“What?” My giggle escapes.
“You’ll never stop tasting like—sturrr-awberries!” And then he licks me, a big, slurpy, puppy-dog lick, all the way up the side of my face.
“Caleb, ugh!” But he’s got me keyed up and semi-breathless, and I don’t want him off me anymore. When his kisses turn serious, and soon enough they do, each one feels like it’s burning a tiny scorch mark in my skin.
“But it’s almost eight,” I whisper eventually, reluctantly. “Georgia.”
“Georgia,” he whispers back, “is also known as the Peach State. The capital of Georgia is Atlanta.”
“No, no kidding. We’re late and we promised.” I nudge him halfway off as I roll out from under him.
“Right.” Caleb lets me go and sits up slowly. “We wouldn’t want Georgia to miss any of her final five, fabulous party days. Geez, imagine if that was the biggest-deal thing you had to think about.”
He’s as jittery as I am about tonight, I guess, even if it’s for different reasons. Alex’s house will be packed with at least half of the nearly two hundred kids in North Peace Dale High’s graduating class, all of them exploding with their plans for the future. Whoever isn’t heading off to distant pockets of the country, like Georgia, will be going to either Providence Community College, Providence Tech, or Rhode Island School of Design. A full quarter of the class is enrolled in the University, where Jane had been accepted. Then there’s Tamara Kerry, who is skipping school to apprentice herself to the family restaurant business, and the Giovese twins, who are giving the next three years to the Marines. Phoebe Kim is taking off to spend time with her relatives in Seoul, and Liz Joyce has already moved to New York City with dreams of becoming a stand-up comedian.
Whatever they’re doing, though, everyone has a plan.
Everyone, that is, but Caleb.
But we are going. We smooth ourselves out, slip into shoes, check lights, and lock the front door. Outside, the sun is a bright pink beach ball about to slip out of a paler pink sky.
“I’m glad we’re doing this,” Caleb says, tossing me the keys as we approach the car.
“Why’s that?”
“Been a while since I had the opportunity to watch every guy in your radius scratch their head and wonder what I’ve got that got me you.”
“Right.”
Caleb smiles as he catches me around the waist and twirls me into a clumsy dance. All spinning and no rules, the way my grandfather used to dance with my grandmother. I’d forgotten about that. I wish they’d lived to see me as in love with Caleb as they were with each other.
“Seriously. Hey, I’m not complaining. ‘If Lily Calvert’s dating him, he’s gotta be doing something good.’”
“If you think now’s when I tell you I’m the lucky one,” I answer, “you’re so wrong, mister.”
“Ah, tell me anyway,” he says. “Humor me. Tell me you’re the lucky one.”
I stick out my tongue. It’s an old routine, where Caleb acts insecure about himself and then I’m completely unsympathetic. We haven’t done it in a while, but we reclaim it as easily as a game of catch. Only it makes me wonder how much else about us we’ve left behind this summer.
When I open the car door, the trapped fragrance of verbena is so thick that I’m instantly light-headed. I catch my balance on the door handle. And then Jane flows back to me, repositioning herself just in that moment when she’d been farthest from my thoughts. But now here she is, smack in the center again.
15 — ODD ONE OUT
Jane
The sun dropped away, her grandparents left her, and the house changed. In the twilight, it looked the way it had when Jane had seen it the last day. Back in ordinary time, with the drapes pulled shut and dust collecting in the corners. It even smelled different, of stale, unused air.
Jane moved through the rooms, frosty with the sun and life gone out of them. Gambler walked with her. His muzzle was white and his collar was frayed. He wanted to leave, too. He was finished with Jane’s perfect day.
“Stay,” she ordered him.
In the living room, she skated her fingers across the dust on Granpa’s rolltop desk. Then she sat in Augusta’s balding velveteen armchair as the twilight crept in. She remembered the last time she had visited Orchard Way. The house had sent her two signs.
On that last day, Jane had come here with her parents to help them sort through Augusta’s bills and papers, and to clean up before the movers hauled off the furniture to Play It Again, a secondhand shop in New Brunswick. Lily hadn’t been there, of course.
