“That’s great.”
I see him thinking, his eyes shifting around.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Have you, uh, thought about scholarships?”
“Yes, and I have Poppy’s trust fund, and maybe I can take out a loan.”
Dad audibly exhales.
“But room and board,” I add. “They might be expensive.” I take a deep breath. “While I’m here, I was going to ask about possibly staying with you next year.”
Dad smiles a little, but then a frown works its way onto his face. “We can talk about it. I need to check with Leah first, to get her thoughts. She owns the place.”
That is a detail I didn’t know. It’s her apartment?
More tears blur my eyes, because that is not something I expected to hear. Does Dad have any part in it? Doesn’t he help with the mortgage or rent or whatever?
“I want out of Manchester so bad,” I tell him. “I’d move here now if I could.”
“What are you saying?” Dad asks softly.
“I’m saying, I wish I could stay here. I don’t want to go back.”
Back to a mom who yells all the time. What if she does worse than pull my hair?
Dad bites the tip of his thumb, staring straight ahead. While I’m waiting for him to answer, a riverboat passes by. The more time that goes on, the more my heart sinks.
“I’m not sure if it could work right now,” Dad finally says.
“Because there’s no room for me at the apartment?” I snap. “Leah doesn’t want to give up her perfect guest room?”
He jerks his head from side to side. “It’s not that. Don’t be silly.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s the custody agreement. Your mom has custody of you until you’re eighteen.”
My eighteenth birthday is in March.
Dad goes on, “You can visit me, but only on weekends, and for two weeks each summer. That’s what we worked out in the deal.”
“So change the deal.”
“I’m not sure if I could sue for custody. Your mom would fight back like the first time… The divorce already wiped out nearly all my savings.” He grips the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, this is all embarrassing to talk about. I wish I had more money.”
“So you won’t even try?” I whisper.
Dad’s head droops. “I don’t think it makes sense when you’re turning eighteen in less than a year. It would cost too much.”
I tried. I wanted to be something other than second best. I put myself out there, and still, my parents put themselves first.
He looks over his shoulder back toward the restaurant. To where his new family is waiting for him.
I get to my feet. “Forget it.”
I rush down the steps.
“Mari!” Dad shouts, but I keep on moving.
I jog the rest of the way down the stairs and toward the bridge, unsure where it leads.
T.J.
Going to Lollapalooza for the first time. Hanging out with my brother. Seeing my favorite band in person.
This was supposed to be the best weekend of my life.
Now I’m wandering downtown on Michigan Avenue—the shopping district—in my swimsuit.
I could go back to the beach, but it’ll only remind me of Mari. I should go back to Tyler’s place, but I’m not sure if he’s there, or if he even would want to see me.
I pull out my phone and text Tyler:
I’m sorry I blew up like that.
When I first started yelling at Tyler, it felt good. Relieving. I had so many frustrations pent up inside. But the more I kept talking, everything came out worse and worse. The hurt look on Tyler’s face keeps repeating in my mind. Yeah, I don’t like how he’s always telling me what to do and I hate what he said about how I’m not truly living, but I went too far. I’m an asshole.
Tyler doesn’t text back. Tucking my phone back in my pocket, I wander around the Chicago Tribune tower, which always reminds me of a tall, skinny Gothic castle, with its elaborate spires reaching toward the sky. I distract myself by looking at the famous rocks on the walls. There’s a piece of metal from the World Trade Center, which fell before I was born.
I can only look at the rocks for so long. I feel like I should be doing something else, but what?
I leave, and wander down crowded Michigan Avenue, weaving around pedestrians carrying shopping bags—some hurrying, while others lazily walk and gaze in store windows.
Down the street, I peer into the Apple store. It’s packed with customers troubleshooting problems with their MacBooks and iPhones. I’m tempted to fake an issue with my phone, so I can go in and lick my wounds in the comfort of air-conditioning.
Maybe something is honest-to-God wrong with my phone—it still hasn’t buzzed with a notification from my brother.
It scares me that Tyler hasn’t written back. Normally he’s attached to his phone like a lifeline.
I wander up closer to the river, to lean across a railing, gaze at the water and watch riverboats inch by.
I was right when I told Mari she’s scared. But I barely know her. I shouldn’t have pushed. It’s just, when I was lying there in bed with her? She felt worth every risk there is to take.
Okay, so I’ve never done that with a girl before, but to me, it wasn’t simply a physical act—I felt more there. Something deeper. Something that made me throw all my usual hesitations out the window.
All this time, I never noticed that hesitation protects you from the possibility of being hurt. I don’t tell my brother I made these leather bracelets, because I don’t want him to question or make fun of me.
Instead, I hesitate, and don’t say anything. It protects my feelings.
But with Mari today? I told her everything. I pushed past my fears.
When you meet someone you like enough to push past your hesitations, that’s where the possibility happens. That’s where the risk comes in. And it didn’t pay off for me.
