Practically Ever After

by Isabel Bandeira

  I squinted at the “i” in question, trying to puzzle out the name like Agent Carter deciphering a coded letter. I was at a severe disadvantage since I’d taken French and this was nothing like any of the names I’d seen in my textbooks. “Accent, I think? You’re the one who took Spanish, what do you think it should be?”

  “Spanish and Portuguese are two totally different languages.”

  I had no idea why she thought I might know the answer, but at least an educated guess was better than no guess at all. “Yeah, but the languages share a peninsula in Europe and the continent of South America, so I bet the names aren’t too different?”

  Leia gave me one of her exasperated looks, then, biting her lip, drew an ambiguous dot/line over the i with her calligraphy pen. “We’re switching lists after you finish that name. At least you learned how to write the little doodle under the letter c in French class.”

  “Cédille,” I muttered the French name for the little mark under my breath, then focused on carefully copying the little p-like letter in the last name I was writing from my list. “Icelandic has accents, too. And really different letters.”

  “But those names are on a legible list, unlike mine,” she said, jabbing her finger at a scribble on her list that looked a little bit like it was supposed to be “Maria.”

  I made a hushing sound, glancing over at the living room, where tufts of tulle were apparently being cut. “Don’t let Phoebe’s mom hear you say that.”

  “Her writing’s worse than my dad’s, and he’s a doctor,” she shot back, then reached over to try to swipe my list away from me.

  I held it behind me, out of her reach. “And that’s why you should keep it. You have experience deciphering parental hieroglyphics, unlike me.” She lunged and I slid my chair sideways. “Nope.”

  Leia narrowed her eyes and I knew, from that look, that I was in trouble. “Really?” She leaned in close enough that we were nose to nose. “Don’t mess with me. I’ll take you down over a cedilla.”

  My eyes widened and my heartbeat picked up so much I was positive she could hear it. “I—” Heat crept up my neck and I knew it would hit my cheeks at any moment.

  “Are you two okay over there?” Phoebe’s mom asked as she walked in with armfuls of fake flowers. Behind her, Phoebe stared at us with incredibly wide eyes.

  Leia plucked the paper from my hand and dropped back into her seat as I froze in place. “Perfectly fine,” she said, hopping away from me and casually sliding her list over to my side of the table. “Just switching up lists.” Her own cheeks seemed to be a little pink, too, but then she dropped her head and her hair swung forward in a dark curtain, blocking my view.

  I cleared my throat and nodded, picking up my pen again. “Perfectly,” I said in a exact echo of Leia, then clamped my lips shut before I could do anything even more embarrassing.

  As they stepped down the stairs to the family room, I could hear Mrs. Martins whisper to Phoebe, “Is there anything I’m missing here?” Phoebe’s hushed “Breakup,” and Mrs. Martins’ surprised, “Ohhhh.”

  Behind us, Em added, in a purposely loud whisper, “They can hear you, you know. You’re making it awkward.”

  Alec couldn’t seem to resist chiming in, but didn’t bother to whisper. “More awkward.”

  Leia and I shared an amused look and both cracked up at the same time at everyone’s antics. “Fine, guys, we get it,” I said, waving my hand in the air like a truce flag.

  “This is now officially a no-awkward zone,” Leia said, scrunching her nose over her shoulder at Alec and Em. “Promise.”

  “Kiss and make up?” Em said, dropping her chin into her hands and watching us like she was a kid waiting for a tv show to start.

  “No,” Leia and I said in unison, then dissolved into laughter again. She bumped me with her shoulder, then turned back to her place card.

  “Nice try, Em,” I said. “Now, leave me alone so I can figure out if this person’s name is Lidia or Ligia.”

  Chapter 34

  A knock came at my bedroom door and I pulled the quilt over my head. “Still sleeping,” I called out. Since mom and dad were supposed to be at some charity golf thing down the shore in Galloway, it was probably the cleaning service. My room was clean enough, anyway.

