by Anne Dayton
“What?” Christine freezes. “What are you talking about?”
“I just . . . I don’t know.” I notice a new canvas propped on the easel in the corner, holding a half-finished sketch of Ellis in charcoal. The details are so finely rendered that I have the urge to reach out and pinch his chubby baby legs. “I want to be near you guys and stuff, but when I picture my life next year, I just have a hard time seeing Southern California. And I don’t know. . . .” I cross my ankles. “I thought maybe, since you always wanted to go to New York and stuff, you might understand. I mean, is this really what you want?”
“But you have to go to USC.” Her eyes are wide, her voice high and a bit panicked. “We’re all going there.” Christine straightens her brother’s legs and settles him against her chest.
“I know, I just—” This was stupid. I thought of all the girls, Christine would at least be sympathetic, but all of a sudden I feel like Benedict Arnold. I hang my head, and my eyes focus on the hole in the left knee of my jeans.
“Riley, you have to apply. I’m not going to New York so we can all stay together. You can’t back out now.”
“I’m not backing out.” How do I explain this? How can I make her understand that I need to figure out what I want? “Christine, as long as I’ve known you, all you’ve ever wanted was to go to New York and become a painter. You’re really going to give that up?”
“I don’t think I can make it without you guys,” Christine says. Ellis flutters his eyes a few times and then nuzzles into Christine more. She runs her fingers up and down his back. “We can’t split up. You guys are my family.”
Christine cradles her brother, and I want to point out that she’s holding her family, but I know I can’t say that to her. In many ways, I suspect we are closer to Christine than her family. We’re a part of her in a way they never can be.
And suddenly I know what I have to do. I have to do whatever it takes to keep us all together.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m in.”
Ellis smacks his lips and sighs. For a minute, we both say nothing and stare at him. If Christine went to New York, she’d be away for months at a time. I wonder how much babies change in a few months. Has she wondered about that too?
“Poor kid. Christmas is pretty exhausting when you have to put everything in your mouth first. Here.” She holds him out to me. “Take him.”
I slide away. Michael is only two years younger than me, and I was never one for the whole babysitting racket. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” I’ve never even changed a diaper, much less held a baby.
“Go on. He doesn’t smell like poop right now.” Christine pulls him off her shoulder and begins to hand him to me against my protests. “It’s kind of a rare opportunity.”
I grab him, wondering if I’m supposed to be supporting his head or something, and Christine helps me get him settled in. He barely stirs.
“He’s really heavy,” I say. I can barely breathe under his weight.
She shakes her head. “I’ve tried to tell him to go to the gym, but would he listen? No.”
He wiggles, and I worry I’ll drop him, but then he cozies up to me in the sweetest way, his fist balled up around the hem of my T-shirt. My heart soars. “Wow,” I whisper.
“He’s really pretty rad.” Christine beams at me and gently rubs his back. “For a baby, anyway.”
I shut my eyes, press my nose to Ellis’s head, and inhale the sweetest scent of powder and shampoo and milk. It must be the best smell in the world.
“So you’re going to apply, right?” Christine watches me, and I know she won’t let this drop until I promise.
“Yes.” I run my fingertips over the soft fuzz on his head and try to ignore the twinge in my stomach. “I’ll apply.”
***
I wave good-bye to Candace, Christine, and Emma and walk down the driveway to the RealMobile. It’s cold and dreary outside, a typical Northern California Christmas Day. While I wait for the heater to warm up in this ancient hunk of junk, I grab my phone out of my purse, scroll down to Ben, and press his name before I lose my nerve. As it rings, I try to figure out what I’m going to say. Do I say I’m sorry? Explain that he misinterpreted things? Do I tell him what’s going on with Tom? The truth is, I’m not totally sure what’s going on with Tom. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel and wait. The call rings and rings and rings and then dumps into his voice mail. I hang up and drop the phone back into my purse.
