Just then, I see Reeve and Rennie come out of the theater. He’s walking behind her with his arms slung around her neck, and she’s laughing. “Reevie, I told you that movie was gonna suck! You owe me another movie.”
He shakes his finger in her face. “Nuh-uh. You still owed me for that cheering movie you made me watch this summer.”
“Then we’re even,” she says. She turns her head and kisses him on the cheek.
I stand there stock-still as they make their way down the street to Reeve’s truck. He opens her door first; then he goes around the other side to unlock his. Like a gentleman. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Is Reeve two-timing Lillia the same way he did me?
I feel the anger, the jealousy rise up in me. Instead of being scared, I decide to try and focus it. I’ve spent too long trying to ignore what’s inside me. To dismiss it. If there is something going on with me, if there’s any truth to what Aunt Bette is saying, I need to know.
I stare at the lock on Reeve’s door. I stare hard and imagine myself pressing it down.
Reeve struggles turning his key. He can’t get the door open. “Ren,” he calls through the window. “I think the lock is frozen.”
Rennie slides across the cab into the driver’s seat and tries to open it from the inside. “I can’t get it!” she whines.
Reeve tries his key again. This time I feel the force of it fighting against me. My chest is burning. It’s like arm wrestling. I’m losing. I feel myself losing. And then, suddenly, the lock pops up.
I fall against the wall exhausted.
Aunt Bette was right. I don’t know what I’m capable of. At least not yet.
* * *
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
* * *
KAT
I GO TO MS. CHIRAZO’S office first thing on Monday morning. Well, first thing after hitting up the computer lab. I’ve got a stack of warm white pages in my hand.
“Hey,” I say, closing her door behind me.
She looks up, startled, holding the cord to an electric teakettle that plugs into her wall. “Katherine? Is everything okay?” She motions to an empty chair.
I perch my butt on the armrest and drop the papers on her desk. “I did a draft of a new essay. Sorry. I didn’t have a stapler or anything.” I spot one on her filing cabinet and use it.
Ms. Chirazo brightens. “Is this about . . .”
I nod. “But I don’t want to go over it in group.”
It was hard enough to write it alone in my room. The entire time, I was crying and feeling so completely panicked by the idea of anyone, especially Alex, reading it that it made me dry heave.
The thing is, my mom actually got into Oberlin. Only she could never go, because she couldn’t afford the tuition. If I get to go there, it’s like I’m making both of our dreams come true. In some ways it felt cheap to put it in those sappy terms, but it is true. And at the end of the day, I want off this island and into Oberlin with a big fat scholarship, so I’ll jump through whatever hoops Ms. Chirazo tells me to. And I’ve convinced myself that it’s not like I’m selling out my dead mom to get there. She’d want me to do whatever it took.
“It might be a little all over the place,” I say. “And I’m still not sure I’m going to use it. But . . . I’d be interested in what you think before I send it off this week.”
She nods. “Of course. I’ll try to have it read by the end of the day.”
“Don’t rush or whatever. It’s fine.” But I’m pleased. I stand up. “Thanks, Ms. Chirazo.”
* * *
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
* * *
MARY
THE CHORAL PRACTICE ROOM IS a windowless room directly behind our auditorium. The walls are bright white and completely soundproof, and the door makes a funny suction sound when it closes. As we file in, it’s so bright it’s like artificial sunshine.
Mr. Mayurnik, the high school choral director, sits behind his upright piano. As the students walk through the door, he plays some jazzy, foot-stomping tune, pounding on the keys so hard the air feels like it’s vibrating.
“Welcome back, turkeys!” he calls out as we take our seats. “You survived the slaughter!”
He means it as a joke, but that’s exactly how Thanksgiving felt. One hundred percent.
It seems like everyone has been dragging their feet today, our first day back at school after Thanksgiving break. I know I’ve been. But for me it’s not shaking off that happy, overstuffed feeling of too much food and too much sleep. The truth is that I feel empty. Drained. I guess that’s why my book bag feels extra heavy on my back, even though I’m carrying the same textbooks as always.
