by Linda Kage
“Remember when you wrote that paper on George Washington?” Adam said. “We had to hear about the Revolutionary War for three weeks straight.” Groaning, he went back to coloring a drum set on the white paper tablecloth.
He was the musician of the group, always writing songs and singing to us. I can still remember when he’d saved up enough money to buy his first guitar. Thank goodness, he’d actually learned how to play. We girls probably would’ve strangled him long ago as much as he fiddled with the thing. But since he could carry a decent tune, it was kind of cool to get to listen to him so often.
“Just think about it,” Bridget went on, oblivious to our cringing. “Almost every teen movie geared toward the male gender throughout movie-making history is about one thing: trying to find a girl to sleep with him. There’s Porky’s, Dazed and Confused, American Pie, American Graffiti—”
“Superbad,” I suggested helpfully.
Someone—I couldn’t tell if it was Adam or Schy—kicked me under the table. “Don’t egg her on,” Schy muttered out the side of her mouth.
But Bridget was already pointing at me and nodding. “Superbad,” she agreed. “Though that movie focuses more on Seth and Evan’s friendship…and trying to get beer.” Pausing, she looked thoughtful for a moment, tilting her head ever so slightly to the left. “You know, underage drinking is also prevalent in most of the movies I named.” She gasped. “Maybe there’s something to that.”
Schy slapped her hand to her forehead. “Dear Lord, save us.”
“Except that would be a good topic for another research paper. So, I won’t go there just yet.”
“Thank you,” Schy whispered, lifting her appreciative gaze toward Heaven.
I grinned and sat back in the booth, watching my three friends. Adam kept his head lowered, coloring furiously with the crayons the waitress had provided, acting as if he couldn’t hear a word of the discussion. And Schy groaned as Bridget raged on about premarital, teenage relationships.
Struck with just how much I was going to miss this, I sniffed, refusing to cry, but moisture gathered in my tear ducts anyway, threatening to spill over. I quickly sat forward and took another slug of Dr. Pepper. That way, if my eyes watered, I could blame it on the strong carbonation in my drink and not weepy, pitiful tears.
“It’s not fair society puts this kind of pressure and stigma on us youth.” Bridget was still on a roll. “We always have to have our slumber parties at Schy and Adam’s place because there’s no way our parents would let Adam stay over, not even in a separate room.”
Adam shifted in his seat and made a pained face. “You know, I’m not sure I’m very comfortable with this conversation.”
“And it’s all because of sex,” Bridget said, not even hearing him. “If movie makers didn’t sensationalize the topic so much, it probably wouldn’t be that big of a deal.”
“It’s not just movie makers,” I said. “TV shows and commercials do it too. Books, magazines—”
“Grace! What are you doing?” Schy asked from between gritted teeth. “Stop encouraging her.”
“Oh, hey, look.” Adam brightened and sat up as a server approached with four steaming plates. “Our food’s here.” He grinned at us girls, looking all too pleased something had arrived to divert our attention from the subject at hand.
I threw back my head and laughed. It was either that or bawl. But honestly, how could I move away and miss this? This was my group. My people. I didn’t want to leave them.
Adam, Bridget and Schy stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. I think I had too. The nerd herd was my sanity, my life support. What was I going to be without them? How was I going to survive?
“I’m going to miss you guys so much,” I said, wishing the words back as soon as they passed my voice box.
Bridget’s face crinkled with misery. Adam’s shoulders deflated and his features fell. Schy reached out to cover my hand.
I opened my mouth to apologize. This was supposed to be a happy, memory-making night full of fun and laughter.
A party.
Not a funeral.
“Who had the barbecue wings and fries?” the server asked, fortunately diverting another touchy topic. She flipped out a stand and set down the large, round serving tray to form a makeshift table. Then she passed the plate of wings to Bridget when she lifted her hand.
Methodically, the server distributed our orders and then scooped up the empty tray and stand before she whisked them both away after asking if we needed anything else. All too soon, she was gone, leaving only silence in her wake.
