12 Before 13

by Lisa Greenwald

Alice: ack! just got in soooooo much trouble

  Alice: gg explain l8r

  Ari: ok xo

  Ten minutes later, my phone dings that I have an email. From Alice.

  OMG. Phone confiscated. For texting during homework time even though my mom told me a million times not to. UGH. I shouldn’t be emailing this, but I told her u would worry if I just disappeared forever. Pray for me. XOXOOXXXOXOXOXXOXOXO AlKAl

  I didn’t even have a chance to tell her about my fight with Kaylan, and who knows when she’ll get her phone back. Maybe I should just write her an old-fashioned letter. It may be the fastest way to communicate now.

  THIRTY-SIX

  MY BREAK WITH KAYLAN GOES on for a few more days.

  We don’t talk or text or FaceTime or anything. We see each other at school and I still sit at the lunch table, but we just sort of exist near each other.

  I think about what Cantor Simon said, and I do want to talk to Kaylan about it. But everything just feels too fragile to bring it all to the surface again. It’s easier to bury it for a little while. Not forever. Just for a little.

  And the only time I really see Kaylan, other than lunch, is during math. She changed her seat and seems way more focused now. I’m not sure if that has anything to do with me or not. But there’s not really a time for us to talk about it.

  “Good morning. I’d like to highlight everyone who got a one hundred percent on the pop quiz the other day,” Mr. Gavinder says, starting class. “These peers are an example for everyone. Good work Rafa, Owen, Kenny, Daniel, and Seth.”

  Owen stands up and starts clapping in an over-the-top jokey way, and Mr. Gavinder tells him to sit down. “Now, please now turn to page seventy-three in the textbook and take out a pencil and some lined paper,” he tells us.

  Isabela turns to me and shows me her paper. “I got a hundred, too.”

  “That’s so weird,” I whisper.

  She shakes her head. “I don’t get it.”

  “Isabela, you need to tell him,” I insist.

  She shrugs. “Whatever, it’s fine. I’m sure he just forgot.”

  “You need to tell him,” I repeat. “It’s not right. Also, he never calls on you. You raise your hand for every question!”

  She shrugs again and then focuses her attention on the board.

  I look over at Kaylan, sitting in the front row now with her glasses on, copying down every number that’s written on the board.

  After class, Kaylan and I walk out at the same time, but it’s not exactly like we’re walking together. We’re just sort of going down the hallway at the same pace.

  We pass Isabela, sitting on the wooden bench in the main lobby.

  “Are you okay?” I ask her.

  “Stomachache. Going home early.”

  I scrunch up my face. “Feel better.”

  Once we’re far enough away that Isabela can’t hear us, I catch up to Kaylan and say, “Okay, I know we’re not really talking, but I just had an epiphany. For our list. And it involves Isabela.”

  Kaylan looks at me, confused.

  We duck into an empty classroom, and I whisper, “For help someone else shine. She is already shining, and Mr. Gavinder isn’t noticing! We need to make sure he notices.”

  “Um, how can we do that, though?” Kaylan looks up at the clock. “I got a sixty-seven on that quiz, by the way.”

  I ignore the fact that Kaylan seems to be changing the topic. “Isabela is never gonna stand up for herself,” I explain. “We need to do it.”

  “Ari, I’m on board,” Kaylan says, looking right at me, putting her hands on my shoulders. “I just don’t know how to do it.”

  “Well, let’s be thinking,” I say. “We have until my bat mitzvah to fix this, and to help Isabela shine.”

  Kaylan nods. “Yes.”

  She starts walking ahead of me, but then I touch her shoulder and ask, “Can we talk later? For real?”

  “Sure.” She shrugs. “I didn’t think our break would last forever. Duh. That’s why it’s called a break.”

  I laugh for a second. Kaylan can always make tense situations feel funny, at least for a moment or two.

  “Come over after school, okay?” I shake my head up and down, hoping she’ll agree.

  “Okay.”

