by Jenn Bishop
It hadn’t mattered in elementary school, how Becca and I had such different interests, but lately it kept feeling like it did matter. Like it mattered a lot. Like she didn’t really understand me anymore.
And I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know how to make her be the person I wanted her to be.
“Emma.” Dad muted the game. “Really, hon, I’m more than happy to take you into the city. We can drive in. You know what, I’ll even swing by CVS and get one of those face masks so I won’t infect anyone at the MFA.”
My eyes smarted. He didn’t get it. This was supposed to be something Austin and I did together, without him or Mom. Like we used to. We had only one more year of it too. And then he’d be off to college somewhere far away. That was what he said when people asked where he wanted to go. Far away from us?
Well, now he was. He might have lived in our house with me and Mom and Dad, but he felt far away.
What college even wanted someone who flunked math their junior year, anyway? Did he ever stop to think about that?
“What do you say, E?”
What I wanted to say was, how long are you going to let him get away with this? But before I had a chance, the loud whistle of a teakettle cut through the quiet. I snagged my phone from the other side of the sofa, ready to let him have it. Everything Mom and Dad had decided to swallow down was ready to come out of me. Pour out and all over him, like a pot of boiling-hot tea.
Except the name flashing across the screen wasn’t Austin. And it wasn’t Becca either. It was Kennedy.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said to Dad. I shuffled up the stairs, waiting till I was halfway up before I swiped across to answer the call. “Hey, Ken.”
She must have heard something in my voice because right away hers came down a few notches. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” I sniffled. I closed my bedroom door behind me, sliding down it until I was on the floor, the back of my head thumping lightly against the door. “No.”
“Em, what’s wrong?”
I hadn’t said anything to her or Lucy about how Austin had been lately. They didn’t know him that well, and I guess I figured things would get better, that the way he was acting was temporary. But I wasn’t so sure anymore. Sometimes people change and it isn’t for the better and they don’t go back to the way they were before.
So I told her. How Austin still hadn’t come home from the night before with his friends. How my dad was so chill about it. Maybe Mom would’ve been different if she’d been home, but she was out. My brother hadn’t let me down before. Not like this.
I should have seen it coming, with the way he’d been about, well, everything since he got hurt. As if he was the only person who mattered.
“What if I go with you?” Kennedy offered. “Maybe Mama K can take us? She loves the MFA. Let me check.”
Her response was the one thing that made me feel less bad about everything. But it wasn’t enough. “It’s too late,” I said. “They close at five.”
“I’m sorry, Em. He sucks. Do you want to come over? The moms are getting a pizza. They’re about to call it in. We can put pineapple on it for you.”
“That’s okay. I’m not really hungry.”
“Sorry—I gotta go. See you tomorrow?”
“Later.”
I peeked at my messages again, even though I knew there weren’t any from him. The one from Becca was still there though. Sorry, I wrote back. I’m busy.
I dug through my desk drawer until I found a yellow pad of Post-its. With a fat black Sharpie, I scrawled, You owe me, and slapped it on my brother’s door.
At four forty-five I heard a loud squeal from a car outside. A moment later the sound of the front door opening and shutting. Dad and Austin exchanged a few words, but what exactly they said, I didn’t know. I’d listened in on enough of their conversations lately and it wasn’t getting me anywhere.
Heavy footsteps on the stairs—just quick enough to not have been Dad’s.
Austin cursed. “That was today.” A knock on my door. “Emma?”
I hated that I couldn’t help myself, hated that tears were streaming down my cheeks like some little kid whose mom had denied them the toy they wanted at Target. I was never that kid who made a scene—not even when I was little. Keeping everything inside was never hard for me. Even when I was a baby, Mom said I was always happy as a clam.
“Emma, come on.”
I couldn’t let him see me like this. He wouldn’t open my door without me saying it was okay. We had rules, me and Austin. A closed door meant you didn’t bother the other person.
He stayed there for a while, pacing in the hall right in front of our rooms. Then his phone buzzed and he laughed. Laughed.
He sucks.
Right when Kennedy had said it, I’d felt this little pinch. Like, who was she to say my brother sucked? But to laugh? Right now? After what he did?
Kennedy was right.
Austin did suck.
The only person he cared about was himself.
CHAPTER TEN
At lunch on Monday, Kennedy didn’t bring up what happened the day before with Austin, and that was fine by me. When I was at school, I didn’t want to worry about the person my brother was turning into. (Had turned into?)
While Kennedy picked out the fluffy insides of today’s cafeteria rolls, Lucy quietly reached into her backpack and set some kind of catalog in the middle of the cafeteria table. “My stepdad showed me this last night,” she said. “What do you think?”
Kennedy snatched it off the table before I even got a good look at it. “Yes. A million times yes.”
“What is it?” I asked.
She flashed the cover, which said RISD Young Artists in bold, bright colors.
“What’s R.I.S.D.?” I asked.
“Riz-Dee,” she said. “Rhode Island School of Design. You know, in Providence. Summer. Art. Camp! On the campus and also on the beach. The beach!” Kennedy swooned backward. “Okay, we’re going. We’re so going. Aggghhh!” She shoveled all the pieces of roll into her mouth so fast I thought she might choke on them.
