The Start of Me and You (10 page)

“I’ve noticed,” he said. “She ate, like, half my fries yesterday after eating all of her own. So, flower crowns and a huge dinner sound pretty perfect.”

“That’s the plan,” I said as we parted ways.

It was a disaster.

The text came Saturday morning, around the time I woke up.
Dinner’s off tonight. Can you tell the girls?

I called Tessa, not even bothering to text back.

“Hey.” Her voice fell completely flat.

“What happened?”

“Oh, you know. The same thing that always does. My parents left me a message some time overnight, saying they can’t leave China because their meeting with investors got pushed back. Or something. I don’t know.” She sighed. “They said we could still go downtown with Gram, but … I don’t feel like it anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. The phrase felt weak and watery, just two words trying to fill such a deep void.

“Yeah,” she said. “Me, too.”

“I’ll tell Morgan and Kayleigh.”

“Thanks. You wanna come over later? Just watch TV or something?”

“Of course. Five o’clock?”

“Okay. See you then.”

I struggled to visualize a plan B, something perfect and Tessa-ish. She deserved those five courses—especially after everything she’d been through with me in the past year.

A month after Aaron died, I had a breakdown at Alcott’s. I felt the panic attack coming on, invisible walls closing in around me, and I excused myself to the bathroom. Instead, I hid in the tree house in the children’s-book section, crying into my bent-up knees. It took only a few minutes before Tessa crawled in beside me, her inner compass mapping in five directions: north, south, east, west, Paige. She didn’t say a word or even try to comfort me. Of all Tessa’s qualities, that was maybe the one I admired the most: she knew how to sit inside my sadness with me. I wouldn’t have survived without her.

So yes, she deserved those five courses, plus every dessert on the menu.

And that’s when it snapped to my mind: a dessert buffet. We could set it up on Tessa’s back patio. Morgan made killer cupcakes, and Kayleigh could at least cover ice cream and brownies from a box. I’d go to the grocery store and buy all Tessa’s other favorites. It still didn’t feel like enough, but it was better than nothing. I texted the girls frantically as I raced downstairs, filling them in.

On it
, Morgan sent back.
I’ll make a cake.

Kayleigh chimed in, too.
Brownies: check. Will stop at Kemper’s for ice-cream pints
.

Perfect
, I replied.
And we’re totally still dressing up
.

Duh
, Morgan said.

I’m always dressed up
, Kayleigh added.

I found my mom editing an article at the kitchen table. “Can I borrow your car?”

“To go where?”

“The grocery store. Tessa’s parents are stuck in China, so dinner’s off. We’re trying to make her a dessert buffet.”

“Oh no. You’re kidding.” My mom liked Norah and Roger, but she could barely resist her own urge to mother Tessa. “Of course, take the car. And here.”

She pulled her wallet from her purse and handed me two twenties. “Drive safe. I mean it.”

Forty bucks bought me a bunch of Tessa’s favorites: a blackberry pie, four little crème brûlées from the bakery, two bottles of sparkling grape juice, and two bouquets of sunflowers—plus, sparklers from the clearance bin, which she’d prefer to candles. At home, my mom helped me rummage through the Christmas supplies in the basement until we found the strings of white lights.

Kayleigh, Morgan, and I sneaked around the back of Tessa’s house to the patio overlooking the pool. On the outdoor table, Morgan set up the cake—two-tier funfetti—on one of her mom’s cake plates. She unloaded other fancy
dishes she’d brought “for presentation” while I arranged the sunflowers in two vases my mom let me borrow. Kayleigh maneuvered the strings of lights around the patio railings.

When we were ready, I knocked on the back door until Gram McMahon let me in. I’d called her cell earlier to fill her in.

“You girls are gems,” her gram said. “She’s in quite a mood.”

I found Tessa in her room. She lay in a fetal position on the bed, blankly staring at the TV.

“Hey.” I lay down on the other side of the bed, facing her. “Happy birthday.”

