by Jen Klein
Oliver stuffs his napkin between his seat and the center console. “Although he says it’s squandering my legacy, to not take the internship.”
I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until I let it out in a whoosh of air. “Oh yeah?” My attempt to speak casually is laughable. “He’s not trying to make you do it?”
“Not yet,” says Oliver. “But he might be pretending now so he can spring his disapproval on me later.”
“Lovely.” So Oliver’s dad is lying to him: about Marley’s whereabouts, about his own feelings, about everything.
Kinda like me, except my lie is by omission. Again.
Dammit.
• • •
I’m pretty sure Mom specifically told Cash not to come over, because usually he’d be hanging around, but right now it’s just the two of us with TV trays in the living room. Normally we’re a little more civilized, but tonight we’re having what Mom calls “retro dinner.” It means we have a layered salad with mayonnaise dressing, and chicken casserole with crackers baked into the top. For dessert, there will be blue Jell-O with Goldfish crackers “swimming” in it.
Apparently this is the food of my mother’s youth.
A few bites into the cracker chicken (shockingly delicious, BTW), Mom says she appreciates my discretion. I knew this would be coming, but still, it’s nice to hear. “Oliver’s parents are having some problems,” she tells me. (Duh.) “You should stay out of it.”
I’ve been turning this over and over in my head all day and I’ve come to a decision. Yes, Oliver and I made a pact about honesty, but telling him this truth would only hurt and confuse him, and I don’t want to do that. I know it’s risking our friendship and the rare trust we’ve somehow found between us, but this is one of those times when I’m going to choose what’s good for another person instead of what offers the most safety for me.
Besides, it’s not my story to tell.
“Okay,” I say to my mom. “I’ll stay out of it.”
General cacophony abounds as we trundle along the highway behind the other yellow bus. People throw wads of paper and bounce in their seats. Someone starts the school fight song and most of our bus joins in with great exuberance. It’s like they’ve all turned into a bunch of children.
I am squeezed between Darbs and Lily on one of the narrow vinyl seats. Darbs sings along but Lily is looking out the window and talking to me. “Ice-skating,” she says loudly so I can hear her. “Isn’t there a rink out this way?”
“They did that last year. Cal Turman broke his ankle.”
“Oh, that’s right. Maybe apple picking?”
“Wrong time of year.”
Lily is trying to guess where we’re going for Senior Off-Campus Day. It’s (yet again) one of our high school’s traditions, but this is one I can get behind, because it means no classes for a day. In fact, that’s apparently the reason it was invented a decade or so ago: to combat the previous tradition of Senior Skip Day. The only unfortunate part is that we have zero say in where we go. The administration plans it all and then we’re surprised when we get there.
No one ever claimed that high school is a democracy.
As we find out when we arrive, this year’s senior class of Robin High is going bowling. Wolverine Lanes has been rented out so we can bond over balls. I came here once as a kid, maybe for someone’s birthday party, and it doesn’t look like the decor has changed since then. Still the same spatter-printed carpet and lime-green walls and ancient arcade games. Still the lingering scent of greasy food and feet.
A teacher tells us to line up for shoes and explains that during our three hours of knocking pins down, we also get free sodas and hot dogs and hamburgers. Predictably, Darbs pitches a fit about the lack of vegan options and ends up with an extra bag of chips.
We accidentally get in line behind Theo, who hefts two bowling balls in front of his crotch. “Just like the real ones,” he tells me.
“Just like your brain,” I say. It’s not a great comeback, but it’s the first one I think of.
“I hate him so much,” Darbs says to me, and Theo swings his head (and his balls) in her direction.
“I can hear you.”
“Good.” She gives him the finger.
“Next!” says the woman at the counter, and Theo finally turns away from us.
“I hate him, too,” I tell Darbs.
Once we’re all wearing red-and-blue shoes, we head to a lane, where Shaun is typing our names on the sticky keyboard attached to the ball return. “Do you want Darbs or Darby?” he asks as we arrive.
“Darbs, dumb-ass.” She flicks him in the head.