I stared down at my potato skins and quesadillas, too chicken to risk a glance at my friends. Upset at myself for disturbing the light mood we’d had going before I had opened my big mouth, I lifted my fork and knife, inhaling the spicy aroma of my meal.
“We’re going to miss you too,” Bridget said.
I peeked an eye up. Bridget, Schy, and Adam hadn’t touched their meals but were staring at me with sympathetic gazes that made my gut hurt.
“It’s not going to be the same without you,” Adam added.
Schy sniffed out a sound of annoyance. “You can’t leave, Grace. You just can’t. We should all talk to your mom together, convince her you need to stay at Hillsburg. That’s just all there is to it.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but Schy wasn’t finished. “If it makes her feel better, Adam and I could even offer to come and pick you up in Osage each morning for school. We’ll take you every day.”
Bridget nodded vigorously. “That’s a great idea. Adam’s a really safe driver. Even your mom can’t argue that point.”
My eyes flooded with tears. “You guys are too wonderful.” I wiped at the monsoon pouring down my cheeks. “But you can’t do that. Do you know how much gas it would cost to—”
“We don’t mind,” Adam said. “Really, Grace. We’re a foursome. The group can’t be split apart.”
I moaned out my misery. “I’ll see you as often as I can. And we’ll talk on the phone, like, every night, and Facebook each other constantly.”
Another miserable silence ensued before Bridget spoke. “There’s only one good thing about this.”
“What’s that?” I had to ask, though my tone held no semblance of hope.
She wiggled her brows. “You’ll get to see Ryder Yates again.”
As I blushed, Schy brightened. “That’s right. You have to tell us everything that happens when you see him. Everything.”
“You know, I might not see him,” I started logically. “He’s a senior. There’s no way we’ll have any classes together and—”
Schy bulldozed right over that idea. “Of course you’ll see him. Southeast isn’t any bigger than Hillsburg. You’ll probably bump into him as soon as you enter the school.”
Next to me, Bridget let out a dreamy sigh. “I just love his name. Have I mentioned how much I like his name?”
“Only about a million times,” Adam mumbled, picking up his cheeseburger and taking a ferocious bite.
“I like it too,” Schy decided. “It sounds good with Grace. Ryder and Grace. Should be easy for Adam to make a song for you two when you hook up.”
I flushed even more scarlet and opened my mouth to shoot down that idea, but Bridget chimed in, “Aww. Are you really going to write a song for them? That’s so sweet.”
A pickle slipped out the back of Adam’s burger and plopped onto his plate. His eyes grew as he sat up straight. “Uh…yeah. Sure. I guess I could.” He glanced toward me. “If you want.”
“No, I don’t want,” I muttered. “Because we’re not going to hook up.”
My adamant tone surprised everyone. They pulled back in their seats with raised eyebrows. I curbed the urge to apologize, but honestly, I didn’t want to discuss the topic anymore. It still made me intensely uncomfortable and mortally embarrassed.
Schy huffed out a disgruntled sniff. “Geesh, Gracie. Deflate our hopes, why don’t you. I just thought it’d be nice if one of us actua
lly went on a date before we graduated high school.”
“Yet another stigma society puts on teens,” Bridget spoke up, “making us think we’re losers if we don’t have a girlfriend or boyfriend by a certain age. Why can’t we just focus on who we are and what we want to be?”
Adam, Schy, and I exchanged glances before we burst out laughing.
And just like that, things smoothed back to normal. We laughed, and ate, and gossiped through the rest of the meal.
Almost two hours later, we finally departed the restaurant. A freezing wind greeted us as soon as we stepped outside. I pulled my dad’s old logging coat—as I called it—more snuggly around me.
I’d taken up wearing it since an afternoon about four weeks earlier when Mom had packed a box full of memories from the long-forgotten possessions stacked on the top shelf in the hallway closet.