I put the van in gear and look over my shoulder, then back out of the driveway slowly. The Christmas lights on Christine’s street are starting to flick on in the dying afternoon light. I drive down the street and stop at the corner. There’s a plastic light-up nativity set in the front yard just to my right. I smile, then check in the rearview mirror. There’s no one behind me. Throwing the car into neutral, I dig my phone back out.
Ben doesn’t answer, and this time I’m almost relieved to get his voice mail.
“Hi, Ben, it’s me.” I clear my throat. Will he know who me is? “Riley. I just called to say Merry Christmas, I guess. I’m leaving Christine’s house, and she let me hold her baby brother, Ellis. Have you ever actually held a baby before? Their cheeks stick out really far like they have food stuffed inside them, like chipmunks. And their feet don’t even look made for walking. They’re all round and . . . This is a stupid message. Whatever. I was just thinking about you and your family. I hope you guys are having a merry Christmas.”
25
I make my way down the shore, my eyes trained on the water, lugging my heavy surfboard under my arm. And though I’m cold, and the stupid wet suit is kind of pinching my armpits, and the wet, rocky sand stings my bare feet, I feel myself relaxing more with each footprint in the sand.
I wade into the ocean and am hit with the cold shock of the water seeping into my suit. Keep moving. If I keep moving, the layer trapped near my skin will warm up. I lie flat on my board and begin to paddle out as fast as I can, keeping my eyes on the horizon. A slow round wave carries me up, and I swim hard to get over it, splashing water up into my hair. Finally, I get out beyond the breaking point, where the water gently rises and swells, and push myself up to a sitting position, letting my legs dangle in the icy water. The pounding of the waves against the shore sounds distant and muffled.
There’s a group of surfers up the shore a ways, but on this cold December morning, the water is mostly empty. There’s no one near me, and it feels good. I’m not supposed to surf alone, and after the accident I didn’t do it for a while, but it’s been a couple years since my parents checked up on it. They don’t even know about that day I almost drowned. It’s not that I tried to keep it from them; if they ever wanted to know about it, I’d tell them, but it’s been a long time since they asked what was going on with me.
I look out over the endless gray water. Somewhere out there, across many miles of open water, there’s another life for me. There’s college, a whole world away from this place. All I have to do is finish those applications, and in a few months I’ll be out of here.
A swell moves beneath me, and I hold onto my board, but it passes, drives on through, growing and gaining speed as it races toward shore. I gaze toward the sand, listening to the soft splash of water as it bumps against my board.
I should go in. I should go home and get started. I should grow up, stop whining about the attention my brother gets, and fill out the stupid applications. It will make them happy. I’ll be doing the right thing. But for some reason, I can’t make myself move.
I whisper a prayer for guidance, for wisdom, for help. I ask God to help me figure this whole mess out, but the only answer is another gentle swell rolling my way.
I’ll go in soon. For now, this—just me and God and the waves—is what I need.
26
“Bye, Mom!” I call through the kitchen, then swing open the door to the garage as fast as I can. Don’t look back. Just don’t look back.
“Where are you going?” She com
es around the corner at lightning speed, and I freeze. Shoot.
“I told you. I’m going to San Francisco to see the fireworks with the girls.” Zoe has been on one of her missions. It’s our last New Year’s Eve, so she wanted us to spend it together. We decided on a night in the city, just the four of us.
“You did?” Mom presses her hands to her face and rubs her temples in circles. She’s been so stressed out trying to figure out what to do with Michael she wouldn’t notice if I told her my hair was on fire. Right now she’s thinking of homeschooling him next semester, which is utterly crazy because my Mom can barely explain how to turn the DVD player on.
“I did. See you later then.” I open the door and nearly have it shut when she puts her foot in the crack.
“Wait, one more thing. What about your applications?” Her lipstick has faded away, and only her lip liner is left.
A familiar tightening grabs my throat, but I force myself to relax and try to breathe normally. “They’re not due till the end of the day tomorrow. I even have a few more days on a couple of them.” There’s no reason to panic. I have actually made some progress on the Common Application, which is accepted at like half the schools on my list.
