Seventeen
JUNIOR YEAR
“I’m thinking about quitting the squad,” Jadie blurts out of the blue as we’re walking to class.
I stop so fast that my shoes screech against the floor. “What? Why? Is it because of what happened at the diner the other night? Jadie, you can’t let a handful of drunk assholes ruin your life.”
“Is it really ruining my life if I’m not a cheerleader anymore, Macy? Think about it. Of every girl on the team, you were the only one who stood up for me. Meredith didn’t even bother to defend me, or Ben, for that matter, before she ran out. And the guys? I practice every day and get out there every Friday night and have wasted how many weekends erecting a damn monument on wheels in honor of those doofuses, and then I find out half of them don’t even think I’m worth treating like a real person. They laughed at me, right to my face, while someone made fun of me.”
“I know it was awful.” I put my hand on her arm like I’m trying to calm her, even though she seems perfectly collected. “But I think Ken was jealous because Meredith turned him down for homecoming, and then she was draped over Ben right in front of his face, and you got caught in the line of fire. None of them actually have a problem with you. They just don’t know how to think for themselves.”
She gathers her petite body into a ramrod-straight line. “If they don’t have a problem with me and they laughed anyway, then they can follow Ken right into a pit of venomous snakes. And unlike them, I do know how to think for myself, and we both know Meredith hates it.” She shrugs, letting her posture relax. “Maybe it’s time to fly solo.”
“But . . . but I’d miss you.”
Jadie rolls her eyes. “I’m not talking about kicking the bucket here, Macy.”
I try to smile. “Okay. But promise you won’t make any snap decisions. Give yourself time to think about it.”
She promises. But as she turns to leave, I have the awfulest feeling that I’m standing at the edge of an era’s end.
* * *
I’m still not used to hearing Ben’s voice coming from my brothers’ room. We decided to keep up the guitar lessons during Aaron’s recovery, since music is therapeutic not only for behavioral problems but for head injuries as well. His official diagnosis was a fractured skull and a concussion. His vision came back, but it’s been blurry. He gets dizzy when he stands. Not to mention that he’s crabby and irritable almost 100 percent of the time, especially since he can’t watch TV or play video games. But because his lessons are one of the few things he looks forward to, Ben walked over after school, and when he’s done teaching, I’m driving us to Meredith’s to work on the homecoming float.
“Hey,” my mother says. “You left practice early?”
I hold up my injured arm. “Still not a hundred percent. I got bored sitting out, so I thought Ben and I could get a head start on the float.”
My mother glances toward the second floor, where halting but recognizable notes of “Smoke on the Water” clunk through the air.
“Here,” Ben’s voice says. “Hold your hand a little more like this and put your finger here and—yeah, like that.”
“I’m trying,” Aaron replies. He sounds frustrated, but it’s a controlled frustrated. Like the angry pod alien who’s been inhabiting my brother’s body is finally losing its grip on him.
“Perfect. See how much easier that makes it?”
Mom’s eyes shine with pride. “Ben is so good with them. So patient. This is exactly what Aaron needed.”
I get myself a snack before heading upstairs to collect Ben. But when I see him on Aaron’s bed, sandwiched between the boys with a guitar across his chest, I sneak into my room to grab my camera and snap a quick picture.
“Sorry,” I say when the twins groan. “It was too cute to pass up.” I snap another before Aaron dives facedown into the comforter and Michael buries himself in a pillow. “Ready to go, Ben?”
He tells Aaron to call him if he has any questions, and then we pile into my car.
“So ‘Smoke on the Water,’ huh?” I say. “And here I thought you’d be teaching him ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.’ ”
“Nah. I could, I guess, but ‘Smoke’ is a really easy one to learn. He’s catching on pretty quickly.”
“He has a good teacher. In case my mom hasn’t told you a trillion times.”
Ben grins. “It makes me want to pick up lessons for myself again. I should, now that I can pay for it. I always wanted to start a band.”
“Maybe you should follow Joel’s advice and pursue your passion.”
“Um, that was my advice, actually.”