As her father had unlocked the door, a sparrow had flown in from out of nowhere, darting past them to hit a front window with a soft thud.
“Oh!” her mother had gasped. They had all watched as the stunned bird flew off in a lopsided beating of wings.
“It’s gone off to die,” Jane had said. “Its wing is broken.”
“You don’t know that,” her mother had answered. “Maybe it’s gone off to heal.”
But Jane did know.
“Okay, folks,” her father had announced as he pushed open the front door. “This is going to be a long day. We’ll go at our own pace and break for lunch in, say, three hours? I think I’ll start with the mail.”
“Then I’ll start on the kitchen.” Her mother had that firm, real estate agent’s look in her eye. “The fridge is probably a good attack point.”
Jane hadn’t volunteered to start on anything. She’d wandered out to the front hall, where her father was ripping open envelopes and skimming their contents.
“Look at this,” he’d said. “Final notice, final notice, urgent. Last warning. Ma wasn’t in communication with any of these companies anymore. I guess I should have figured. She could hardly concentrate on the hour in front of her after Dad passed. He meant the world to her.”
And I meant the world to them, Jane had thought. But they needed to be together. They didn’t mean to leave me behind.
Her second warning sign had come later, when she’d gone outside to tidy the back porch. She’d picked the crumbling leaves off Augusta’s hanging plants and refilled the hummingbird feeder and then had started sweeping away the dirt. As she’d crouched to shuffle the broom along a corner, a splinter, long as an eyelash and dark as dried blood, lodged deep beneath the arch of her foot. Her scream had sent her mother racing outside.
“Good Lord, you almost gave me a heart attack!” With a hand to her heart as if to prove it. Her voice had been relieved but blaming. “It’s just a splinter, Jane. I thought something awful had happened to you. And why are you sweeping the porch? There’s loads more helpful things you can do. We need to clear out this whole house before the movers come—”
“First things first. Let me take a look at your foot, Jane.” Her father had suddenly appeared, a stack of mail in his hand. “Seeing as I’m the family splinter expert.” He had exchanged a private look with her mother, who had nodded and disappeared back into the kitchen.
Upstairs, in Granpa and Augusta’s bathroom, Jane had sat on the toilet. Her father had kneeled before her, swabbed her foot with disinfectant, and filled a bucket with hot water for her foot to soak in. Then, using a needle and a pair of nail scissors, he’d extracted the splinter, tugging it through her skin like floss.
“A warning sign,” she had said. “Like the bird.”
Her father had looked perplexed. “A warning sign of what, Janey?”
She didn’t know exactly, so all she had said was, “Of changes.”
“Sweetheart.” Her father’s voice had been gentle. “Changes are going to happen whether you want them to or not. The best thing to do is to learn how to pace yourself alongside them. There’s a whole life out there for you to live, and it’s a heck of a lot bigger than this house.” But his eyes had looked sad. Jane realized he had loved his childhood home, too. The way he’d stand in each room and breathe it in, as if he were trying to take some of it into himself.
“Maybe we could buy the house,
” Jane had suggested. “Then we wouldn’t have to make all the changes all at once.”
But her father had started shaking his head before she’d finished her sentence. Jane could see the double rolls of skin in his neck. One day, he would look a lot like Granpa. “Your mom and I don’t have the money. Besides, what would we do with another house so close to our own home?”
“I could live in it.”
“Instead of finishing high school? Instead of heading out into the world and pursuing the happiness you are entitled to, courtesy of the U.S. Constitution?” He had winked.
“I would be happy,” Jane had answered. “I hate school. I hate out in the world. I’m not the right fit for out in the world. I don’t even like school spirit day. Being around other kids just makes me feel…more alone.”
Stupid words. Her father wouldn’t want to hear that. Her dad would do anything to make her happy. When she’d wanted her dream dollhouse, he’d spent a month building her one from a drawing she’d made of it. When she’d wanted to learn how to ride a bike, her dad had practiced with her until she could. And her mother was the same. It must have been exhausting for all of them, pursuing her happiness.
