I DO NOT, IN FACT, remember to wear my spirit color on Monday.

It’s first day of Spirit Week, but I’m not in a peppy mood. It’s another reminder that homecoming is a few days away. I’ll be dateless, which shouldn’t be a big deal, but it feels like it.

The theme today is Class Colors. Juniors were encouraged to wear green, but my black Earth Club shirt with a minimally green recycling sign paired with my plain jeans did not impress Raegan, who sat down at lunch looking like a leprechaun threw up all over her.

“You could have made a bigger effort!” she huffed. “The winning class gets to exempt a final at the end of the year, you know.”

I did know. I just didn’t care.

I’m still slightly annoyed by my interaction with Jay on Friday. At lunch, Whitney didn’t seem fazed when he talked about winning four rounds of beer pong at the Winsor Lake party, nor when he reenacted how Breck projectile vomited in the back of Hudson King’s pickup. I gave up finishing my ham sandwich after that story, but I couldn’t quite shake missing the Jay I thought I knew freshman year.

Coach Vasquez pulls me aside after Wavettes practice. She tells me if I can’t bring my Algebra II grade up to a C, I’ll be suspended from performing at our next game. I should feel motivated to work harder, but a tiny part of me wouldn’t be disappointed if I were kicked off the team.

The thought takes me by surprise. Wasn’t this one of the things I desperately wanted? To bring me closer to Raegan and Whitney?

I tell her I’ll work harder, but my feelings toward the Wavettes do nothing to lift my craptastic mood.

As I’m walking across the parking lot to my car, I spot Alex. My heart flips dangerously. He’s lying in the bed of his pickup on his back with his eyes closed, his earbuds plugged in. What a weird place to hang out. Why is he still here?

I’m in no hurry to go home, so I wander over to him. My shadow falls over his face, indirectly gaining his attention. When he sees me standing there, he smiles.

“Sunbathing?” I ask as he pulls out his earbuds.

“Ha, no.” He sits up. Today he’s wearing an olive-green T-shirt over his typical black long-sleeve shirt. “I’m waiting for my little cousins. They have an extra hour of ESL after school.”

I glance across the street at Cedarville Elementary. “That’s nice of you. To wait for them, I mean.”

He shrugs, pushing a few untamed curls away from his face. “They like walking home, but my mom doesn’t like them crossing that busy intersection off Rosewood and Main.” He squints up at me, studying me for a second. “You okay?”

The question throws me off momentarily. I’m surprised that I’m so transparent, but then again, Alex has always been able to read my moods.

“Sorry,” he adds. “You just look, I don’t know… deflated?”

“Oh,” I say. Then, “Yeah, I don’t know.”

Alex is still staring at me, and I know he’s willing to listen. I don’t want to tell him about Coach Vasquez and my D in Algebra II, because then he’ll just ask why I don’t go to Ana’s tutoring sessions in the library. And I need to. Desperately. I also don’t want to tell him about things at home, either.

So I keep it vague. “I’m trying to get my life back, I guess. Coming back isn’t what I thought it’d be.”

Alex doesn’t respond right away. Instead he scoots over on the bed of his truck, making room for me. I sit down next to him. A breeze shifts, and I catch the familiar scent of his laundry detergent.

“I mean, I should be happy to be back on the team, right?” I hear myself saying. “I shouldn’t dread going to practice.”

“Ana quit Debate Club her sophomore year. She said it wasn’t as fun as it was freshman year. Things change, I guess.”

“It’s just—” I shake my head. I don’t know if he’ll understand. “I made a lot of mistakes when I went to Portland. I dumped Jay and stopped talking to all my friends. My grades dropped. I wasn’t involved in any activities, and I had, like, no family.” When I look at Alex, I’m relieved to see he’s not giving me a pitying look. “I want the life I had before all that happened. I know it won’t happen overnight, but I’m trying to get there.”

“Well, all your friends love you. And you’re practically over-involving yourself in school stuff. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

I glance down at my jazz flats. Untrue. Whitney is still tentative around me, even though she’s the one who went behind my back when she started dating Jay.

I blink. Where did that thought come from? I’d never let myself dwell on that fact too much, but I feel like I do have the right to be upset about it. We used to tell each other everything.

I push thoughts of Whitney aside. “It’s not only that. My dad and all the re—” I catch myself. No one knows about the recoverees living with us, and I don’t want to change that. I backtrack. “All the, uh… problems we’ve been through together.” I pick at my thumbnail. “It feels off.”

Alex looks across the parking lot. “I know. I mean, I don’t know how it is exactly, but I know with my dad gone it’s… different.”

I glance over at his profile. “Your dad’s not here?”

Alex’s mom and dad opened Rosita’s after they gained their citizenship here, before Alex or his sisters were born. From the way Alex talked growing up, Rosita’s was his parents’ pride and joy. They’re also the hardest working people I’ve ever met.

Alex doesn’t speak for a moment. Silent seconds tick by. I’m wracking my brain for a subject change when he says, “He’s been in Mexico trying to sell property—the original Rosita’s restaurant. We could really use the money, especially with Ana going off to college next year. But the whole selling thing is more complicated than we thought.”

“I’m sorry,” I say earnestly. “That sucks.”

He nods his head in agreement. “The hardest part is not knowing when he’ll be back. It’s… I don’t know. I guess I see so many kids here take their parents for granted. My friends are like, you’re so lucky you don’t have your dad breathing down your neck all the time! But I want him to come see the sets I build for the theater shows and be there for Ana’s academic awards and, I don’t know, be at dinner with us every night.” He glances down at his paint-stained Converse. “I wish I had that, you know?”

I lick my bottom lip. I do know. I know because I have that now with my dad—because he’s trying. I also have Nonnie’s pep talks. Saylor offering to teach me yoga. Peach’s kind gestures of making my lunch and driving me to the DMV and asking me about my day.

Why do I want them to leave? Because I magically expect my life to go back to normal when they do? Because if they leave, my relationship with my dad will be better? None of that is guaranteed.

My throat is tight. I have to swallow a few times so my voice doesn’t break. “I know,” I say, feeling like a gigantic hypocrite all over again.

We’re quiet for a moment, absorbing each other’s silence.

Finally Alex turns to me. “Is this what you want?”

I’m confused. “What do you mean?”

“The old life you’re trying to re-create,” he clarifies. “Are you sure it’s what you really want?”

I feel my lips part, but I can’t think of the right words to push out. I am trying to re-create my old life. And for what? Because everything will automatically be better? It wasn’t better before my dad left for Sober Living, so why am I so willing to believe my twelve-steps list will make me happy?

Alex’s phone alarm beeps. He shuts it off, then looks across the street. “I better go get them.”

Oh, right. His little cousins. I slide off the bed of his truck. “I should get home,” I say. We’re both well aware I haven’t answered his question.

I hear Alex’s engine start as I walk to my car. I slip into the driver’s seat, but I don’t start it right away. Once I see his truck disappear in the elementary school parking lot, I start the engine. But I can’t seem to shake Alex’s words from my mind the entire drive home.

Is this what I really want?