Mom plants her hands on her hips, and I notice that her manicure is chipped and peeling. “Riley, you were supposed to have them done before you went out tonight. Are they done or not?” Mom holds out her hand like she’s going to take my keys.
I glance out the door to the RealMobile. The girls are depending on me to drive tonight. “They’re done,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. Instantly my stomach feels wobbly. Why did I say such a stupid thing? I can’t take it back now, but I’ve never lied to Mom before.
“You didn’t need money to pay the application fees?” Mom studies my face.
“I have my credit card. I figured it was best to put the fees on that.” A plan forms in my brain, a way to make this only a half lie and keep her happy. “And truthfully”—I put a hand on my heart—“they’re not officially turned in yet.”
“Riley!” She shakes her head at me and takes the keys out of my hand.
“But they’re done. Well, not done-done. But mostly done. I’m going to . . .” Dad comes into the kitchen and peers over at us. “Ms. Moore always says to sleep on stuff so the mistakes pop out. I’ll turn them in tomorrow after I give them once last read through. No sweat.”
Mom’s shoulders relax. “And you’re sure they’ll be turned in tomorrow?”
I can finish them up tomorrow. I’m going to have to cut Brown, Cornell, and Amherst from the list, but I wasn’t really interested in them anyway. “No problem. I promise.” I’ll tell her I decided to narrow down my choices tomorrow after she’s excited that I turned in the others and visions of Harvard are dancing in her head.
“And it is New Year’s Eve, honey.” Dad winks at me from behind her back, and I beam at him. He grabs Mom and kisses her on the cheek.
Mom sighs and shrugs. “Okay. Drive safely, and don’t get in too late.” Mom hands my keys back.
***
For the first hour, I distract myself by picking up the girls and finding my way to the city through the horrendous holiday traffic. During the second hour, while we sip hot chocolate in a café, a tiny agitating spur grows in the bottom of my stomach. As we walk down Market Street toward the Ferry Building, the spur grows into an ulcer that tears at my insides. By the time we hit hour four, I am in such agony that I want to go home, tell my mother what I did, and throw myself on the floor in front of her and beg for mercy. But now it’s only twenty short minutes until the stupid fireworks will be over and I can go home and face the music. Anything will be better than this.
At the Ferry Building, the air is jubilant. Street performers are singing, playing keyboards, and doing creepy puppet shows and magic tricks.
“This was such a good idea!” Zoe grabs me in a hug.
I smile and try to remind myself to enjoy moments like this. Who knows where we will be next year on New Year’s Eve?
Christine starts to wander off to look at a stack of paintings some guy is selling from a cart on the street, and Zoe runs after her.
“What time do the fireworks start again?” I scan the crowded waterfront.
“Midnight.” Ana shakes her head at me. “Is everything okay?”
I slap my head and laugh. “I meant to ask what time it is, not when do they start. I’m losing it.”
“Soon.” Ana checks her phone. “We should find a spot now.” Ana peers through the crowd at Zoe and Christine and waves them back to us. Zoe drags Christine away from the street artist, and they head back toward us, but they are sidetracked by a kettle-corn booth. “You ready for this?”
“For the fireworks?” I cock my eyebrow at her.
“For all of it.” She loops her arm in mine, and I allow her to lead me in the general direction of the waterfront, where the fireworks will be. We walk slowly so Christine and Zoe can catch up. “For this new year and everything it’s going to bring. For life to really start.” I turn my head to glance at her. Ana is looking up at the sky, her eyes glazed with excitement.
Is that really how she sees it? Maybe for her next year will be a chance to start living the life she’s always wanted, away from her overprotective parents, but where does that leave us?
The noisy streets are thick with half-drunk college students and families with screaming kids. Zoe and Christine jog to catch up to us, ducking through gaps here and there and spilling kettle corn as they go. It’s funny. Maybe it’s the huge, pressing crowd or their giddiness, but we’re having a tough time sticking together tonight. Every time I turn around, we’re missing a Miracle Girl.