“Hey, this is a sporting event. Maybe you’re formal at sporting events.”
“Speaking of formal, are any of you going to the prom?” Lily asks.
“A: it’s like four months away,” I tell her. “And B: I wouldn’t be caught dead.”
“I bought a dress,” Darbs says, then sees my look. “What? It’s a big deal.”
“Whatever, I’m not going.”
“I’m with June,” says Lily.
Shaun taps a final key. “Darbs is first.”
We play our first ten frames, taking turns flinging a heavy ball down the lane. Shaun gets two strikes and a whole bunch of spares, so of course we tease him mercilessly. “This is terrible,” he moans. “I’m good at bowling!”
“You’re going to get one of those shirts,” I tell him. “The ones with the collar and the embroidered name on the pocket.”
Oliver arrives at our lane and hears that last bit. “Ooh, what’s Shaun’s bowling name?”
“King of the Pins,” I tell him.
“The Strikemaster,” Oliver says.
“Holy Roller,” I shoot back.
“Ball Buster.”
“Gutter Guru.”
“Spare me,” Darbs groans.
“Good one!” Oliver tells her, and she rolls her eyes.
“No, I actually meant please spare me having to listen to the two of you play this game. Do you ever stop competing with each other?”
“We weren’t competing,” I say. “We were—”
“Having fun,” Oliver says, and grins at me.
“Whatever,” says Darbs. “Are we going again?”
“I’m out.” Lily grabs her bag. “There’s an arcade.”
“I will kick your ass in Pac-Man,” says Darbs.
“Bring it,” Lily tells her, and they take off.
Shaun looks back and forth between Oliver and me. “You guys play. I’m going to see if they’ll give me an extra hot dog.”
Oliver and I almost knock each other down trying to get to the joke first. “That’s what she said,” Oliver tells him.
At the same time, I say, “Kirk’s not going to like that.”
Shaun shakes his head—“You two are predictable”—and walks away.
Oliver nudges me, motioning in the direction Shaun went. “Are he and Kirk still a thing?”
“Yes and no. I think they’re in the Awkward Conversation section of the relationship, where things either get better or go downhill.”
Oliver nods and we both stand there for our very own Awkward Moment. Then he lifts his chin toward the pins. “Should we?”
I glance at the far lane, where I know Ainsley landed when we all came in. Sure enough, she’s looking at us. At me, standing here with her boyfriend. I raise my hand toward her and flap it around a little, because maybe that’ll make it less weird. She immediately flashes me a brilliant smile, waving in return…and then Theo leans over and whispers something to her. They both crack up—and look at me again before laughing even more.
I turn back to Oliver, who doesn’t seem like he’s noticed any of it. He has blinders on where Theo is concerned.
Well, screw Theo.
And screw my stupid caution where Oliver is concerned. There’s a strong chance his perfect family life is going to explode around him any minute, and if I can give him a little fun before that
happens, I’m doing it. I choose a glittery pink ball. “I’m warning you,” I tell Oliver. “I’m small but I’m feisty.”
“Just how I like ’em,” Oliver says, and then looks uncomfortable. “That came out weird.”
“It came out right.” I immediately feel the same way Oliver looks, and I shake it off by giving instructions. “Make yourself useful. Type in our names.”
He gets busy at the keyboard and I get busy looking anywhere besides at him. I know—I know—what’s trying to happen in my heart, but I refuse it. I’m not going there. Oliver Flagg and I are just friends, and that is how it’s going to stay. He has a wonderful girlfriend and I have a wonderfully uncomplicated life.
Even if I feel my insides tighten when he flashes a grin at me from behind the keyboard. He points up to the screen, at the names he’s assigned us for everyone to see: Roller Rafferty and One-Ball Ollie.
I burst out laughing and Oliver looks confused. “What?” he asks. “They’re our bowling names.”
“Some people might take yours wrong,” I manage to say before being overtaken by another gale of laughter.
