Finally, a murmur moves through the crowd, morphing into a cheer. With help, Logan walks off the course. “Wind knocked out,” someone says. “Nothing broken,” says another voice behind me. I pick up my stomach from the snowy ground, my knees wobbly, my heart beating as if I’d been running.
Josie tilts her head, an amused smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “Yeah, you’re right — you don’t like this Logan guy at all. Oh, wow, Mara, if you could see your face right now.”
That night, Isabel invites us to a party at a friend’s condo in the Village. She gives us directions through the maze of buildings and doors and we end up on the top floor. Isabel waits for us in the hallway outside the condo door, leaning against the wall, texting. She hears us coming. “You found it!” She leads us inside to the main room. Music pulses and a couple dozen people mill about, the wide windows showcasing views of the mountains and the purple sky. A fire flickers in a stone fireplace, casting an orange warmth into the room, and Isabel waves to a girl sitting curled in a beanbag near it; she’s knitting and talking animatedly with two other girls sitting on the floor in front of her. “That’s Kelsey,” Isabel tells us. “She races with me. This is her parents’ place.”
Josie squints at her. “Is she knitting?”
Isabel nods. “Oh, she’s always knitting. Actually, she knitted this hat.” She points at her own sea-green beanie. “Cute, right?” We nod in agreement, as if everyone knits hats in their spare time. Isabel smiles. “You two want a drink?”
As Isabel heads toward the kitchen, Josie whispers, “Okay, I’ve changed my mind. You should live here forever. Right here. In this condo. I’ll bring you food while you learn to knit.”
“Yeah, I just happen to have spare millions here somewhere.” I pat at the pockets of my jeans. Probably because we’re so nervous in this fancy space, we find this lame joke hilarious and collapse into giggles.
Isabel returns with two icy cups of red punch. “Oh, good, you’re having fun.” She pushes the cups into our hands. I take a sip. Ick. Fruit punch and vodka. It tastes like someone spit in it. Isabel waves to someone across the room. “Let me know if you want something else,” she says before moving away to talk to a guy I recognize as one of the Frost Boys always hanging out with Beck. His name sounds like a pharmaceutical company. Bayer? Bristol? Something like that.
I sniff my drink. I know it’s not cool, but I prefer fruit punch to be the only thing in my fruit punch. Josie leaves to empty her cup into the kitchen sink and refill it with water.
When she comes back, she says, “So spill it.”
“My drink? Gladly.” I pour it into an empty cup someone’s left sitting on a table.
“Logan,” she clarifies.
“It doesn’t matter, Jo. He just wants to be friends.” I let the words out the way you let air out of a balloon, and it’s stupidly painful to hear them out loud.
She shakes her head. “You’re going to need to give me the lead-up to why you think that.”
I fill her in on the details, leading up to “and then he found out I kissed Beck.”
Josie’s eyes practically pop out of her head. “Wait, what?! Who?”
As if summoned, Beck materializes from somewhere upstairs. If he had a caption, it would read ADORABLE SKIER BOYS WE LOVE TO HATE. He even pauses to run his hands through his tousled hair before moving smoothly across the room.
“Meet Now List number seven.” I nod in his direction.
I have struck Josie dumb, left her gaping at Beck as he moves through the room. He waves at someone, flashing his white smile, and a different girl from the one I saw at their school squeals when she sees him, attaching herself to him like one of those gooey rubber toys my brothers are always throwing at the windows of our house, the ones that slowly unstick and then creep down the wall.
When he’s out of view, retreating into a shadowy nook of the kitchen with Sticky Girl, Josie finally peels her eyes away and turns to me. “Who are you?”
“Tahoe Mara,” I explain weakly.
She holds up her water in a cheers. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Tahoe Mara. And what have you done with San Diego Mara?”
I stare glumly into my empty cup. “Oh, she’s still here, botching things up.”
Josie puts an arm around me. “We can go if you want.”
I lean into her. “Yes, please.”
