by Tom Leveen
I will, I write back, and get up.
Mom’s in her spot at the kitchen table, draped over it and moaning. I don’t know where Dad is. I start to walk past like always, then stop and peek back in.
“I’m going to watch a movie,” I say. “I think it’s like a cartoon, sort of. Kelly said to watch it. Do you want to watch with me? I can make popcorn.”
Mom lifts her head and looks at me like she has no idea who I am. I don’t know what else to add, so I just stand there feeling stupid for a long time.
Just when I’m about to roll my eyes and keep walking, Mom croaks, “Sure.”
I nod, and go to the cabinet where we keep the microwavable popcorn. Mom shuffles past me, down the hall to use the bathroom. By the time she’s done, I have the popcorn ready and in a ceramic bowl, and have found Nightmare Before Christmas online and plugged my laptop into our TV.
We sit on the couch, not too close but not too far apart. She looks better, like maybe she washed her face. Neither of us says anything as the movie starts, and in less than a minute I can see why Kelly loves it so much: it’s a musical, for one, and it’s Tim Burton.
Mom and I watch the whole movie together, our fingers touching sometimes in the popcorn bowl. When it’s over, Mom looks over at me.
“Thank you, Andi,” she says.
It makes me want to cry. But I don’t want to do that, so I nod real quick and get up and run for my room.
I text Kelly. It was great.
She replies right away. I knew it! So you’ll be Sally if I make your costume?
Yes, I write back. Then, after thinking for about a second, I add, I like how she stitched herself back together.
VIVI
I put on a new blouse Sunday morning. It’s green, a dazzling green that Sam says brings out the hazel in my eyes. Until Sam, I didn’t know I had hazel in my eyes.
Dad shuffles into the kitchen with his walker. He’s still living in the guest bedroom downstairs instead of his suite upstairs.
“Ah, mija,” he says, smiling. “You’re looking good today.”
I grin like an idiot. “Gracias.”
“How is the car?” He groans as he tries to drop into a padded chair at the table.
I ease him down into the chair a little at a time. It’s going to be months before his back is better. If it does get better.
“The car’s great,” I say.
“Good, good.”
“You want me to fix you breakfast?”
“Oh, I can still manage to feed myself.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “I’ve got it.”
Dad smiles at me and sighs as he opens up the newspaper I brought inside earlier. We could never afford to get the paper before we moved here, and Dad loves going through the whole thing on Sunday mornings.
“We should get a housekeeper,” he says, flipping through the sports page. “Maybe someone live-in, who can take care of the cooking and cleaning so you don’t have to do it.”
I mix eggs and milk together in a stainless steel bowl. “Marlene could do all that. She’s your sister, she’ll probably work cheap.”
That makes us both laugh as I fix him scrambled eggs the way he likes, sausage links, and toast. This would have been a huge meal a few months ago. Now it’s just the things I knew to buy and make.
Not everything has gotten fancy as suddenly as my new clothes. Not yet.
Once Dad is all set up with his breakfast, I kiss him on the cheek and head out to the Camaro. I cruise fast to Jamaican Blue, and find Sam sitting on the grassy corner of Fifty-Third Street and Third Avenue. He meets me at my car and kisses me.
“That shirt looks great on you,” he says.
I twine my fingers into his. “Thank you. Let’s eat.”
It’s a good start to the day.
CADENCE
“Danny’s not talking to me,” I tell Pete on Sunday afternoon. I can’t get Danny out of my head, and he’s not returning any messages or calls, so Pete seems like the best person to talk to about it.
“Me, either,” Pete says. “Not since like Friday.”
“But I didn’t do anything. This is bogus.”
“Dude, it doesn’t matter,” Pete says, pulling into Taco Bell. “You’re trying to be logical. A guy with a hard-on for a chick ain’t gonna be logical.”
“Okay, could we please call it something else, please?” I hate when he talks like that. Like he’s not smart. He is.
