“You okay to get home?” Franny asks her.
“You go have fun, Francisco,” she says. “Have fun with your friends.”
He nods. “Make sure you text me, let me know you made it, okay?”
“You know nobody messes with your abuela,” she says, smiling.
“They better not,” Franny says, raising his fists in the air. He turns to Jillian, to me. “You guys ready?”
“Let’s get out of here,” Jillian says.
“Where we going?” I ask.
Franny gives the gym one final look as we step into the night. “Anywhere but here.”
After pillaging two bottles of wine from Jillian’s mom’s stash, Jillian drives us to her grandparents’ summer cottage out on Lake Erie. Inside it smells stale and the electricity isn’t on because Jillian’s grandparents are a couple weeks away from opening it up for the season, but it feels good to unwind together.
Jillian and Kate light candles all around and I turn on music on my phone and along the walls our shadows dance. Even Franny, sad and angry, eventually peels himself off the couch, lets us drag him into our Soul Train oblong.
He dips his shoulders. “Let me show you guys how this is supposed to look.” And he’s right. His way looks infinitely better.
We wind up on the back deck, and although it’s too dark to see the water, we hear it sloshing, clapping below us.
“We still have a chance. With the tourney,” I say when a silence settles.
“The consolation bracket?” Franny shrugs. “Long shot.”
“But a shot.”
Franny pulls a slip of paper from his pocket. “Guess you’re right. If this could happen, anything can.”
“What’s that?” Jillian asks.
“See for yourself,” he says. She takes it from his hands, uses her cell-phone flashlight to illuminate the letter.
“Oh my God,” she whispers, shaking the paper like it’s on fire.
“What?” I ask.
“What is it?” Kate chimes.
“You got in,” Jillian screams, jumping up and down. “You fucking did it, Franny!”
“Got in where?” Kate asks.
But I don’t need the letter to know what’s happened.
“Whittier,” Franny says. “I get to be with you guys!”
“That’s awesome,” Kate exclaims, throwing herself into Franny and Jillian’s Jump Party.
“Friends forever,” I say in my cheesiest voice.
Only I really mean it.
“Okay, I don’t know about you guys, but this wine is squeezing my bladder like a lemon,” I say, already headed out of the room.
“That’s Jack’s super-elegant way of saying he has to pee,” Franny interprets for Kate. “He’s an awesome kid, but he’s a lightweight.”
“Am not,” I yell.
“Just don’t miss the toilet, Romeo,” he calls after me.
“No promises.”
I set one hand against the wall for balance and, I don’t know, maybe it’s that my bladder’s feeling relieved, or maybe it’s the moonlight falling through the small window beside me, everything a swirly yellow glow, but I know everything’s going to be okay.
Kate will live.
Franny’s going to Whittier with Jillian and me.
Maybe the four of us will get an apartment together. Make our own reality show called Four Stupid Smart Kids Take on College. I laugh. At how good I feel. At how lucky I am.
The only thing that’s still broken is Franny and his dad.
But there’s time to fix that, too.
I can make that right. I’ll try until I do.
“Hey, Jack, your phone’s ringing out here, man,” Franny calls through the door.
“Probably my parents. I’ll call them back when I’m finished.”
“No, it’s not their number.”
“Okay, well, just let it go to voice mail then.”
“Too late,” Franny says, laughing. “Jack’s Answering Service, how can I help you?” He’s still laughing.
Then he stops, and I can’t hear him anymore. Only the girls singing in the distance.
“Franny, who was it?” I say, unsure if he’s even still by the door. “Listen, we need more wine now. I’m ready to fill up again.”
I flush and stumble to the sink, turn on the water, wash my hands, slap water against my face. Smile to my reflection. My reflection smiling back, harder, happier.
That’s when the bathroom door explodes open, the door flung with so much force that it slaps the wall and springs back.