“Yeah,” she said drily. “Super happy.”

“Your parents suck at being parents sometimes,” I said. “But don’t let them ruin your day.”

“Sometimes I think they didn’t even mean to have me,” she said, with a little snort of derision. “I know, I know. I’m being melodramatic. What seventeen-year-old pouts over their mommy and daddy? Maybe I’ll throw a huge party tonight, kegs and all. That’s what I’m supposed to do, right? Act out for attention?”

“Sure,” I said. “But first, I need you to put on your party dress.”

“Why?” She sounded exhausted and utterly unamused.

“We have plans. Good ones.”

My best friend narrowed her eyes at me. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know. It’s not even really for you. It’s for me.”

This made her smile a little. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Planning makes me feel happy. Look at how happy I am.” I gave her a creepy-big smile, eyes unblinking like a clown serial killer.

“God,” she said, laughing. “Fine. Anything to get you to stop making that face.”

She put on her pale-pink maxidress, and, in the kitchen downstairs, I presented her with a flower crown.

“Oh my God,” she said, placing it on her head. Her expression went thoughtful, reaching up to touch the synthetic petals. “Do you know why I loved these so much when we were little? They made me feel invincible. Like, what terrible thing could happen to you when you’re wearing a crown of flowers?”

We were not invincible. But I wanted to pretend—to remember that innocent freedom—if only for the night.

I led Tessa out the back door, where Morgan and Kayleigh stood by our dessert table, amid twinkle lights and speckled frosting and sparklers that crackled in the setting sun. “Happy birthday!” we yelled, and I swear I saw wetness in Tessa’s eyes as she leaned forward to blow out her Roman candles. We sat there in our flower crowns until the world went dark, until we were half-sick from sugar but
still laughing, laughing, laughing like the almost-invincible girls we were.

Happy 17th!
I’d written in Tessa’s card.
Thank goodness you were born. I don’t think I would have lasted without you.

Chapter Eight

“You’re sure Max’s mother is home?” my mom asked on Sunday, as I slid my bag onto my shoulder. I’d slept till noon at Tessa’s house, in a sugar coma, and I still felt too groggy to tolerate my mom’s inquisition.

“It’s Sunday,” I said. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

“Well, I don’t know.” She frowned. “A doctor … could work strange hours.”

“I mean, do you remember Max Watson from before he transferred schools? Gangly, dark hair, glasses … ?”

“Oh, right,” she said. Even if his mom wasn’t home, Max Watson took the prize for World’s Least Likely to Corrupt Your Daughter. “Okay. Find out how late this will go and text me so I know when to pick you up.”

She idled in the driveway as I made my way to the front door, waiting until I got in okay. I glared back at her, visually begging her to drive away.

Before I could knock, Max opened the door, his tall frame propping the screen open for me.

“Hey,” he said, as if he didn’t notice I was just awkwardly standing there, glowering at my mom. “I thought I heard a car. Come on in.”

“Thanks.” I stepped past him and into the house. I turned to see him waving at my mom, who waved back as she reversed down the driveway. Just when you think you can’t embarrass yourself in front of a guy who used to build model airplanes during inside recess.

Inside, light streamed into the foyer from tall windows, reflecting against a dozen silver frames on a wall by the stairs. I couldn’t make out the faces in the photos, but they were all of people holding one another close. The dining room, to the left, had a beautiful painting and a long table with upholstered chairs. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this comfortable sophistication. All I knew about Max’s family was that his mother was a pediatrician and his cousin was the love of my life.

“Ready?”

“Sure,” I said, snapping out of my tactless staring, and we stood there in the foyer for a moment as I glanced at his shirt—a black tee with some sort of spacecraft and the
word “FIREFLY” across the top. I followed him into the kitchen, where the smell of something warm and savory lingered. There were two pots on the stove with steam still rising from them.

He gestured toward the kitchen table, where a half-eaten plate of spaghetti sat. His laptop sat closed, next to a small orange box. “You can have a seat. Sorry to eat in front of you. I got home later than I thought I would.”

