, I think. I can’t. You wouldn’t understand. You would never let a boy get between you and your friends. You don’t believe in that. Men, boys, guys—whatever. They’re not worth it. You wouldn’t understand what it felt like to see Gabriella with Avery. To know she kissed him. Like being slammed in the stomach. Like seeing that your house is gone, gone, gone.

  That idea that I’d held in my head for so long, of me and Avery, was gone, gone, gone. In an instant.

  But it’s more than that. It’s all gone. Kiersten keeping secrets from me, secretly planning matching outfits with Gabby, going on trips with Gabby’s family. My best friend was going, going, gone, too.

  Another bite.

  Mom is still looking at me, waiting for me to say something. I keep chewing.

  “Okay,” she says, lowering her voice. “Fine. Not in here. I get that. But once we’re in the car, I need you to fill me in. I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s going on.”

  I finish chewing that bite and pause before I take another. “Okay.”

  We’re quiet for the rest of the meal. Once Mom has paid, we head back out to the car. As we walk past Gabby’s table, she acts like she doesn’t see me either.

  Mom puts the leftovers in the trunk while I climb into the front seat. When Mom gets in, she hesitates before turning the key in the ignition.

  “Can you please
tell me what’s going on, honey?”

  The car is stifling after sitting out in the sun with no air-conditioning for the past forty-five minutes. “Can we turn on the AC first?”

  The car thrums to life and hot air shoots out of the vents. Mom backs the car out of the parking spot. “The car will cool off in a little bit, but in the meantime, I’m listening.”

  “So, at the pool party,” I start to say. But that’s not right. “Actually, it was at the dance….” The words get caught in my throat. The thing is, I don’t know how to talk to Mom about this. A bad grade on a test, a stupid fight with Kiersten? Sure. It’s easy to talk to Mom about those things. But boys? Avery? We’ve never talked about boys before. It’s different with Kiersten and her mom.

  “What happened at the dance?” Mom waits for an opening in traffic to pull out of the parking lot.

  “Avery,” I finally say. “He asked Gabriella to dance.”

  “Okay.”

  I go back to the beginning and tell her how Kiersten said he wanted to dance with me, and how he didn’t and so I had to ask Gregg to dance with me, and how it was the most awkward four minutes of my entire life. But then how nice Avery was on the way back from the dance. How could he be so nice after he’d just rejected me? I tell her everything that happened. Well, except for one thing. I don’t tell her how Avery came into my room that night during the storm. That one thing I keep secret. That one thing I want all for myself still.

  Mom puts the blinker on to turn up our street. On both sides of the street, I can still see the chopped-off half trees. It feels like the tornado is never going to go away. Like it’s always going to be here, reminding me that nothing good can last.

  I tell her about the pool party, and how my best friend lied to me. How she never told me she knew Gabriella had kissed Avery. Why would she keep that a secret? How could she not know how awful I’d feel when I finally heard?

  As we head up our hill, Mom’s fingers lightly tap on the steering wheel. I wonder what she’s thinking. It can’t be any worse than what I’ve already thought about myself for the last week.

  “Why aren’t you saying anything?” I ask.