“What the—” I manage to get out. Before I can say another word, before I can turn the water off, or dry my hands, I’m bulldozed into the rear shower wall.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Franny screams.
I can barely breathe, Franny’s hands not exactly on my throat, but close enough to make breathing difficult.
“Franny,” I stammer. “What. Are. You. Talking. About?”
“You’re supposed to be my boy! What, you’re not happy enough with your own TWO perfect parents, you gotta steal my pops, too?”
“That’s not what happened. I was trying to make things—”
“No one asked you to try anything!”
He raises his fist, and I squeeze my eyes tight.
But the blow never comes. Not to my face. Franny punches the wallpaper beside my jaw, his hand going through the drywall, a mini cloud of dust and plaster that coats both of our noses, the side of my cheek. Like that time we tried to make a cake for his abuela and got more flour on our faces than in the bowl.
“I can’t even get the man to call me back, not once. To show up for my game. To show up for any game, not once. And what, he’s calling you in the middle of the goddamn night like you two are best buds?”
“Franny, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? You’re sorry? Why is he calling you?”
I wag my head. “Franny . . .”
“Just tell me why he’s calling you, Jack. Don’t say shit else to me.”
“I don’t know why,” I mumble. Because how do I explain the truth?
“Not only are you a backstabbing punk, you’re a goddamn liar, too.”
He lets me go, and I slide down into the shower stall, gasping for air.
“We’re done, man. In case that wasn’t clear,” he says in a voice I’ve only heard him use to curse The Coupon. “You even look at me, or at Jillian, and I’ll finish you for good. You got that?”
“Guys, what’s going on? It sounds like a zoo in here,” Jillian says, her voice light, happy. “Oh my God, what happened?” she says, peering into the bathroom, looking at me sitting in the shower, at the hole in the wall, then up at Franny.
“Jack, are you okay?” Jillian says. She tries to come to me, but Franny stops her.
“Did you know about this?” Franny asks her.
“Franny, she has nothing to—” I start.
But Franny takes a big step toward me, his face sharp teeth and venom. “I told you to shut up.”
Jillian pulls him back. “Did I know what, Franny?” she asks. “Look at me, Franny. Look at me! Did I know what?” She cradles his head in her hands, forces his face toward hers.
“About him and my pops. No wonder my pops doesn’t want me. Not when he has Super Jack in his life. What would he want with me when he can have the kid who has it all, right?” Franny laughs, but even from the shower floor, I see the tears in his eyes.
“Baby,” Jillian says, wiping his eyes for him. “Baby,” she repeats. She takes his hands in hers. “I need you.”
Franny’s face softens some.
“I need you,” Jillian repeats. “I WANT you.”
Franny pulls her into his arms. “I promise you I’ll never let you down. Never,” he says, through tears, through anger.
“You don’t have to promise me. I know you won’t. I know,” Jillian says, barely loud enough for me to hear. “Now let’s go home, okay? Take us home, baby.”
/> Franny nods. Lets Jillian lead him out of the bathroom. But not before they look back at me, one last time.
Franny, with rage spinning deep in his eyes.
Jillian, with hurt, with sadness. A face like goodbye.
And this is the thing I never truly considered.
What if I save Kate but lose everyone else?
Am I prepared to live out the rest of my days As Is?
With these consequences—
No more Franny.
No Jillian.
Knowing that because of me, Franny and his dad may never figure things out.
I’ll be honest with you.
I love Kate. More than nearly anything.
But more than all of those things combined?
I’m not sure.
A Cure for Bad Blood
It’s been four days since I’ve talked to my friends.
Kate keeps saying they just need time, which everyone says about everything—just give it time.
They wouldn’t think that about Time—that its passage makes everything better—if they knew what I knew. That more Time mostly screws things up worse.
That’s why when I get the call, I’m more than relieved to think about something else. I tell Kate it’s a surprise, but at every mile marker she still asks me where are we going?
