by Jenn Bishop
“It’s not like I’m going around wearing it as a cape or something. Now, that would be weird. So what? I pack it in my suitcase and bring it to Paris. It’s not hurting anyone. Who even knows?”
“Well, for one, if someone inspects your suitcase, they’re totally going to see it.”
“And? It’s not like we know the people working customs at Logan or Charles de Gaulle.”
She had a point. “I guess.”
There was a knock on Becca’s door, and her mom peeked her head in. Dr. Grossman always dressed like she was heading off to some special occasion: the prettiest blouses, heels, neatly pressed pants. Even though she was going to spend the rest of the day on an airplane, she still looked like she’d stepped out of a catalog. “We need to leave shortly for the airport, Rebecca. Oh, hi, Emma! How’s your brother doing? Is his shoulder healing all right?”
“I think,” I said. According to Mom, who was the one who drove Austin to all of his physical therapy appointments, his shoulder was healing just fine. It was the rest of Austin I was a little worried about. He’d seemed really bummed out and irritable lately.
Dr. Grossman’s cell phone rang. “Sorry, girls, guess vacation doesn’t start until I put this thing on airplane mode.” She ducked back into the hallway.
“I should probably go,” I said to Becca. “Take so many pictures!”
“I will,” she said.
“Maybe you’ll meet a cute boy there. A cute French boy. Ooh la la!”
“Maybe,” Becca said. But she didn’t sound nearly as excited as Ken or Luce would’ve been.
Snow began to lightly fall as I made my way down the street. For the short walk home, I couldn’t stop thinking about that blanket. I don’t know how it had taken me so long to notice, but that day, it felt like a sign. Proof that Becca wasn’t ready to grow up yet. And I was.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Becca’s flight got out before the snow worsened, dumping a good foot and a half over most of greater Boston. Snowstorms were pretty much what my dad lived for, but for the rest of us, it meant being stuck inside.
Kennedy and Luce lived on the other side of town, and hardly any of the side roads were plowed out, so it wasn’t until Tuesday that we could get together. Dad was at the station and Mom was at the store, but Austin was home.
When Kennedy invited me over, I was downstairs watching TV. Austin still had another month or so till he’d be allowed to drive again.
I knocked on his bedroom door to let him know where I was going. “A?” I asked.
A small thump came from inside his room.
Knocking again, I repeated his name.
“I’m busy,” he said. But the words didn’t sound right. They sounded slurred. Almost like how he’d sounded when he got back from his surgery. “On the phone.”
For someone supposedly on the phone, he didn’t seem to be doing much talking.
“I’m going over to Kennedy’s. Lucy’s stepdad’s giving me a ride there and back. Mom and Dad know—I texted them.”
He said something back, but I couldn’t make it out.
“Bye,” I said.
As I headed down the stairs to wait for my ride, I had this gnawing feeling that maybe something was wrong. I couldn’t put together why exactly, only for the first time I could remember, I felt uncomfortable being in the house, just Austin and me. Used to be, that was the most fun thing I could imagine. Just me and Austin, no parents around to enforce any rules. Austin could play his music as loud as he wanted. I could eat my favorite Trader Joe’s mac and cheese for every meal.
But all I noticed now, as I sat peering out the front window, was the eerie quiet of the house. If there was one thing my brother wasn’t, it was quiet.
By the time Lucy’s stepdad was pulling into the driveway, though, excitement over hanging out with my new friends replaced that fading uncomfortable feeling.
* * *
Kennedy’s house was an old Victorian, the kind Mom always rooted for the couples on House Hunters to choose. Posters of Ken’s two favorite figure skaters, Yuzuru Hanyu and Shoma Uno, hung above her bed, and pasted over her desk were sketches of anime characters: action shots, faces, close-ups of their eyes. An enormous bookcase filled with manga and graphic novels was tucked into a corner. The best part: Kennedy had the entire third floor all to herself.
Well, maybe not all to herself.
