Ink is Thicker Than Water (Entangled Teen)

by Spalding, Amy

  I like finding out I’m capable of something new.

  Back at the house, I settle in with my computer to check my email, but Mom leans into my room almost immediately. “Baby, still want to go shopping?”

  I don’t, not as much as yesterday, now that it’s just us with no Sara. But I could probably use a few more things if I’m going to be dating—or whatever—Oliver. Plus, Mom already has one daughter who didn’t come home; I’m not going to disappoint her further.

  We make the trek across town to the Galleria, where I normally don’t go because I think it’s snooty (that’s right, and my tattooed mom doesn’t). I guess today she isn’t too concerned about local businesses because right away she drops a huge amount at GapKids for Finn. After that Mom pushes me into Macy’s and toward nicer stuff than I generally wear. Not fancier, really, just better quality or something.

  “You never let me splurge on you for clothes, Kell-belle,” Mom says.

  I pick out a couple of knit shirts, then a little green jacket, but shrug and put them back. “You shouldn’t splurge on me. I’m really fine.”

  “You know how proud I am of you, baby. You’ve earned a little spoiling.”

  I haven’t, but I still pick the shirts and jacket back up and try on whatever else Mom selects for me. This new Kellie looks back at me from the fitting room mirror in the new jeans and the jacket over a new shirt, and she definitely doesn’t look like some underachieving weird girl who is good for very little. If I told you she has a newspaper column and a college boy who wants to kiss her and a new friend who is all about saving the world, you’d totally believe me.

  “Thanks for doing this,” I tell Mom while we wait in line to pay. “I guess I needed some new stuff.”

  “We all do sometimes, right?” She ruffles my hair, and I’m glad she doesn’t say anything goofy about me growing up or whatever I’m doing these days. Embarrassing! “When does the paper come out? I can’t wait to read your first article.”

  “Please don’t get too excited about it—it’s sort of dorky,” I say. “And my first article won’t come out until the week after this. But I’ll bring a copy home for you then, I promise.”

  We stay awhile longer at the mall, though we only end up with a few more purchases (a new lip gloss for me—obviously a kissing-related purchase—a sweater for Mom, and some jeans for Russell). At home I attempt starting my column, but really I message Adelaide about the date going well and make a playlist to send Oliver because he’d mentioned last night that he wished he knew more about 1960s music. (He said it in his room with the lights out in a pause from making out, so he may not have actually meant it and just gotten carried away by kissing me, but I figure I can still be nice.) Sara’s not home yet, but I decide not to worry about it.

  I remember that I’d planned on using today to finally catch up with Kaitlyn, so I send her a quick text. hey! good wkend? wanna get coffee now? She doesn’t respond right away, which isn’t her style, but at least I feel a little less guilty about forgetting her.

  Sara leans into my room. “Hi, I’m home. Sorry if I scared everyone this morning. I just ended up falling asleep, and…I know, it was completely irresponsible of me. I feel awful, and I already talked to Mom, and I explained how it was my fault and not Camille’s. Mom understands, and things are fine.”

  “Are you just having a whole conversation with yourself?”

  She laughs and leans out of the room. “Shut up.”

  I turn back to my computer, which is good timing because Oliver’s requested my friendship on Facebook, and that feels nice and official. I lose plenty of time looking at all his photos and checking out the kinds of people he’s friends with, but there aren’t any scary surprises. There aren’t any surprises at all. Oliver is exactly what he seems like.

  But once I’ve finished my online Oliver profiling, there are surprises, and I guess you could call them scary. A bunch of photos Kaitlyn’s tagged in start popping up. She’s posing for the camera with Josie and Lora and the other girls they hang out with, and it’s clear these were taken at some club they snuck into, just like Kaitlyn wanted. I didn’t think she’d actually been serious about the whole club thing. She’s dressed in something sparkly and wearing more makeup than usual, and honestly, she looks great but even less like the girl I’m best friends with.

