I keep tellin’ myself
That it’ll be ne.
You can’t make everybody happy
All of the time.
—THE AVETT BROTHERS,
“PARANOIA IN B-FLAT MAJOR”
MY PULSE IS POUNDING AGAINST MY TEMPLES AS I CLIMB out of bed. I’m in dire need of my own box of Altoids. My entire body is dragging from hours of alternating between crying and inadequate sleep.
I make a quick pot of coffee and sit down at the bar and drink it in silence, dreading the day that lies ahead of me. Kel eventually comes in, wearing his pajamas and Darth Vader house shoes. “Morning,” he says groggily as he grabs a cup out of the dish strainer. He walks over to the coffeepot and proceeds to pour coffee into the World’s Greatest Dad cup.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask him.
“Hey, you aren’t the only one who had a bad night.” Kel climbs onto a stool on the opposite side of the bar. “Fourth grade is rough. I had two hours of homework,” he says as he brings the cup to his mouth.
I take the coffee out of his hands and pour the contents into my own, then toss the mug into the trash can. I walk to the refrigerator, grab a juice, and place it in front of him.
Kel rolls his eyes and pokes through the hole at the top of the pouch, bringing it to his mouth. “Did you see they delivered the rest of our stuff yesterday? Mom’s van nally got here. We had to unpack the whole thing by ourselves, you know,” he says, obviously trying to guilt me.
“Go get dressed,” I say. “We’re leaving in half an hour.”
* * *
IT BEGINS TO snow again after I drop Kel off at school. I hope Will is right about it being gone soon. I hate the snow. I hate Michigan.
When I arrive at the school, I go straight to the administration of ce. Mrs. Alex is powering on her computer when she notices me and shakes her head.
“Let me guess, you want C lunch now?”
I should have brought her Kel’s coffee. “Actually, I need a list of third-period electives. I want to switch classes.”
She tucks her chin in and looks up at me through the top of her glasses. “Aren’t you in the Poetry elective with Mr. Cooper? That’s one of the more popular electives.”
“That’s the one,” I con rm. “I’d like to withdraw.”
“Well, you have until the end of the week before I submit your nal schedule,” she says as she grabs a sheet and hands it to me. “Which class do you prefer?”
I look over the short list of available electives.
Botany.
Russian Literature.
My options are limited.
“I’ll take Russian Literature for two hundred, Alex.”
She rolls her eyes and turns to enter the information into the computer. I guess she’s heard that one before. She hands me yet another new new schedule and a yellow form.
“Have Mr. Cooper sign this, and bring it back to me before third period, and you’ll be all set.”
“Great,” I mumble as I exit the of ce.
When I successfully navigate my way to Will’s classroom, I’m relieved to nd the door locked and the lights turned out. Seeing him again was not on my to-do list for the day, so I decide to take matters into my own hands. I reach into my backpack and retrieve a pen, press the yellow form up against the door to the classroom, and begin to forge Will’s name.
“That’s not a good idea.”
I spin around and Will is standing behind me with a black satchel slung across his shoulder, keys in hand. My stomach ips when I look at him. He’s wearing khaki slacks and a black shirt tucked in at the waist. The color of his tie matches his green eyes perfectly, making them hard to look away from. He looks so—professional.
I step back as he moves past me and inserts his key into the door. He enters the room and ips the light switch on, then places his satchel on the desk. I’m still standing in the doorway when he motions for me to come in.
I smack the form faceup on his desk. “Well, you weren’t here yet, so I thought I’d spare you the trouble,” I say, defending my actions with a defensive tone.
Will picks up the form and grimaces. “Russian Lit? That’s what you chose?”
“It was either that or Botany,” I reply evenly.
Will pulls his chair out and sits. He grabs a pen and lays the paper
at, pressing the tip of the pen on the line. He hesitates, though, and
lays the pen down on the paper without signing his name.
