The Boy Next Story

by Tiffany Schmidt

  Eliza and I exchanged gagtastic expressions. As I gave a wave and turned to head toward my own friends, I heard Curtis add, “I also asked for the most boring drink on the menu. They made you a chamomile tea, Eliza.”

  I bet her mouth corners were twitching as she took the cup. Mine were as Toby caught up with me. “Six hours ’til we’re free of this place until next year. You ready?”

  I had a history quiz and a painting to complete, but the rest of my classes were in holiday mode—we were watching a movie in French. The movie itself would be in French, but it was still a movie. “Yup,” I told him. “Are you?”

  “Very.”

  “I still think you should’ve played in last night’s concert.”

  “How about this: I’ll give you your own private concert when the lake song is done.”

  I kept my face still, but I’m sure my blush gave away how much I liked the idea. “Concert implies more than one song. Will you play some others?”

  “I’ll play as long as you want. You can bring your sketch pad over and draw.”

  I subtly pinched the inside of my arm, because maybe I had a secondhand sugar high from sharing a car with Merri, and these were sucrose delusions. But the pinch hurt, so I shifted my backpack up my shoulder and asked, “When?”

  “It’ll have to be before you leave for New York and I go see my mom in California. But you’re working tomorrow—”

  “And Saturday,” I added.

  He groaned. “And I’ve got Dad’s company Christmas party the night after. What about Christmas Eve? Are you around?”

  I nodded. We didn’t have big Christmas Eve traditions because it was a hectic day at the store—people buying last-minute gifts. When my parents got home, we read a hasty The Night Before Christmas, hung our stockings, and went to bed. “That sounds”—perfect, too good to be true, dreamy—“fine.”

  “Can’t wait,” he said.

  There was just one thing I needed to do before break began. I knocked on Ms. Gregoire’s door at the end of the day, opening it when she called out, “Come in.”

  “Hi.” I hovered awkwardly by the doorway, twisting the strap of my backpack. “Um, Merry Christmas . . . I mean, if you celebrate.”

  She smiled. “Thank you. You as well, if you do.” She was sorting papers on her desk into two stacks. “This one stays,” she said, pointing to the larger pile. “And this one comes home with me. But it’s the fun kind of work—planning curriculums and picking out books.”

  Speaking of books . . . I took a deep breath and wiped my hands on my sweater. “I also wanted to say thank you. For helping me and the advice and the extra credit. I promise to read Little Women over break.”

  “I hope you do. Sometimes you find what you need waiting next door—”

  I choked on air and she paused politely while I coughed and sputtered.

  “W-what? What did you say?”

  She smiled that annoying smile people used when they saw more than you wanted them to. “Sometimes you find what you need waiting in the next story. Why, what did you hear?”

  I shook my head. “Never mind.”

  She crossed the room to the window, watering the ivy that grew in pots along the ledge. “I know you’re off for some big adventures over break, but the right book can help you stay grounded, keep you connected to home . . . and make things a little easier, or at least a little clearer when those you love disappoint you.”

  Because that didn’t sound ominous at all? My heart sank. So if Merri was right about Little Women being some sort of prophecy, my break was going to include being disappointed by someone I loved? Well, maybe then I’d be able to let go of Toby once and for all.

  I bit down on my lip and tried not to let the resignation show in my voice. “Have a good break.”

  “You too, Aurora. And remember . . .” She paused and turned away from the plants, pointing a pale green fingernail in my direction. “Just keep reading. Things do work out in the end.”

  45

  Toby was late. I mean, maybe not truly late, since he’d said, “My dad’s coming home for Christmas Eve dinner. I’ll come get you after we’re done eating. I’m guessing seven thirty.”

  It was seven fifty and the Mays’ dining room windows still glowed, which made me hopeful for Toby . . . but impatient for myself. I’d followed Merri’s suggestion and hung a stupid ribbon on my door to signal I was open to visitors, but neither she nor Lilly stopped by, so I drifted to her room instead. My feelings felt too close to the surface tonight, like all that effort and anguish had only kept them submerged for so long and they’d drifted back up to seep through my skin.