“Sorry. Uh … boner? Stiffy?”
“I was thinking crush. It is a crush, right? I mean, that’s what this is with him.”
“Definitely. Pretty bad, too.”
“Has he talked about me at all?”
“Before you tore out his still-beating heart and feasted on it with Tabasco? Yes. But not since.”
“Whoa!” I shout. “Hang on, back up.”
“May I take your order?” Taco Bell asks.
“Hold that thought,” Pete says to me. Then out the window he says, “I’ll take a—”
“I will not hold that thought!” I say. “That’s crap! It’s not my fault he likes me, and it’s not like I said I hated him. All I said was that I wasn’t going to kiss him, and that’s my right, Pete! I don’t need to get called a bitch because I don’t like him back the same way, or because I wouldn’t go down on him in the art supply closet or whatever!”
“… You want hot sauce with that?” the Taco Bell person says through the mic. It sounds like someone’s laughing in the background.
Shocked, but also at least a little amused, which pisses me off, Pete says, “I’m gonna go ahead and order now. I can’t think on an empty stomach.”
I fold my arms and stew while he orders. The people at the window are clearly enjoying themselves as they pass Pete his sack of food. One of the workers shouts at me as Pete drives off, “You go, girl!” followed by a bunch of laughs.
“But you know what I mean,” I say to Pete when we’re away.
“I do. No argument here. I was kidding about the Tabasco thing. What I’m saying is you’re not looking at it from his perspective. Guys are dumb. Start there.”
“I know that.”
“So, let him chill out,” Pete says. “Either he’ll be friends with you, or he won’t. Maybe it’s best if he isn’t, at least right now. He’ll get over it. Then you guys can be all buddies again.”
“Is that what you’re going to do?”
“Well, he and I still have business to conduct,” Pete says.
“I really wish you’d stop doing that.”
“Relax. They’ll get it somewhere if they don’t get it from me. You know that.”
“Then let them.”
“Ah, you’re precious. Soft taco?”
I take it. “So what do I do tomorrow when I see him?”
“Say hi,” Pete says around a mouthful of taco. “If he doesn’t say anything back, let it go. He’ll get his shit together, or he won’t. It’s sort of that hard and that simple at the same time.”
“Well I don’t like it.”
“Me, either. But just give him time. He’ll work it out.”
I take a big bite of my soft taco and think, I hope so.
DONTE
I go back Sunday morning. So far, I haven’t told anyone about B. Not my mom, not Amy, not Coach. I walk cautiously into Brady’s hospital room, not sure if Brady will be asleep or what. But he isn’t. He’s propped up on a couple pillows holding the wired remote control for the TV in one hand. A piss-yellow plastic pitcher of water stands guard on a tray nearby.
He looks thin.
“Hey,” I say.
Brady’s eyes flick toward me, then his head moves.
“Hey,” Brady says. He sounds tired. But …
Alive.
“So how’s it going?” I approach the right side of the bed. I keep my hands buried deep in my orange Spartan hoodie, fists clenched.
Brady turns the TV off.
“Whatever,” he growls. Then he sort of rolls his eyes at himself,
and amends, “Not bad.”
“So how long you in for?”
“Dunno. Prolly get home tonight. Gotta see a shrink or whatever.”
“That’s cool,” I say, for lack of anything better. I feel dumb saying it, but the feeling passes quickly. I feel a lot more than dumb.
My fists clench tighter.
Brady shrugs against the starchy white sheets. “Mighta jacked up my liver. But prolly not. I got here quick enough.”
His eyes dart to mine, spiral-fast. What we both know he should have said is, “You got me here quick enough.”
“So you’re okay?” I say, starting to chew on my lips.
“Yeah.”
“You’re sure?”
Brady smiles. It’s kind of weird. Like, gentle or something. “Yeah, man. It’s all good.”
“Yeah? Good. That’s good.”
Then my hands fly out of my pockets and grip the railing of Brady’s bed. I lean close to his face. Brady flattens himself back into the pillows.