“I thought a lot last night . . . about what you said yesterday,” he says. “It’s not fair of me to ask you to transfer just because it makes me uneasy. We live a hundred yards apart; our brothers are becoming best friends. If anything, this class will be good for us, help us gure out how to navigate when we’re around each other. We’re going to have to get used to this one way or another. Besides,” he says as he pulls a paper from his satchel and shoves it forward on the desk. “You’ll obviously breeze through.”
I look at the test I had completed the day before, and it’s marked with a 100.
“I don’t mind switching,” I say, even though I really do mind. “I understand where you’re coming from.”
“Thanks, but it can only get easier from here, right?”
I look up at him and nod. “Right,” I lie.
He’s completely wrong. Being around him every day is de nitely not going to make it easier. I could move back to Texas today, and I’d still feel too close to him. However, my conscience still can’t come up with a good enough argument to convince me to switch classes.
He crumples up my transfer form and chucks it toward the trash can. It misses by about two feet. I pick it up as I walk to the door and toss it in.
“I guess I’ll see you third period, Mr. Cooper.” I see him frown out of my peripheral vision as I exit.
I feel somewhat relieved. I hated how we had left things yesterday. Even though I would do whatever it took to rectify the awkward situation we’re in, he still somehow nds a way to put me at ease.
“What happened to you yesterday?” Eddie says as we enter second period. “Get lost again?”
“Yeah, sorry about that. Issues with admin.”
“You should have texted,” she teases in a sarcastic tone. “I was worried about you.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, dear.”
“ ‘Dear’? You tryin’ to steal my girl?” A guy I have yet to meet puts his arm around Eddie and kisses her on the cheek.
“Layken, this is Gavin,” she says. “Gavin, this is Layken, your competition.”
Gavin has blond hair almost identical to Eddie’s except in length. They could pass for brother and sister, although his eyes are chestnut while hers are blue. He is wearing a black hoodie and jeans, and when he moves his arm from Eddie’s shoulder to shake my hand, I notice a tattoo of a heart on his wrist . . . the same as Eddie’s.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says, extending his hand out to mine.
I eye him curiously, wondering what he could have possibly heard.
“Not really,” he admits, smiling. “I haven’t heard anything at all about you. That’s usually just what people say when they’re introduced.”
He turns toward Eddie and gives her another peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you next period, babe. I’ve got to get to class.”
I envy them.
Mr. Hanson enters the room and announces there’s a chapter test. I don’t object when he hands me a test, and we spend the rest of the class period in silence.
* * *
AS I FOLLOW Eddie through the crowd of students, my stomach is in knots. I’m already regretting not having switched to Russian Literature. How either of us thought this would help make things easier, I don’t know.
We arrive in Will’s class, and he’s holding the door open, greeting the students as they arrive.
“Mr. Cooper, you look a little better today. Need a mint?” Eddie says as she walks to her seat.
Javi walks in and glares at Will as he slides into his seat.
“All right, everyone,” Will says, shutting the door behind him. “Good efforts on the test yesterday. ‘Elements of Poetry’ is a pretty mundane section, so I know you’re all glad to have it out of the way. I think you’ll nd the performance section more interesting, which is what we’ll focus on the rest of this semester.
“Performance poetry resembles traditional poetry, but with an added element: the actual performance.”
“Performance?” Javi asks, disdained. “You mean like in that movie about the dead poets? Where they had to read crap in front of the whole class?”
“Not exactly,” Will says. “That’s just poetry.”
“He means slamming,” Gavin adds. “Like they do down at Club N9NE on Thursdays.”
“What’s slamming?” a girl inquires from the back of the room.
Gavin turns toward her. “It’s awesome! Eddie and I go sometimes. You have to see it to really get it,” he adds.
“That’s one form of it,” Will says. “Has anyone else ever been to a slam?”
A couple of other students raise their hands. I don’t.
“Mr. Cooper, show them. Do one of yours,” Gavin says.
I can see the hesitation in Will’s eyes. I know from experience he doesn’t like being put on the spot.
“I’ll tell you what. We’ll make a deal. If I do one of my pieces, everyone has to agree to go to at least one slam this semester at Club N9NE.”
