It takes a little bit of persuading to get my parents to let me go because it’s a school night, but once I explain that my essay for tomorrow is already written, and I can finish the rest of my homework before Nico comes back to pick me up at six, they agree.
A few hours later, Nico and I walk through the front door of his house and into the savory smells of basil and garlic. We find Mrs. Noble and her friend standing at the kitchen island, glasses of wine and a bowl of salad in front of them, and pots bubbling on the stove behind them as they chat animatedly. When her friend turns, I recognize her immediately.
The woman from the farmers market. Business suit. Flip-flops. Though tonight her feet are bare, her flip-flops probably left by the front door.
“Oh, good, you’re here!” Mrs. Noble greets us enthusiastically. “Juniper, I want you to meet my friend Laurel Ward. She is smart and fabulous, and Nico and I told her all about you.”
Ms. Ward reaches her hand out to shake mine as Nico’s mom crosses to the stove to pull the pot of pasta from the burner and drain it in the sink. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Juniper. Call me Laurel, please.”
I shake her hand. “I’ve actually seen you before. I sell herbs at the farmers market … or I used to.” I see Kaylakaye and her clipboard. “You bought mint from me. For your tea.”
“Oh, yes! You must have a way with remembering faces. Very impressive.” I don’t tell her it’s the business suit and the flip-flops, not her face, that I remember.
“I heard you run marathons.”
“I do when my toes aren’t broken.”
I glance at her feet, finally close enough to notice the way her three middle toes are gathered together with clear medical tape. “So that’s what the flip-flops are all about.”
She laughs. “You saw that, huh? I try to wear them with confidence, hoping people won’t notice because I look like I’m okay with it.”
“I noticed. But only because I thought it was pretty cool.”
“I’m glad you think so, but don’t worry, I’m just about done with them. The doctor says I’m ready to go back to regular shoes during the workday.” She wiggles her toes. “Just giving them some room to breathe tonight.”
“Laurel will be totes profesh,” Nico says, reaching into the salad to pop a carrot slice into his mouth. His mom slaps his hand away, then turns to toss the pasta with the sauce still simmering on the stovetop.
“Well, phew. Because you know how I insist on totes profesh. I mean, look at me.” I strike a runway model pose in my jeans with the ripped knees and my faded hoodie.
Laurel smiles. “We’ll get along just fine.”
“Shall we?” Mrs. Noble says, and we all follow her to the dining room.
Nico’s mom grabs the pasta. I carry the garlic bread and Nico follows me to the table with the salad and tongs.
We talk about film club and this weekend’s football semifinal. It’s an away game, which is probably for the better. I don’t exactly want to see Teddy and Avery again.
It isn’t until the table is cleared and Nico and his mom are cleaning up in the kitchen, rinsing plates and utensils before loading them into the dishwasher, that Laurel asks me to tell her more about why I might need a lawyer.
“I saw a doctor who told me to hire a good attorney if I wanted to be vaccinated. He was only half-serious,” I explain.
“That’s nothing to joke about.” She leans forward on her elbows. “We should go see that doctor together.”
“Do you think we can convince him to give me my shots if you’re there?”
“It’s worth a try. It’s more likely I’ll gather the information I’d need for filing a petition on your behalf.”
“Petition?” I remember Kaylakaye had a petition at the farmers market. I knot my fingers together. “Would it need to have five hundred signatures?”
She waves her hand. “No. It would only be between you and your parents. We’d submit a request to the court to give you permission to make your own medical decisions.”
“I like how that sounds.”
“How about you take me through what happened from when you contracted the measles until now.”
I nod, lean back in my chair, and tell her everything while Nico bangs around in the kitchen.
Laurel listens sympathetically. She hears me and my story.
“It must be frustrating to be judged for your parents’ decisions. For choices you’ve had no control over, especially when they affect innocent people like a baby.”
“I want control.” I grip the edge of the table. “I should be able to decide what happens to my body. It’s mine.”
“Exactly. That’s our argument. Bodily autonomy.”