“Lincoln,” Kennedy hissed. “What did I tell you? Get out of here.”
Her little sister had sneaked up the stairs for the third time in the past fifteen minutes. “Mom!” Kennedy shouted. “Linc’s not leaving us alone.” She shot her sister a glare.
Lincoln was five years younger than Kennedy, just a first grader, and it took me less than a second to realize how much she looked up to her big sister. Her face radiated when Kennedy introduced her to me. All she wanted was to hang out with the big kids.
But she was still just a first grader. She wouldn’t understand half the jokes in the new season of Haikyu!! that Kennedy had just paused. Plus we wanted to be able to talk about middle school stuff.
Was it like that for Austin when I was that young? Did it still feel like that sometimes even now? Was that why he’d seemed so irritated with me lately?
The age gap between us felt huge when I was a little kid, but now that I was in middle school, it felt smaller. Like it was closing, even though it wasn’t. We’d always be five years apart. But maybe that was only how it felt to me.
Soft footsteps on the stairs meant Lincoln’s time with us was dwindling. Her goofy grin turned into a pout as Mama K emerged from the stairwell.
“I don’t want to go!” Lincoln whined.
“Linc, the girls need some time to themselves. You can visit with them later, right?”
Kennedy sighed. “Fine.”
“How about we do something special downstairs, just you and me. Bake some cookies?”
Lincoln’s eyes widened at that word. Mama K flashed us a thumbs-up, and they headed downstairs.
“Finally!” Kennedy collapsed on the full-body pillow and propped herself up with her elbows. “Sorry about that. I love her, I do. Just—Lord, she’s been such a pain lately. I know she’s only seven, but she still sucks her thumb. In public! And my moms let her. I swear, she’ll still be sucking her thumb in sixth grade.”
I grabbed a handful of popcorn. “If no one makes you stop, you’ll just do it forever. Like Becca. She still has her baby blanket.” It came out before I’d even thought twice about it.
Kennedy coughed and grabbed her Sprite, taking a big swig. When she finally got her coughing fit under control, she said, “No!”
“It’s not that big a deal,” Lucy said quietly, twisting her hair into two buns. If I ever tried to do that, I’d end up looking like a toddler, but somehow when she did it, it looked cool.
“I’m sorry—yes it is. Her baby blanket?” Kennedy shook her head.
I could feel my ears warming as the guilt crept in. But wait a second. What did I have to feel guilty for? I was only making a point, a completely valid point. If no one forces you to give up your weirdo little-kid habits, you will keep doing them all the way into middle school. It wasn’t my fault Becca still had her baby blanket.
“Wait, does she really still have it?” Kennedy stared at me.
“I think so?” I said, even though of course I knew so. I’d just seen it myself. But it was the next lie that I couldn’t so easily excuse. “I haven’t been over to her house lately to look or anything. We don’t hang out that much anymore.” I couldn’t let Ken think I regularly hung out with someone who still had something so babyish.
Kennedy lay back down on her pillow. “I mean… it’s one thing for Lincoln to suck her thumb. But to still be carrying around your baby blanket when you’re in middle school? Sorry, but that’s messed up. What’s she going to do when she goes to college? Take that thing with her? Get married with it?”
“Actually—” Lucy tried to butt in.
&n
bsp; “Oh my gosh, Emma. That’s too funny.”
“Yeah. It’s weird.”
“Well, enough about baby blankets and thumb sucking,” Kennedy said. “Haikyu!! time!” And with that, she pushed play.
For the next six hours, only bathroom breaks and the smell of chocolate chip cookies could distract us from our show.
* * *
As we passed by Becca’s on the way to my house, my stomach clenched. I hated that I still felt guilty for telling Ken and Luce about the kitty blanket. Especially when Becca was so okay with it in the first place!
“Does your family have any big plans for the rest of break?” Mr. Kovacs asked.