No one objects. I’d like to object, but that would require raising my hand and speaking. So I don’t object.
“No objections? All right, then. I’ll do a short one I wrote. Remember, slam poetry is about the poetry and the performance.”
Will stands in the front of the room and faces the students. He shakes his arms out and stretches his neck left and right in an attempt to relax himself. When he clears his throat, it’s not the kind of throat clearing people do when they’re nervous; it’s the kind they do right before they yell.
Expectations, evaluations, internal evasions
Fly out of me like puddles of blood from a wound
A fetus from the womb of a corpse in a tomb
Withered and strewn like red sheets on the bed
Of an immaculate room.
I can’t breathe,
I can’t win,
From this indelible position I’m in
It controls the only piece of my unfortunate soul
Left to fend for itself in this hollowed-out hole
That I dug from within, like a prisoner in
An unlocked cell sitting in the deepest pits of hell
Unencumbered he’s not in his sweltering spot
He could open the door ’cause he don’t need
a damn key
But then again,
Why would he?
Circumlocution is his revolution.
The silence in the room is deafening. No one speaks, no one moves, no one claps. We are in awe. I am in awe. How does he expect me to transition if he keeps doing things like this?
“There you go,” he says matter-of-factly as he walks back to his seat. The rest of the class period is spent talking about slam poetry. I try hard to follow along as he goes into further explanation, but the entire time I’m simply focused on the fact that he hasn’t made eye contact with me. Not even once.
* * *
I CLAIM MY seat next to Eddie at lunch. I notice a guy who sits a couple of rows behind me in Will’s class walking toward us. He’s balancing two trays with his left arm and his backpack and a bag of chips in his right. He positions himself in the seat across from me and proceeds to combine the food onto one tray. When that task is complete, he pulls a two-liter of Coke out of his backpack and places it in front of him. He unscrews the lid and drinks directly from it. As he is chugging the soda, he looks at me then places it back down on the table, wiping his mouth.
“You gonna drink that chocolate milk, new girl?”
I nod. “That’s why I got it.”
“What about that roll? You gonna eat that roll?”
“Got the roll for a reason, too.”
He shrugs and reaches across to Gavin’s tray and takes his roll just as Gavin turns around and swipes at his hand, a moment too late.
“Dude, Nick! There’s no way you’re gaining ten pounds by Friday. Give it up,” Gavin says.
“Nine,” Nick corrects him with a mouthful of bread.
Eddie takes her roll and throws it across the table. Nick catches it midair and gives her a wink. “Your girl has faith in me,” Nick says to Gavin.
“He lifts weights.” Eddie is directing her comment to me. “He’s got to be nine pounds heavier by Friday to compete in his weight class, and it’s not looking good.”
With that, I grab my roll and toss it on Nick’s tray. He winks at me and dips it in a mound of butter.
I’m thankful to Eddie for accepting me into her group of friends so easily. Not that I had a choice; it was done pretty forcibly. In Texas, there were twenty-one people in my entire senior class. I had friends, but with such a limited pool to choose from, I never really considered any of them to be my best friend. I mostly hung out with my friend Kerris, but I haven’t even spoken to her since the move. From what I’ve seen of Eddie so far, she’s intriguing enough that I can’t help but hope we become closer.
“So, how long have you and Gavin been dating?” I ask her.
“Since sophomore year. I hit him with my car.” She looks at him and smiles. “It was love at rst swipe.”
“What about you?” she asks. “You got a boyfriend?”
I wish I could tell her about Will. I want to tell her about how when we met, I immediately felt something I had never felt about a guy before. I want to tell her about our rst date and how the entire night seemed like we had known each other for years. I want to tell her about his poetry, our kiss, everything. Most of all, though, I want to tell her about seeing him in the hallway, when we realized our fate was not our own to decide. But I know I can’t. I can’t tell anyone. So I don’t. I simply reply, “No.”
“Really? No boyfriend? Well, we can x that,” she says.
“No need. It’s not broken.”