“Yes.” The weight in my chest lifts because Laurel really gets it.
“We’re talking about real change here, Juniper.”
“I saw another attorney in town. He told me that what I want to do is impossible. He suggested emancipation, which I can’t afford. I don’t have a job, so I can’t get my own apartment. And I don’t want to move out of my house anyway.”
She harrumphs, and I can almost hear her muttering, Silly man under her breath. Instead she says, “It sounds like he doesn’t have any confidence in himself. That’s the difference here. I do.”
“He made it seem impossible.”
She pats both hands on the table. “Let’s make the impossible possible together, shall we?”
“All these people signed a petition to kick us out of the farmers market. It’s going to break my parents when they find out I’m signing one, too.”
“We’ll start with your doctor. Maybe it won’t even have to go that far. I’d like to try to make it as quick and painless as possible.”
“I don’t have an actual doctor. I’ve only seen Dr. Villapando at the urgent care clinic. We moved here in May, and it’s taking my mom a while to find someone who’s willing to see unvaccinated patients.” I scratch at my scalp in irritation.
“Can you go with me to see Dr. Villapando tomorrow?”
“Absolutely. As soon as possible.” But then I remember. “How much is this going to cost, though? I don’t think I can afford you.”
“Nico didn’t tell you? I’m working pro bono here. This case is important. I want to take it on. So what do you say? See you at the clinic at three tomorrow?”
“I’ll be there.”
Nico shows up in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room, patting his hands dry on a dish towel. “Sounds like you have a plan.”
“A start anyway.”
“One step at a time,” Laurel says.
“Cool,” Nico says.
His mom walks in with the bottle of wine Laurel and she had been sharing in the kitchen, and Laurel holds her glass out for a refill.
“Well, I’m sure you two have a movie or something to watch,” Mrs. Noble says.
Laurel turns to me. “Juniper, I’m honored you came to me.”
“I’m honored you listened.”
I want to hug her. Because she’s the first person who has made me believe I have a fighting chance. She has made me trust there are other people out there who believe a sixteen-year-old girl has the right to make decisions about her own body.
THIRTY-TWO
“Come out back,” Nico says. “I want to show you something.”
“Smooth.”
He bumps his shoulder against mine. “Right?”
He slides open the screen door and we step onto a stark tile patio. No flowers. No greenery. Yet still gorgeous. There’s a barbecue in the corner, a fire pit in the middle, and twinkle lights strung across the wooden slats of a pergola. I gasp when I look at the wall above the picnic table.
“You have a flat-screen. On your patio. Are you kidding me?”
“You’re too easily impressed. But forget the TV. What I want to show you is over there.”
My eyes follow where he’s pointing. Past the patio, farther into the yard, is a big oak tree. Tucked high up in
to its sturdy branches is a rugged little tree house. A rope ladder hangs along the trunk, and Nico leads the way up the rungs to the entrance. We both have to wiggle our way through an opening barely bigger than a doggie door, and I land in an awkward tangle on top of the hardwood floor, like I’ve just been birthed.
“Smooth,” Nico says as he scrambles to his feet, holds out his hand, and helps me up.
I brush off my knees and elbows. “I like to make an entrance.” I sniff. “It smells like boy in here.”
“Well, yeah.”
I squint my eyes through the dark and see a small window behind Nico. On the floor there’s a magnifying glass. Books and notebooks. An empty box of Pop-Tarts. There’s a beanbag chair and a flashlight. A backgammon game. A chessboard. A deck of cards. There’s a pair of broken earbuds. A pile of Pokémon trading cards. And a set of walkie-talkies and binoculars.
“You’re like Encyclopedia Brown up in here. Do you solve mysteries, too?” I restrain myself from adding, Dun dun dun. “Or are you just a total creeper spying on all your neighbors?” I motion to the window, which has a perfect view of the house next door.
“Total creeper.” Nico flicks on the flashlight and sets it upright like a lantern, bathing the inside of the tree house in a soft, warm glow.
“Nice.”