“Oh.” Now that I think about it, Ben was the one to bring it up. I forgot everything other than Joel saying the word “passion” as his eyes x-rayed my soul. Oops.
There’s an awkward beat of silence as Ben turns toward the window. It’s only a second, and then he turns back and motions toward my arm. “You healing up okay?”
“Getting there.” I rotate my wrist a little, dismissing the odd blip from a moment ago. “I think I might be back in the game by Friday.”
“Good. Uh, hopefully the after-party will be a little less eventful this time.”
“It better. I’m guessing that was Joel’s first and last Friday Night Eats.”
“Probably.”
When he doesn’t say anything more, I reach over to change the radio station. “What about you? Can you at least get the night off?”
“I thought about switching with someone, but what good is it to run away from an overgrown baby like Ken? Next time I’ll hand him a diaper and be done with it.”
I laugh. “Maybe I should supply the Butt Paste. I don’t think he appreciated me telling him off.”
“It was awesome, though. Those were some serious cojones, Macy. You should be proud of yourself.”
He gives me a look that is full of such genuine admiration that I do feel proud of myself.
We pull up to Meredith’s house, and Ben’s little brother is outside playing across the street. He runs to retrieve a baseball glove when he sees us, and waves it in the air as we get out of the car.
“Hey, Ben! Wanna play?”
“I will, buddy,” Ben calls back. “As soon as I’m finished helping Macy and Meredith with some stuff.”
“You’re ditching me for a girl,” the boy says, clearly agitated.
I wave my arm over my head. “Hi, Ethan!”
His expression stays stony. “My name is Edgar.”
“That’s what he likes to be called since our grandfather passed away,” Ben explains.
“It’s my middle name,” Ethan-Edgar cuts in. “But it was his first name. So now it’s my first name too.”
“I think it’s a great name.”
“Because it is.” He throws his glove down, announces he has to pee, and then jogs off toward the house.
“Sorry,” Ben says, scratching his head. “Thinking before he talks is not his best talent.”
“I have that times two at home. It’s okay if you want to go.”
“Nah.” Ben darts over to retrieve Ethan’s glove and throws it closer to the house. “Ten bucks says he’s already plugged into a video game and glomming down a bowl of cereal. Let’s go.”
I open the garage door with the remote Meredith gave me before I left practice, and we duck under as the door rolls parallel to the ceiling. I poke my head inside the house to let Mrs. Kopala know we’re here. Then Ben and I climb up onto the trailer, which is slowly but surely starting to take shape. The oversized stereo has been spray-painted and, thanks to Ben’s handiwork, is standing sturdy. Now we need to make oversized musical notes; cut out tile-sized squares of shimmery, colored paper that will serve as the nightclub dance floor; paint the Ravens logo on the stereo; douse everything in glitter . . . Yeah. There’s still a ton of work to be done.
“This came out nice,” Ben says, running a hand over the top of a cardboard speaker. “I wish it actually played music.”
I nod toward the far corner of the garage behind him, where Mr. Kopala’s workbench sits. “There’s a radio over there. Go ahead and turn it on.”
A few seconds later, the sound of music fills the room, and Ben hops back up onto the float. He takes the task of building a makeshift turntable for the top of the stereo, and I set to work on some of the crafty jobs. We sing along to the radio, even though neither of us is very good. What we lack in vocal skills we make up for in love for nineties music, and the ability to laugh at ourselves. Which we do a lot over the next few minutes—especially when Ben attempts to mimic one of Steven Tyler’s screeching high notes in an Aerosmith song and ends up sounding more like a cross between a hyena and a dying dog.
I’m laughing so hard, I’m practically crying, and I have to stop and catch my breath. “Okay. A word of advice? Maybe don’t do that at homecoming.”
“Don’t worry. I dance better than I sing.” His face screws up in thought, and his hands still. “I think. Crap. I hope.”
A series of slow, mellow notes replaces the drums and guitars of the Aerosmith song, and I set aside my stencils and scissors. “Do you want to practice a little? We have some time before everyone gets here.”
“Like, right here?” He indicates the float.