I glanced around as I sat down. “Where’s your mom?”

“Working.” Max took his place and picked up the waiting fork.

“You can cook?”

“It’s just spaghetti. Do you want some?”

“No thanks.” I gave a puzzled smile, more to myself than to him—dorky Max Watson, fixing Italian for one. The most I could do was heat up leftovers in the microwave, and even then I usually under- or overheated it on my first try.

“Oh my God,” I said, staring at the orange box on the table. I hadn’t noticed at first, but there they were. Do-Si-Dos, the most underappreciated and delicious Girl Scout cookie of them all. “How do you
have
these? It’s fall!”

Max eyed me suspiciously. “I stockpile them in the spring and freeze them.”

“No
way
,” I said. “These are my favorite cookies in the world.”

“Not possible,” he said bluntly. “I am the only person on planet Earth who likes these more than the mint ones.”

“No, I do, too,” I said. “You can verify that with Tessa.”

He eyed me, smiling a little. “I guess that means you’d like one?”

“Yes, please,” I managed to say—when really I was thinking about grabbing the whole box and making a run for it.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Raid my rations. I guess I owe you for jumping into QuizBowl.”

I grabbed the box. “I’ve tried so many other peanut-butter cookies. Why are these so much better than all the others?”

“Sorcery,” Max answered through a bite of spaghetti. “It’s a Girl Scout badge.”

The peanut-buttery goodness released as I bit down, and I sighed happily.
Savor it
, I reminded myself.

I chewed for a moment, and, high on cookie, blurted out, “Cool shirt, by the way.”

It hit me after the words left my mouth: I’d mocked a virtual stranger to his face. After he shared his precious cookies.

But he just looked up at me from his plate, smiling as he shook his head. “Shut up.”

I smiled, too, though half in relief. “What’s
Firefly
anyway?”

“Only the best sci-fi show of all time. It was canceled after one glorious season. A travesty. It’s my favorite show—and shirt—of all time.”

“Then why don’t you wear it to school?” I’d only noticed Max wearing collared shirts at school: pale-blue oxford or green with tiny gingham checks, rolled at the sleeves and untucked.

He didn’t meet my eyes. “I’m, uh … I guess I’m still used to the Coventry school uniform. I can’t quite bring myself to wear an old T-shirt to school. It’s nice that I can wear my Converse, though. I hated wearing dress shoes.”

We ate in silence for a minute before I asked, “So, how late do you think we’ll go? I need to let my mom know.”

“Malcolm and Lauren will be here at seven, so probably around eight. But I can take you home.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to.” That was the worst part of not having a car—being a burden to everyone.

“It’s really no problem. I said I’d drive you to QuizBowl stuff.”

True enough. “Okay. Thanks.”

I texted my mom, hoping she wouldn’t forbid me from driving in a car with a boy she didn’t know.

The garage door shuddered open, startling me. As I looked toward the sound, Max’s mom walked in, holding a briefcase. She almost looked more like Ryan—shorter, with dark-honey hair. But when she turned to face me, her green eyes and wide smile reminded me of Max.

“Oh, hi there!” she said. “I’m Julie.”

Up close, she looked too young to be a doctor. I’d imagined Max’s mom would be professorial and kind of solemn, like a foreign news correspondent—not the Disney Channel mom standing before me. “I’m Paige.”

“Also known as Janie.” This was from Max, who was smirking over his pasta. I almost kicked him under the table.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, ignoring Max. “I remember your parents from before Max transferred to Coventry. I was so excited to hear you’d joined QuizBowl!”

“Nice to meet you, too,” I said. She didn’t give me That Look—not even a hint of it. I wondered if she knew about Aaron. She stood behind Max, wrapping one arm around his neck and kissing the top of his head.

“Hey, baby,” she said to him. “Smells good in here.”

Max’s expression didn’t change, but I saw the hint of a blush on his cheeks. “There’s plenty left. Still warm.”