Why am I writing you back? I have no idea. I doubt you wanted the brother of the girl you were writing to reply. This is probably a HUGE breach of...what’s the word? Trust? Privacy! It’s a huge breach of privacy, reading your mail. Plus, it’s a federal offense, isn’t it? Don’t turn me in, okay? I’m not a bad guy. I’m just having a bad year. I suppose you can relate.
So, Ruby Kaminski from California—who likes weird and apparently is pretty resourceful, since you found us—I’m Brett Pratt from Palmer, Pennsylvania. Amber’s my twin sister and we’re 18. I have a little mutt named Zeke and an overwhelming urge to burn this letter and have my head examined.
But here’s the thing—I like weird, and I like to smile. For a moment tonight you made me smile. And THAT is why I’m writing you back.
Thanks for the smile,
Brett
Flexing my fingers, I stare at the letter. Am I seriously going to mail this to a complete stranger? The front porch light flips on, throwing a long swath of light across my car. Amber’s shadow stands at the window. I slap my notebook closed. My stomach shifts. It’s not as though I’ve been caught doing something wrong, I’m writing a letter. To a girl who wrote to my sister. No big deal. I shake the nervousness away and collect my things.
Time to have it out with Amber. We’re talking about my meeting with Ms. Fisher, we’re discussing school, we’re . . . the front door opens before my fingers touch the knob. Zeke greets me first, shimmying through the opening and dancing around my legs with excitement. “Good to see you too, boy.” I slap his hip a few times.
Amber stands there holding a dinner tray containing soup, hot chocolate, and a grilled cheese. It’s like she knew she was in trouble. Fabulous. I put my anger, and our conversation, away for another day. We settle into the living room and flip on the television while we do our homework in silence and I eat the meal she prepared for me.
I swallow down all my arguments before school the next morning and mail my letter to Ruby.
WHAT ABOUT YOUR FRIENDS
Ruby
FRIDAY, JANUARY 15
“Hey, Ruby, are you going to Sweethearts?” Kamry asks, sliding in next to me at our table in physics.
I can’t read her anymore. Is she being catty or does she genuinely want to know? It’s hard to tell. Would I want to go if I were asked? Probably not. There’s no one I want to go with. Except maybe Mitchell. No. Not even Mitchell.
“Oh, have you not been asked yet?” My face must have given away my answer.
“No, but it’s okay. I don’t want to go.”
“Really? Why?” She’s confused, as though I told her I want to be a garbage man when I grow up.
I shrug.
Did I say I didn’t want to go to save face? Am I lying to myself? Or do I really not have any interest in going? I don’t want to see Mitchell dancing with Lisabeth, so that might be part of it.
It’s hard to get our last conversation out of my head. The look of pity in Mitchell’s eyes when he told me I wasn’t me anymore. The way he patted me on the back after he said he wanted to break up. The final kiss on the forehead, as if the affection was supposed to make it easier. How is it possible to not be me? I am me. No one can take that away. Apparently, Mitchell disagrees.
“It’s Mitchell, isn’t it?” There’s no question in her tone. She knows he’s part of it, no reason to deny it. “This is your perfect chance to make him jealous, Roo.”
“I haven’t been asked, Kamry.” Must I repeat myself?
We’ve been friends since kindergarten, but it’s been months since she’s talked to me outside of school or dance. There isn’t much to say anymore. It’s tiring being asked the same questions over and over again, as though people think there will be a different answer.
How are you?
I lost my mom, how do you think I’m doing?
Is there anything I can do?
Go back in time and keep her from getting on that plane.
I’ve never replied that way because it would be entirely uncalled for, but the answers are always on the tip of my tongue.
When the mom of your best friend doesn’t simply die, but disappears after her flight explodes, maybe it’s hard to know how to console her. My friends used to try and say everything happens for a reason. She’s in a better place. It’ll get easier. But how could they know? There are so many unanswered questions. We don’t even have a body for a proper burial. We have an empty box in the ground. Her body is somewhere swallowed up by the Atlantic.
Eventually, my friends stopped trying to console me. They stopped knowing what to say. They stopped asking questions. When was the last time I hung out with them? It’s been months. Maybe Nana is right, maybe I am alone.
“That doesn’t mean anything.” Kamry nudges my shoulder. “I’ll find you a date. There has to be someone who wants to go with you.” She winces when she realizes how desperate and unappealing she makes me sound. How unwanted I must be for her to say that. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just, there has to be someone who was too afraid to ask you. You know how you’ve been lately.”
Kamry isn’t making this any better. I open my mouth to say as much just as the bell rings for class to start.
***
Nana waits outside in the pick-up line after school. If Dad would buy me a car, she wouldn’t have to be my chauffeur when he’s at the pharmacy.
“Hi, aniołku. How was your day?”
“It was good.” I buckle my seatbelt and wait.
There are two instances when Nana speaks Polish. If she’s cursing at someone, or if she’s calling them a pet name. Sometimes there’s no difference in her delivery. She could be calling someone the foulest swear word and smile while saying it. Unless they know Polish, they’d never know the difference. She banks on it.