“Soo . . .” Ana nudges me. “Where’s Tom tonight?”
“He’s out with some friends.” I shrug.
“Who?”
“Some guys from college.” I look away. The truth is, I don’t exactly know who he’s with. All he told me is that he was going out with friends tonight, and since I already had plans anyway—and it’s not like we’re officially boyfriend and girlfriend or anything—it didn’t seem right to press him on it.
She cuts her eyes at me. “Don’t you think it’s weird that he never asks you to hang out with his friends?”
“Nah.” I sidestep a dog in a fancy sweater. “They’re in college. They don’t want to hang out with a high schooler.” I keep my voice steady. On top of the big lie I told Mom earlier, this barely even feels untrue.
Ana shakes her head. “You’re addicted to him, Riley. You don’t even see the way he—”
Just then Zoe comes up alongside us, gasping for air. “Don’t you think we’d have a better view farther away from the railing?”
“Does anyone else notice I’m still here?” Christine calls from behind me. She skips to catch up.
Ana keeps her eyes focused on mine for a minute, then smiles sadly, shakes her head, and turns to Zoe. “There’s a decent spot over there.” Ana points at a small break in the crowd near the end of one of the piers. She turns toward it, and we follow her, our natural leader.
“Christine, where’s Tyler tonight?” I say quickly and paste a smile on my face.
“He has a show.” Christine digs her hand into the popcorn bag and tosses some kernels into her mouth. “Plus, I don’t believe in kissing in public, which is what this whole stupid holiday is about.”
“Christine!” Ana grabs her head like she has a headache.
We reach the end of a long, low concrete block meant for sitting and plop down.
“What?” Christine kicks her Chucks out in front and lets them slam against the hard concrete block. “Between the stupid mistletoe and the end-of-the-year countdown, I spent December avoiding Tyler.”
“And Dean was busy. He had a thing,” Zoe says, catching me off guard. A strange shadow crosses her face, but it passes quickly.
“A thing?” We’d be the first to know if something was going on with them, wouldn’t we?
�
�He wanted to edit his film one last time before the USC application is due.” Her easy smile returns to her face, and I shake off what I thought I saw. “Mine’s in already. Maybe if everything goes right, this won’t be our last New Year’s Eve together after all.”
My stomach sinks. The last thing I want to talk about now is those stupid applications. “Hey, only one minute until the fireworks,” I say to distract them. I hold up my phone, showing them the time.
Ana leans forward to look at Zoe. “What was your essay about for USC?”
“Dreamy thought I should write about the horses.” Zoe fidgets with a bracelet she bought at one of the booths. “But I’m kind of horsed out, so I decided to write about my grandma and the stories she tells about living in the log cabin.”
“I wrote about how Maria’s lupus is getting worse,” Ana says. “And what it’s like to not be able to help someone you love. It took forever, but I based it on the one I wrote for Princeton.” She stares wistfully into the dark night, which is surprisingly clear for a city known for its fog. “And then I had to organize all my recommendation letters. I thought Ms. Moore was going to kill me. She had to write, like, twenty letters.”
Christine puts a hand in their faces. “You guys can’t complain to me right now. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get high-res photos of my work uploaded to my application? Their Web site hates Macs.”
“Thirty seconds!” I say and point out toward the water, but no one turns. The crowd is buzzing with excitement.
“Did you go with something about Michael?” Ana asks, nudging me.
I swallow. Can I tell them the truth—that I haven’t even gotten an outline of my essay done? That all I’ve done is fill in the informational blanks? The crowd begins to chant the countdown numbers in unison. For some reason it feels like a bomb ticking down my last minutes.
“Five.”
All three girls stare at me, oblivious to the excitement around us. How do I tell them I haven’t even bothered to apply to the one school we thought could hold us together? What kind of friend does that?