  I know she talked about us doing this like we could aspire to no greater fun, but I really did think she meant us. Sure, I’d left her out of seeing The Apple, but it was only because I knew it wasn’t her thing. Seeing her captured in images looking so happy and cool, well, someone might as well have punched me in the face.

  I click back to Oliver because I can’t look at Kaitlyn another minute longer.

  At school the next morning, I hope Kaitlyn will be at my locker. I hope she’ll have a hilarious story about going out with those girls, and I’ll have a killer punch line, and everything will be normal again.

  But she’s not there, so I hang out with Mitchell and Chelsea and discuss our favorite parts of The Apple (flying Cadillac wins, hands-down!) before class. It’s way better than hanging out alone (or, ugh, showing up to class way early), but considering I have actual, no-need-to-lie details about my date with Oliver and it’s-kind-of-weird-Sara-canceled-on-Dexter-and-stayed-out-all-night-with-her-biological-mom details to mull over, I hate that Kaitlyn’s nowhere to be found. Everyone here is great, but I don’t know any of them enough to say what’s in my brain. I stick with flying cars.

  The latest issue of the Ticknor Voice is out at lunchtime, and even though nothing of mine is in it, I still take it to my table instead of food. For the first time ever, I pore over the masthead. The Ticknor Ticker: Kellie Brooks. I grab my phone and text Adelaide, who I’ve realized spends her lunches in Jennifer’s room, doing newspaper and yearbook stuff. what the heck is the ticknor ticker??? Her response is almost immediate: Sorry, that’s what Jennifer wants to call your column. I did all I could.

  “Jennifer’s calling my column the ‘Ticknor Ticker,’” I say to the rest of the table. “Doesn’t that sound like what they call someone’s heart when they have high cholesterol or something?” It hits me, as everyone agrees, that Kaitlyn hasn’t shown up, even to drop off her stuff and get in line. My purse is dropped in the chair next to me, saved for her, as the first one of us to arrive always does.

  “Where’s Kaitlyn?” Chelsea asks as she catches me staring at the empty-except-for-my-purse chair.

  I shrug, even though I guess I know and just don’t want to. “No clue.”

  But we both crane our necks over to check out the section of tables for the Chosen Ones. My gaze catches on something familiar, a bright green shirt I’d bought for myself the other month at Kaitlyn’s urging and then given to her after a few failed attempts at wearing it. It’s just there, in between Lora’s red shirt and Josie’s white shirt.

  Lora and Josie are talking, a lot, which means Kaitlyn isn’t, but she is smiling. They’re all smiling. How is this actually happening? Kids—not me, other kids—dream every day about suddenly conquering that table, but it doesn’t just happen.

  But of course it’s not really the sudden and nearly unprecedented climb to the social top that I can’t handle. It’s that the climber is Kaitlyn. The climber is my best friend who didn’t say anything to me.

  Before I can make myself turn away, Kaitlyn catches me looking, and she looks right back. There is a lot I want to get out of that look, like apology or guilt or an explanation or something that would make me feel better.

  But I get nothing.

  Chelsea notices, too, but we don’t say anything, just go back to eating. (I also, of course, get out my phone to text Oliver, since lunch is pretty safe for breaking that rule. hope u haven’t seen any spiders today!! He responds almost immediately: Don’t even joke, Kellie. Spiders are serious business. And then, Thanks for the playlist. Listening right now. You’re right about The Hollies song.) Mitchell asks about Kaitlyn, but instead of just pointing to h
er and explaining how she’s surpassed us in the Hierarchy of High School, I shrug and change the subject to the autumnal photo that was finally settled on (leaves, which is clichéd but a good shot).

  And, of course, I text Oliver as much as I can squeeze in before lunch is up. It’s good to have one person who seems to care about me. Besides my family. They’re required to, after all.

  Kaitlyn sits next to me in geometry like always. I keep thinking of ways to address it, but I’ve read too many books forced on me by Mom. Saying things like, Could you not find your way to the table? or, In case you thought my purse deserved its own seat, that was actually reserved for you aren’t actually helpful but passive-aggressive. And I’m not perfect, but I’m not that.