  “No, you’re not.” Phoebe’s voice came through the crack I heard her open in my door. “You’re not the sleeping-in type.” I peeked over the quilt and saw a hand waving what looked to be a cupcake through the small opening. “Are you decent?”

  “I’m not naked, if that’s what you’re asking,” I said, completely unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

  “Good.” The door flew open and she barreled in, dropping on top of my bed and shoving the cupcake my way. “Cupcake?”

  “Are you giving me a choice?” I gingerly took the plastic container from her and sat up. My quilt bunched around me like a wall between me and Phoebe-on-a-mission. I patted my hair down so I’d look a little less like the Bride of Frankenstein. I really needed to rethink sharing the door code with my friends.

  She dug into the teal canvas tote she’d brought with her and pulled out her own cupcake and a set of mini speakers. “Not really.” She popped open her cupcake container and bit into the obnoxiously green frosting. “Yours is gluten free and they didn’t use dates to make the cake, just eggs and regular stuff. No food issue excuses,” she added after swallowing. “Eat.”

  “Wow, you’re pushy today.”

  She didn’t respond, just smiled and connected her phone to the speakers. Within seconds, twangy seventies music filled my room. “I saw your face yesterday when you heard Leia talking about Abby.” She studied my face for a second before tentatively reaching out and patting my arm. “You still love her.” Her soft words were a statement, not a question.

  Instead of answering, I pulled my cupcake out of its box and studied it. Cookie dough, from the gourmet cupcake place near the yarn shop where Phoebe worked. I popped the little nugget of cookie dough from the top of the cupcake into my mouth. As soon as I could talk without choking on the words, I pointed at the speakers. Someone was singing about taking a train. “What the hell is this stuff?”

  “Don’t hate on the Monkees. They make perfect music for moping and eating cupcakes. Them and the Partridge Family.” Phoebe stared me down with an only partly sympathetic look, as if daring me to contradict her. She then dropped her eyes and picked at her cupcake wrapper. “It might help if you talk to someone about Leia instead of trying to keep that whole pulled-together façade going. It’s a little cracked right now, you know. The mascara gave it away yesterday after dinner.”

  Crap. I’d have to switch to waterproof for a while. I took another bite of the cupcake and spoke around it in a way that would horrify mom. “What difference does it make if I still love her? Talking about it isn’t going to fix anything, especially not now.”

  “Sometimes, it’s not about the fixing. It’s about getting things off your chest. Trust me, it feels a lot better when you do.”

  The bouncy beat of the music was really distracting. “Says the girl who hid in the church when she was supposed to go to confession before our Confirmation.”

  “Whatever, I was thirteen and Father Lionel was a grump.”

  “Mmmhmm.” The teasing wasn’t helping, and Phoebe’s silence, punctuated by a random off-key attempt to sing along, ate at me until the words just bubbled up. “I can’t believe she moved on so fast. And with that girl, too.”

  Phoebe nodded, shuffling up on the bed until she was sitting next to me, squishing my protective wall of blanket. She didn’t say anything, just polished off her cupcake and picked the chocolate crumbs off her top, popping them in her mouth.

  “I mean, I’m not completely sure she’s moved on but if she did, and with Abby? Really? Abby’s a little trust-fund baby who can’t do math. I heard she’s barely scraping by to graduate this year.”

  “Don’t be a study snob,” Phoebe murmured.

 
I ignored that comment. “Leia’s so much better than her, though. She deserves someone who wants to make something of herself.”

  Phoebe looked at me with a wicked little smile. “Someone like you?”

  “Shut up.”

  She shrugged and changed the song over to one about words. “What about Natalie?”

  I blinked at her, confused. “What about Natalie?”

  “Aren’t you two dating?”

  “Um, no. She has a boyfriend.” I emphasized the boyfriend part to get it into her thick skull.

  Phoebe tilted her head, shook it slightly, and narrowed her eyes. “So she’s—”

  “A non-romantic acquaintance.” The whole conversation had gotten so ridiculous, laughter threatened to bubble up through the ache. “We’re friends. And we’re dancing a duet at the recital. You actually thought we were dating?”

