Eleven and Holding

For my beautiful, gifted, and generous soul sister,

Robin LaFevers,

who has always carried the Chap Stick for us.

I
t was a steaming, hot summer day, and I was camped out in front of my former life, just watching and waiting to steal it back somehow. The sidewalk burned under me like a griddle, as it had for the thousand other Saturday mornings I'd spent sitting on this very spot—the corner of Broad and Alameda Streets in Constant, Colorado. You might think that a place named Constant would be famous for things always staying the same. You'd be dead wrong. The only thing constant about this place was how fast things could change.

I felt for the folded bus ticket in my back pocket, making sure it was still there.

And half hoped it wasn't.

I studied the handprints etched in the cement next
to me—Nana, Dad, Mom, and me. The family I used to have before everything got messed up. Before Nana died. Before Dad went to fight in Iraq. Before nearly everything that was good about my family changed.

I traced a finger around my kid palm print. Even when I was only five, my hands had been big. Six years later I'm the one opening all the jars in my house.

I sucked down the rest of my iced latte and elbowed my best friend. “Twee, go get me a refill. But just milk, whipped cream, and a shot of chocolate—no espresso.” I nudged my cup at her. “Don't tell
him
it's for me.”

Twee elbowed me back, harder. “You go,” she said, not looking up from the book cradled in her arms.

I set my cup down with a sigh and then studied the scab on my knee. Playing soccer on blacktop was never a good idea. Lifting an end of the scab, I peered underneath to see if it was ready to come off.

“Ew. Macy, leave that alone, will you?” Twee swiped long, dark bangs out of her eyes and glanced back toward the shop door. “Aren't you
ever
going to go in again? It's been—” She turned my wrist to look at my watch.

“A year, ten months, and twelve days,” I muttered.

Twee knew it was hard enough for me to look at Caffeine Nana's, let alone go inside. But even without
turning around, I could see every brick in the place—the giant front window I'd washed a million times, and the green stools at the counter that you could spin to nearly warp speed. It was completely the same as it had always been, but totally different.

Still, I sat out in front of it every Saturday. The dirty rat fink who bought the place always gave us free drinks. But I hoped to God he'd one day choke on a big, foamy wad of guilt.

Twee read my face, then shrugged. “All righty then.” She smacked my hand away from my scab again. “I'll be back. Hold my seat.” She jumped up and sprinted toward the café door.

I glanced down at the book she'd left. It was one of her five-pound volumes on Vietnam. She devoured them like some kind of junkie. Twee had been born in Vietnam and was adopted out. Her name was spelled T-U-I, but when she started school, everyone—even the teachers—were calling her “Too-ey” by mistake, so her folks changed it to Twee to make it easier. She'd lived in Constant since she was three months old, but I think part of her soul got left behind in Da Nang.

We called her adoptive parents Mr. and Mrs. Melting Pot, because they had seven kids, each adopted from a different country. And now Mrs. Pot was pregnant with twins, due any day.

Twins! Poor Twee. Babies were totally overrated. And I was an expert on the subject. I'd just spent my entire summer taking care of my baby brother, Jack, aka Drool Master J. Now that he'd started walking, he was pretty much a wrecking crew in a diaper.

It was my own fault. I never should have encouraged him to stand up.

Soon Twee would have
two
drool masters running loose in the house. Plus, she was the nicest kid in her family, so we already knew who was going to end up doing all the babysitting.

Around adults, Twee would politely say that she was “superexcited” about the babies, but I think it was the kind of excited we felt about me starting middle school next week.

As in not. At all. Since Twee was a year younger than me, she was only going into sixth grade, and I was headed off to Kit Carson Middle School. Not only did I have to change buildings, I would be in classes without my best friend. We swore we wouldn't let it change anything, and we'd spend all our outside time together. But I was used to seeing her all day, nearly every day. It just wouldn't be the same.

I'd begged Mom to let me repeat sixth grade, so Twee and I wouldn't be split up. It wouldn't be so bad. I'd had most all the teachers, could find my way
around blindfolded, and I knew to pack my lunch on Thursdays when the cafeteria served shepherd's pie. But Mom wouldn't go for it. She was always encouraging me to make new friends. She loved Twee like a second daughter, but she thought we both needed to “branch out.” We thought we were just fine the way we were. We, at least, were a constant.