  She was sitting at her desk, typing. Again. This was her new thing—spending quality time with her hands on the keyboard and refusing to answer any questions about the words appearing on the screen. Even my best snooping and eavesdropping hadn’t solved the mystery. It had been much easier to sleuth back when her diary was paper and she thought her pillowcase was a super-secret hiding spot.

  “You busy?” I asked, my hand still resting on the doorframe after knocking.

  Her shoulders twitched with irritation, and she didn’t take her eyes off the screen. “Yup.”

  “Can I help?”

  “Only by leaving,” she answered. Her voice wasn’t hard, just distracted. “I need to finish this before stockings and cookies.”

  “Oh.” I lingered a second or eight to see if she’d change her mind—I was leaving in two days for the rest of Christmas break!—but she shook her head to clear out my interruption and got back to work. I knew I shouldn’t be mad; I got the same way when deep in draw mode, but my throat still stung as I left her bedroom and wandered back to mine. I was in the middle of organizing my paintbrushes when I heard Toby’s voice in the hall and dropped them all back in the mason jar I used for storage.

  I popped out of my room, sketchbook under one arm, pencil case in my hand, and an eager smile pressing up my cheeks. “Ready?”

  Toby grinned when he saw me, but my own smile stuttered and disappeared when I noticed what he was carrying: a root beer in one hand, a cream soda in the other. “Sorry, Roar. Soon. Merri needs me first.”

  “Needs you?” I leaned against the wall and tried to pretend the bottom wasn’t dropping out of my stomach.

  “It’s a writing thing. And since we used to do all that fan fiction together . . .” He shrugged. “I don’t know how long it’ll take, but I’ll come get—”

  “Toby!” Merri hollered from her room, and he didn’t bother to finish his sentence, just mouthed Sorry as he walked past me toward her.

  My heart was shredded, my blood replaced with fire. And she—she stood in her doorway smiling at him and me like it was no big deal. Like it was a given they’d blow me off to hang out together. I’d forgotten my role in his life was temporary.

  Which was totally fine . . . except that it absolutely wasn’t. I was the fool. I was always the fool. The proof of that was written in our history and stamped on my GPA.

  Even Alcott had known the truth about little sisters and boys next door. I read about it before dinner: Amy March being left behind while Toby and Merri—Laurie and Jo—went to a play. Was it any wonder I’d thrown the book across the room during that scene? Amy begged to be included and Jo wasn’t subtle about not wanting her there. Just like Merri had made it clear I wasn’t welcome tonight.

  Well, Ms. Gregoire had said those I loved would disappoint me. Was this it? Toby could keep his songs and Merri could keep all her empty claims about wanting to work on our relationship. And I was going to tell them so—I swung Merri’s door open without even knocking.

  Except her room was empty. Her balcony door was cracked, and from across the narrow strip of lawn separating our houses, I could see the glow of Toby’s bedroom.

  When we were little, Merri was the one who flopped flat on her stomach in legs-kicking, screaming tantrums. Mom said whenever she did, I’d freeze and shut my eyes—like that would make me disappear.
When toddler-me got mad, I held my breath until I turned blue and occasionally passed out. It had terrified my parents, but the pediatrician had told them not to worry—I couldn’t actually do any harm that way.

  Tonight I wanted to do harm. I wanted to pay them back for the harm they’d done me. And it didn’t take a genius like Merri to figure out how—because her computer screen was still glowing. The computer where the project she’d needed his help with waited. Clearly it was just an excuse.

  I glanced from the laptop to the balcony. The cursor blinked in time with my shallow breathing. It taunted me as words jumped off the screen. What is it about rooftops that make secrets easier to share? My parents had a heart attack the first time they caught Toby and me up . . .

  Yup, there was no question—I was reading this. I straddled her chair and scrolled back to the top with impatient fingers. You’d think a girl who’s read hundreds of romance novels would recognize love when it showed up in her own life—

  My eyes skipped from the balcony to the screen. My lip was firmly between my teeth and I sighed in relief when I read the rest of that sentence—but who would’ve pictured me with Fielding Williams? Especially after the way we met . . .