“That’s real good,” I say between gritted teeth. “Because if there’s a next time, make sure you do it right. ’Cause I’m not going through this shit again. I’m not. You can’t do that to people, man. You can’t. You can’t steal from me like that. Got it?”
I don’t even wait. I spin on one heel, headed for the exit. I’m too close to taking a swing at my best friend. I’ve never been so scared and pissed in my life.
Just as I hit the doorway, I hear him say, “She ain’t been here.”
I stop. I’m still shaking.
“Brianna?” I say, not turning around. “That’s who you’re worried about right now? Are you shitting me, man? That’s who—”
“Brianna, shit,” Brady snorts. “Come on, man.”
It sinks in. Not Brianna. Not Amy, either. Not someone from school.
I slowly turn back to face Brady. But he’s already thumbed the TV on again. Disgust changes his face into some kind of wicked mask.
“I’m sorry, man,” I say.
Brady gives his head one solitary shake to the side.
“You talk to her?” I ask. “At all?”
“Called. Couple times. A few times.”
“Tell her where you were?”
“Yeah. ’Course.”
My fists aren’t clenched anymore.
Brady waves, half-heartedly, his arm barely coming off the mattress. “Whatever. Don’t matter. Thanks for comin’, D. Sorry to … put you through shit. You bailed me out. Thanks.”
The channel changes. I stand there fidgeting for a second.
“I could stick around, I guess. If you want. Game’ll be on soon.”
“Yeah. Bears-Packers and Niners-Cards.”
“Butler’s probably freaking out.”
“Yeah, right?”
I drift into the room and sit in a pleather chair close to the bed.
“I mean it,” I say. “Not ever again, B.”
“Naw, man,” Brady says. “Swear to God. Never again.”
“All right.”
The Bears win and the Niners win. English will probably be a good class tomorrow, we both agree. Watch the next game after that, too, talking about the players and whatever. Nothing more needs to be said. Including the fact that nobody else is going to know this ever happened.
CADENCE
When I get to school Monday morning, I spot Danny right away, sitting on the sidewalk leading up to the school entrance. He’s got a notebook and keeps looking up at people, writing stuff down, looking up, writing.
I remember Pete’s advice and march straight up to Danny.
“Hi.”
“Hello.” He tilts his body to one side to look around me.
I sidestep into his line of vision. “Are you going to keep ignoring me?”
“You should probably hope so.”
“What’s that even mean?”
He finally looks up at me. “What are you going to be for Halloween?”
“I don’t know. Nothing. I’ll just be me. I don’t know. Why?”
“If you’re not going to get into the spirit of things, maybe you should stay home. Blow some bubbles or something.”
I fling my arms up in the air. “All right, Danny. Fine. I tried. You have my number.”
“I do.”
“If you decide we can be friends, text me. Till then, I’ll just leave you alone. That’s what you want, right?”
“Gee, Cadence. It’s not always about you.”
That’s it. I’m done. I stomp past Danny and go inside school. The hall is jammed with people. I feel like punching my way through them, but just then, someone steps in front of me and creates a bit of breathing room.
“I got ya,” Zach says. “Follow me.”
Grateful for both the space and a friendly face right now, I keep in step behind Zach as he uses his tremendous height to pick the easiest way through the crowd. A few seconds later, we’re in another hallway. Not exactly where I need to go, but at least there’s space.
“Thanks,” I say to Zach.
He smiles at me. “No problem. I—”
“Zach!” a girl calls.
THE Brianna Montaro comes bouncing up to him, ponytail flopping. She looks hungry and she looks tired and she looks way, way too stressed for high school.
“Please tell me you took good notes for Garcia’s class,” she says to Zach. “Oh please God, tell me you did.”
“I took them,” Zach agrees. “How good they are, I don’t know.”
“Can you please send them to me? I’ll do anything.”
“Sure, no problem. But you might want to ask Vivian. Hers are always better.”