“You’re going through a tough spell, Jane. You’re a junior in high school, and you’ve just lost someone you love. That’d be stress enough for anyone. Don’t underestimate that. Dr. Fox thinks you should step up your appointments to three times a week to get you past this transition time.” He had paused, then continued, “She says you’ve dropped Group, too. Look, Janey, it’s not mandatory, but there was a time you liked Group.”
“Group is for losers.” She knew it was true. A few months earlier, when Lily had caught the flu and had had to stay in bed all weekend, Jane had been delighted that she could keep Lily so entertained with stories about people in Group. People like Mrs. Samuels, who thought she was a doctor and handed everyone fake prescriptions. And Mattie Boyard, who wore weights taped to his sneakers because he thought computers were destroying the Earth’s magnetic field and he was scared he’d float away.
The stories made Lily laugh hard, and that’s when she’d said it, her hand coming to rest lightly on the small of Jane’s back. “Oh, Janey, what a pack of losers! I don’t see why you keep going to Group. You’re not like them.” This was true in some ways when Jane mulled it over later. She wasn’t like them. Then again, Mattie’s fear of drifting up to the sky felt shiveringly real when he explained it. And Mrs. Samuels had spent a lifetime in conversations with doctors and maybe her thoughts had just gotten a little bit mixed up with theirs.
“Group has been good for you, Jane,” her father had continued, as if reading her thoughts. “And you have to admit that, along with the medicine, it’s helped. We need to trust that it’ll keep helping. Dr. Fox says it’s a matter of staying with and modifying the right combination. Remember, you have a big network of people who love you.” He’d squeezed her knee and stood. “What the hey. Maybe you should let your little sister give you a hand in the school spirit department. Who knows, you might learn a thing or two from her.”
Jane had made her eyes go glassy-starey so that her father wouldn’t think she’d been hurt. After all, he hadn’t meant for it to be the worst thing he’d ever said to her.
She had decided then not to go back to Group, or to tell Dr. Fox about the warnings. During most of that fall, Dr. Fox had been advising Jane to try new things and make new friends. New, new, new. Whenever Jane listened too long, the pressure grew inside her, as if she were being overfilled with polluted water and the thinnest crack of anger would make her burst.
She had not wanted changes. And she had not wanted anyone’s help in making her change, either. Especially not Lily’s. Her sister hardly had time, anyway, with all her friends and clubs and everything attached to being a popular sophomore at North Peace Dale High. And, of course, there was Caleb. Lily and Caleb. They hung around the house like a pair of lovebirds that could turn into a pair of hawks.
It was Lily-and-Caleb who’d reminded Jane most how it had been in the old days. Back when it was Jane-and-Lily. Her heart sank when she saw Caleb’s coat hooked next to Lily’s on the pegboard by the kitchen door. Her body went rigid when she heard Caleb’s voice rumbling in the walls, and Lily’s answering laugh that guarded a world of private jokes. He seemed to steal more room than he needed. Caleb had made the house feel crowded, and he had turned Jane into the odd one out. And with no Orchard Way to run to, she didn’t know where she belonged.
16 — THE MILLION-DOLLAR QUESTION
Lily
“You made it!”
Alex and her boyfriend, Kevin Verdi, whoop down the Tuzzolinos’ lawn to run beside the car as we pull around back of the driveway. Cars are already crammed in everywhere, and I have to squeeze for a space. Nobody misses a Tuzzolino event. It’s not just because everyone knows the family, since Alex is the eighth Tuzzolino kid to graduate from Peace Dale High, with two more Tuzzolinos still to go—Tim Tuzzolino in my class and then baby sister Renee, who’ll be a freshman. And it’s not just because the house itself is a circus elephant of a Victorian, with four floors and six bathrooms and an all-tile pool along with a barbecue pit and a roofed gazebo. I think the main reason people congregate here is because everyone always feels so completely welcomed. There hasn’t been a single time I’ve stopped by when there weren’t at least half a dozen other people hanging out. Other towns have the local diner or pub. We have the Tuzzolinos’.
“Doth mine eyes deceive, or is it really Lily and Caleb?” Alex flattens the back of her hand to her forehead as I brake.
“’Tis us, fair maiden,” I answer. “We come in search of barbecue.”
“Never thought I’d see you guys before I left.” Alex looks approvingly at Georgia as we climb out of the car. “So how’d you pry them out?”
