“Stop talking,” I say because I can tell the nice stuff will be over any minute. “And thank you.”
“Have you been thinking about our trip?” Dad nods to the college guide he gave me that, truthfully, I’ve been looking through more and more lately.
“A little.” I haven’t highlighted or flagged any pages, but I do have a small list started. “We’re definitely going?”
“Sure. Start a list, we’ll get a route planned.”
I really like the sound of it and that I’ve already made the right first step, so I promise I will. I also promise I’ll at least think about going back to Mom’s soon.
The thing is, I want to return with Sara in tow. There isn’t any proof my twice-daily text plan is breaking any ground, of course. Still it feels good not to be completely out of contact with my sister—one-sided still counts, doesn’t it? And how great will it be to walk back into the little house on Summit Avenue a hero, our prodigal Sara returned to us?
Still, I can’t avoid the inevitable forever, and maybe that’s how long Sara will be gone. Also I want to work on this part of my rep or whatever I’m comfortable with. And being honest doesn’t seem to go with hiding out at Dad’s.
Not forever at least.
Chapter Twenty-six
It’s Thursday of the next week when Adelaide brings fliers about a writing competition to English class and gives me my own copy before handing the others off to Jennifer. My instinct is to shove it into my bag without a second look, until it hits me that would be incredibly stupid. After all, not only do I actually like writing now, but people seem to think I’m at least okay at it.
“You really think I should enter?” I ask Adelaide, since I’m still getting used to this whole idea of not sucking at everything useful, not because I’m fishing for compliments or anything. (Okay, I am fishing a little.)
“Hmmm.” She seems to consider this. “No, but only because I want less competition.”
I could have jumped up and hugged her right there.
So I’m going to say that it’s my excuse, or my proof of, well, something. Because even though ideas for an essay are flooding my brain, I shove them aside and spend the day writing something else instead. Normally, I just write my “Ticknor Ticker” columns to crack myself up, but next week’s is going to be different, even if at our meeting I said I’d be writing about standardized testing.
When I turn it in to Adelaide, she slips it back to me. I’m expecting a big note like, WHAT ARE YOU THINKING, BROOKS? but she just has her standard edit notes for me and a smiley face.
“Kellie!” Jessie flags me down after our last class on Friday, and I realize she’s standing with Kaitlyn. “I read your column for Monday.”
“Oh, um, cool,” I say, even though I’d kind of forgotten that even if you write something super personal, if it’s for the paper, other people will read it.
“It’s really good; I related to it a lot.”
“We’re getting coffee,” Kaitlyn says. “Do you want to come with us and get your stupid hot cocoa?”
She grins as she says it, so I agree. And we grab Chelsea on our way out, who has typical Mitchell-type complaints, and Kaitlyn tells us how disappointing it was when she finally made out with Garrett because apparently he’s not that great of a kisser, and I feel okay admitting to everyone that Oliver and I are on a break. It’s not the most personal conversation in the world, but everyone has advice. Maybe at this very moment I don’t have anyone I could call at one a.m., but maybe before long I will again.
After school on Monday, I drive up to U City, ignore the car in the driveway, and reread my column and attached Post-It one more time before sealing the Ticknor Voice in an envelope labeled Sara and leaving it in the mailbox.
SARA! We’re not allowed to dedicate our columns to people (I asked), but if we could, this one would be for you. Let’s talk about everything. Whether or not you want to come back, I think I can ask this much, I hope? So let’s meet tomorrow: 4pm at the Old Orchard Starbucks, totally safe, no one we know goes there. Love, your sister, Kellie
The Ticknor Ticker
Bravery (It’s Not Funny)
By Kellie Brooks
I always thought I was brave. Being brave seemed the best thing a person could be. You could defeat anything or at least not be afraid of it as it defeated you.