I spent the rest of the holiday weekend practicing. Seeing what I could do. Can I roll that pencil off that desk? Yes, barely. Can I make the wind blow? No. How about the curtains in my bedroom? Can I make them flutter without touching them?
Sometimes.
It feels crazy to be doing this sort of thing, and then to also be here now, back at school, like everyone else.
I am so not everyone else.
A thick packet of photocopied songs has been placed on every other chair. They have green paper covers with holiday clip art on them—holly leaves, a snowman, presents wrapped with bows, candy canes. Pretty much all my favorite things. I think about seeing if I can’t discreetly ruffle the pages or something, but I fight the urge. I have to be careful with this secret. Nobody can know. Not even Kat and Lillia.
Especially not Kat and Lillia.
What would they say if I told them? Would they still want to be my friends? If that’s how it’s going to be, I’ll keep it a secret forever. My friendship with Kat and Lillia is the only thing going right in my life these days. But I will tell them what I saw. Reeve and Rennie together.
I take a seat where I normally do, in the last row. Alex Lind comes in a few seconds before the bell rings and sits in the front. When the semester first started and I realized that Alex was taking this class too, I thought about dropping, to be on the safe side. But I don’t think he knows who I am, beyond a girl he sees hanging around Kat or chatting with Lillia every once in a while. He’s never spoken to me.
After the bell Mr. Mayurnik stands up and speaks to us over his piano. He’s tall and broad-shouldered with a shiny bald head and a silver walrus mustache. His ties are always musically themed—piano keys, violin strings, clef notes.
He says, “Okay, ladies and gentleman. From this day forward, you are no longer turkeys. You’re little elves now. Not Christmas elves, mind you, because this is a court-ordered nondenominational, secular celebration.” He sighs deeply. “We should have been rehearsing these songs for weeks already, but the town elders wanted to approve the song booklet, and you know how fast things move in politics.” Mr. Mayurnik bangs out a slow scale to show what he means. Do. Re. Mi.
I have to share a booklet with the girl sitting next to me. I lean over her shoulder as she flips through the pages. My favorite classics, like “The Little Drummer Boy” and “Joy to the World,” are nowhere to be found. Instead, it’s mostly “Winter Wonderland,” “Frosty the Snowman.” Generic holiday songs. Which is fine. I like those kind, too.
“As always, our class will be singing on Main Street during the Jar Island holiday tree lighting next Tuesday, which means we have a week to get these numbers in tip-top shape. So let’s dive right in!”
He tinkles a few keys and we begin our standard warm-ups. It feels good to use my throat, to hear my voice blend into everyone else’s.
Afterward Mr. Mayurnik says, “Great. Now that we’re good and warm, we need to figure out who will be singing our solos. Can all the sopranos come to the front of the room?”
I’m a soprano, so I stand up. As I squeeze through the rows, I get nervous. Instantly nervous. I do okay singing in the back of the class, but here, with everyone looking up at us, I feel my throat close up. My dad pops into my head, because he always says that I have a pretty voice. So pretty he makes me sing “Happy Bi
rthday” twice before he’ll blow out his candles. He doesn’t even care that the cake gets covered in melted wax.
But that memory doesn’t make me feel better. It makes me feel worse.
I take a spot around the piano and end up standing directly in front of Alex Lind.
Mr. Mayurnik starts playing “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” I forgot to take the booklet with me, but I know the words. I try my best to do a good job. Some of the other sopranos, I know they’ve been in chorus longer. And a few of them are in drama club. They’re already practicing songs for the spring musical. Hello, Dolly! I would love to be in the spring musical. I can’t compete with their voices, so I just try not to mess up.
For most of the song, I stare at the ceiling. But toward the end I look down at Alex. He has his eyes closed and a smile on his face, like we sound really good.
He’s nice. Alex Lind is genuinely nice. I know it.