The next day, I say good-bye to Josie, Reuben, and Lucy out in front of PlumpJack. They have to leave by two to catch their flight in Reno, but we got a couple of good skiing hours in this morning and ate lunch at Ethan’s.
“Thanks for coming,” I say, hugging Josie. “And for — you know.”
After leaving the party last night, we’d gone back to Josie’s hotel room and I finished filling her in on what had happened with Beck and Logan.
“I can’t believe I had to pry this out of you.” She’d changed into her pajamas and sat cross-legged on her bed, running a brush through her dark hair. She pointed the brush at me accusatorily. “You should have told me. Especially because it was my list number.”
“I was embarrassed. He’s, well” — I grimaced — “as you saw, he seems to always have a different girl attached to him. It’s like he needs them for life support or something.”
She tossed the brush into her suitcase on the floor. “There are plenty of guys like that at Ranfield. And girls. You should have told me.” After a minute, she asked gently, “And what about Logan?”
“We’re just friends.”
She pulled her hair into a rope and started braiding it. “Yes, you keep saying that. But I’m asking you how you feel about him.”
“It doesn’t matter. Besides, we’re taught from birth not to make any choices because of a boy. To not let some guy influence us, right?”
Her expression was hard to read as she wrapped the end of her braid with an elastic band. She sighed. “That doesn’t stop it from happening.”
Now, standing in the wind outside PlumpJack, she holds on to me a little longer than she normally would. “See you soon, okay? Enjoy the rest of your time here. But then come home.”
I nod into her shoulder as I hug her back.
I wake the next morning, my mind cloudy from dreaming about that horrible day in calculus, the way I looked in the video, my peach-pit face, the confetti of tests. Sweating, nerves buzzing, it takes a moment to remember I’m here in Tahoe, far north of it all.
The dream fades, replaced by warm blankets, the sight of snow floating past my window, the hot wood smell of the fire. More than a month ago and it’s obviously still bothering me. What had Oli said? Most people aren’t even thinking about you — they’re just looking for their car keys. Is that true? That most people don’t even notice what happens to everyone else?
It seems like the whole world watched that video.
I sit up and rub my eyes, feeling suddenly sad that we live in a world where most of the time we’re practicing detachment exercises just to get through the day.
I push the covers back, get dressed, and catch a ride to the Village with Trick. I want to buy cookies for Logan at Elevation. Isabel texted last night to tell me he was going to be fine after his fall, but that he’d bruised his hip pretty badly and had to stay off the mountain for a few days.
Later, cookies in hand, I push through the door to Neverland, and Piper greets me with her slobbery kisses and flurry of golden hair. “Hey, sweetie,” I say, petting her. Satisfied, she trots back to where she was sleeping next to a space heater. A woman stands behind the counter, flipping through a catalog, her tangle of dark curls pulled into a loose ponytail. Logan’s mom, Jessica Never. I recognize her from the photos at Logan’s house and from Saturday at the race, only her face is no longer furrowed with worry.
Chewing the end of a pencil, she looks up. “Mara!”
“Oh, hi.” I hang close to the door.
“Sorry, I’m Jessica.” She hesitates, then adds, “We haven’t officially met yet, I guess. Even if I did
change your diapers.”
What is with these people and diapers? “Oh, right,” I say, chewing my lip and wondering if it would be rude to just turn and flee the building.
She shakes her head, looking uneasy. “Sorry, that was a totally weird thing to say.”
“No, it’s fine.” It was weird. It’s been strange to have so many people squint at me the way you would into a grainy old photo album. “Um, is Logan here?” I hold up the dark-chocolate coconut cookies. “I wanted to see if he was feeling better.”
“That’s so sweet!” She tugs absently at the end of her ponytail. “He’s not here. Do you want to leave them with me? He’s at the other store with Matt.”
“Um, no — it’s fine. I’ll catch him some other time.” I turn to leave.
“Mara?”
“Yeah?”
Jessica has both hands flat on the counter and she’s studying me with Logan’s dark eyes. “How … well, how’s it going up here? With … everything?” Her eyes flick to the counter once before adding, “Are things going okay with Trick?”