  She straightened up and said, defensively, “You were spending so much time together and you just kept mentioning her all the time…”

  “I’m allowed to make new friends. And I can be friends with a people without wanting to date them. Or do you think I’m hopelessly in love with you and Em, too?”

  Phoebe made a snorting half-laugh sound. “If Em were here, she’d say yes.”

  “Well…” I really couldn’t think of a retort for that. She would say that. “Em and her ego don’t count.”

  “So, no rebound for you?”

  I arched an eyebrow at her, even though she probably couldn’t see it under the mess of hair that swooped right over my forehead. “Obviously not.”

  “Crud. This calls for a real wallowing breakup song.” She scrolled through her phone until she found a song that was even bouncier than the last few.

  “This is a wallowing song? Is it even a song?” The song sounded like people goofing off, not even a professional thing. I never understood Phoebe’s affinity for music from cheesy seventies TV shows.

  “Shh, just sing along.” She dove right in, totally off-key, into a song about buying a dog. For someone who played the flute, she was shockingly tone deaf.

  The singer started making weird sounds. “I refuse to pretend to snore.”

  Phoebe elbowed me and I narrowed my eyes at her before halfheartedly trying to sing the most ridiculous chorus on the planet. Just when I thought the torture was over, she put the song on repeat, bouncing against me with a grin as I tried my hardest to sing along so she wouldn’t make us do this a third time.

  “See?” She asked during the instrumental break the musicians had inexplicably filled with random conversation and noises. “Best breakup song ever, right?”

  I actually was starting to feel a little better, but I wasn’t going to admit it. “It’s the most ridiculous breakup song ever.”

  “You like it. You’re just not going to admit it, but that’s okay.” Phoebe said. “And I promise, you’re going to be okay.”

  I closed my eyes, the goofiness of the past few minutes fading a little into the ache that never really had gone away. “You’re right. I wanted this. She can date whoever she wants, she’ll be happy, I’ll get over it.” In a deadpan voice, I added, “It was the most logical choice.”

  She caught the imitation. “You’re not Spock.” She stopped the music and hugged me. “I know you guys make fun of me for quoting books sometimes, but, you know, they have the best truths. And Cradled had the best quote about logical stuff.”

  I leaned into her hug, pushing back the tightness behind my eyes and at the back of my throat and focusing on her weird little line of conversation. “Hit me with the quote, book nerd,” I said, trying to sound light.

  “Kaylie had to pick between going to this big-deal music intensive or staying on PEI with Evan, and her aunt just hugged her, like this,” Phoebe squeezed me tighter, “and said: ‘Sometimes, the most illogical choices lead to the most wonderful things, but sometimes the most logical choice is the one that’s best for you, regardless of what anyone else might believe. In the end, it’s your decision.’” She let go and reached up to smooth down my hair. “`If you think you did the right thing for you, I support you. And even if it’s logical or right, it doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to cry.’”

  Crap. She just had to say that last sentence. I couldn’t hold back a sniffle. “How did you get to be the mature one?”

  “Books. Books taught me everything I know. And my friends.”

  I poked her in the arm. “Nerd.”

  “Says the nerdy cheerleader.” She got up from the bed and tugged on my sleeve. “Now, you need to get up, get…” she gestured at my sweatshirt and rumpled shorts, “…into something that’s more Grace, and you’re coming with me to Cupcake Heaven for another cupcake.”

  “I’m not going to fit into my recital dress,” I protested, but let her pull me up anyway.

  “And since you’re not with anyone, there’s a really pretty girl who works there…” Phoebe opened my closet and stared at my outfits, perfectly organized by color and type. She rifled through the blue section.

  I pushed past her, pulling a pair of jeans and a pink tank from the closet. If I let Phoebe dress me, I’d probably end up looking like a reject from a fairy tale, even with stuff from my own closet. “Are you trying to set me up with her?”

  She pursed her lips when I shook my head at the vintage fifties designer sundress she pulled out to counter my choice. “She looks like Rei from Sailor Moon. She’s got this amazing hair and wears the cutest outfits and the other girl who works there said she was available and into girls…”

  I headed into the bathroom to change, saying over my shoulder, “I sense an ulterior motive. You just want me to become your cupcake dealer by proxy.”