When we finish, everyone in the room applauds. Alex even whistles. Mr. Mayurnik picks Jess Salzar to do the solo, and I’m okay with it. I’m actually kind of relieved. And anyway, she does have a pretty voice.
“Okay, boys. Let’s hear it.”
Alex and the other guys stand at the front of the room. There are only four of them. Mr. Mayurnik makes Jess stay up at the piano to sing the girl part, and when the boys sing, he listens closely.
I do too.
Alex has an amazing voice. He’s not like some of the musical-theater guys in the class, who you know are bound for Broadway. His voice isn’t big like that, but you can still pick his out from the lineup of guys. It’s just . . . sweet. Earnest. And it’s perfect for the song.
And I’m happy for Alex, genuinely happy for him, when Mr. Mayurnik picks him for the solo.
Alex looks shocked. “Me?”
Mr. Mayurnik bangs on his piano. “Yes, you! And a little birdie told me that you’re pretty good at playing the guitar, too. Can you read music?” Alex nods. “Great. Bring it with you to school tomorrow and we’ll get started on you playing along.”
“I don’t know . . . I’ve never played in front of an audience before.”
“You’ll make all the ladies in the crowd faint! Won’t he, girls?”
As if we’re all on cue, every girl in the class screams for Alex like he’s a pop star or a teen idol or something. Even me. Alex turns redder than a holly berry.
It’s a reminder that nice things do happen to good people, every so often.
* * *
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
* * *
LILLIA
I’VE NEVER STOOD ON A diving platform before. Reeve wanted me to try it, at least once before the test, but I couldn’t bring myself to. My knees are shaking. It’s so high up, and the water looks really deep. There’s a whole line of us on the blocks. People are crouched and poised in diving positions, everyone except me. I force myself to breathe. I don’t have to do a fancy swan dive into the water; all I have to do is jump.
If I can do this, I can do anything. That’s what I keep telling myself.
Coach Christy is giving the instructions that I know by heart—up and down the length of the pool twice, then two minutes of treading water. I fumble with my goggles. They feel so tight around my eyes. I hate wearing them, but Reeve kept saying I would feel more comfortable underwater if I could see, and he was right.
Coach Christy blows her whistle, and I squeeze my eyes shut. The other people jump first; I hear their splashes in the water. I count to three, and then I do it. I jump. I hit the water with a slap. I move my arms; I kick my legs. I try to remember everything Reeve said: Keep your head down, arms against your ears, kick kick kick. I hold my breath for as long as I can before I gasp to the surface; then I’m turning my face back down into the water again. I feel like I’m drowning, but I keep pulling myself through the water until my fingers hit the wall, and then I’m turning around and going the other way.
I don’t look over to the lanes on my left and right, because I’m afraid to break up my rhythm, but I’m pretty sure they’re already done. I can’t care about that, though—I have to focus on myself and not worry about what other people are doing.
You can do it. You can do it.
I feel exhausted by the second time I hit the wall, every muscle in my body is burning, but now I know it’s almost over, only one more length of the pool. I take my time now; there’s no rush, like Reeve said. Take it easy, one stroke at a time.
And then I’m there. My fingers touch the wall. I made it. I come up for air and cling to the side of the pool, breathing hard. I hear clapping, and I look up—there’s Reeve, standing by the bleachers, clapping and whistling. For me.
I can’t believe he came.
Everyone else is out of the pool, so Coach Christy comes over with her stopwatch to time me treading water. I keep my back straight and my knees bent and I do the eggbeater kick that Reeve taught me last week. I swallow some water, but I manage to keep my head up.
“Good job, Lil,” she says, beaming at me.
The stopwatch goes off, and I can’t believe it. I swim over to the pool ladder, and I climb up. My body is so sore, but I feel like a champion. I feel like I can do anything.
Running over to Reeve, I scream, “I did it!”
He’s grinning like crazy. “Yeah, you did!” I launch myself into his arms and he lifts me in the air. I feel deliriously, euphorically happy.