  Kaylan and I take the bus together and then walk over to my house. It’s a funny feeling to know you’re about to have a big conversation, so you just kind of stay quiet until it happens. It feels like the few moments that pass between walking into the examining room at the doctor’s office and then waiting for the doctor to come in with your shots. You know it’s coming. All you can do is wait.

  When we get home, I find another one of my mom’s famous kitchen table notes.

  Hi, Ari,

  Gemma is going over to Sally’s after school. Dad and I have an appointment. We’ll all be home for dinner. Please do your homework, practice for your bat mitzvah, etc.

  Empty the dishwasher if you have time.

  Thank you.

  Love, Mom

  “Does she realize that you have a phone and she can just text you?” Kaylan asks me, scanning the pantry for a snack. “What happened here?” She points to the broken door.

  “Oh, it fell off the hinge a few weeks ago. Be careful of the crisper drawer in the fridge. That’s broken, too.”

  “Noted.”

  We grab a few mini bags of pretzels and little bottles of iced tea and head up the stairs to my room.

  “I see you’ve redecorated since I’ve been here last,” Kaylan remarks, noticing my camp pictures all over the walls.

  “You’re represented, too.” I show her the bulletin, aka the shrine of Kaylan and Ari through the years.

  “Good.” She kicks off her sneakers and goes to sit on my bed. “So what’s up?”

  I laugh for a second. “Um, well, I wanted to talk to you, because—” The phone rings. “Oops, hold that thought.”

  “Hi, Bub,” I say, answering the phone.

  “Hi, doll. How are you? Just wanted to check in.”

  “I’m good. Kaylan’s over now, can I call you back?”

  “Of course. Talk later.”

  I go back to the bed and start the Kaylan conversation again. “So, um, as I was saying. The thing is, I still really want to keep our friendship strong. Do you?”

  “Obviously. But what does that even mean, really?” she asks. “We never really said when we made the new list, so . . . Like, did that mean not having new friends?”

  In a way, it kind of feels like she’s attacking me, but I don’t want this conversation to be like that. I want it to be calm, and relaxed, and thoughtful. “No, of course not. And it didn’t mean skipping fun and new experiences just because the other one wasn’t a part of it, right?”

  She shakes her head. “No.”

  “So . . .”

  Kaylan leans back against my pillows. “So . . .”

  “I’m sorry if I made you feel that I only cared about camp,” I tell her. “So not true. I care about you a zillion percent.”

  “And what about the lunch table girls?”

  “I care about them, and I want to be friends with them. But can I be honest?”

  She nods.

  “They’re kind of mean sometimes. They made me feel bad about my bat mitzvah party changing, and I don’t know—sometimes they’re a little intense. They all just follow Cami, and I wasn’t sure they even really wanted me around.”

  “They can be intense, sometimes, yeah,” Kaylan says, scratching her eyebrow. “But not all the time. And I think they do want you around. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t included in stuff, also sorry I posted those Instagram stories.”

  “I think the bottom line is that we need to stay strong while also realizing that our friendship won’t totally stay the same,” I tell her. “Ya know? And you hate change, obviously. But you’re also much better with it now.”

  “I am?” Kaylan shrieks.

  “I think so.” I
lie back next to her. “And you barely freak out anymore. You can totally JHH that bad habit.”

  She hops up off the bed and JHHs by herself, but then runs over to high-five me.

  “I think you were right about my bad habit,” I tell her. “I started telling the cantor how I really feel about stuff, and it was a relief, in a way. I really have been keeping things bottled up.”

  “And you can lean on me, too, ya know . . . and the lunch table girls.” Kaylan sits up and rests her head on her palm. “I mean, we’re here for you. It’s way harder to get through all this stuff on your own.”

  “I know. I’m gonna try. It’s just that you get used to being one way for so long, it’s hard to change. . . .”

  “Hello! You’re telling me this? Duh. I know!” She rolls her eyes. “You can do it.”

  I stand up and scroll through my phone for a good summer song. I turn it on and then jump off the bed, grabbing a handful of pens from my desk for the microphone.

  I start snapping with my other hand. “Havana ooh na na!”