“Who’s Vivian?”
Zach looks confused and amused at the same time. Camused!
“The girl you sit next to in English?” he says.
“Oh, is that her name?” Brianna says, but like, reflexively. She obviously doesn’t care about Vivi, and she hasn’t even looked at me yet. She shakes her head fast. “I can’t ask her. She’s a bitch.”
“How do you figure?”
“She’s acing Garcia.”
THE Brianna Montaro says this like it should be obvious. At first I figure she’s being sarcastic, but she doesn’t laugh and doesn’t smile. No, she really wants Vivi’s head on a pike for the great crime of succeeding in school. Sad face! Thinking back to Vivi and Brianna in the girls’ room a few months ago, Vivi doesn’t strike me as the bitch in that equation.
Second-to-last bell goes off. “I’ll send them to you tonight,” Zach promises. “Okay?”
“Thank you!” Brianna says, and bolts into foot traffic.
Zach watches her, and I say, “She’s nice to you.”
“Hmm? Oh, Bree? Yeah. She’s okay.”
I don’t have time to disagree. Class is about to start. “Well, thanks, for escorting me. You want to have lunch sometime?”
I figure the worst he can do is say no. Anyway, with Danny being all weirdo, I don’t want to have to eat lunch by myself every day, although maybe I could ask Vivi, or Kelly. But they both have cars and I bet they go off campus for lunch like Zach and Pete.
“Sure, okay,” Zach says. “Um … how about Friday?”
Whoa! Forget Danny, my day just went supernova!
“Awesome!” I say. “Yeah, cool!”
Zach laughs a bit, like I just tickled him or something. “All right, we’ll work it out. See ya, Cadie.”
“Bye!”
He pushes himself into the flow of students while I dart and bob and weave through the halls, absolutely thrilled to freaking death!
BRADY
Brianna comes up to me while me and Donte are at my locker before Butler’s class on Monday morning. She looks good. Put together. We haven’t talked much since the party.
Other stuff on my mind.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey.” I shut the locker.
Donte is standing behind her. She can’t see him when he wiggles his eyebrows at me. He walk
s away so we’re alone.
“I’m sorry about the party,” Brianna says.
“Don’t say that. You didn’t do anything.”
“I just feel like we were having a—like, a moment together …”
“We were. We definitely were.”
“So, was it just the alcohol?”
The bell rings. Neither one of us move. Lots of other people run.
“You mean, like, is that the only reason we … ?”
“Yeah.”
“No.”
Don’t know if that’s a hundred percent true. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. I’m a dumb jock. But not dumb enough to tell a girl I hooked up with her because of being drunk.
“Okay,” Brianna says.
We stand there for a minute. Don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Then she says, “Have you started on your school applications yet?”
“No.”
“Brady! You have to.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“No, you don’t. You think you do. Okay, forget it, I’m going to help you.”
“I don’t need—”
“Yes, you do. You want to get into a good school, don’t you?”
Oh, hell yes. What I say is, “I guess.”
“So we’ll work together on it. I need to keep working on mine anyway.”
“You’re a junior.”
“Oh my God, are you kidding me? That’s the best time to start. Look, you’ve got Butler for English, right? This period?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, I’ve got Mrs. Black for health. It’s a blow-off. She’ll let me out, he’ll let you out, and we’ll go to the library instead. At least once a week, like on Fridays. They’ll totally let us do that if we tell them it’s for college. Okay?”
“Um. Okay.”
“See?” Brianna says. “This is great. We get to see each other, you’ll get into a great school on a scholarship, and I’ll go to … to whatever school my dad tells me to, and that’s it.”
“We can go out,” I say. “Go hang somewhere. Not just school.”
Brianna smiles. It’s not a real one.
“I’m still busted for the party,” she says. “The one time I take a night off to be a regular person, and … anyway. I don’t have any time outside of school, really. I’m not blowing you off, I swear. It’s just true.”
“You got grounded?”