Still avoiding the task of cleaning out my room, I’d volunteered to pack the bathroom. I’d just stepped out into the hall for a break when I’d found her holding the jacket to her chest and rubbing her fingers over the woolly material. It was black and red plaid, ugly as all get out, but she’d caressed it as if it were fine silk.
When she’d caught me watching her with a sketched eyebrow, she’d smiled. “It was your father’s. Ratty old thing was his favorite coat.”
Immediately, my confusion had melted away and sympathy had filled me. Feeling as if I needed to share the moment with her, I’d shuffled a step forward and reached out a tentative hand to touch the fabric too. It was as scratchy and coarse as it looked, but I’d smiled anyway.
Mom had thrust the entire bundle at me, catching me off guard; I’d almost dropped it before my fumbling fingers had wrapped around the bulk. “Here,” she’d said. “You take it. If you have a son someday, maybe the style will be back in fashion and he can wear it.”
But I’d decided, forget someday. I was going to wear the coat myself. After a good laundering—actually, after about three times through the wash—making it smell mountain spring fresh, I’d switched out my regular coat for it.
It swallowed me whole. The arms were so long; they covered my hands down to my knuckles, and the girth was wide enough for two of me to fit inside.
But at least it was warm, the warmest coat I’d ever worn. I found myself wearing it everywhere despite how much I had to look like a poor orphaned waif. Mom always watched me with half a smile and watery eyes whenever I stepped out of the house with it on, so I kept wearing the huge thing despite fashion or reason.
Bundled in my dad’s coat on that frozen night of my going away dinner, I shivered. The thick bulky fabric couldn’t even protect me from the icy wind that swept up. I huddled closer to Bridge, who bumped into Adam, who already had Schy plastered to his other side, seeking warmth. Together, the four of us shared our body heat as we raced toward Bridget’s old sedan. We drove to Adam and Schy’s house with the heat blowing full blast.
Yet still, the ever-present doom of my approaching future kept me chilled the rest of the night.
Chapter 4
I would always remember that worried look on my mom’s face, the way she had bit her bottom lip and eyed me as if she had bad news to disclose, when she had come into my bedroom one night three months ago, slipped the door closed, and sat gingerly on my bed.
Totally freaked me out. I thought she had cancer or something.
When she had said Barry had proposed, she had looked nauseated with worry. But I had been so happy I had screamed and hugged her, repeating, “I’m going to get a dad. Wow. I’m really getting a dad.”
Okay, yes, I already had a dad. But he’d been dead for thirteen years. His name had been Daniel. I was three when it happened, so I don’t remember him. At all. Mom says I was a major daddy’s girl, and I like to think that was true as a way to, you know, apologize to him for completely forgetting his face, and his voice, and his smell, and all that.
Still, the idea of a living dad had totally excited me. And I hadn’t been upset about Mom remarrying at all. It had been pretty much a relief, actually. I’d been wickedly concerned about her since I started high school when college suddenly loomed ahead. Soon, I’d be moving out and heading off to some university, and Mom would be left all alone.
That just wasn’t acceptable.
So you could say I’d been working on her for years to find some nice, handsome man and settle down. I had been happy when she’d finally mentioned Barry’s name at supper one evening.
Of course, I’d had to meet him first, and he’d had to pass my inspection, which he’d done with flying colors. The first time Mom had invited him over, he had given me a single pink rose.
I was a goner from that point on. Barry had caught me, hook, line, and sinker. He was a doctor—a dentist to be exact—and my mom had met him while working as a scrub nurse in the ER after he’d been in a minor car accident and hurt his knee. They’d met while she’d been decked out in a mask and surgical gloves and then, yeah, the rest was history.
After my enthusiastic response to her marriage announcement, Mom’s shoulders had sagged, and she had smiled. But in the next moment, her eyes had welled with tears. “I’ll always love your father, Grace,” she had said. “And I’ll always love you. No matter what. You come first.”