  “You want to do something after school?” I ask her on our way out of class, even though it’s my night to pick up Finn from daycare. Sara will understand if I ask for a switch. Retaining my best friend is high priority.

  “Probably not,” she says without real eye contact. “See you later.”

  “Kaitlyn—”

  She walks past me like we’ve ended our conversation, but my mouth is literally still open, so I can’t believe she honestly thinks we did. I’d cry except that I never cry at school, and it’s also like my brain has too much to do to focus on just one thing like crying. Instead, I run to my car and blast the radio and speed off to get Finn. It’s hard being in a bad mood when Finn’s around.

  Sara’s already home when we get there. Finn challenges us to Candyland, and we both accept. Sure, it’s not exactly a challenging game, but unlike the ones Sara really enjoys where you have to be smart with words or history or knowing what crappy pop groups somehow earned Grammy Awards, we all have a fair shot. The only bad thing about it is it always makes me hungry, so after the game is over (Sara wins, regardless), I offer to drive them both down the street so we can load up on sugar while Mom isn’t home.

  “Everything okay with you?” she asks me as we watch Finn decide between flavors of taffy.

  “I don’t know. Kaitlyn…” I shrug because I’m not even sure what to call it. “It feels like she maybe doesn’t want to be my friend anymore, out of nowhere, and I don’t even know why I care.”

  “Why wouldn’t you care?” Sara leans over and helps Finn reach the blue raspberry taffy he’s pawing toward. “You two have been friends forever.”

  “I know, but…she’s been into different stuff lately.” I feel no need to add that I guess I’m into different stuff, too. “She’s maybe not the same person I became friends with. Maybe it shouldn’t be such a big deal.”

  “You’re allowed to feel things, Kell.”

  “I feel things!”

  “Besides bravery and coolness,” she says, which sounds nuts but also nice, so I don’t fight her. “I’m sorry about Kaitlyn.”

  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” I say. “I don’t even know if I am supposed to do something.”

  Sara reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Sometimes it just takes awhile when people change.”

  “Takes awhile to what? Realize you shouldn’t be in their lives anymore, or figure out how you still can be?”

  She’s quiet for a little bit, still holding my hand. “Both.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Tuesday isn’t as bad as Monday, I guess, because the shock’s worn off. Still, I hate this whole thing where Kaitlyn will walk by and stare right through me, and I have to act like that’s fine. I have newspaper after school, which I’m realizing I don’t mind at all. By now I have an idea about the outdoor cafeteria tables, and Adelaide and Jennifer approve it and write it next to my name on the board. Also, miraculously, my name is now spelled correctly! I’m like a real living and breathing member of the Ticknor Voice, and even the “Ticknor Ticker” is growing on me.

  My phone is out during our meeting, in case Oliver texts (or maybe Kaitlyn with a huge and appropriate apology/explanation), but Jennifer doesn’t seem to care that it rings (Mom calling) or that I duck into the hallway and answer it.

  “Hi, baby. We’re all going to have dinner tonight with Camille—”

  “Like, Camille, Camille?”

  Mom laughs. “Camille, Camille, yes. Your dad made reservations, and we need to leave the house by six thirty. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t have plans after your newspaper meeting.”

  “I don’t. See you then, Mom.”

  “See you, baby. Have a great rest of the day at school.”

  “I’ll get right on that. Bye.” I click off my phone and think about this piece of news while I listen to the rest of the staff’s submissions. Yeah, by now I have a pretty good picture in my head of Camille, an older version of Sara who is smarter than anyone I’ve ever known, a scientist but totally not a geek.

  To be honest, I’m getting a little nervous about Camille, because Camille is not going to be a weirdo. Camille is not going to be Dad with his secret girlfriend and his playing favorites, and she definitely isn’t going to be Mom with her billion tattoos and free-love approach to life.

  I mean, Sara has to like her more, deep down.

  “We’re all going to The Beanery,” Paul tells me as the meeting’s winding down. He makes really direct eye contact with me, which is about as subtle as all the butt-staring he did the last time we all hung out. “Need a ride?”