Right then Haven Mulligan passed by our table. She was one of those girls who was popular even though nobody seemed to actually like her that much. “Spaz much?” She raised her eyebrows at Kennedy. Kennedy raised an eyebrow right back at her. Lucy’s cheeks went pink.
By the time Kennedy finished chewing all that roll, Haven had sat down a few tables over with her friends.
I loved how Kennedy didn’t even seem to care about them. It was like she was above all that.
“Okay, so, I’ll ask the moms tonight,” she said. “Em, you in?”
I nodded. Each week at camp meant one fewer week hanging out at the store with Mom. Not that I didn’t like hanging out with my mom all summer. It was just that she thought it was super exciting for me to “learn the ropes” because someday the store could be mine if I wanted. But spending part of the summer near the ocean with my friends and real live artists? That beat getting to browse shoe catalogs and double-check inventory, easy.
All day, I couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like to learn from someone like Joseph Cornell, except, you know, still alive. Having a whole week—or more if Mom and Dad let me do a couple of the programs—to think, live, and breathe art. And also eat pizza. According to Lucy, whose grandma lived there, Providence had the best pizza.
Lucy’s grandma taught physics at Brown and had a guest room we could share. The whole thing sounded so perfect I could barely believe it.
Dad was still off work with that gnarly cold, so he swung by school to pick me up, and on the ride home I told him all about it.
“Sounds perfect for you.”
“So I can go? For real?”
“Mom and I’ll talk it over tonight. And I’d like to chat a bit with Lucy’s grandmother, make sure she’s really up for having all three of you goons. But assuming she’s game, yeah, why not? Speaking of goons, what’s Becca got lined up for
the summer?”
“Probably going to that camp at Harvard,” I replied, staring out the window. I hadn’t asked her about it, actually. But given that nothing else about Becca seemed to be changing this year, why would that?
“I know your mom might feel differently, but I get it, E. I remember drifting apart from some of my friends at your age. Remember how close Austin was with Ryan Abreu before he transferred to BB&N? I’m sure if you ever wanted to talk about it with him—”
“Because he’s so accessible…”
“Emma.”
“You didn’t even give him a hard time for what happened yesterday.”
“That’s not true. Mom and I had a good long chat with your brother last night. He’s grounded for the next month.”
A whole month? I turned back to Dad. He wasn’t serious, was he? His mouth formed a firm line as he stared out at the sea of red taillights in front of us.
He cleared his throat. “This winter hasn’t been easy for any of us. But spring’s right around the corner, and I’m hoping a change in the weather will make a difference for Austin. Everyone faces adversity at some point in their life, but it’s what you do with it that shows your true character.”
Since when had my dad turned into a motivational speaker? I pulled out my phone to text Kennedy and Lucy. Dad said yes. He wants to talk with Lucy’s grandma. ART CAMP, HERE WE COME! I followed it up with every art-related emoji I could find.
* * *
Later that week, on Wednesday, I was all caught up on my homework, snuggled under my comforter with the iPad to watch this scary Netflix show Lucy had told me about, when I heard Austin’s door open.
After dinner Mom had run over to the store to help Betsy process a huge shipment of sneakers that had come in ahead of the Boston Marathon, and Dad was playing basketball in his pickup league.
I thought maybe Austin was coming over to hear more about art camp, since Mom registered me today, but as he walked past my room, it sounded like he had sneakers on. What did he think he was doing, sneaking out? He was grounded. Super grounded.
“Austin?”
He stuck his head in my room. “Yeah?”
“You going somewhere?”
“Just heading out for a sec.”
Did he think I was born yesterday? “Aren’t you grounded?”
He cocked his head, eyeballing me. “What? You on my case now too?”
It was only then that I noticed the dark circles under his eyes. How his skin didn’t look as pink and healthy as it used to, but like he was coming down with something.
“No,” I said quietly.
I wanted to say something more. Mom and Dad weren’t around. It was just us. I should have asked him what was really going on.
“At least someone’s still on my team.” He wasn’t wrong, exactly. I was always on his team. But I hated the way he said it: like Mom and Dad weren’t when of course they were.
“Don’t say anything to Mom and Dad, okay? I’ll be back in ten minutes, tops. And then I’ll work on my damn history project, all right?” He thumped his palm on my door before disappearing down the hallway.
I heard the front door open and slam shut, and then the engine of Austin’s car—well, Mom’s old car—motor up.
I unpaused my show, but I couldn’t focus on it. That bad feeling I’d had about my brother on and off ever since February was back, stronger than ever. Except this time he wasn’t in his bedroom all by himself with the door closed, saying he was busy when he clearly wasn’t.
But maybe this was worse. He was leaving, and I didn’t know where he was going. He hadn’t even bothered to come up with a lie. No, worse: I hadn’t even asked him.
I just let him go.
Was it because I’d gotten used to it? This new version of my brother that had evolved over the past few months? If I stopped and thought about it too much, the truth was, I didn’t recognize him anymore. My brother, the one who was always busy before. Who always had a girlfriend. Who always had sports and so many friends but who now spent way too much time in his room, holed up by himself doing who knows what.