“So, where’s your car?” Kate asks for the second time this morning. The first time I ignored her, changed the subject. But I doubt that’ll work a second time.
“I sold her.”
“What?” she asks, turning in her seat toward me. “Why?”
“She had a few problems going on. Figured I’d sell her while she was still worth something.”
“That seems random.”
“If everything works out, it’ll sorta be like she’s still with us,” I say.
Confusion contorts her face, her black curls wiggling around her ears. “You’re being so weird this morning. You’ve been weird the last few days actually.”
She’s right. I have been weird. But you would be, too, if you were counting down the hours until you could take your girlfriend to the doctor’s appointment meant to save her life.
“Sorry,” I say.
“Yeah, yeah, tell me anything,” she says. We ride the next mile in silence before she speaks again. “You may actually have a shot with my brother, you know?”
“Now who’s being random,” I say. “And no chance. He already hates me.”
I’ll be honest, it’s intimidating to think that in just a couple of days I’m going to be sitting at Kate’s dinner table, eating dinner with her parents, with her siblings.
But something about it is pretty cool, too.
When Kate falls asleep, we’re still forty minutes away. She wakes up as I pull into the lot. She stares at the squat, gray building. “What are we doing here?”
We spend the entire waiting-room period with Kate bombarding me with questions. If I was a hostile enemy territory and Kate’s questions were drone-guided explosives, by the end of the twenty-minute wait I would’ve been a barren wasteland.
Here’s a brief snapshot:
Why am I filling this out, Jack?
No, really, why are we here?
I don’t think you realize how much this guy costs?
How much is this appointment going to cost?
You realize it’s not covered by insurance, his treatment?
That even if it was, the copay would be astronomical, right?
I just don’t get why we’re here. There’s no way we can afford this, you know that, right? I’ve told you this before, Jack.
We’re wasting our time. We’re wasting the doctor’s time.
I mean, what’s the point?
Oh my God, Jack, please don’t tell me this is why you sold your car?
Somehow I keep my lips sealed during the entire episode, despite my mouth being full of Good Supportive Boyfriend material, like: Who cares how much it costs, we’re talking about your life. And, yes, this is why I sold my car, but I would’ve sold my parents’ house, too, if it were possible.
Only I’m learning that sometimes it’s not what you say that matters most. Or not even what you don’t say. Those things are cool, helpful even. But it’s about doing. Do something. Do anything. Do what you can and then when it feels like you’ve done all you could, do more.
A nurse calls Kate’s name.
I hesitate to stand, because I don’t want to be presumptuous, though I’d really like to go in with her. Kate stands. “I want you to come with me,” she says.
I stand beside her.
A Nutshell: What Sickle Cell Is & What Dr. Sowunmi Intends to Do About It
So, Kate’s oxygen-carrying cells tend to sickle.
Meaning, they’re too hard. Too rodlike. And sometimes they get wedged in her arteries, which means her tissues don’t get the oxygen they need. Tissues without oxygen means it’s hard for the body to do anything, like move or breathe, means intense pain, and other symptoms I don’t fully comprehend.
But Dr. Sowunmi and his team can use these, uh, enzymes, called zinc-finger nucleases, which they’ll zap into her genes, and with any luck they’ll correct the mutation that causes Kate’s cells to sickle. The hope is that they’ll also replicate the healthy cells in her body.
The whole process involves two carefully engineered injections.
“Kate will need both injections,” Dr. Sowunmi explains. “This is critical.”
“How soon after the first can she receive the second?”
Dr. Sowunmi smiles. “Shortly after. We’ll monitor her progress closely and if all goes well, it’ll be only about six or seven months.”
Of course this isn’t a big deal to the doctor. But six or seven months is a death sentence. Because, if this whole thing resets like last time, we only have three months left.
“What would happen if she were to receive the second injection sooner?” I ask.
“Her body wouldn’t be ready. She could go into shock.”
“Meaning?”
“She could die.”