He sinks down into the beanbag chair and the insides smoosh around as he burrows in.
“Sit with me. We can both fit.” He’s angled off to the side a little, but there’s not a ton of extra space.
“You sure about that?”
He grins. “We’ll make it work.”
I attempt to settle in next to him. The only way to fit is if I lean my back against the tree house wall and drape my leg across Nico’s. He rubs my calf, then spiders his fingertips up and around to pick at the ragged threads left over from the hole in the knee of my jeans.
“So,” I say.
“So.” He smiles.
“Do you bring all the girls up here?”
“Definitely. There’s nothing hotter than a guy with a tree house.”
“I’ll say.”
“Juniper.” He looks at me seriously. “You’re the only girl I’ve brought up here. For real.”
I smile. “I’m honored. For real.”
“I mean, look at this place. It’s like my most embarrassing secrets exposed.” He kicks at the Pokémon cards. “But I’m never embarrassed with you. You make me feel like I can always be myself.”
“For the record, your tree house is cool. I need to lobby for one in my backyard so I can spend the whole day in it to escape my family.”
“I only come up here at night.”
“Because of the bees?”
“Yeah.” He picks at my jean threads again. “Too dangerous in the daylight.”
“You’re like a vampire.” I eye the game boards. “So do you play chess against yourself while you’re here?”
“Nah, those are left over from when Matteo and I would face off.”
“Your brother.”
“Yeah.” He raises his eyebrows. “Do you play chess?”
“Is my dad my dad? Of course I do.”
“Wanna play now?”
I smile huge. I smile like Nico. “I totally do.”
He leans over, gives me a quick peck on my cheek, and stands up. His leaving throws the beanbag off-kilter, and I have to realign myself to be able to stand up, too. Nico grabs a blanket from the corner and shakes it out before spreading it across the floor. I sit down, crossing my legs like a pretzel twist, and help him set up the board.
“Last piece,” Nico says, holding up his queen. He kisses her. “Let’s do this,” he tells her.
I shake my head. “Wow.”
“Hey. This is my tree house, which gives me free rein to dork out.”
“Well done.”
He rubs his hands together. “Get ready to get your ass kicked, Juniper Jade.”
“You wish.”
Nico opens the game by moving his queen’s pawn.
“My dad has a timer.” I mimic Nico’s first move. “Thirty seconds per turn.”
“That’s some very serious Bobby Fischer–style game play.”
“Isn’t it, though?”
Nico maneuvers one of his pawns. “Is he exhausting? Your dad?”
“Sometimes. But not always.”
Nico nods. “Yeah. I get it.”
“Is yours?” I move again.
“I’m not sure. I don’t see him much. Don’t know him that well.” He shifts his gaze from the board to me. “I was only three when my parents split up and my dad moved away. I feel like I have to get to know him again every summer.”
“That must be weird.”
“It’s not ideal.” He shrugs. “What makes your dad exhausting?”
“His inability to see his privilege.” I sigh. “And I don’t just mean about vaccinations. It’s everything. Even the littlest things.”
Nico leans forward to study the board. “Like what?”
I think for a minute. “Organic food, for instance.”
“Not a bad thing.”
“No. But my dad doesn’t acknowledge that it takes money to eat and live organically. I’m sure there are plenty of people who’d love to make it a priority, but they literally can’t afford to. My dad insists there are small things anyone can do, but buying the shampoo and the makeup and the mattresses and the food is more expensive. Even buying organic chicken for your whole family costs twice as much as nonorganic. It adds up.”
“You’ve really thought about this.”
“I have. And I’ve pointed it out, but…”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
Nico moves another pawn. “So organic chicken and chess. Your house sounds like a real party.”
“Oh yeah. My parents really know how to do it up. Remember the Halloween toothbrushes?”
“How could I forget?”
“And there are also concerts in the park in the summer.”
“The park isn’t so bad.” He leans back on his hands. “I’ve always wanted to be one of those old guys who plays dominoes on the tabletops there, laughing and messing around with my other retired friends all day. How great would that be?”