My stomach evaporates, like it’s suddenly trying to float away from the rest of my body. “Um, I think so.”
She fiddles with the catalog. “I know it’s none of my business, but I just want you to know … he never meant, well, he thought it was for the best, okay? Your mom had a plan and he was just trying to honor that.”
What is she talking about? What plan? “Okay.”
The bell behind me jingles, and I turn to see Trick standing there, looking strangely at Jessica. “Hey,” he says, rubbing some snow from his hair.
“Cookies!” I blurt, holding up the bag.
“Sure, thanks.” He takes them.
Jessica stares intently at the catalog.
I mumble something about school and this time flee the store for real.
Walk it off, let it go, don’t worry about it.
I owe Logan some cookies.
Dr. Elliot called me yesterday afternoon, leaving a sweet-voiced message on my phone — Give me a call if you think it would be helpful.
If I think it would be helpful.
So even though I actually like Dr. Elliot, I don’t call him back. He seems perfectly nice in his mountain-hued, fountain-humming office, but I can’t bring myself to drag myself up those stairs. Of course, Mom will not appreciate my taking advantage of his generous if, that tiny two-letter word of wiggle room. Now I’m just deliberately not doing my job.
On Tuesday, I go to chem lab, and afterward Isabel and I walk to the Second Story, the restaurant her mom manages on the actual second story of an old building just off the main stretch of downtown Truckee. Logan didn’t come to lab today, so I have another bag of cookies jammed into my backpack. “I thought his hip was better?”
Isabel looks sideways at me, her breath making patches of fog in the freezing air. “Why don’t you text him?”
I shift the weight of my backpack where my chem book is digging into my spine. “I don’t want to bother him if he’s recovering.”
She shoots me a funny look but doesn’t say anything as we climb the stairs. The restaurant has an old glass door, its name etched into the glass over an emblem of an antique typewriter. Inside, its books-and-writing theme hits me. Poster-size copies of famous novel covers line the walls, and a bookshelf crammed with endless titles takes up a full wall. Even the napkin holders look like books.
“Oh, I get it. The second story. Cute.” I pick up a menu, my eyes scanning the literary-themed sections: Brave New Salads, As I Lay Frying, The Catcher in the Pie. There is even one whole section just for burgers and hot sandwiches under the heading To Grill a Mockingbird. I point this out to Isabel. “This does not sound appetizing at all.”
Isabel surveys the semi-full restaurant, waving to a gray-haired man reading a newspaper at one of the corner tables near the window, in front of an open laptop. “The woman who owns this place is a total book nerd.”
“Clearly.”
She leans in close, nodding at the gray-haired man. “That’s her husband. He writes creepy murder mysteries.”
I stare at the man’s kind face, his casual jeans and sweater. “Really?”
From the back, Isabel’s mom emerges, checking a clipboard. Looking up, she sees us. “Hi, girls!” She tosses the clipboard on top of the glossy wood bar. Her hair is a carbon copy of Isabel’s, only with streaks of white shooting through it.
Isabel slides into a chair at a table near the bar and flips through a paperback someone has left on the table. “Can we have some fries?”
“You must be Mara. I’m April.” Isabel’s mom comes out from behind the bar.
“Hi.” I smile awkwardly at the same knowing look she has that Jessica Never was wearing when I went into Neverland yesterday. I guess Tahoe is full of Ghosts of Diaper Changes Past.
She nods at the menu in my hand. “You hungry?”
I set it down. “Oh, I’m fine.”
“We’d love some fries,” Isabel mentions again, reading the back of the book.
“Yes, we know.” April shakes her head, heading back to the kitchen. “Only I missed the part where you said please and told me how nice I look today.”
Isabel flashes her mom an overwide smile. “Great hair day, Mom! How about those fries, pretty please?”
“Your sincerity is staggering.” April disappears through the kitchen door.
I slide into the chair across from Isabel. “Your mom seems nice.”