Mom took me to Kit Carson for a visit last month—a crack at getting me “in the mood.” Stucco faced. One floor. Brand-new. And it smelled more like a hospital or a science lab than like kids. It would take years before that place would get broken in. And the trees outside were still runts held up by sticks. What kind of school had no shade? They'd torn the old middle school down when it was still perfectly good in my opinion. It had two stories, was made of red brick, and had giant columns out front.

It had heft. It had character. My nana had gone there, and so had my dad and aunt Liv. Now I was stuck going to the butt-ugliest school you ever saw.

But this battle was not over by any means. If they wouldn't hold me back a grade, I'd get
sent
back. All I had to do was push the right buttons. . . .

The ground under me vibrated, and I looked up from Twee's book. It sounded like one of those big sit-down lawn mowers was headed down Broad. I shaded
my eyes with my hand, and I tried to make it out. The sun blazed off its chrome, blinding me. It was too small for a car but too big for a motorcycle.

I stood up for a better look—just in time to get slammed from behind. “WHHAAA!” I landed hard on my hip. I swore with a word that would have cost me a week's allowance in the cuss jar at home.

Switch threw me a smile from the back of his skateboard. He shouted over the music blasting from his earbuds. “Hey— Sorry!”

“Learn to ride that thing!” I shouted back.

As if he needed to. Switch was the slickest skater around—almost a legend, even though he was only fourteen. I'd hated his guts since he'd thrown water balloons at a Veterans Day parade float—the one my dad was riding. As if he'd heard me, Switch turned again, skimming the narrow sidewalk ledge. He raised his lips in a kiss.

And not like a romantic one—more like “kiss my you-know-what.”

The rumbling machine roared up then, framing him in my view. It
was
a motorcycle, a humongous one, with a sidecar, and it was headed in Switch's direction. I saw the accident even before it happened. I tried to yell a warning.

Switch kick-flipped off the sidewalk, and his foot
caught the corner of his board. It shot out from under him like a torpedo. He rolled onto the street, straight into the motorcycle's path.

The bike veered sharply and cut up onto the sidewalk. Right toward Twee, who had just backed out of the café balancing two cups in her hands and a big muffin under her chin.

“LOOOOK OUT!”
I screamed.

Her head snapped around. She froze. The motorcycle crashed inches from her feet. The sidecar slammed smack into the front window.

The glass shattered and fell like an ice storm. We stood spellbound to the last tinkle.

The driver jumped off the motorbike. “Oh, GOD! Oh my GOD! Are you all
right
?” He tore off his helmet. Only he wasn't a he, he was a she. And she had two long gray braids.

Twee dropped both cups now, like she'd forgotten to before. She jumped back as the milky lava hit her flip-flops.

The café door flew open, and Chuck rushed out. “What happened? Is everyone okay?” He looked wild, and his sneakers slid and screeched on the glass. “Macy? Twee?” His face was tight with panic. He stared at the old woman next to Twee. “Ginger!” he exploded.

I gently pulled Twee away from all the glass and spillage. She was still in slow-mo.

The woman called Ginger tried to smooth the hair out of her face with fingers that shook. “Chuck, I'm so sorry!” She gestured toward the window and then pressed her fingers over her lips. “Look what I've done!” Then she looked at us. “Thank God none of these kids got hurt— I could have— Oh my God, I could have never forgiven myself.”

Chuck blew out a breath that could have inflated a small wading pool. He started to speak and then stopped and just looked at us.

I looked away.

“What the heck happened, Ginger? And
now
will you
finally
get rid of this thing?” He ripped the keys from the ignition. “You're not driving this home.”

She swiped them back just as quickly. “I'll be fine!”

“Hey— It's not her fault!” I pushed my way in between the two of them. “She had to swerve so she wouldn't hit that idiot!” I said, waving toward the street.

“What idiot?” Chuck asked, looking around.

Switch was nowhere to be found.