Earlier this year it started hitting me that maybe I wasn’t actually that brave, at least not all the time. This seems like a pretty obvious statement, because who’s brave all the time? Even lion tamers probably cry over a breakup, and astronauts might get a little freaked out if their best friend wasn’t returning their texts. I don’t know why I thought I was some magical exception, when in all truth I wouldn’t even be comfortable one-on-one with a lion or the depths of space.
This probably seems like a personal topic and not something to be explored in my column, not like a universal issue like why the lunch courtyard still smells a little like poop. But I’ve been so preoccupied this year trying to be what I thought everyone expected of me that I got tackled by change. And once I started worrying a little less about being brave and more about being honest, everything’s been easier.
Change doesn’t have to be the end of the world anyway. What if no one had invented the wheel or iPhones or hot cocoa? Those probably all seemed like crazy ideas at the time, but we’d live in a horrible place without that stuff.
So, my advice—not that anyone’s specifically asked for it—is to just worry about being you and letting other people be them. Life works a lot better that way.
When I pull into the parking lot at Starbucks the next afternoon, the nearest empty spot is right next to Sara’s car, and I feel my heart soar. I wasn’t really sure my column would work—and maybe it won’t, not completely—but it’s a start.
Sara’s sitting on one of the plush purple chairs inside, and I force myself not to barrel into her for a hug like Finn would. “Hey.”
“Hi, Kellie.” She doesn’t get up, so I just sit down across from her in the other purple chair.
“Thanks for coming,” I say, instead of telling her how great she looks, because she does, new haircut and highlights or something, like she isn’t perfect enough as is. Also she’s wearing jeans and a sweater, not her uniform, and it’s always sort of special seeing her in anything but.
She opens up her cell and shows me her text message inbox. KELLIE KELLIE KELLIE DEXTER KELLIE. “I never realized you’re so…”
“Annoying?”
“Tenacious. Let’s get cocoa.”
“Definitely.”
I follow her to order our drinks and then settle back in the purple chair with my hands around the warm cardboard cup. I haven’t really thought my plan out past getting her here.
“Sorry about the other week,” she says. “We should have just talked then, I know. You just really caught me off guard.”
I nod. “Me, too. I mean, if you needed some space to think or whatever, I guess I could have tried to give that to you.”
“I know I messed up,” she says. “Not with you—not just with you.”
“Yeah,” I say and want to punch myself almost as soon as it’s out of my mouth for not just forgiving her and hugging my arms around her and saying something like, We’ll be okay forever and ever from now on. Honesty, though.
She shrugs, leaning over so her blond hair falls in front of her face like a shampoo commercial. “Camille gets it. You know? I know it’s a really clichéd accusation to make, but Mom’s never understood me. I know she’s proud of me—”
“Mom’s not exactly shy about telling us that.”
“Well, right. I always feel like I’m a letdown, though. You’re so creative, and Mom’s so interested in your life. I feel so dull. Dexter seemed like the only exciting thing I’ve ever done.”
We both giggle at how sexual that sounded, like perverted little kids.
“I just always thought it evened out,” I say. “More than evened out. Con
sidering Dad—”
“I know it seems like that,” Sara says. “But it’s not like he seems much more interested, as long as I keep up my 4.0 and follow in his footsteps.”
“Do you even want to be a lawyer?”
She shakes her head and laughs. I join in. “Dad just expects so much, and Mom expects so little. And then I met Camille and it was as if someone finally saw me as I am.”
“I totally get that,” I say.
“Really?” She sounds genuine so I don’t protest. “I read your column, but still, someone like you—”
“Someone like me? What does that even mean? I’m frigging nobody.”
“Right, yeah, you’re just really funny and interesting, and you always have people to hang out with, and…” She pauses and blinks a few times, and it really takes me this long to realize that Sara is crying. “Anyone can make people proud the way I do. You have so much more going for you. It makes me crazy you act like that isn’t true.”
“We should just stick together,” I say. “Our powers combined can rule the world.”