  I knew both of my sisters were smart, and it seemed like there wasn’t anything they couldn’t do—but I hadn’t expected this. I didn’t even like to read, and by the end of the first page I was laughing. By the end of the second I was wishing I’d made popcorn. Ten pages in I realized I’d picked up and drank half the cup of apple cider on Merri’s desk, and I hated cider. I almost, almost forgot to keep an eye on the balcony door, but years of snooping had made that a habit.

  I was on these pages with Lilly, Toby, Monroe, and Eliza. It was amazing to read how she saw us, how much she loved us. Well, not Monroe. She had nothing but loathing for him, and after reading how he’d treated her in this room, I didn’t blame her. But mostly the narrative was about Fielding—and it was cheek-heatingly personal.

  I glanced at the balcony again and hesitated with my hand above the mouse. Should I walk away? Too much more of this and I’d bet I was at risk for developing a secondhand crush on him. I snorted; who was I kidding? Little sister’s prerogative—of course I was going to read it all! And after the way she’d treated me tonight, she deserved it.

  “Rory!”

  I screamed. A full-on horror-movie noise that made my throat ache. I twirled toward the empty balcony, then screamed again when I felt a tap on my back.

  My head swung from my frowning sister to the balcony. “But—you—how?”

  “I can use the front door,” she answered. “And what are you doing?”

  We looked at the computer screen and then both of us were yelling, because somewhere in my swiveling and screaming, I’d managed to mash my fingers down on a random combination of buttons that had taken Merri’s fifty pages and replaced them with waiuhgeoi.

  “What did you—”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  I shoved back from the desk to put distance between my hands and their crime and managed to run over Merri’s toes with her desk chair. “Oww!” She began to hop on one foot, upending the last inch of cider into my lap. I leaned to avoid it, but her leg was still behind the chair and instead of escaping, I toppled—both of us going down in a heap of shrieks and limbs.

  From my vantage point under Merri’s arm, I watched Toby appear in the doorway. He took in our flailing panic and Merri’s hysterical “You deleted—worked so hard—and gone—”

  Without saying a word, he walked over to her desk. He calmly pressed a few buttons and then lifted the laptop to show us the story restored to the screen. “All fixed. Command-Z works wonders.”

  I blew Merri’s hair out of my face and shouldered her leg off my back. She exhaled and went boneless with relief, which did nothing to help me get out from beneath the Rory-chair-Merri pig pile.

  “Get off,” I insisted.

  Merri sat up on my back, but instead of standing, she bounced. “Serves you right for reading my story. Is that what a panic attack feels like? Because you almost—”

  “I repeat, Command-Z,” interjected Toby. “Undo. Learn it, love it, use it.”

  “I know what undo is, Mayday,” snapped Merri, and he grinned back at her. It was the first time I’d heard that nickname in months, and it burned in my stomach.

  “Get. Off.” I rolled to my side and shoved her. Glowering at them both.

  Toby raised his hands. “I’m guessing there’s a Campbell sisters showdown about to happen and that’s my cue to leave.” He gave a salute from the doorway. “Merry Christmas.”

  I wanted to yell at him to wait—to remind him we’d had plans. But if he didn’t remember, then what was the point?

  Merri was still sitting on my legs, poking my side. But there was nothing playful about this tickle fight. Her jaw was locked, her fingers stiff.

  I curled into a ball. “No. Stop it. Don’t you dare.”

  “Oh, I dare!” She licked a finger and stuck it in my ear.

  I bucked her off and jumped to my feet—holding the chair between us like a shield. “What are you, eight?”

  “I don’t know,” Merri said in her best menacing voice. “What are you? Nosy?” Her nose wrinkled. “That didn’t come out the way I planned. I can’t believe you read that, Rory. It was really personal.”