“He's gone,” I said, disgusted. “He rode off and he's
fine
.” I turned my back to Chuck and pulled
Twee over to one of the outdoor tables and sat her down. “Hey. You sure you're okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just . . . wow. That was intense.”

Customers from inside the café stepped out to check out the damage. “Watch the glass, everyone!” Chuck said. “Careful now! I'll go get a broom.” He put an arm across Ginger's shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Why don't you come in a second.”

“Don't fuss. I'm fine.” She stepped away from his arm. “Go get the broom, and I'll sweep up.”

“You need to sit down. I'll fix you some tea.” He picked up the cups Twee had dropped and stepped around the puddles. He came over and put his hand on Twee's shoulder. “And you're sure you're all right? Can I get you anything?”

She shook her head, still a little shell-shocked.

I glared at his hand on Twee's shoulder until he removed it.

“Refills, you two?” he asked.

“No thank you,” I said coldly.

“Well, if you change your mind—” He turned at the door. He was still white as a ghost. “Ginger, I mean it. Come take a load off, okay?”

“In a minute,” she said.

After he left I went and crouched over the mound of broken glass, sifting through the pieces. Careful
as I was, a bright bulb of blood popped out on my thumb. I sucked it up and kept looking.

Ginger's braids swung into my vision. “Honey, Chuck and I can clean this up.”

Twee came and squatted next to me. “Macy, what are you doing?”

When I didn't answer, Twee started talking to Ginger like I wasn't there. “Her grandma owned this place for, like, thirty years.”

“Thirty-seven,” I corrected, under my breath.

“Yeah, thirty-seven. And it used to be called just
Nana's
, but when Chuck bought it from their family—”

“Stole it,” I clarified, wondering if she was going to share my family's entire history or just the highlights.

Twee rolled her eyes and went on. “He renamed it
Caffeine Nana's.
” She stopped as Chuck came back out with a broom, a dustpan, and a big plastic trash can.

“Macy, please,” he said, seeing me bent over the glass. “I'll clean it up. I don't want you to cut yourself.”

I tucked my bloody thumb into my fist. “I'm not cleaning. I'm looking for something.”

He stared at me a moment, like he was going to say something, but then changed his mind. He steered Ginger's motorbike away from the window.

Twee tried to act like a major cold front hadn't just blown in. “So, anyway,” she said to the woman. “I'm Twee, and this is Macy.” She patted my hindquarters.

“Ginger,” she said. “Ginger Grady.” She reached across me and shook Twee's hand. Then she gave me a handkerchief for my thumb, which continued to bleed.

I finally found the piece I wanted and eased it out of the pile. I looked up at Ginger. “Can I keep your handkerchief until I get home? I could mail it back to you.”

“No need for that. It's yours. Careful now, though.”

Twee and Ginger watched in silence as I bundled up the glass and then slipped it into my backpack, safely between two books. I looked up at the sky, which was getting dark and ready for its summer afternoon downpour. I checked my watch. “We better go, Twee, or we're going to miss the matinee.” I felt my front pocket for my movie money. “S'nice meeting you, Ginger,” I said, mostly to be polite.

The wind kicked up, and what looked like a flock of white birds flew out of a bag sitting in the sidecar of Ginger's motorcycle.

“Uh-oh, your papers!” Twee hurried after the sheets that swirled down the sidewalk.

Ginger pounced on the remaining sheets in the
bag, calling out to Twee, “Don't worry about them! I have more.”

She turned to me and held out a hand. “It's been a pleasure to meet you, Macy. Perhaps I'll see you again sometime.” She paused and considered me a moment. “I hope so.”

I put out my nonbleeding hand, awkward like. I never had gotten the hang of shaking hands, especially with adults. But her grip was warm, like she was handing me something nice. I took a moment to study her. She had a good face, strong and open. I liked that she didn't try to cover all her wrinkles with a bunch of beige makeup. Her eyes were bright green, not brownish green like mine, and I got the feeling she didn't miss much.

Just then, I had a flash of her sitting alone, real sad. I shook off the prickling that ran between my shoulder blades. Dad used to say that meant someone had just walked over your grave. Only in this case, it didn't feel like my grave. It felt like someone else's. It creeped me out.