Still, moving past the unknown is like removing a heavy weight from my chest. It’s hard to explain, this sense of freedom you get once you’re open with a person. It’s almost like after a first kiss. You’re free to move on and accept whatever comes next. You’re free to fly.
I can’t help but tilt my head back and smile up at the sun.
My watch buzzes on my wrist. I rush to look at the notification, to see if it’s Tyler.
He sends a three-word response: Go cool off.
I rub my cheek. Lean up against the railing, pray my knees don’t give out.
Tyler’s never been mad at me before. Then again, I’m still pissed at him for telling me I can move on to someone else, like what happened with Mari was no big deal. But I miss him already. What if I screwed things up so bad he doesn’t forgive me?
My smartwatch buzzes. I immediately glance down at it, hoping it’s Tyler again. Or maybe even Mari.
But it’s not. It’s the WTGP radio station with another #LollaScavengerHunt prompt. At first I think, Who gives a shit? I don’t feel like doing anything. But then I think of how much I want to meet Adam Tracy and ask about his cover designs. Maybe learn something from him.
Plus I have a lot of time to kill before my bus leaves tomorrow night.
I glance at the tweet. This time they’re directing us to take a selfie in front of the lion statues outside the Art Institute of Chicago. I check the map on my phone, and it’s not a long walk from here.
I set off across the bridge.
Mari
After that awful conversation with Dad, I hurry back down toward the river.
I don’t know what it is about water, but it makes things better. It may not solve your problems or tell you what to do with your life, but at least the gentle blue calms you. Some of my best memories are from walking along the beach during a
sunset, excited about getting back out there the next day for another round of swimming and sunbathing.
But today? I’m not excited for tomorrow. I take off my glasses, and dab at my watering eyes with the heel of my hand.
I decide to try to video chat Austin. It’s loud out here on the bridge with the traffic zooming behind me, but everywhere in Chicago is noisy. This will have to do.
I open up the messenger app and press on his picture. He answers a few seconds later. It looks like he’s outside in his backyard.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What’s wrong, Bud?”
I’m crying now and it’s hard to speak. “Bad day,” I choke out.
“Hold on a sec.” Austin starts walking with the phone, angling it toward the blue sky. Suddenly he’s inside and moving down the hall to his room. Once he’s sitting on his bed, he turns his phone back to focus on me.
“What happened?” he asks.
“Just got into a fight with my dad. It was bad.”
“That really sucks.” Austin leans back against his bed’s headboard. “What can I do?”
I shake my head, not sure what to say. I should tell Austin more about how I asked Dad to move here, but I imagine the idea of me moving would upset him, and I don’t want to hurt my best friend even more than I already have.
“But other than that, are you having a good day? Based on Instagram, it seemed like you were having fun at the beach with T.J.” Austin’s voice is interested but hard at the same time. It’s like he wants to be nice about T.J. but is hurt too. I don’t blame him.
“I ended up leaving T.J. behind a little earlier.”
“Why?” Austin growls. “Did he hurt you or pressure you or anything?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. We just wanted different things.”
Austin pauses for a bit before speaking in a flat voice. “He likes you, and you don’t want to give anyone a chance.”
I wipe my nose on my hand. Gross. “Why would you think that?”
“Mari, you’re funny and beautiful and nice. Any guy would want you. You’re just so hardened…so closed off from everybody, you won’t put yourself out there.”
“It’s my decision.”
“And I think you’re going to regret it in the long run.”
Another tear falls from my eye. I need to change the subject. “What are you doing today?”
“Getting ready to go four-wheelin’ with the guys.”
“Be careful, all right? You know how much I hate those death machines.”
Austin laughs. “You’d love ’em if you gave ’em a try, Bud.”
My phone begins to beep. Mom calling. Mom calling.
“Listen, I gotta go,” I tell Austin. “Call you later?”
“Yeah, talk to you tonight.”
Austin’s face disappears from the screen, leaving only Mom’s flashing number.
After this horrible afternoon, all I want is to feel better. Maybe I can tell Mom a bit about what happened. I think back to how Sierra curled up against Leah’s side last night and find myself wishing I could do the same with my mom. For now, a phone call will have to do.
The second I hear her voice, I wish I hadn’t answered.
“Where the hell do you get off, telling your father I won’t let you visit him?”
Oh no. Dad must have called to confront her. Why would he do that? I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t tell him anything else. He would’ve blabbed it to her. To hurt her, to get back at her. And in return, she’ll make my life hell when I go back home tomorrow.
I speak slowly: “I didn’t say that… Dad got mad because I hardly ever come here. I told him it’s hard to visit because I don’t want to leave you.”
“Your dad thinks I’m keeping you from him. I don’t stop you from visiting. That’s a lie.”
I take a deep breath. “But, Mom, it’s true that you don’t like it when I come here.”
“I’ve never said that. You can visit your father anytime you want. You know that.”
I hate it when she does this. When she defends herself, saying she didn’t do something she obviously did. “Mom, you called me a traitor and wouldn’t drive me to the airport.”