Sara laughs again, which is much better to hear. “I like the way you think.” She bows her head down for a few moments, but I know her well enough to give her the time to get her thoughts together. “This might sound kind of strange, but I just needed to keep Camille all to myself. I didn’t want her getting your or Mom’s version of me, definitely not Dad’s. With Camille everything felt pretty limitless, which I don’t think I’ve ever had. I could be whoever I wanted to be, which, honestly, was just myself.”
“I never used to realize people needed fresh starts when they were in high school,” I say. “Like it feels like it’s this big thing I’m on newspaper and trying to be…”
“More?” Sara asks gently.
“More. Exactly.”
We exchange smiles.
I pause before I say the next thing, because it is really nosy and I’m not even sure I want the answer, especially after having this amazing little connected mind-meld thing. “So is Camille, like, your mom now?”
Sara shakes her head for a long time. “Camille’s important to me, and always will be part of my life. But Mom’s my mom.”
“So then you’ll come back home?”
“I don’t think it’s that easy, Kell,” she says. “I’ve hurt Mom a lot. I can’t just walk in and have things be fine now.”
“No, but…” I rack my brain for ways to end the sentence. I guess the truth will have to do. “I hurt Mom a lot, too.”
“Right,” she says. “As if that’s even possible with you two.”
So I tell her. I repeat the terrible things I said, and I tell her how Mom cried and I did nothing. And I even tell her about that disappointed look on Russell’s face, even though it hurts my stomach just to think about it.
But then I keep going. I guess I’m getting better at thinking on the fly, because all of a sudden I see so clearly this plan that is going to fix everything. So—making up big chunks of it as I go—I lay it all out for her. I know from her raised eyebrows she is dubious, but I’ve found I’m really good at winning people over through sheer enthusiasm. How else would my little brother be so okay with eating vegan cheese?
“I don’t know,” is all she says at the end of it.
“You can’t hide out forever,” I say. “And I can’t, either.”
She is silent as she sips her drink. I feel her slipping away from me again.
“Sara, this is our family. It’s the most important thing in our lives.”
“I just…” It feels like such a revelation seeing Sara unsure of anything, but maybe I’ve just never allowed myself to before. “I don’t know.”
“You do know,” I say, even though who knows if that is true or not! I am on a mission. “Sara, we cannot be people who sit back and just let stuff happen. We have to be more than that. Right? We have to fix this.”
“Oh, fine,” she says. “I don’t see you letting up anytime soon.”
I leap to my feet and do a victory dance, not caring that the place isn’t exactly empty. Not only is Sara coming back, but it’s definitely safe to assume I’ll never be considered useless again (except with math). “Let’s go do it.”
“Yeah, you’ll need my research skills. Come on, if you’re quiet, we can go use the college library.”
I call the shop while we walk over. I assume Jimmy will probably answer, but it’s a relief when he actually does. Through very little effort, I find out Mom is working late and Russell is already off. So after our few minutes of research (Sara really does have mad skills), Sara and I drive home, like it’s a normal day, even though of course she’ll have to drive me back to my car later.
“So.” She takes an opportunity to glance at me as she merges onto Big Bend Boulevard. “How’s everything with Oliver?”
“We’re actually on a break.” Ooh, I am using TV relationship lingo for real. “I sort of messed up with him, too. But there’s also him being kind of…intense.”
“Yeah, I don’t know how much you know, but…that’s why I was initially wary about you going out with him. It was never that you weren’t good enough.”
Maybe she’d been butting in, but I do like that she was looking out for me.
“So, I know it’s not really my business, but…I totally get why you felt like you needed space from everyone, but Dexter—”
“It’s just never really been easy being with him,” she says. “I’m this total nerd who just cares about school, and for some reason this hot, popular guy likes me. And I’ve always tried to ignore how it shouldn’t work at all, but the more I was feeling truly accepted as I was, the less I could stand the thought of trying to be cool enough for him.”