Operation: Try Not to Make a Total Fool of Yourself
KATE: Just don’t mind Reggie, okay? He’s acting extra today.
I get this warning text from Kate on my way to meet Reggie and the rest of the Edwards clan. Kate’s text does the opposite of its intent, because it makes me already mind Reggie.
But Reggie, it turns out, is rather difficult to not mind. Reggie has made it his mission on earth to be minded by me.
“Jack, this is Reggie,” Kate says. “My baby bro.”
I extend my hand. “Hey, Reggie, nice to meet . . .”
But Reggie just stares at me and my outstretched hand as though he caught me scratching my butt. “You break my sister’s heart, Jack”—he says Jack really hard, makes it pop—“and I’ll break your face. Bet.”
Granted, Reggie is three years younger than me, and a good four inches shorter, but still his threat really resonates.
The rest of the Edwards family is far nicer.
Even her dad, which is surprising, because I assumed all dads loathed the idea of anyone dating their daughters.
Maybe Mr. Edwards doesn’t have to waste his time loathing anyone, though. What with Reggie so able and eager.
“Don’t even think about touching my sister under the table, either, Jack,” Reggie says as we sit down for dinner. “Keep your hands and feet where we can see them.”
“Uh, not sure how to keep my feet visible, but I’ll do my best,” I say, trying to laugh him off.
“Reggie,” Mrs. Edwards says. “Keep it up and you’ll get a close-up view of my hands and feet.”
“Are we waiting for Kira before we start eating?” Mr. Edwards asks in a way that would seem to suggest he’d rather not wait.
Mrs. Edwards shrugs. “Whatever Kate wants to do.”
“Let’s give her a few more minutes, maybe,” Kate suggests, and Mr. Edwards’s face drops a little.
Reggie, on th
e other hand, decides to use this downtime to play a round of Ask Jack Loads of Potentially Uncomfortable Questions.
He begins each question with his hard-hitting pronunciation of Jack, too.
“So, Jack, how many girlfriends have you had, man?”
“Uh, I’m sorry,” I say, looking at Kate for help.
“Reggie,” Kate says.
Reggie is undeterred. “Don’t be sorry, Jack. Just answer the question.”
“Umm,” I stammer. “Well . . .”
“Reggie, leave Jack alone already,” Mrs. Edwards says.
Reggie shoots me a wicked smile. “I’m just making conversation, Mama.”
“I haven’t dated very much. I’ve been mainly focused on school,” I offer.
Mr. Edwards grins. “Kate tells us you’re quite the student, Jack. We take academics very seriously in this house.”
My internal thermostat kicks on the heat despite my already sweaty forehead. “I do okay. I enjoy learning,” I say. I’m a nerd.
“I enjoy learning, too, Jack. For instance, I believe we’d all be interested in learning if you’re trying to smash my sister,” Reggie says, smirking across the table.
“Reggie,” Mrs. Edwards shouts. “Unless you want me to reach across this table and embarrass you, I suggest you get ahold of yourself with a quickness.”
In spite of Mrs. Edwards’s threats to maim Reggie, the way the Edwards family looks over at me after this last question makes me feel as if they wouldn’t mind an answer from me.
Which is awkward.
And definitely not going to happen, because ew, gross, who talks about intimacy with their girlfriend’s parents and baby bro at the dinner table?
“So, Reg, how was Amber Rae last night?” Kate says, eyeing Reggie as if they were having a private conversation telepathically. Which is a downside to only-childship; you don’t get to speak in sibling code.
Reggie sinks in his chair, shakes his head almost imperceptibly, as if to say, Don’t do this, don’t.
“Reggie didn’t see Amber Rae last night. He was studying biology with Quentin and Johnny,” Mrs. Edwards says.
“Oh,” Kate says, her smile like a dare, her eyes still locked on Reggie’s like two nuclear warheads. “My mistake.”
Opposite of Always Page 21