Oliver squints at the screen and I see the look of comic horror wash over him. “Oh crap!” he says, and plops back down in front of the keyboard. “I meant the pins! I can knock down all the pins with one ball!” He taps at the keys. “How do I change this?”
“Too late,” I inform him, and sprint to the lane. Before he can figure out how to get back to the name screen, I chuck my glittery pink ball and watch it knock over two pins on the right side. “Already started!”
I look back at Oliver, who is shaking his head. “You’re killing my rep, Rafferty.” But he has a big goofy grin plastered on his face.
Oliver and I end up playing only one game together (he wins, but not by much) before Shaun and Lily return to join us. The four of us play, and of course Shaun clobbers everyone again, and then Ainsley arrives to retrieve Oliver. She says she wants to get a picture with him in the photo booth. I try not to look at the curtained area where they’re definitely not getting pictures, because they’re in there way too long and Ainsley’s feet are facing his.
Instead, I head to the arcade to beat Darbs at Dance Dance Revolution. We play Skee-Ball and Ms. Pac-Man, and then take turns trying to balance on the railing surrounding the snack area until we get yelled at by a food worker. At some point, the bowling people remember they have a sound system and start pumping really loud disco music, so Darbs and I find Lily and pull her onto the spatter-patterned carpet to dance. Ainsley pops out of the photo booth to see us leaping about and decides to join in with one of the cheerleaders. In a flash minute, a whole bunch of them are there and everyone is dancing and the teachers are trying to make us stop but they’re not trying very hard. The day is silly and fun and crazy, and on the way home in the bus, someone starts up the Robin High fight song again.
This time, I sing along.
“Hey, what’s going on with the Flaggs?” I ask Mom. We’re out on the porch, using brooms to sweep the cobwebs from the rafters above us. “Marley hasn’t been over this week, has she?”
“No.” Mom pokes at a particularly dirty corner of the ceiling. “She and Bryant are going to counseling, so I think things are getting better.”
“Did he cheat on her?”
“I can’t…That’s not a question I should answer.”
“So that’s a yes?”
“It’s not a no,” she tells me.
“Oliver doesn’t know, right?”
“I don’t think so,” she says. “Marley says he hero-worships his dad. She doesn’t want to jerk the rug out from under him. Besides, it doesn’t really have anything to do with him.”
I personally think it does have something to do with Oliver, but I guess it’s not my business. Besides, if Marley and Bryant are working it out, then hopefully this will blow over and Oliver will never hear about it. I know how Oliver idolizes his father. This would kill him.
“You and I really shouldn’t be talking about it,” my mom says.
“I know.”
I’m curious, but promises have been made.
It would be better if I didn’t know anything at all.
But I do, and I said I’d keep my mouth shut.
• • •
I’m weaving through the crowded hall on my way to calculus when Zoe Smith grabs my elbow and pulls me to the wall by the lockers. “I need you. Save me.”
I look around but don’t see any dragons or people with guns. “From what?”
Inexplicably, Zoe bursts into a gale of laughter that goes on way too long. She beams at me. “You are totally right!” she says in a super-loud voice. “He does do that with his tongue!”
“What?” It comes out as a horrified hiss, under my breath. It doesn’t quiet Zoe at all. Her laughter scales up in volume.
“That’s so funny!” she screams.
Maybe Zoe has gone crazy.
“I didn’t say anything funny,” I tell her, but she’s stopped laughing. In fact, her smile is gone completely and she’s gazing at something beyond me. I turn to see that Itch is down the hall, walking away from us. He’s holding hands with…
“Liesel Glassman,” Zoe tells me. “They’re dating now.”
Wait.
“Weren’t you guys together at bowling like a week ago?”
“Yep,” Zoe says. “I thought everything was fine, but apparently it wasn’t. He broke up with me on Saturday and here it is, five days later, and he’s already dating Liesel.” Her hands fly to her hips. “Do you think he was cheating on me?”
“I have no—”
“Did he ever cheat on you?”
“No!” I am completely out of my element in this conversation. “Well…not really. It’s murky.”
“I knew it!” says Zoe. “God, I hate men.”