  “I have family stuff,” I say. “Next time.”

  “Come anyway!” Jessie says, and I actually feel bad that I can’t, even though obviously the Camille dinner is a thing not to be missed. So I say good-bye and head outside with Mitchell and Chelsea, who I assume are off to make out instead of consorting with the other newspaper people.

  Mitchell extends his hand to me as we walk through the parking lot.

  “What? Are you requiring payment for your friendship services now?” I ask, even though services sounds dirty once I say it.

  “I need to get back that iPod I loaned you the other week. Kyle says he needs it to run.”

  I dig it out of my purse and hand it over, even though I haven’t had a chance to steal any of its music yet. Mitchell’s chemistry lab partner has surprisingly decent taste. “There’s no way that kid runs. We had Fitness and Recreation together freshman year, and he got winded when we did those short relays.”

  Mitch laughs, shoving the iPod into his pocket. “Oh, man, I know.”

  Chelsea’s eyes light up. “Didn’t he run in, like, loafers?”

  Mitch is practically giggling as we reach our cars. “Who even owns loafers?”

  “My dad, that’s it.” I think about mentioning the impending Dinner with Camille, but even though I’ve known Mitchell since high school began, and Chelsea since last year when they started going out, they’ve never been people I talked to about serious stuff. “See you tomorrow. That was pretty fun.”

  “Newspaper?” He grins as Chelsea gets into her car. “So you’re, like, really into it.”

  “I am definitely not,” I say without even considering that maybe I am. “Ugh, sorry, I guess I am. You never told me it was fun. You never even told me you were on it.”

  “Kellie thinks something’s fun!” he singsongs.

  “I think lots of things are fun,” I say, even though I’m not dumb enough not to know what he means. It used to matter so much that I seemed like I wasn’t trying too hard at anything.

  But everyone on the Ticknor Voice tries hard, and that turns into this tangible thing. Okay, it’s just a paper lots of people barely glance at before throwing away, but it’s still something real that I’m now a part of.

  At home I try my best to look nice, borrowing this moss-green wrap dress from Mom that always makes me feel sophisticated or whatever and jamming my hair through the flat iron I rarely take out of the bathroom drawer. It’s always a fascinating process, taming my haphazard waves. I know Mom goes through this most mornings that her hair isn’t in a ponytail (and even some of those so her blond locks will hang just so), but if I’m ever the kind of lady who won
’t leave the house without x amount of makeup and y minutes spent on my hair, I’ll kill myself.

  I wear my nice boots that I’m pretty sure Jayne picked out for Dad to give me for my birthday last year, but I wear them over fishnets, because I saw a photo of some actress on some blog who was dressed really nice but with fishnets, and I sort of want that to be my thing someday. I say “someday” because even though I bought the fishnets right away after I saw that picture, whenever I wear them I feel like I’m in costume as who I want to be, or maybe even will be eventually. Tonight though, I’m in Mom’s dress with controlled hair and without any chipped nail polish, I’ve gone out on an actual date with an actual college guy, and there is no Kaitlyn in my life, so maybe it is okay after all to be a new Kellie.

  Sara is meeting us there, as is Dad, so it’s just Mom and me in her car on the way to Brentwood, which is the next town over from Dad’s office and where Dad tends to meet us on Mom nights when we have plans with him for any reason. The reservations are at a restaurant Dad is really into, the kind of place that is really proud of itself for serving expensive entrées and forcing any men who want to dine there to put on a jacket. I’ve never paid for an expensive meal in my life, but if I was putting up that kind of money, I think I should get to wear whatever I want.

  “Why isn’t Russell coming?” I almost ask about Finn, too, but if a guy has to put on a jacket to walk into a restaurant, he probably is also forced to take off his mask and cape.

  “We thought we’d just keep it to the four of us,” Mom says. “Well, the four of us plus Camille, of course.”

  “Why’s Sara at Dad’s?” I ask. Normally, we have mirror schedules, after all.

  “You two are welcome to go to your dad’s whenever you want, baby,” she says, which doesn’t answer my question at all.