  Kaylan says “hey” at just the right time and hops off the bed to join me.

  “Ooh ooh ooh,” she sings into her fist.

  I burst out laughing and then we sing through the chorus together.

  At the end of the song, we fall back onto the bed. “No one dance parties like we dance party,” I tell Kaylan.

  “No. Definitely not. We are dance party champions. Forever.”

  I add, “And ever.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  I FEEL BETTER ABOUT THE Kaylan fight, but I still barely sleep that night. I’m tossing and turning and trying to figure out what we can do about the Isabela thing, and my mind keeps going back to that leadership program at camp. Helping someone else shine is a key part of leadership.

  She should be shining.

  One day she will stop raising her hand, and Mr. Gavinder won’t even notice. She’ll lose all her confidence in math. She’ll stop caring about it. And she won’t even really know why or how it happened.

  The next morning, I’m half-asleep at the kitchen table, sipping my orange juice, when my mom asks my dad what’s on his agenda for the day. She does this every morning. And that’s the exact moment they start arguing.

  It usually goes like this: If he says nothing, or “applying for jobs” in a short kind of way, she gets annoyed. And then he criticizes her for not being supportive. And then they look at me all sad and pathetic. And I try to pretend I haven’t heard them arguing and that all is totally fine, and I’m strong and happy and school is great and I’m thrilled about an only-bagel bat mitzvah.

  I guess I still have more work to do in terms of keeping feelings to myself. I’m midsip of my orange juice when it occurs to me.

  I can’t keep pretending that everything is fine.

  The boy I need to tell how I really feel is actually my dad.

  And I need to do it soon.

  “I just have one question,” I say to my mom’s back as she’s scrambling a few eggs for Gemma and me. My dad has left the kitchen and gone upstairs to stare blankly at his computer. I’ve seen him do it, and it’s pretty scary—those empty eyes, the brightness of the screen. It’s like he’s entering an abyss, and I don’t know when or if we will get him back.

  “Yes?” my mom asks, forcing her voice to be cheerful.

  “Remember when you were obsessing over the party favors for my bat mitzvah? And you wanted to design a logo and stuff? And then you decided on a hoodie?” I pause, waiting for my mom to chime in. She doesn’t. “I just wondered if you ever ordered them or if you canceled it or whatever.” I pause again. She’s still silent. “People at school were asking me.”

  She finally turns around and pulls out a chair to sit down at the kitchen table next to me.

  She looks at me for a few seconds, like she’s debating what to say. “I was waiting to order them, Ari. I wanted to see who was coming so we could get them personalized. I wanted a little embroidered name on the corner of each hoodie.” She rolls her lips together, and a few tears trickle down from her eyelids. “Dad’s promotion was supposed to come through. None of this was supposed to be an issue.”

  “I’m kind of sad about this, Mom,” I tell her.

  “I know. I am too.” She’s quiet for a few seconds and then she says, “Have you seen a letter around here? It was kind of important. Someone wanted to get in touch with us. It was right on the counter, next to the microwave. And now I can’t seem to find it.”

  I look at her, straight in the eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  I was kind of hoping she’d come up with some alternative plan for the giveaway, like buying a ton of white T-shirts and ironing something cool on them. But she doesn’t. She’s lost in her own world and isn’t willing to improvise.

  I walk up the stairs and crawl back into bed. I have ten minutes before I need to leave for the bus, and I’m not hungry for breakfast anyway.

  I feel a little guilty for lying to her about the letter. But not that guilty.

  When Kaylan and I get to school, all the lunch table girls are hanging out on the floor by our lockers.

  “I told everyone we made up,” Kaylan whispers as we walk over there. “Just FYI.”

  “Oh, um, okay.” I start unpacking my books and lining them up on the top shelf of my locker.

  “And I told them you’re going to start opening up and stuff,” she continues. “Like leaning on us, and we’ll all feel like real friends.”

  “Kay.” I crack up so hard I can’t talk. “Did you leave anything for me to say?”

  “Um, yeah, that’s all I said to them. . . .”