“Yeah. Why not?” I stand up, take his tools, and leave them on one of the speakers as I tug him to the center of the trailer. “You said you wanted help untying your tongue, right? Well, pretend I’m Meredith and this is our first slow dance at homecoming. The perfect opportunity to take things to the next level. What do you want to say?”
His eyes drop, and he fidgets. Amid the craziness of Aaron’s accident, I almost forgot that Ben was having second thoughts about asking Meredith to the dance.
“You’re still going to ask her, right?”
“I—yeah. I think so. I guess.” He rubs at his temples. “I don’t know.”
I have no idea what to say. But then a package of markers on top of an overturned crate catches my eye. “Hang on. I know what you need.”
“What are you doing?” Ben asks as I step close to him, uncapping a red marker.
“Returning a favor.”
I lift up on my toes and tug down the collar of his T-shirt, placing the tip of the marker on his newly revealed skin. The garage goes quiet as I sketch, with the exception of the music and the rhythm of Ben’s breathing. I step back when I finish, replacing the cap. Then I turn him toward the cracked mirror from Meredith’s old vanity, which hangs on the garage wall.
He laughs, the tension easing out of him, when he sees my shoddy artwork. “My very own Superman S, huh?”
“Not an S. Hope, remember? You look like you could use a little encouragement.”
“Fair enough.” He studies me, then reaches for the black marker. “You need something too.”
To my surprise, he presses the marker against the top of my sternum, the same spot where I still feel the phantom weight of my locket every time I forget that it’s gone. He draws one side of a heart, then the other. In the center, he connects them with a familiar, angular S shape.
“Since we never found your other one,” he says.
This time, I don’t hold back. I throw my arms around his neck and hug him. “Thanks, Ben,” I whisper into the linen scent of his shirt. He hugs me back, and it’s only when neither of us pulls away that I remember what we’re supposed to be doing. I reposition his hands at my waist. Then I drape my arms over his shoulders and start to sway to the music. “Ready? I’m Meredith.”
Ben groans. “This is way too much pressure.”
“Practice, not pressure.” I stand on my toes to make myself taller. “Hey, Benny. So I’m super-glad we’re here at homecoming together.” We look at each other and burst out laughing. Ben starts to turn away, but I pull him back. “No, for real this time.” I clear my throat and stand flat on my feet, and we start to sway again. “So I’m having a really nice time.”
“Me too. Thanks for coming with me. I was nervous about asking you.”
I put on my best Meredith-esque grin. “Nervous? Why? I like hanging out with you. And bonus that you’re funny and super-cute.”
Ben stops swaying. “You think so?” He looks confounded. It’s almost like he’s never heard the word “cute” used in reference to him before. Standing this close to him, I find that hard to believe. His skin is clear and soft-looking, and he has a ski-slope nose that’s sprinkled with a few faint freckles. There’s a perpetual mischievous curve to his lips, like everyone should be dying to know the things he’s seen with those wide-set eyes. He’s kind of . . . beautiful.
“Of course I do,” I say softly. “Hasn’t anyone told you that before?”
“No one who counts.”
I study him curiously. “Do I count?”
Ben’s gaze drops to the floor. “You count.”
“Good. Because you are cute, and you are funny. And you have really pretty eyes.”
“You have really pretty everything.”
I’m not sure when we stopped dancing. And I’m even less sure of what happens next. I can’t tell if it’s the uneven footing of the trailer bed, but I know there’s less space between us than there was two seconds before. I’m looking at Ben, and Ben is looking at me.
And then we’re diving to opposite ends of the float amid the approaching sound of Meredith and the rest of the squad.
I zip my sweatshirt over the heart on my chest and pick up my scissors, studiously avoiding everything except my oversized music note. Not that we’ve done anything wrong. So I can’t understand why my heart is beating like it’s trying to kick a hole in me.
I glance over my shoulder at Ben. He grins back at me, and a rush of relief calms my racing pulse. Good, I think. It didn’t get weird.
Because for the briefest second, I couldn’t tell if Ben meant that compliment for me as Meredith, or for me as me. For the tiniest instant, I almost thought we weren’t pretending anymore.