What Happens Now Page 7

  “No regrets, and all that?” I asked, running my finger along the edge of the cardboard.

  “All that,” said Kendall, “and more.”

  On Saturday morning, Mom dragged Dani and me to Target, intent on being there the minute it opened. The previous night had been her night off and her opportunity to sleep when most other humans do, so now she had the energy for her favorite hobby: shopping.

  My mother loved to buy stuff, pure and simple. The things she put in our cart weren’t fancy. They were items that felt useful but weren’t really, if you thought about it for more than three seconds. Multipacks of shampoo and packages of thank-you cards, new sheets for the sofa bed even though we hadn’t had anyone stay over in years.

  As Mom decided between two portable car vacuums, I thought of the first time she and I went to the supermarket after we moved in with Richard. He’d given her some extra money and told her to pick up some “treats.” Things had been so lean for us since my father left, when she was barely making enough as a bank teller to cover the basics. “Treats” were not in the budget. But that day, she let me choose a package of cookies. I went right for the Chips Ahoy!, because that was what Cadence Lowery from my class always had in her lunch box, and Cadence Lowery was everything.

  Now, finally, Mom earned her own money, and it was pretty good money, too. I understood the mini-shopping sprees, I really did. She worked hard for the pleasure she got out of them. And Danielle? Let’s just say, she’d never known how a package of Chips Ahoy! could feel like Christmas. Which was great, and also not-so-great.

  As we passed the toy section, Dani asked, “Can I get a Littlest Pet Shop blue monkey? It’s new. Madison has one.”

  “God, no; those things are so ugly,” said Mom.

  “And you have a hundred of them,” I added.

  But Dani raced down the aisle before we could stop her. She had the thing in her hand so fast, I couldn’t help appreciate her talents in that area. “They have it! They have it!” she squealed.

  “We’re not buying any toys today,” said Mom. “We talked about this. Why don’t you do some chores at home, save up, and we’ll come back next time.”

  “Ugh!” grunted Danielle, then accented it with a foot stomp. “That is the totally boring way to do it!”

  Mom took a deep breath and turned to me. “Ari, I have to buy a gift for one of the nurses on maternity leave. I will meet you and this child in the baby department.”

  She made a frustrated waving gesture toward my sister as she walked away. I was the Finisher.

  I stepped up to Dani, took the monkey gently out of her hand, and placed it on the shelf. Then I grabbed that hand and led her out of the aisle.

  “Come on, kiddo,” I said softly. “Like Mom said. Save up, and you’ll get it next time.”

  Dani began to cry. “I know. But I really wanted it today.”

  “Anything worth having is worth waiting for.”

  “But I really wanted it today.”

  I knew how it would go. She would not be able to break out of this thought cycle. I could use a thousand rational arguments. I could hire a celebrity lawyer to explain it to her. Nothing would work. All I could do was get her out of there and stop talking about it.

  We found Mom in the baby department, holding up a pair of minuscule jeans.

  “What do you think?” she asked, as if nothing had happened and Dani did not still have tears pooled in her eyes. “Aren’t these the most ridiculously cute pants you’ve ever seen?”

  At home, when Mom and I were unloading the bags and Dani was in her room, I thought about all the stories from the last few days—Camden and Kendall and Max—and whether or not I wanted to share them with her.

  Even after going down, down, down to that place then scrambling up, up, up to the Possible. The strength I’d fought to gain ounce by ounce, then using that strength to gain more. All that, and it was still so hard to talk to my mother about anything. Easy, though, not to think about why, or try (even begin to try) to fix it.

  “Hey, Mom?” I asked, yanking the tag off a garlic press. “Can I sleep over at Kendall’s tonight? She said she can pick me up here and drop me at the store in the morning.”

  Mom put down the new over-the-door towel hook she was holding. “I don’t see why not,” she said, squinting out the window as if she were, in fact, attempting to see why not.

  “Thanks.”

  Tell her that you’re also going to a party. Tell her about Camden.

  I was about to do that, really I was, but then suddenly Mom said, “Are you sure you can trust your sister alone with me for the night?” She was peeling the price sticker off a toothbrush holder, not meeting my glance.

  I dropped the garlic press and looked at her. “What?”

  “I mean, clearly you’re the only one who can handle Danielle.” Mom’s voice was cool and flat, almost robotic. It scared the crap out of me.

  “Mom . . .”

  “The last time you were out, she didn’t even want me to read to her.” Still looking at the damn toothbrush holder.

  “Mom.”

  Then she did it. Glanced up. Saw me. Saw me. And the glossy topcoat of tears in my eyes. In an instant, hers welled up, too. One of those moments with someone where you know everything and also nothing at all.

  “I . . . I’m sorry. Arianna . . .” She shook her head and stood up, spun away from me. “Tell Kendall I said hello,” she choked out, then walked quickly down the hallway to the bathroom, toothbrush holder gripped in one fist, and closed the door.

  In an alternate timeline, I might have gone to her.

  In this one, I didn’t.

  7

  We called the GPS Lady in Kendall’s station wagon “Gwendolyn” because she sounded judgy and fake-British. When she took us some way that didn’t feel right, Kendall would often snap something like, “Where the hell are you taking us, bitch?”

  Tonight, though, we needed to trust Gwendolyn. The address from Eliza’s cardboard looked completely unfamiliar. It was possibly something made up. Who lives on Chokecherry Road? And what kind of person names a place Chokecherry Road?