I paused my show again to check the time. Only five minutes had passed. I pressed play and watched a scene. Checked again. Ten minutes.
Come on, Austin.
Mom and Dad wouldn’t be out all night. They both said they’d be back before I went to bed.
Another ten minutes passed, and I was about to text Austin when I heard a car pull into the driveway. That better not be Mom or Dad, or you’re in for it, A.
But when the door opened, I heard only one set of footsteps and no “hello.” A minute later Austin passed by my room. He didn’t pop his head in to say thank you or anything, just went right into his room, closed the door, and turned his music up until I reached for my headphones to plug into the iPad.
You’re welcome.
Part of me wanted to go in there and just say that to his face. Spit it right out at him. But then part of me was chicken. Part of me would always want my big brother to love me.
There were a million parts of me that night. But all of them stayed in the bed, deep under the comforter with the iPad. The truth was: I had no idea what happened in the show. All I could think about was Austin.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Maybe it was knowing I’d spend part of July at the RISD art camp or maybe it was needing something to distract me from whatever was going on with my brother, but that spring I made three new shadow boxes.
One was for Lucy, whose birthday was in April. I wanted something that pulled together all her talents and interests: collage and singing and animals. When I was little, I’d loved Calico Critters, and I still had some deep in my closet. The teeny outfits they came with made them look for sure like little-kid toys, but with some fabric and a glue gun and, okay, Mom’s credit card for a few things I found cheap on Etsy, I turned them into a country trio. For the background, I sliced up sample wallpapers my mom had gotten back when she redid the downstairs bathroom. It was a little bit country, a little bit girlie, and somehow, exactly right for Lucy.
Another was for my grandparents out in California. They were in assisted living, close by Mom’s sister Kelly, and we didn’t see them a ton. My grandma loved to cook, though, so I used her favorite recipe—for buttermilk blueberry muffins—as the backdrop. I’d found a miniature colander and a bunch of blue marbles at a yard sale. The hard part was making sure the marbles didn’t roll around. So much glue!
I still didn’t know who the last one was for, but I’d found a bird’s nest on the ground out back one weekend when I was helping my dad with yard work. He said not to touch it just in case, so I didn’t, but once it had sat there for a week, it was fair game.
I wanted this box to be all found objects. Why, I didn’t exactly know. Only that it felt right. One afternoon in mid-May on my walk home from school with Becca, I spotted a tiny red mitten. It had probably fallen off some little baby in a stroller in the winter, got buried in the snow, and then been blown all over the place in the spring.
I snatched it up off the ground.
“Ew, Emma. It’s probably dirty,” Becca said.
“It’s not like I’m planning to eat it,” I replied, sticking it in my jeans pocket. “It’s perfect for my shadow box though. At least, I think.”
“Did you turn in your forms for Camp McSweeney yet?” Becca asked.
The annual sixth-grade class trip wasn’t for another month yet, but they made us do permission slips early because it involved a lot of planning. At least that’s what my mom said. She had volunteered for it back when Austin was my age and complained for months. I swear, me just bringing home the permission slip seemed to trigger her.
Right before the last week of the school year, the entire sixth grade would spend three nights on Cape Cod at Camp McSweeney, doing team-building exercises and learning about oceanography. We’d even get to tour a cranberry bog and a potato chip factory. Yeah, they totally had Kennedy at “potato chip.” Me too, to
be honest.
“Yeah,” I said. There was a spot on the form to request a cabin mate. They said it wasn’t a guarantee, but if you put your friend’s name there, odds were you’d end up bunking in the same cabin.
But they let you put down only one name. So we had to strategize. Kennedy put down Lucy. Lucy put down me. And I put down Kennedy.
“Did you?” I asked.
Becca shook her head. “My mom was trying to figure out who to ask about keeping kosher and, well, you know my mom. She got wrapped up in something at work and forgot. Who did you write in?”
“Kennedy,” I said. And then probably too quickly: “You hadn’t asked and—”
“It’s fine,” Becca said. “I mean, I can probably still put you down.”
“Or you could put down Fern?” She and Fern Robbins had been doing bat mitzvah prep together all spring.
“I guess…,” Becca said.
“I just mean your chances are probably better. Especially if you both put each other.” I explained our triangle strategy.
“Mathematically true,” Becca said, seeing my line of thinking.
The last thing I wanted was for her to think I didn’t want her in my cabin, even though a tiny part of me didn’t. Especially if it meant I couldn’t be with Kennedy and Lucy.
“As long as we’re not with Haven Mulligan.”
“Right?” I laughed. “I wish there was a way to write that on the form.”
“No kidding. Too bad your mom’s not volunteering. Hey, so… I haven’t seen Austin out running in a while. Everything okay with him?”
Ever since I’d told Kennedy about how Austin had let me down, I wished I hadn’t. In a way, it was like saying it out loud to someone had made the whole situation real. And that was the last thing I wanted. I wanted him to go back to the way he was before, the brother he’d always been to me.
Becca only knew that Austin. I didn’t want her to know this one.
“He’s not doing spring track this year,” I said, as if that’s all that was different.