Isabel sets the book down. “She’s a good mama bear.” We don’t say anything for a minute, the air around us peppered with the conversations of the other diners, the clinking of utensils on plates, and the swing of the kitchen door as a server brings us a basket of fries and some ice waters. Nibbling a fry, Isabel studies me.
Uncomfortable with the stare-down, I ask, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
She shakes the ketchup bottle, looks annoyed at the lack of its progress, then beats the back of it until a small trickle of ketchup emerges. Isabel will not be bested by a ketchup bottle. Victorious, she sets it down. Chewing at last, she points half a fry at me. “Why don’t you talk to Logan? You clearly like him.”
“What?” I sputter. “No, I don’t — I mean, he’s fine. Whatever.” It’s my turn to battle with the ketchup bottle, which might be the exact color of my face now.
She cocks an eyebrow. “Convincing.”
April returns to our table, rescuing me from further interrogation, and sets down a small oval platter of sliders. “You need some protein, too.”
Isabel and I each grab one. “Lord of the Sliders,” I say, holding up the tiny cheeseburger.
April laughs. “That’s good. We should change the name.” She disappears back into the kitchen.
Isabel does not release her death stare at me until I say, “Okay, look, Logan’s great, but it doesn’t matter anyway. He said he just wants to be friends.”
“Oh, did he?” She snorts into her slider. “That figures.”
“Why?” I press, but then hurry to say, “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. I should just focus on getting my life back on track.”
She leans a bit forward. “But I thought you came up here to take a break? Have some fun?”
“Right, fun.” I stare at the mystery writer. He has put his paper away and is typing intently on his laptop, maybe killing off a character. I haven’t read a mystery novel since Nancy Drew. I think of all the things on my first Now List I crossed off when I first got to Tahoe and then never did again. “I sort of suck at having fun.”
Finishing her slider, she nods, her mouth full. “Yeah, Trick told us that.”
“Wait, what?”
“When you first got here. He told us you were this super-serious workaholic and that we should show you some fun while you were here.”
My head starts to throb. I set down my half-eaten slider. “Wait, so he, like, told you guys to hang out with me?”
She sees my face. “It wasn’t
like that. He was looking out for you. I mean, you’d just had that huge meltdown and he was worried.”
My skin prickling, I say, “Well, he doesn’t exactly talk to me, so I really wouldn’t know.” Clearly, Trick talks to other people, though — just not his own daughter.
She bites her lip. “Don’t be mad. He was worried. He said that video really messed you up. Actually, he thinks that school is messing you up. Wait,” she pleads. “Don’t tell him I told you that.”
I fold my arms across my chest, my heart racing. “You wouldn’t have to if he’d try talking to me about it.”
Isabel frowns. “I’m sorry I said something. He was being sweet, seriously. He’s a good guy.”
I don’t say anything, just pick at the basket of fries. I can’t believe Trick told them to hang out with me. How humiliating. Like I’m in preschool or something and he’s setting up a playdate.
Watching me, Isabel swallows hard but then brightens. “You know what? Bodie was in a YouTube video once that got a bunch of views. His pants fell down during a race, tripped him, and it was a complete shot of his butt.” She holds up her hands like a director surveying a shot for a movie. “Full. Moon.”
She succeeds in getting a smile out of me. “Knowing Bodie, that sounds like something he would be proud of.”
She nods. “True. He was. But it got, like, ten thousand views or something.”
I play musical salt and pepper shakers, my smile fading. “That’s the difference, then. He was proud of it.” Outside, the Truckee sky starts to darken, that purple stain like grape juice soaking into cotton that starts early here. It must be close to four-thirty. “And mine had over six hundred thousand.”
She looks shocked. “Seriously?”
I guess she hasn’t seen it. “Miss Perfect’s Epic Meltdown. After it happened, reporters called to interview me.” I put on a mock interviewer voice. “Was the pressure of being a driven teenager too much for you? Do you think you’re a casualty of the perfectionist teen culture? How did you feel when you ripped up all those tests?” I shake my head and toss my uneaten fry onto the plate. “It was mortifying.”
The Possibility of Now Page 16