“Me too,” I tell her, although it’s not true.
“Thanks for helping. You’ve been screwed over by him, too, so I knew you’d do it.”
“But he didn’t—”
“Catch you later.”
And she’s gone.
High school is ridiculous.
• • •
Shaun completely disagrees with me about Oliver’s parents. “You should tell him.” We’re huddling together, alone on the bleachers. “If someone knew a secret about my family, I’d be really pissed if they didn’t tell me. It’s not fair that Oliver doesn’t know if you do.”
“But my mom thinks—”
“Of course your mom wants to make your decisions for you. She’s a parent. It’s her job to control everything you do.”
I narrow my eyes at him. Shaun’s lips are pressed together in a thin line and his shoulders are hunched. “Are you okay?”
“No.” Shaun slumps. “My parents won’t let me visit Kirk over spring break.”
“What? Why?”
“They’re saying they don’t know his parents, so I can’t go.”
“Can’t you set up a phone call between them or something?”
“I tried that.” Shaun heaves a deep sigh. “Dad says it would force him and Mom into deception. Kirk still isn’t out to his parents, so any conference call or whatever would mean Dad and Mom pretending that Kirk and I are just friends, when they know we’re more than that. Dad says they’re not going to lie to other parents about their own kid.”
“That sucks.”
“I get it,” says Shaun. “It’s not fair. None of this is fair. The thing is, the only reason lying is even on the table is because of Kirk. He could end this right now by just telling his parents he’s gay.”
“You’re mad at Kirk.”
“Yeah.” Shaun sighs again. “But only because I’m crazy about him.”
“Sorry,” I say, and tilt my head against his shoulder.
• • •
The base of the school flagpole is a warm line up the center of my back. I’m leaning against it while I wait for Mom. Even though Shaun is still pouting about Kirk
, and even though I just found out I got a mediocre grade on a physics test, and even though I miss talking to Oliver, today is glorious, because it finally feels like spring is coming. The sky is the clearest of blues and crocuses are coming up along the edge of the sidewalk. I’m wearing a black scoop-neck ballerina top over a dark gray wrap skirt, and for the first time in months, I don’t need a sweater.
Mom is already on spring break, so she’s driven me every morning this week. I see Oliver at school, of course, but it’s not the same as having that alone time with him every day. Yesterday, I overheard Theo ask him if we’d ended our little exchange—transportation for me, sexual favors for Oliver—and Oliver told him to shut it.
When Mom pulls up, I lope over to her car and slide inside. She’s scribbling on a piece of paper held against her knee. “Green apples,” she mutters. “Candied pecans.”
“What are you doing?”
“Marley’s coming over for dinner and I didn’t get to the store this afternoon…got a little lost in painting.”
“I can tell. Your right eyebrow is pink.” Mom hands me the paper and pulls into the street, absently rubbing at her face. “Is Marley coming by herself?” I say as casually as I can.
“Yes. Bryant’s at a conference in Atlanta.”
Just to be clear, Bryant isn’t who I was asking about…but of course Mom doesn’t know that.
I glance over the shopping list. “What else is on the menu?” It’s a reasonable question, given that all I see are salad ingredients and feminine hygiene products.
“Cash is grilling steaks and corn on the…Oh heck, can you write down aluminum foil, too?”
Good thing I asked.
Mom and I do a mad dash through the closest grocery store and manage to find everything except for the foil. Mom makes a solemn vow never to shop here again, because what kind of store runs out of something so basic? Then she sends Cash a text message to pick up some on his way over. “You know what’s great about Cash?” Mom says as we’re walking out to the car with our bags. “He’s stable. If he says he’s going to pick up an item from the store, I know he’ll do it.”
I’m not sure if it’s merely an observation or if it’s intended as a veiled slam against Dad, so I don’t answer. Mom and I have a much better relationship than most of my friends do with their mothers, but I sometimes think she’s jealous of the connection I have with Dad. He gets me in a way that she can’t quite understand, that she’s not really a part of. Like the note he sent with the flowers on my birthday. Sweet, but also specific.