“I made them an offer they couldn’t refuse,” says Georgia.
“Which was?” Kevin asks.
“The joy of my company the whole way over.”
Alex jabs a thumb over her shoulder. “So go spread the joy. Everyone’s around back. Same old same old.” She swings me into a quickie hug and plants a kiss on my ear. “Missed you,” she whispers. “How’re you doing?”
“Okay.” I’m used to being touched in the aftermath of Jane. People want to reach out. In a small town like Peace Dale, loss belongs to the whole community. More than once it’s crossed my mind how unpleasant it would have been for Jane if I’d died, and she’d been the one to be hugged and consoled. Jane, who gave birthday presents by dropping them off on the kitchen counter because she cringed from that cozy moment of thanks.
Alex is tan and strong from coaching summer-league softball. One brown arm is draped over Kevin, who is at least half a foot shorter than she is. When they first started dating back in eighth grade, they stood eye to eye.
The height imbalance might have come as a curveball, but Kevin and Alex have the rest of their lives mapped out straight. This fall, they’re both starting at Fairfield College, and they’re already looking at off-campus housing for sophomore year. After they graduate, they’ll have a yearlong engagement followed by a wedding in the chapel at Portsmouth Abbey and a reception on the Tuzzolinos’ front lawn. (I’m already invited, the band is picked, the color of the bridesmaids’ dresses will be French blue.) Precisely three years from the wedding date, they’ll start for kids.
At school, they got stuck with the nickname Kevex, because of the way they seemed to operate as a single unit. But it always made me itchy to hear Kevin and Alex talk about their future. Like life was just a timeline to punch in with anniversary bullets. Seeing them tonight, though, I’m envious.
“I’ve been dying to tell you. I got a twelve-string guitar for my birthday,” Alex says shyly to Caleb. “I’ve had almost three months of lessons. If you promise-promise not to laugh, I want you to hear me sometime.”
“Now’s a good sometime,” suggests Caleb.
“You’re on.” Alex drops her a
rm off Kevin’s shoulder to hook Caleb by the elbow. “Do you mind?” she asks me. “I’ll bring him back in a few minutes. My guitar’s down in the family room. Soundproof, so nobody can hear how much I suck.” She rolls out her tongue and crosses her eyes.
I don’t mind. I wriggle my fingers to wave them off. But Kevin, who never has a clue what to do with himself when Alex leaves his side, gazes worshipfully after her, glances at Georgia and me, mumbles something about checking on the barbecue, and disappears.
“Um, by the way,” says Georgia as we make our way toward the house, “Jonesy and Danielle might be here.”
“Holy awkward, Batman.” I groan.
“Maybe not,” says Georgia in a way that’s not really convincing to either of us.
“Why would Danielle want to bring Jonesy to a high school party?”
“Danielle’s too much of a social butterfly to pass up a party. I swear she’s been out every night this summer.”
“So what’s the deal with them?”
“Aw, Jonesy’s not so bad. You were pretty harsh about him with her. There was a time when he was considered really hot.”
“There was a time when dinosaurs ruled the Earth,” I respond.
“C’mon, you know how this works. I stand right next to you, we play nice to Jonesy, then Caleb comes up and Danielle gets her turn to be nice. And then,” she concludes, brushing her hands together, “we no longer have a situation.”
“Ugh, but fine.”
She smiles. “Well put.”
The backyard is crowded. Kids are hanging out on the patio, by the barbecue, and in and around the Tuzzolinos’ swimming pool. The volleyball net stretches across its middle. Teams are being formed. I hear familiar voices shouting familiar names. Even in the soft light of Mrs. Tuzzolino’s Japanese rice-paper lanterns, the darkness makes it hard to recognize all the faces, but I wave and smile whenever my name is called. Everyone’s here. All of Jane’s classmates. It takes me back a little, realizing that Jane will never join in a reunion, or be noted in the North Peace Dale High alumni newsletter, or be talked about as anything but that girl who died during graduation week. I’d bet most kids know Danielle Savini better than they ever knew Jane, and Danielle doesn’t even go to North Peace Dale.
Where I Want to Be Page 7