We’re laughing, but when he sets me back down, there’s this long awkward pause of us looking at each other. We both start talking at the same time.
“Thank you—”
“You were awesome—”
We laugh and I try again. “Thank you for everything. I couldn’t have done it without you, Reeve. The whole time, I kept reminding myself of everything you taught me.”
“Aw,” Reeve says, cocking his head to the side. “Look at that, swimming brought us together.” Quickly he adds, “As friends.”
Another awkward silence. “Yup, totally!” I say. “Thank you so much.”
Reeve hands me my towel from the bleacher bench. “Don’t mention it,” he says. “Are you gonna go to the library today?”
I shake my head. “No, I have to be somewhere.” I’m meeting Kat and Mary in the girls’ room at five.
“Ah, okay.” He sounds disappointed, which makes me feel warm inside. He reaches out and gives my wet ponytail a playful tug. “Good job, Cho.”
“Thanks, Coach.” Impulsively I give him a hug, so he knows I really mean it.
* * *
CHAPTER FORTY
* * *
MARY
I’M PERCHED UP ON THE bathroom radiator when Kat walks in.
“Hey, hey, girl,” Kat says. She tosses her backpack on the floor and plops down on it. “How was your Thanksgiving?”
“Umm . . . not great.” I pick some lint off my sweater. “My parents didn’t come.”
“Damn.”
“Yup,” I say, and let the P pop. “It pretty much sucked.”
The door suddenly bursts open and Lillia comes running in. “I did it!” she screams. “I passed my swimming test!”
I clap my hands and Kat whoops. “Way to go, Lil!”
She’s practically hopping up and down she’s so excited. “I was so nervous up there on the diving block, but then I did it—I jumped right in! I mean, it took me twice as long as everybody else, but I did it. And treading water was the easiest part, too.” She stands in front of the mirror and takes her wet hair out of the ponytail holder. “Reeve came to cheer me on. I was totally surprised.” She fishes around in her bag and pulls out an ivory-colored comb and starts combing her hair. “Actually . . . Reeve might have mentioned you the other day, Mary.”
I’m stunned. “Are you serious?” Wow. Just . . . wow.
Kat’s picking at the soles of her combat boots with a pen, and her head snaps up. “What did he say?” she asks skeptically.
The comb in Lillia’s hand stills. “It was right before the break.
He found out he can’t play football next year. His leg hasn’t healed fast enough.” I don’t take my eyes off her; I’m hanging on her every word. “He was crying; he was upset. And then he said that he deserved it. He said he had it coming. He said that a long time ago, he hurt a girl really badly and he’s never forgotten about it. He said it was almost a relief that he was finally paying for what he did.” She turns around and faces us. “He had to have been talking about Mary, right?”
He never forgot me? He really has been thinking about me. I feel tingly all over.
“You don’t know that he was talking about Mary,” Kat objects. “Did he say her name? Did he say what he did to her? What she did to herself?”
Lillia hesitates. “Well . . . no. I guess not. That’s why I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure.”
“He’s dicked over, like, ninety-nine percent of the girls in this school,” Kat says, her arms crossed. “He could have been talking about anyone.”
“Kat,” I say pleadingly, “let Lillia finish.” I mean, maybe Kat’s right. But I don’t want her to be.
Lillia’s shaking her head. “Guys, if you’d been there, if you’d seen the look on his face, you would have believed him too.” She turns to me. “Whoever he was talking about, he was sincere. There was genuine remorse. I honestly think he’s sorry.”
Kat jumps up off the floor. “Eff that! Even if he was talking about Mary, who cares if he’s sorry now? It’s too late. Sorry doesn’t count for shit. Also don’t forget, like, three weeks ago he had a chance to tell her how sorry he was to her face and instead he told her to go fuck herself! He wants to look good in front of you, Lil. He doesn’t care about Mary. He’s a liar!”
My eyes well up. Here I go again, falling into the same old trap, even though I know better.