When I was little and asked her what ‘aniołku’ means, “little angel” was her response. She only calls me that when she’s concerned or treading carefully. It’s always followed up with bad news or a question she knows I don’t want to answer.
“Have you heard anything back from Amber?”
It’s been weeks since I sent that letter. I wish I’d never sent it. It was a bad idea. I most likely scared her off or offended her.
There was a low period for me, too. When people tried to relate to me because they lost a grandparent, or an uncle, or aunt, or someone close to them. It always began with, “I know how hard this must be for you. When my…” followed by their attempt to find common ground. There was never any common ground. My polite smile and nod hopefully made them feel like they made a difference. It’s not my intention to make people feel more uncomfortable around me than they already do, but there’s nothing they can say to make me feel better.
I tried to show enough understanding to Amber without sounding like a know-it-all, but maybe I didn’t try hard enough.
“No, Nana.” I sigh, the disappointment settling in for an extended stay.
“Well, maybe it’s taking her some time to think of what to say back. It might not be as easy for her to write a stranger as it was for you.”
“Yeah.” But in my heart, I know my bluntness was probably too much for Amber. Coming on too strongly is a specialty of mine.
Mitchell used to find my personality cute and lovable. He’d playfully push my reading glasses farther up my face when I’d scrunch my nose to keep them from falling down. Or when my mouth didn’t close all the way because I was concentrating on something and my two buck teeth peeked out, he’d say I looked like a cute little bunny and kiss me. He used to smile when I prattled off different facts and ask me to tell him more. Eventually, he asked me if I had an itch when I scrunched up my nose. He’d tell me to close my mouth when it would hang open as I studied. He started to roll his eyes one day when I told him he was more likely to die in a flood than a plane crash.
“Not likely,” he’d said, “since we live fifty-six feet above sea level.”
I should’ve been grateful when Mitchell b
roke up with me, but he was merely one more person to leave me.
The one common denominator in all of this? Me. Clearly I’m the problem.
Waving to Nana as she drops me off, I head to the mailbox. It’s my first priority. My hopes rise. You know it will be full of junk mail and bills, Ruby. But maybe—just maybe—there’s a letter. My fingers touch the black handle—please be there—the mailbox opens and—my stomach flips. A handwritten letter lays on top. Grabbing the stack, I run inside and throw the rest of the mail on the kitchen counter, bolting upstairs to read it.
I hop onto my bed, my nail prying under the seal—wait, what did that say? I look at the return address. It’s the same address I sent my letter to, but that’s not Amber’s name in the corner. Brett Pratt. Oh my gosh! I rip open the seal.
I read the letter several times, each time my smile growing wider. He likes weird. And I made him smile.
But why didn’t Amber respond? She had the letter in her room. Unopened. Did she not see it? Did she not want to open it? What if she was waiting to open it for a reason?
Stationery in hand, I respond to Brett.
MAKE IT HAPPEN
Brett
MONDAY, JANUARY 17
I’m a chicken. I met with Ms. Fisher a week ago and I haven’t spoken with Amber about it yet. Excuses—my crappy Monday, Ruby’s letter, work, and hours of homework—all I’m doing is making excuses. This is so frustrating! I don’t want to be a parent. I don’t want to police her. But I can make sure she gets her butt up for class, and I can drive her there.
“Amber!” My knuckles rap on her door until grumbled moans reach me. “Get up, let’s grab breakfast before school.” Whatever it takes to ensure she gets to school.
Backpack packed, I pound on her door a second time. Dressed with teeth brushed and hair combed, I visit her door once again. She utters a nickname dirty enough to make my mother blush. Don’t rise to her bait. Silence reigns, my aching knuckles prepare to knock again—the shower turns on. Ha! Third time really is a charm.
***
“Sooo, you and Carmen?” Amber rifles through the sack of food as I pull away from the drive thru.
“Done.” I blink away the memory of Carmen’s confused face.
“Done, done?” she pries, her brows reaching her hairline as she stares at me. My unwrapped sausage biscuit is in her hand. I don’t respond immediately and she pulls it back.
“Fine. Yes, now give me my food.” The biscuit lands in my outstretched palm, but Amber’s forehead remains scrunched. She’s waiting for more information. She’s so nosey. “Carmen’s cool, but I didn’t want a girlfriend. You know that. We were supposed to be having fun, dating other people. Somehow things morphed into me listening to hour-long descriptions of her days each night before bed. It was exhausting.”
“Yes, us girls and our need for actual conversations can be such a drag.”
“You laugh, but you’re not far off base.” The words ‘boys’ and ‘frustrating’ are muttered under her breath. I could say the same thing about girls. “Besides, you’re more than enough for me to handle right now.”
“Me? I do not need handling, dear brother of mine.”
“No? How about school? How are you doing this semester?” Answer that, dear sister of mine.
She turns toward the passenger window, her hair slipping over her shoulder creating a curtain I can’t see beyond while she eats. My ‘twin powers’ kick in. She knows I know she’s been skipping. She’s not going to answer me because she doesn’t have an answer to give.
“I’m going to State, Amber. With or without you, I’m leaving Palmer.” I sip my drink and she sinks deeper into her seat. No reply necessary; her body language is enough. She believes I’ll leave her and she’s hurt.