  “Yeah, I noticed.” Merri really loved Fielding. Her feelings were way deeper than I’d realized, and they’d been there for each other in all sorts of ways I’d never known. But there was one thing that wasn’t in those pages at all: any romantic interest in Toby. The fact that he’d blown me off tonight to help her—that was all on him. She hadn’t known. I could be angry at myself for hoping or at him for being fickle . . . but it wasn’t Merri’s fault. I offered her a small grin. “Did Fielding really admit to doing ballet with Sera?”

  Merri’s eyes lit up. “She put him in costumes! There are pictures. Headmaster Williams showed me when I went to—” She scowled and put her hands on her hips. “Wait. I’m still mad.”

  “You were sharing it with Toby. I didn’t think it was that big a deal.”

  “I asked Toby five questions and then we went next door because he wanted to tell me . . .” She trailed off, eyes wide as she looked at me. “Anyway, I’m still mad at you.”

  “Good, because I’m mad at you.” It was a six-year-old’s retort, but that didn’t make it any less true. “You kicked me out and then asked Toby for help. I’d already volunteered!”

  “Oh, really?” Merri arched an eyebrow. “Because I needed Toby to fact-check the part about the lacrosse game where he got hurt. I wasn’t aware you were there or knew anything about lacrosse.”

  “Oh.” I could feel the flush creeping up my neck and into my cheeks. “Sorry I read your story.”

  Merri tried to maintain her glower, but I watched it slip away. Finally she shrugged. I marveled at her inability to hold a grudge. I would’ve nursed this for weeks and brought it up for years. She tugged her chair out of my hands and said, “At least you didn’t burn it.”

  “Burn it?” One of these days I was going to make it through a full conversation with my sister without feeling like we spoke different languages. “Yeah, um, I think Mom and Dad would have a problem with me burning your laptop.”

  She just gave me one of those supremely obnoxious smug looks as she sat back down and reached for her headphones. “But seriously, I do need to finish this so I can email it to Fielding at midnight. I want it to be his first Christmas present. Why don’t you go read more Little Women.”

  46

  I did as Merri suggested. I figured I owed her for not going nuclear on me. Within ten minutes I understood Merri’s book-burning reference and why people hated Amy—because in retaliation for being left home from the theater, she tossed the only copy of Jo’s manuscript into the fireplace.

  I audibly gasped and mouthed the word No while shaking my head at Ariel and Klee. Not that I expected them to r
espond; but seriously, that was unforgivable. My heart pounded like I was the one who’d done it, like Toby hadn’t been able to restore Merri’s story with a few simple keystrokes. Yeah, I guess if Merri was looking at it from that perspective, my snooping didn’t seem so bad.

  I curled an arm around a pillow and kept reading. How would Amy and Jo move on from this? Because, also unlike Merri, Jo was a grudge holder. I snorted when I read the answer—Amy just had to almost die in another Laurie-Jo exclusion mess. Well, that settled that—I was never going ice-skating with Merri and Toby.

  Which is how I greeted Merri when my parents got home and we went down to hang stockings. “By the way, I’m never going ice-skating with you.”

  She clapped and beamed. “See what I mean about Ms. Gregoire? It’s magic—you have got to keep reading.”

  I wasn’t sure I agreed about the magic part, but I did about the reading. Luckily our Christmas Eve traditions were quick—and they hadn’t changed since we were small. We hung the stockings, in order of age, from the mantle. I put out a plate of cookies for Santa and and a carrot for the reindeer. Merri wrote a letter about how we’d all been “good.” Lilly read The Night Before Christmas aloud. Our parents took pictures, then shooed us all upstairs so they could go into present-wrapping mode.

  Lilly paused at the top of the landing. “I’m going to watch a movie—anyone want to join me?”

  “Can’t,” said Merri. “I’m almost done with Fielding’s Christmas present, and I need to finish.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I need to get back to my book.”

  “You mean sketch?” said Lilly, and when I shook my head, she gaped. “What book?”

  “It’s her Gregoire assignment!” Merri bounced. “See, she’s so magic she’s got Rory reading on purpose.”

  “I don’t think it’s possible to read by accident,” I countered, rolling my eyes.

  “I still need to get Trent to tell me his Gregoire book,” Merri mused.