“Living the dream.”
“You know it. Me and my EpiPen and my box of dominoes. And a best friend who gets to our table before me.” He laughs. “Some guy who wears a porkpie hat and loves Fellini films.”
“You might’ve been born in the wrong generation.”
“Possibly.”
I study Nico and the faint smile on his lips as his hair flops over his eyes. “I’m glad you were born when you were.” I want to push his hair back into place. I want to touch him. “So you can be sixteen right now.” And adorable. I can’t stop looking at him. I can’t stop thinking about him. Even when he’s right here in front of me.
“I’m glad, too.”
“Are you sick of playing chess yet?” I ask.
He looks at me and smiles. “Maybe. Why? Did you have something else in mind?”
“Yes.”
“Like what? Using my binoculars to spy on my neighbors?”
“Depends. Would you rather spy on your neighbors or kiss me?”
“No contest.” Nico lifts up on his hands and leans across the chessboard. Hovers. Waiting. I push up on my own hands and meet him halfway. The stars sparkle through the window behind him. Some of the chess pieces roll away when I bump the board with my knee. “I’m probably never going to find my rooks again,” he says as his mouth hovers above mine.
“I’ll help you find them. Your bishops, too.”
“Doesn’t even matter. You’re the best thing in my tree house anyway.”
“Please kiss me.”
And he finally does. I sigh happily and feel his lips shift into a smile.
THIRTY-THREE
I tell my mom and dad I’m going to skate by the beach but meet Laurel in front of the urgent care clinic to talk
to Dr. Villapando instead. After being called back and having my vitals checked in the hallway, I wait in one of the now familiar exam rooms of the clinic. The paper cover of the exam table crinkles underneath my jeans and nervous sweat collects beneath my ponytail. I thrum my fingers against my knees and try to distract myself by studying an IS IT A COLD OR THE FLU? poster on the wall across from me. It’s been years since I’ve had it, but influenza is miserable. I decide to include a flu shot in my list of requests. That doesn’t seem exorbitant. I’ve even seen places giving them out for free. Businesses and schools and pharmacies in town.
My attorney is the perfect picture of calm. The opposite of me. Or my mom, who anxiously twisted the strap of her purse in her hands when she was here. I decide to let Laurel’s calm make me calm. To give me hope we can really do this.
Finally, Dr. Villapando swings the door open. He instantly scowls when he sees me but collects himself quickly.
“Well, hello, Juniper,” he says.
I give a little wave at the side of my hip. “Hi, Dr. Villapando.”
He studies me, looking for rashes and other uncontrolled contagious things that could require alerting the CDC. “What brings you in today?”
“You told me to get an attorney, so I did.” I motion to Laurel. “This is my attorney. We’re here to get my shots.”
He shakes his head, smiling. “You certainly are determined.”
“Yes, I am.”
Laurel holds out her arm to shake Dr. Villapando’s hand. “I’m Laurel Ward.” I appreciate how easy it is to take her seriously. I’m sure the business suit without flip-flops helps. But does her foot hurt? Meanwhile, I rode up on my skateboard, wearing jeans like any other day.
Dr. Villapando looks at me. “Is Laurel your legal guardian?”
“She’s not.”
“I don’t want to vaccinate you without a legal guardian. If your parents aren’t here, saying this is okay, I’m at risk of a malpractice suit. And I can’t jeopardize the clinic or myself.”
“I’m not going to give up.”
He sits down in his chair with the wheels on it and slides closer to me. “I’m an advocate of vaccines. I’ve made that clear to you, and I appreciate your dedication to this cause.” He turns his focus to Laurel, then back to me. “There are some vaccines, like HPV, to which you can consent, but I honestly wouldn’t feel comfortable administering anything, even that, without your parents’ permission. While I hate to lend any credence to their fears about vaccines, you’re a patient who has never been vaccinated. And if you did have any sort of reaction to a vaccine, even something as mild and common as swelling at the injection site, your parents could make a case of negligence against me. I can’t risk that.”
A Shot at Normal Page 15