***
The passenger door flings open before I have time to remove my keys from the ignition.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favoritest twins in the world.” A red sweater and jeans fill the open doorframe. “And together for a change,” the sweater wearer dips her head into view, long blonde hair floating around.
“Good morning to you too, Hope.” Round blue eyes smile at me.
Hope turns to Amber. “And where were you all weekend, my supposed best friend? I called and called, you didn’t come to Wilson’s, and I had boy issues.”
“There’s my cue to leave.” Hope straightens against Amber’s door. Her eyes narrow, following me as I walk around the back of the vehicle. I move in close, brushing up behind her purposefully. “See ya later, gorgeous,” I tease. She winks, a smile playing on her lips.
I glance at Amber. “And you, lock the car door and go to class.”
“Sir, yes, sir.” Amber snaps her hand up, touching her forehead with the inside of her flattened right hand, a mock salute in my honor.
“Brett!”
“Hey, man.” I wave to Mike as he crosses the parking lot.
I plant my feet, bracing for the inevitable body slam as he nears. “Dude, can we shred tonight?”
“We?” My shoulders knock him back, throwing him off balance. “You know Eddie has to be careful with letting us on the slopes after-hours.”
We follow the flow of bodies moving toward school. “Oh c’mon, Eddie loves me,” Mike chuckles, his hand catching the glass door as it closes. A rush of heat welcomes us across the threshold into the building.
“He fired you.”
“It was more of a mutual parting of the ways.”
That’s one way to spin it. “He fired you,” I repeat.
“What can I say, I have no work ethic.” Mike’s fingers grasp at the sleeve of my coat. “C’mon, talk to him. It’s been weeks since we’ve done some runs.” Blowing off some steam with my board sounds perfect. “Plus, the weatherman called for snow today.” He dangles the news in front of me like a carrot.
Sold! The temptation of fresh snow is too much. “Fine, I’ll call you when I get my break if it’s a go.”
His arms lift and he bows up and down, attracting attention from all four corners of the hall. “I’m not worthy, I’m not worthy.”
Dude! I shove him. “Lay off the Wayne’s World.” I need new friends, mine are idiots. Rolling me eyes, I turn—and bump into Hope.
“Wow.” Her eyes follow Mike’s retreating form. “What did you do to warrant such praise?”
“Ha, you’d like to know my secrets.” I wag my brows, continuing down the hall toward my locker.
Hope keeps pace. “Yeah, I would.”
I bite back a knowing smile. This verbal flirting has been going on for two years, ever since she broke up with her last boyfriend. Has it really been that long? It’s a nice distraction from life, especially the past few months. I glance around as we walk side by side. “Where’s Amber?”
“In the building and heading to class.” Nothing about her expression says she’s lying; I’m doubtful. Her hand touches my sleeve much like Mike’s did, but it feels way different. “She’s with Lisa and Ann, she’s not going anywhere, Brett.” She must see my uncertainty.
My muscles relax. “Thanks.”
The warning bell fills the school. A flurry of activity takes over the halls, but Hope and I remain. What the heck is that? Deep within, my gut tightens. Why haven’t I ever noticed how large her blue eyes are? “Snowboarding.”
Her fingers slip from my arm. “What?”
Is it hot in here? My fingers fumble with the zipper on my coat. I need air. “Mike was begging me to snowboard tonight after my classes. That’s my secret.”
“Ohhh.” She has a crooked smile. More of her teeth show on the right—why haven’t I noticed that before either? I’ve known her forever. “Sounds like fun, especially with fresh snow.” She checks her watch. “One minute, we better get to class.”
Class? Shoot, I need books. I blink her blue eyes and crooked smile from my mind. Wait. We passed my locker? I glance around. Man! I backtrack. “Hey, thanks for looking out for Amber, Hope. I appreciate it.”
>
“She’s my best friend.” She tosses a wave and rushes in the opposite direction.
Her best friend. I weave through the hall. Amber’s best friend. I’ve been stupid. Shouldering our loss on my own has been stupid.
Focus, Brett. Open locker, grab books, run.
The bell rings. Crap. I slide around the corner, flying through the door to history and knock straight into Mr. Elliot.
“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Pratt.” Laughter fills the classroom as he grabs my shoulders, steadying us both. Mr. Elliot releases me and pushes the door closed. I rush to my desk. “The American Dream. How do you perceive it?”
THURSDAY, JANUARY 20
I’m sick.
I collapse on the couch. Nah, not sick. Exhausted. Four early morning breakfast runs, two work nights, and one kick-butt snowboarding session—of course, I’m sleepwalking. Zeke jumps between my legs and settles his head on my shin.
“You have a letter.” Mail scatters across the coffee table.
“From State?” I pop up, knocking poor Zeke off the couch. No large envelopes? A sour taste rises in the back of my throat. Crap, I’ve been denied, or wait-listed.
Amber shakes her head. “You’re pale,” She clucks her tongue in shame. “Relax, I said you have a letter. If it was State, I would have made it clear. This is hand addressed, so I assumed it was personal.”
Paper Planes and Other Things We Lost Page 3