I had teared up a little too. Okay, fine, confession: I’d totally had the crocodile droplets going on full throttle. We’d hugged some more. I think we talked until midnight that night, opening up to each other about our feelings, and thoughts, and dreams, bonding like two best friends instead of a mother and daughter. I had felt so connected to her. We understood one another, and I knew we’d always have each other no matter what man came into our lives.
The wedding had been a short, quiet ceremony, set in early November. It had been a warm, yet breezy day, scattering the most beautiful colored leaves across the chapel lawn. Mom and I had held each other close, pressing our cheeks together, and grinned at the photographer as we had our picture taken outside. When we had motioned Barry over to join the next shot, he had charged forward, wading through the fall foliage with ease, and had wormed between the two of us to throw one arm around Mom’s shoulder and the other around mine.
And the three of us had become a family.
I felt better—calmer inside—after Mom married. She’d finally found her happily ever after. I didn’t have to worry about her, not that I’d ever admit I did worry. She’d just roll her eyes and retort worrying wasn’t a daughter’s duty, it was a mother’s.
Uh huh. Right.
She was happy, though. Barry made her almost giggly. That was all I cared about. Well, mostly all I cared about. One little glitch I hadn’t foreseen in this happily ever after was the rest of my high school career.
Barry owned a wonderful house on a three-acre lot on the edge of Osage, a town not too far from ours, containing a population in the whopping four digits. His place made our two-bedroom bungalow look like a shack in Ethiopia. So, basically, it was a given Mom and I would move in with him. But he lived twenty-three miles away, see, and Hillsburg High—my home school—became a forty-some minute trek one way, through ice, snow, rain, and every other seasonal disaster that made Mom cringe and announce, “No way are you driving that far every day.”
No way was she going to let me stay at Hillsburg when I’d be able to walk to Southeast—which just so happened to be Hillsburg’s all-time school rival.
If I’d been a senior, she might’ve let me drive the distance for the rest of the year. But being a mere junior, I was forced to—you got it—transfer.
Oh, the horror.
Since Mom was so happy, I didn’t complain. This would be best for her and only a year and a half of sacrifice for me. That was the big picture I forced myself to see. But inside, I dreaded every moment that drew closer to the big switch.
She’d given me a small continuance and told her new husband we’d have to wait to move in with him until I finished the semester, except…the semester was now officially ov
er and even the two-week winter break separating me from becoming a purple and white dragon had come to an end.
Barry, Mom, and I had barely been living together for two weeks by the time the Sunday evening before my first day at Southeast rolled around.
I’d been queasy all afternoon, making myself sick with worry and hoping it’d turn into a full flu. That way I’d have a few more days to prepare myself. On the other hand, I also wanted to get it over with and done.
I already knew the first day of anything was the hardest. The first day of camp, of dance class, of getting my period. After twenty-four hours of adjusting, the nerves would settle, I’d begin to catch on, and the worst part would pass. So, I was definitely ready to wade past day one.
I just didn’t look forward to it.
What took up most of my thoughts was what would happen when I saw Ryder Yates again. Would he flirt mercilessly as he had at the basketball game, avoid me out of mortification, or worst of all, completely forget who I was?
“So, Grace,” Barry said. “I know you’re worried about your first day at Southeast tomorrow, so I got you a little something to help ease the nerves.”
It was suppertime, and my new family sat around the dining room table.
My mouth fell open when Barry set a small, jewelry-sized black velvet box on the table next to my glass of milk. I glanced at Mom.
She blinked a few times before transferring her confused gaze to her husband. “Barry?”
He fluttered an unconcerned hand her way and continued to grin at me. “Well? Go ahead and open it.”
That was all the encouragement I needed. I reached out, ripped off the red bow on top, and flipped open the lid.
“Oh, my God,” I screeched. “It’s beautiful.” Too afraid to touch all that sparkly gold, I lifted my gaze again. “Is this really for me?”
Yeah, it wasn’t a piece of jewelry with a yellow daisy on it—which was my favorite flower—but still. A rose necklace was more than I’d ever expected from a stepdad I’d only had a few weeks.