“Not really,” I said. “I’ll probably help my mom out at the store.” As we pulled into my driveway, my mind returned to Austin and that weird feeling I’d had earlier. Both Mom’s and Dad’s cars were in the driveway now, and the house was all lit up, like normal. It was unfair, really, how outsides and insides could tell such different stories.
“There’s a new Studio Ghibli movie opening on Friday,” Lucy said. “Want to go? I bet my sister could take us. She loves their stuff. Plus, last time, she took me and Ken to the theater in Brookline and it’s next to a place with the best Nutella-banana crepes on the planet.”
My stomach grumbled yes for me. Lucy grinned. “Okay, I’ll text her and Ken.”
“Sounds good,” I said, reaching for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride!” I told Lucy and her stepdad.
Heading toward my house, my breath little dragon puffs in the cold air, I suddenly remembered how Lucy had been trying to say something while Kennedy was going on and on about the baby blanket. It was hard for her to get a word in sometimes. Kennedy could just talk and talk forever.
Part of me wished she’d invited just me to go with her and her sister to the movie. Even though we’d been friends for a few months, I still hadn’t spent time with her without Kennedy. What was she like, just on her own?
Inside, I took off my shoes and jacket. I heard hushed voices upstairs.
“This is junior year, bud. You can’t afford to let your grades slip like this. College application season will be here before you know it.”
“It was just one test!”
“That’s not true, A. Dad and I can see everything on the portal. You’re not turning assignments in. And if you’re not doing the work, of course it’s going to show on exams. In any case, there’s still time—”
“I don’t care.”
“Austin.” Mom’s tone softened.
“I don’t.”
“What kind of attitude is that?” Dad raised his voice. “Of course you care. You’ve always cared. Look, I know this injury has been hard, but these things happen. No one sails through life without a few bumps in the road.”
I went into the living room and turned on the TV, shifting the volume high enough so I couldn’t hear them.
Mom and Dad were trying not to be too hard on Austin, but it wasn’t working. His surgery was almost two months ago. Things were supposed to be getting back to normal by now.
Except they weren’t. Not doing his homework? Getting a bad grade on a test? That wasn’t Austin. He wasn’t some stereotype of a football player who barely knows the alphabet. Dad liked to boast how Austin had the second-highest GPA on the team. Sure, he was no Becca, but really, who was?
But the past few weeks he’d stopped going to basketball games to cheer on his teammates. And even when he was home, he was always in his room with the door closed. What was he doing in there if he wasn’t doing homework? Sleeping? That much?
Upstairs, a door slammed. Austin turned up his music. I muted the TV, the chocolate chip cookies suddenly heavy in my stomach.
“I don’t know what to do anymore, Tony. The more we push, the more he pushes back.”
“Maybe this is just a phase. It happens sometimes with boys his age. Let’s try backing off a bit. See if that helps.”
“I don’t know…”
“It can’t hurt to try.”
“Have you heard from Emma? Do we need to pick her up?”
“I think I heard the front door open a minute ago.” Dad raised his voice: “Hey, Emma?”
I got up from the couch. “Yeah?”
When Mom came down, her smile looked fake, like her mind was still upstairs with Austin. “Have fun at Kennedy’s?”
“Yeah.” I suddenly wished I was back at the Novaks’, where the biggest tension was over whether or not a seven-year-old was going to unexpectedly bust into the room.
“You have dinner over there?”
I shook my head. “Just a bunch of cookies.”
“Ooh, cookies!” Mom’s smile turned authentic. “What kind?”
“Chocolate chip.”
“Sounds delish. Let’s see if we can rustle up something for dinner. Give me a hand?”
“Sure.” I flicked off the TV and followed Mom into the kitchen. She stuck her head in the fridge, pulling out vegetables for a salad while I grabbed place mats, plates, and silverware to set the table. “Hey, Mom?”
She stopped chopping bell pepper for a second.
“Is everything okay with Austin?”
Mom’s mouth settled somewhere between a smile and a frown. “He’s going to be fine. We’re just in a rough patch right now. Nothing for you to worry about, okay?”