Eddie laughs and turns to Gavin, discussing possible suitors for her new, lonely friend.
* * *
THE END OF the school week nally arrives and I have never felt more relieved to pull out of a parking lot in my entire life. Even though Will lives across the street from me, I feel less vulnerable when I’m inside my house than I do two feet from him in a classroom. He successfully achieved an entire week of absolutely no eye contact. Not saying I didn’t do my best to catch even a glimpse in my direction: I practically stared him down.
During the drive home, I make a detour to better formulate my plan to spend the entire weekend indoors. It’s called movies and junk food.
Mom is sitting at the bar in the kitchen when I walk through the front door. I can see by the stern look on her face that she isn’t particularly happy to see me. I walk into the kitchen and lay the movies and bags of junk food on the counter in front of her.
“I’m spending the weekend with Johnny Depp,” I say, attempting to appear oblivious to her demeanor.
She doesn’t smile. “I took Caulder home from school today,” she says. “He mentioned something very interesting.”
“Oh, yeah? You sound sick, Mom. Do you have a cold?” I try to sound nonchalant, but I can tell by the tone in her voice that what she’s really trying to say is, “I found out something from your little brother’s friend that I should have found out from you.”
“Anything you want to tell me?” she asks, staring daggers through me.
I sip from a bottle of water and take a seat at the bar. I had planned on talking to her about everything tonight, but it looks like it’s going to happen sooner rather than later.
“Mom. I was going to talk to you about it. I swear.”
“He’s a teacher at your school, Lake!” She starts coughing and grabs at a Kleenex, then gets up from the bar. After she regains her composure, she lowers her voice in an attempt to avoid attracting the attention of the nine-year-olds who are somewhere within our vicinity. “Don’t you think that’s something you should have mentioned before I allowed you out of the house with him?”
“I didn’t know! He didn’t know!” I say in an overly defensive tone.
She cocks her head to the side and rolls her eyes as though I’ve insulted her. “What are you doing, Lake? Don’t you realize he’s raising his little brother? This can ruin his—”
Both of our eyes dart to the front door when we hear Will’s car pull into his driveway. I quickly head to the front door in an attempt to block it so she’ll let me explain. She beats me to it so I follow her outside, pleading.
“Mom, please. Just let me explain everything. Please.”
She’s walking up Will’s driveway when he notices us bombarding him. He smiles when he rst notices my mother, but his smile fades when he sees I’m right behind her. He has surmised that this is not a friendly visit.
“Julia, please,” he says. “Can we go inside to talk about this?”
She doesn’t respond. She just marches toward his front door and lets herself in.
Will looks at me questioningly.
“Your brother mentioned you were a teacher. I haven’t had a chance to explain anything to her,” I say.
He sighs, and we reluctantly make our way inside.
It’s the rst time I’ve been inside his home since I found out about the death of his parents. Nothing has changed, yet at the same time everything has changed. That rst day when I sat at his bar, I assumed that everything in the house belonged to his parents, that Will’s situation was not unlike my own. Now, when I take in my surroundings, it sheds a different light on him. A light of responsibility. Maturity.
My mother is sitting stif y on the sofa. Will walks quietly across the room and sits on the edge of the couch across from her. He leans forward and clasps his hands in front of him, his elbows resting on his knees.
“I’ll explain everything.” He says this with a serious, respectful tone to his voice.
“I know you will,” she replies evenly.
“Basically, I made a lot of assumptions. I thought she was older. She seemed older. Once she told me she was eighteen, I guess I assumed she was in college. It’s only September; most students aren’t eighteen when they start their senior year.”
“Most of them. She’s only been eighteen for two weeks.”
“Yeah, I . . . I realize that now,” he says, shooting a look in my direction.
“She wasn’t attending school the rst week you guys moved in, so I guess I just assumed. Somehow the topic never came up while we were together.”
My mother starts to cough again. Will and I wait, but the coughing intensi es and she stands and takes a few deep breaths. I would think she’s having a panic attack if I didn’t already know she was coming down with something. Will goes to the kitchen and comes back with a glass of water. She takes a sip and turns toward the living-room window that faces the front yard. Caulder and Kel are outside now; I can hear them laughing. My mother walks to the front door and opens it.