“You are an idiot,” I say, but nicely. “Dexter is frigging crazy about you. Yeah, you’re a school nerd, but he is, too, sort of, and you guys like all the same stuff, and he thinks you’re gorgeous, and he is going totally insane over the way you’re treating him.”
She laughs. “I should have talked to you about him sooner.”
“Yeah, you should have! And you’re calling him later. I will dial your phone myself if I have to.”
“I promise,” she says, pulling into our driveway. “You don’t need to go that far.”
“Can I ask…have you guys done it?”
“You can ask, sure,” she says. “But no. I’ve been so stressed about school and college applications. We’ve agreed to wait until we get our acceptance letters.”
I can’t help it. I laugh really loudly. “That’s the nerdiest sex plan ever.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t.” She grins at me. “What about you?”
“Yeah, that happened. Before the break. Yes, I was careful, yes, he was nice, yes, it was great.” I never expected to experience anything big before Sara, but it doesn’t feel like some life contest. It just feels like how we’ve always talked, and I’m so glad one less topic is off the table now. “I kind of wish it wasn’t over. Does that seem crazy? Even with knowing about the whole Alice thing and all?”
“It doesn’t sound crazy at all,” she says. “Dexter says he’s better. And your judgment’s good, Kell. If that’s what you want, it can’t be too crazy.”
Coming home has never felt so scary and awesome simultaneously. Everything looks exactly the same—I’ve only been gone a few weeks, what did I expect?—and it smells the same, too. That sounds weird, but houses definitely have scents, and the house on Summit Avenue smells like Mom’s giant collection of vanilla candles at all times. Even though she isn’t there, it makes me miss her just a little less.
This is how it goes: we say sorry, Russell has practically forgiven us before we even speak. There is more hugging—especially enthusiastic from Finn. I make some dumb joke about how you can come home again, and not only does Russell laugh but Sara does, too. I let Sara lay out the plan and watch Russell’s face slowly light up like sunrise after too long a night.
Sara and I go back to Dad’s afterward, al
l part of the plan. Dad is—not surprisingly—very low-key about my sister’s return, which just feels like the universe clicking back into place. I, on the other hand, want to make a really big deal, shout it out like Finn had, leap around and praise the heavens. Someone like Sara, though, wouldn’t love that, so instead I give her little smiles whenever I can, and at the end of the night, I give in and hug her. The good news is that she hugs back really tightly.
“Don’t ever leave again,” I say.
“I have college next year,” she says. But her arms stay wound around me. “By then I’m sure you’ll be dying for me to go.”
“Probably.” I grin at her again before taking off to my room. I text everyone while working on my homework, but not about anything big or important, just the regular stuff. As always, being alone with my phone can be dangerous, and tonight’s no exception. I scroll down to Oliver and click to text him. i miss u. can we talk soon?
He doesn’t respond immediately, which I take as a good sign that he’s working on his intensity. But my phone lights up my nightstand once I’ve turned the lights off to sleep, and his response is exactly what I was hoping for. Of course. Call me when you can.
Sara and I walk into The Family Ink at four. Russell just grins at us, but Mom leaps up from her station, her eyes wide and a smile threatening to break loose from her lips. “Girls!”
“Hi, Mom,” Sara says, and Mom’s grins breaks out full force. Right away I know everything will be fine.
“Sara.” She hugs her for a really long time. “You look beautiful, sweetheart. Your hair’s amazing.”
“Think you can copy it next time?” she asks. “The salon’s really overpriced.”
“Definitely,” Mom says, but I hope Sara gets less sentimental by the time that rolls around, because Mom can definitely not handle those perfect blond highlights, no matter what she thinks of her skills. “Kell-belle.”
In a weird way I’m pretty sure I’ve let her down more, but still she hugs me for just as long. “I’m really sorry, Mom.”
“Oh, baby, I know.” She pats my head like I’m a dog or something. “It’s okay if we don’t always get along, you know. My mom and I fought all the time when I was your age.”
Ink is Thicker Than Water (Entangled Teen) Page 23