  Phoebe tossed a sparkly belt my way. “I’d never do that to you. But if you do end up dating her, remember that my favorite flavor is mint chocolate chip. Or s’mores. Maybe you can talk them into making mint chocolate chip s’mores cupcakes all year round?”

  “I’m not dating anyone, I just don’t want to hear any more seventies ridiculousness.” I pulled the brush through my hair and yanked it up into a ponytail. I threw cold water on my face, hoping it would freeze away the red in my nose and eyes before changing. With a little dab of concealer under my eyes and over my nose, I poked my head out the bathroom door. “But you did a good job making me feel less like crap. Thanks.”

  Her grin grew even wider and she made a self-conscious shrug. “I have a lot of practice. Do you know how many times Em’s called me about her emotional disasters?”

  Satisfied with not looking like I’d been crying for days, I headed back into my bedroom and struck a half-hearted ‘ta-dah!’ pose. “Lead me to the cupcakes.”

  Phoebe gathered her things and followed me down the stairs. “And the cute girl.”

  “You suck at playing matchmaker. Please stop,” I said.

  She put her hand to her heart as if she’d been wounded. “Fine, but you just crushed my mint chocolate chip s’mores dreams.”

  “You’ll live.”

  June

  WEEK 24 FOCUS: Recital and Project

  Chapter 35

  I picked the last of the gooey support material out of one of the swirls in the right metacarpal linkage and slipped the prototype onto my hand, twisting and turning my hand to admire the fit. There was something magical about seeing an idea go from my computer screen and into a real 3-D printed prototype, and a little part of me felt like an archeologist uncovering a treasure, washing away the support materials and pinning the pieces together until they became a real, tangible thing.

  “It looks like that fits like a glove,” Mr. Newton said, laughing at his own joke as he came over and leaned closer to look at the glove. “That came together really well.”

  “Thanks,” I said, hinging at my wrist and nodding at the light tug that accompanied the movement, forcing my fingers to curl. “The SLA isn’t strong enough to really support testing it out, but, look,” I tilted my wrist back, relaxing my hand, and smiled as m
y fingers opened back up to straight. “At least it’s proving the concept. I’m thinking of doing a sintered metal prototype once I’m sure I’ve gotten the fit right.” The University had a 3-D printer that laser sintered metal powder into actual parts, and Oliver had promised to find a way to sneak me into the queue for my final prototype.

  My teacher nodded, gesturing at me to take off the glove so he could get a better look. “I’m impressed.” His hand was too big to fit in the glove, forcing him to cup the prototype in his palm, instead, and I had to resist the urge to cringe as he manhandled it. “It really doesn’t have to be this thin, though. Something thicker would be more robust. I also don’t understand why you added the decorative features. That only weakens the structure.”

  “I wanted to make a support that didn’t look like a support. Something I’d want to wear, you know?” I pointed at one of the joints, and added, “Besides, I ran a finite element analysis and reinforced any high stress points before printing this out. I’m pretty certain the metal version will hold up to testing.”

  He handed the prototype back to me and then pushed up his glasses, his face morphing into his ‘patient teacher’ expression. “You wouldn’t have to worry about that if you went with a more practical design. Right now, your design would be very expensive to manufacture compared to one with straight linkages, and you’re limiting yourself to only a portion of the population with a…” He paused, twisted his lips as he looked for the right word, and then continued, “Honestly, Grace? It’s a very feminine design, which is beautiful, but isn’t very universal. You’re really limiting your user population by making it like this. I’d suggest streamlining the design so it can be used by a broader population.”

  I took in his criticism, took a deep breath, and nodded, “But I think that’s the problem. There’s a population of patients who aren’t being served, patients who want to have beautiful things instead of a one-size-fits-all design that’s usually designed by men for stereotypical men. And I think there’s nothing wrong with making things functional and beautiful—no one said you can’t have both.”