“Kel, Caulder! Don’t lie in the street!” She closes the door and turns toward us. “Tell me, when did the topic come up?” she asks, looking at both of us now.
I can’t answer her. Somehow, in the presence of the two of them, I feel small. Two adults hashing it out in front of the children. That’s what this feels like.
“We didn’t nd out until she showed up for my class,” Will replies.
My mother looks at me, and her jaw gapes open. “You’re in his class?” She looks at Will and repeats what she said. “She’s in your class?”
God, it sounds really bad coming from her mouth.
She stands up and paces the length of the living room as both Will and I allow her time to process. “You’re telling me that both of you deny having any knowledge of this prior to the rst day of school?”
We both nod in agreement.
“Well, what the hell happens now?” she asks. She has both of her hands on her hips. Will and I are silent, hoping she can magically come up with the solution that we’ve both been searching for all week.
“Well,” Will replies. “Lake and I are doing our best to work through this a day at a time.”
She glares at him accusingly. “Lake? You call her Lake?”
Will looks down at the oor and clears his throat, unable to meet her stare.
My mother sighs and takes a seat next to Will on the sofa. “Both of you need to accept the severity of this situation. I know my daughter, and my daughter likes you, Will. A lot. If you share even a fraction of those feelings, you will do whatever you can to distance yourself from her. That includes ditching the nicknames. This will jeopardize your career and her reputation.” She stands up and walks to the front door, holding it open for me to follow her out. She isn’t allowing us the opportunity for any private time.
Kel and Caulder brush past us and run toward Caulder’s bedroom. Mom watches as they disappear down the hallway. “Kel and Caulder don’t need to be affected by this,” she says, bringing her attention back to Will. “I suggest we work something out now so that the contact between you and Lake can be minimized.”
“Absolutely. I completely agree,” he says.
“I work nights and sleep in the mornings. If you want to take them to school, Lake or I will pick them up after school. Where they go from there can be up to them. They seem to do pretty well going back and forth.”
“That sounds good. Thank you.”
“He’s a good kid, Will.”
“Really, Julia. It’s all ne with me. I haven’t seen Caulder this happy in a . . .” Will’s voice trails off, and he doesn’t nish his sentence.
“Julia?” he asks. “Will you be talking to the school about this? I mean, I completely understand if that’s what you need to do. I would just like to be prepared.”
She looks at him, then at me, and holds her stare when she speaks. “There’s nothing currently going on that I would need to inform them about, is there?”
“Not at all. I swear,” I quickly reply. I want Will to look at me so he can see the apology in my eyes, but he doesn’t. As soon as he shuts his front door behind us, I can’t hold my tongue any longer.
“Why would you do that?” I yell. “You didn’t even give me the opportunity to explain!” I dart across the street and don’t look back. I run into the house and into the solitude of my bedroom, where I will remain until she’s left for work.
* * *
“LAYKEN, DO WE have any packets of Kool-Aid?” Kel is standing in the entryway, covered in slush. It’s not the oddest thing he’s ever asked me for, so I don’t question him as I grab a package of grape out of the kitchen cabinet and take it to him.
“Not purple, we need red,” he says. I grab the purple package from his hands and return with a red one.
“Thanks!”
I close the door behind him and grab a towel and lay it down on the tile of the entryway. It’s not even nine in the morning and already Kel and Caulder have been outside in the snow for over two hours.
I take a seat at the bar and nish my cup of coffee, staring at the pile of junk food that I’m no longer excited about eating. My mother got home around seven thirty this morning and climbed into bed, where she’ll stay until around two o’clock. I’m still angry with her and don’t feel like confronting the situation at all today, so it looks like I have about ve more hours before I’ll lock myself in my bedroom again. I grab a movie off the bar and, despite my lack of appetite, a bag of chocolate. If there is any man who can take my mind off of Will, it’s de nitely Johnny Depp.