“I never said that.”
Sometimes I think I should record our conversations and play them back for her. She’d probably deny it was her voice. She’s a master class in gaslighting.
“I told you this morning,” Mom barks, “I don’t want to talk to your father on the phone. You keep stirring shit up there, and he keeps calling to complain about you. If he calls one more time while you’re there, you’ll regret it.”
She hangs up on me.
I rub my eyes. I let out a little cry, wishing I could live with Sierra and go to school with her and learn physics in Spanish, and not have to worry about someone who gaslights me.
I want a mom who cares, who takes care of me. In that moment, alone on the busy bridge in Chicago, I realize it’s never going to happen. I’m stuck with who I’ve got. It’s my destiny. Nothing will change. And it’s so unfair.
Dad texts me: Please come back.
I can’t even with him right now. Not only did he run straight to Mom, he told me he won’t fight for me, that I’m not worth the money.
A tear rolls down my face. I swipe it away.
An older woman and man avoid looking at my face as they hurry by. A guy in his twenties rushes past like I have a disease. I don’t even know what to do or where to go.
I’ve never felt so low. So lost.
Then I hear a voice: “Are you okay?”
T.J.
The universe is out to get me.
I’m walking across the bridge, heading south toward the Art Institute of Chicago, when I look across the lanes of traffic to see her.
Mari.
Of all people.
Pacing back and forth, talking on the phone.
What are the odds? How many millions of people live in Chicago?
I stop walking and stare. Look around to see if there’s somewhere I can hide. What if she sees me? Will she think I’m following her like Asshole Bob?
In the next moment, she wipes a tear from beneath her glasses and puts her phone away. She removes her glasses and covers her eyes with a hand.
My feet move before my brain says go. I jog up to the crosswalk, wait for traffic to stop, and then dart across the street. Where’s Sierra and Megan? Why is Mari all alone?
I approach her slowly. “Mari?”
She looks up at me in shock. She quickly averts her gaze, touching her cheek. I see now that it’s pink. She’s sunburned. Ouch.
I feel an overwhelming urge to pull her into my arms, like earlier today, but that would be too much. I won’t scare her off again like I did before. Still, even thinking about what we did on the boat makes me feel shook up inside.
It was the best moment of my life until it wasn’t.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I’m thirsty.”
“I was just heading down to the art museum. Want to walk along? We can find some water on the way.”
I expect her to say no, but she slides her glasses back on and gives me a quick nod, as if the fight’s drained out of her. Which surprises me, because I found her so confident and sure up until now. What happened?
I want to take her hand so badly, to show I’m with her. Instead we walk side by side in silence, with the sounds of the city playing in the background. A plane roars overhead, music spills out of a car window.
As we leave the bridge and continue on Michigan Avenue, places to eat and convenience stores come into view. Snacks. I need to get her snacks. And then I see it. Something bound to make her feel better, no matter what’s wrong.
“C’mon,” I say, and lead her to Garrett’s Popcorn.
“I love this place,” she mumbles.
“I know.”
She looks up at me as we fall into line, her big brown eyes staring deep into mine.
We go inside the store. The air-conditioning chills the sweat sticking to my skin, making me shiver. Various kinds of popcorn fill big glass cases. I scan the menu. I had no idea there were so many flavors. Buffalo ranch popcorn? Macadamia? Is the video game we’re living in glitching?
I stick my hands in my pockets. “What’s best to get here?”
“I love the caramel and cheddar mixed together. It’s a classic.”
At the register, we order water and popcorns. I take her suggestion and choose the cheddar and caramel, even though the caveman deep inside me is scoping out the buffalo ranch.
When it’s time to pay, I pull out my debit card. Mari tries to pass her own card to the cashier, but I wave her hand away. I made plenty of money landscaping this summer. Out of the corner of my vision, I see Mari narrowing her eyes in confusion as she puts her card away.
The cashier slides us two bottles of water, while another worker hands us two wax bags filled to the brim with popcorn.
Outside, we carry our food and drinks a little way down the street to a park with trees, where we can sit in the shade. As we walk, a few pieces of my popcorn fall out of my overflowing bag and bounce on the ground.
It’s hard to believe we were right near here earlier today, when we went to the Chicago Bean. My whole life changed in a few short hours.
Once we’re sitting safely on a bench, she gulps a bunch of her bottled water, then wipes under her puffy eyes with a forefinger.
I pull a handful of popcorn from my wax bag, push it in my mouth, and chew.
“Do you like it?” Mari asks.
“I love the cheddar.” I dig out another piece of it and eat it. “The caramel is good, but kind of sugary for me.”
She plucks a piece of caramel from my bag. “I’ll eat it if you don’t.”
Things went downhill with her earlier, and I’m nervous as hell right now—I don’t want her to leave, but my happiness at being with her overpowers any other feelings. I give her a tentative smile.
The Pick-Up Page 14