“But if there was, you know you could tell me, right? I’m in middle school now. I can handle it.”
“You’re an awful lot more mature than Austin was at your age, that’s for sure. Tell me more about Kennedy’s—what’s her family like? What did you all do?”
That quickly I knew I wasn’t going to get more out of Mom about Austin.
CHAPTER NINE
For Christmas, Austin had given me tickets for the Picasso exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts in late March. Two tickets, though it was a given that I would take him.
Ever since I was old enough to ride the trains with him into Boston without Mom or Dad, it became a thing we did. Take the commuter train to the T into Cambridge or Boston to check out an exhibit at a museum or catch a Red Sox, Bruins, or Celtics game. It wasn’t something we did all the time. Austin was busy—well, he used to be busy. It was something special. Like a date. Except not a date, because he was my brother.
But here we were, the final weekend of the Picasso exhibit. And my date—my brother—was standing me up.
“He was supposed to be home by now,” I mumbled, staring at all the unanswered texts I’d sent my brother. I was sitting on the couch in the living room, all dressed and ready to go.
Where are you?
We’re going to be late.
Austin, come on.
Where. Are. You.
He was supposed to be back two hours ago. That would have given him enough time to shower, shave, and get dressed before we took the commuter rail to the T so we could be at the museum by two p.m.
The trains didn’t run that often on Sundays, and even on the weekdays this winter, the T had been a mess.
“If you want, I can come with you.” Dad turned down the volume on the March Madness game. “Just say the word and I can—” He stopped to cough, a gross hacking one full of phlegm. He’d spent most of the weekend on the couch while Mom went into the city, getting wined and dined by running-sneaker salespeople swinging through Boston.
“No, he’s coming. He promised. Plus, Dad… you’re sick.”
He cleared his throat and smiled. “I can rally with the best of them.”
“You’d be that guy on the T everyone’s afraid of because you’re coughing all over the place. Thanks, though.”
He turned the volume back up. The coaches paced the sidelines, like how Austin’s coach used to. He probably still did; I just hadn’t been to any games this season. UCLA was playing Cincinnati and it was a close game, not that I cared or really knew much about college basketball. Austin and Dad used to watch the games together on the weekends all the time, but not since he’d quit the tea
m.
I touched my phone screen to wake it back up. I don’t know why I kept doing that. It would wake up with a message, a quick vibration if Austin texted me back. Or make that awful whistling teakettle sound if someone called. Kennedy had sneakily changed it at lunch the other day and I kept forgetting to change it back.
I checked the PDF of the train schedule again. We’d already missed the train we’d been planning to take, but there was still another that left an hour later. We wouldn’t have a lot of time at the museum, but it wasn’t like I needed to see any other exhibits. It was only the sold-out Picasso exhibit that would be leaving soon. The next day, actually.
I swallowed down that tickling feeling in the back of my throat. Told myself it was just Dad’s cold coming for me even though it felt like something worse.
My phone buzzed on my lap, sending my heartbeat skipping. Maybe Austin was on his way. Letting me know he’d showered at his friend’s house and that we could take an Uber into the city to make up time.
But it was a text from Becca. Want to go to Starbucks? My dad can take us.
I slammed my phone down on the sofa. Ever since she got back from Paris, things had been weird between us. We still walked to school together, but I’d started skipping my second breakfasts at her house on Saturdays. The truth was, I couldn’t forget those things Kennedy said about her over February break. Never mind the lie I told Kennedy about how we hadn’t hung out in a while.
I couldn’t imagine not being friends with Becca, but I also couldn’t imagine how things would be for us if she never changed. Kennedy had a point. Was she going to keep sleeping with that kitty blanket all through high school?
But it was about more than the blanket too. There were other ways Becca was starting to seem immature. Even though she was still probably the smartest person I knew. I wanted to be able to talk about crushes without her getting all weirded out—or seeming bored by it. I wanted her to care about that and all the other stuff that Kennedy and Lucy did: TV shows and bands and artists. All of it.