Halfway through my movie, Kel comes bounding in the house, still covered in snow and slush as he grabs my hand and starts to pull me outside.
“Kel, stop! I’m not going outside!” I snap.
“Please? Just for a minute. You have to see the snowman we made.”
“Fine. Let me get some shoes on at least.”
As soon as I pull the second boot on, Kel grabs my hand again and pulls me out the door. I continue to allow Kel to pull me along as I shield my eyes. It’s taking them a moment to adjust to the sun’s re ection on the snow.
“It’s right over here,” I hear Caulder saying, but not to me. I look up to see Caulder handling his brother in the same way that Kel is handling me. We are both led to the rear of the Jeep where they position us inches apart, directly in front of a casualty.
I now know the purpose behind the demand for red Kool-Aid. In front of us, lying at on the ground beneath the rear of my Jeep, is a dead snowman. His eyes are small pieces of twig, shaped into a grim expression. His arms are two thin branches lying at his side, one of them broken in half under my rear tire. His head and neck are sprinkled with a trail of red Kool-Aid that leads to a pool of bright-red snow about a foot down from the snowman.
“He was in a terrible accident,” Kel says seriously before he and Caulder break out into a t of giggles.
Will and I look at one another, and for the rst time in a week, he smiles at me. “Wow, I need my camera,” he says.
“I’ll grab mine,” I say. I smile back at him and head inside. So this is what it’s going to be like from now on? Conversing under false pretenses in front of our brothers? Avoiding each other in public? I hate the transition.
When I return with the camera, the boys are still admiring the murder scene, so I snap a couple of pictures.
“Kel, let’s kill a snowman with Will’s car now,” Caulder says before they dart across the street.
The tension is thick as Will and I stare excessively at the snowman in front of us, not knowing what else to look at. He eventually glances toward his house at our brothers.
“They’re lucky to have each other you know,” he says quietly.
I analyze this sentence and wonder if it has a deeper meaning, or if he was just making an observation.
“Yeah, they are,” I agree.
We both stand there watching them gather more snow. Will takes a deep breath and stretches his arms out above his head. “Well, I better get back inside,” he says. He turns away.
“Will, wait.” He swings back around and puts his hands in his pockets, but doesn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry about yesterday. About my mom,” I say as I stare at the ground between us. I can’t look him in the eye for two reasons. One— the snow is still blinding me. Two—it hurts when I look at him.
“It’s ne, Layken.”
And we’re back to the of cial rst name.
He stares at the ground where the “blood” has tinted the snow, and he kicks at it with his shoe. “She’s just doing her job as a mom, you know.” He pauses and lowers his voice even more. “Don’t be so mad at her. You’re lucky to have her.”
He spins and walks back to his house. Guilt overcomes me as I think of what it’s like for them to just have each other, and here I sit complaining about the only parent left among the four of us. I feel ashamed for bringing it up. I feel more ashamed of having been mad at my mother for what she did. It was my fault for not talking to her about it sooner. Will is right, as usual. I am lucky to have her.
* * *
THE SHOWER IN my mother’s bedroom is running after lunch, so I heat up some leftovers and make her a glass of tea. I place them at her usual seat at the bar and wait for her. When she nally emerges from the hallway and sees the food, she gives me a slight smile and takes her seat.
“Is this a peace offering or did you poison my food?” she asks as she unfolds a napkin into her lap.
“I guess you’ll have to eat it rst to nd out.”
She eyes me cautiously and takes a bite of her food. She chews for a minute and takes another bite after she fails to keel over.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I should have talked to you about it sooner. I was just really upset.”
She looks at me with pity in her eyes, so I turn away from her and busy my hands with the dishes.
“Lake, I know how much you like him, I do. I like him, too. But like I said yesterday, this can’t happen. You have to promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”
“I swear, Mom. He’s made it clear he wants nothing to do with me, so you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“I hope not,” she says as she continues to eat.
I nish up the dishes and return to the living room to continue my affair with Johnny.