  I hug her for a second and then sit down in front of my locker.

  “So glad you guys are talking again!” Cami puts her arms around Kaylan and me. “Seriously. So, so happy.”

  I pull back after a few seconds. “Me too.”

  “And you can talk to me about anything at any time,” Cami says. “You know that, right?”

  I nod, forcing myself not to laugh. This girl is way too much, especially for this early in the morning.

  “They’re announcing the clubs this morning!” Cami says loudly so everyone can hear, doing a little shimmy. “Get excited!”

  I look at my watch and realize the first bell will ring in approximately nine minutes. “When?”

  “Before first bell,” Cami declares.

  I take out my notebook to start reviewing my Spanish vocabulary words. The girls keep talking all around me, but I try to tune them out. Even Kaylan is going on and on about what the comedy club will do, and how they can have a comedy showcase at the end of the year and maybe even some famous comedians will come.

  Even though I feel great about the Kaylan stuff, I have this slimy feeling about that letter from Anthony and Eve Bowlin, and an even slimier feeling about how I lied to my mom. I start to wonder if selling the house would really save everything. Maybe I should dig it out and give it to her.

  Abuelo—grandfather

  Abuela—grandmother

  Hermana—sister

  I look at my watch again. “Guys, first bell is literally going off in a minute. Where is this announcement?”

  Cami looks around. “She said she was announcing! I am so confused. I really thought that—”

  She’s cut off when we hear the chime signaling that an announcement is about to start. We all look at one another, tense expressions on our faces. I didn’t expect this to become so hectic. I didn’t even think most people would suggest clubs. Now it’s like we’re in some kind of competition we didn’t plan or want or even know we were in.

  “Hello, Brookside Middle School students! Good morning on this bright and sunny day! I am thrilled to announce the new additions to our outstanding after-school clubs roster. We had many more entries than we ever expected, and all were incredible ideas.” Ms. Bixhorn pauses and clears her throat. “If your club wasn’t picked, don’t worry. We will accept more submissions mi
dyear when we have a better sense of everyone’s interests.” She pauses again.

  “OMG, she is so slow,” Amirah whines.

  Kaylan shushes her.

  “The selections are: Krav Maga, Israeli self-defense . . .” The girls and I stare at one another. “Ultimate Frisbee, Social Action Task Force, Dance Team, Cooking Club, Debate Team, and last but not least, Mindfulness Club. Thanks to everyone who entered an idea. Please get to first period calmly and quickly and have an outstanding Brookside Middle School day.”

  Cami shakes her head at all of us. “I don’t get it. Advice is, like, the main thing we all need now. . . .” She walks ahead, not waiting for us, still shaking her head like it’s all our fault.

  Amirah and June and some of the others try to run and catch up to her, but I stay back.

  “And coloring club is like mindfulness, Arianna!” M.W. says forcefully. “We should have joined forces!”

  “Oh, yeah, I didn’t think of it.” I smile. “But don’t worry, there will be other chances.”

  She shrugs and hoists her backpack over her shoulder and walks away.

  Soon it’s just Kaylan and me at the lockers. I don’t know what to say to her.

  “You crushed it,” Kaylan says softly.

  “Thanks,” I say. “I didn’t exactly do anything, though. I just suggested it. I’m sorry comedy wasn’t picked.”

  “I’m bummed, but it’s okay,” she says. “I can still pursue it outside of school, and maybe, like, go to local comedy clubs and see if they want to have some kind of kids in comedy night or something?”

  I nod, super enthusiastic. “That’s an amazing idea! And you can have kids from other schools, too!”

  “Totally,” she says, still seeming a touch defeated. “Plus for the list it just said pursue a passion, not finish it. . . .”

  “True,” I say. “We’re still totally on track for the list. And can I be honest?”

  “Of course.”

  I play with the zipper on my hoodie. “I think I may have more than one passion. And I think that’s okay? How can I narrow it down to just one?”

  We start walking together. Kaylan says, “That’s true. I mean, we just said pursue a passion and find one . . . but we didn’t say only one.”