  We drove in silence, no radio, for a while. That comfortable quiet again. The windows down and the air streaking past as if we were the ones staying in place. I ran my fingers along the embroidered red tree that stretched down the side of my brown long-sleeved shirt. With the shirt, my most-faded jeans, and a hopeful amount of eyeliner, I felt like myself but also a little bit not, which was a good night-out combo for me.

  “We’re going to a Dashwood party at some barn,” said Kendall finally, as if saying it out loud made it officially happening.

  “Remind me to take a photo of something at some point, so we have proof.”

  “I’m proud of you. A year ago, you never would have.”

  It was true. Sometimes you need a visible marker to remind yourself how far you’ve come.

  “So if it’s horrible,” I said, “we leave, right? Should we have a secret signal if one of us wants to bail?”

  “We say, ‘I need to grab my copy of George W. Bush’s autobiography from the car,’” proposed Kendall. “And then they’ll be glad to get rid of us.”

  Gwendolyn led us down several winding roads and eventually told us to turn onto a dirt path with no sign. Kendall flashed me a face like, Shit’s getting real. We passed a field of grazing horses. Then a small white outbuilding that had likely been a storage barn but now gleamed with skylights and sliding glass doors. A few hundred feet past that was an enormous barn.

  “It’s just red,” said Kendall as she slowed the car. “I thought it was lavender.”

  “Or turquoise.”

  “How terribly disappointing.”

  I laughed. “Should we turn around?”

  “Well,” said Kendall, “this does change everything, but I think we should forge on.”

  We heard voices and music now. Kendall parked the car on the edge of a gravel driveway behind a Prius covered wit
h bumper stickers. One said: Do not meddle in the affairs of Dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup!

  Kendall read it and asked, “Who the hell are these people?”

  “I’m nervous,” I said.

  “Don’t be,” she said, but then undid and redid her ponytail for no reason.

  “On three?” I suggested.

  Kendall counted, and together we opened our doors and climbed out of the car, walking toward the lights and the sounds.

  A covered porch stretched along one side of the Barn. On the porch steps, two pretty girls sat smoking. They wore gauzy sundresses and reminded me of fairies without wings.

  “Hi,” said one when she saw us.

  “Hi,” said Kendall. “This is Camden’s house, right?”

  “Welcome,” said the other, and for some reason this made me even more nervous. She waved us inside.

  We went. Forward motion, not thinking about the alternative. Through the door and into a space that was a little bit of everything and also a lot of everything.

  The floor, the walls, and the ceiling were all exposed wood, weathered yet shiny. A set of evenly spaced beams tracked up both sides of the cavernous room and met in a point at the top, making it look like the house had ribs. A spiral staircase led to a second floor, which took up about half the space as the first. There was a kitchen area with a huge island, a dining area with an outrageously long farmhouse table. Beyond that, a living room zone and a set of sliding doors, open to a patio with couches and an outdoor fireplace.

  The house was filled with unfamiliar faces. Some looked seventeen. Some looked twenty-seven. Some looked older and younger and in between. Out on the patio, I spotted Camden’s mom sitting with a few other adults.

  I wasn’t even sure where to start. Kendall looked just as baffled. What had we done?

  Then I heard a voice behind me.

  “Satina!”

  I turned to see someone in a pixie-cut brown wig, gray tank top, gray cargo pants, and a black armband on her left arm. It took me a few seconds to figure out who it was. And then I laughed, and it was a real laugh.

  “Satina!” I said back.

  When Eliza hugged me, I could smell the chemical scent of the wig. She wore fake silver eyelashes that felt like butterfly kisses against my cheek. The surprise of her being dressed like this, the way this recognition washed over me. I laughed again, then caught Kendall’s confused expression.

  “Reboot Satina meets Original Satina,” said Eliza. “This is why I was hoping you’d show up.”

  Eliza was dressed as Satina Galt from the short-lived revival of Silver Arrow that aired five years earlier. They’d made the character younger, brooding and rebellious. Everything about that version of the show had been darker and more gritty, a palette of tarnished metal, social commentary, and graphic violence. Most old-school Arrowheads hated it, including my mom, but I thought it was great and never dared tell her. I watched it online in my room, at night, wearing headphones.

  “This is my friend Kendall,” I finally said. Eliza offered her hand and they shook.

  Max walked up behind Eliza, and thanks to his silver wig and the whole yarn thing, I instantly knew which character from the Arrow universe he was supposed to be.

  “Bram,” I said. “Sir.”

  Max smiled, then slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses—Bramglasses—and half-bowed to me before moving on to another part of the party. Bram didn’t talk much. I was impressed with Max’s commitment to the character.

  I scanned the room again and noticed some other people wearing costumes, or parts of costumes. A girl with a bright orange wig and skintight silver dress who looked vaguely familiar—maybe something from one of Lukas’s video games? There were two other girls dressed in slutty Hogwarts uniforms, and a guy channeling Loki from Thor.

  “Is this a costume party?” asked Kendall.

  Eliza shrugged. “It didn’t start out that way, but then it sort of morphed into a cosplay meetup. Here, let me show you where the drinks are.” She said it in a way that prevented further questions.

  Where was Camden? I couldn’t wait to see him. I was terrified of seeing him.

  The kitchen island had been turned into a bar. There was wine and beer, and a pitcher filled with what looked like brown sludge. But there was also seltzer and lemonade and something labeled “homemade organic herbal iced tea with rosemary” that offered way more details than necessary.

  “Try this,” said Eliza, pouring a glass from the pitcher. “I made it with frozen bananas, peanut butter, and two kinds of chocolate liqueur.”

  She handed me the glass and I took the tiniest, it-doesn’t-count-as-drinking sip. It was possibly the worst thing I’d ever tasted.

  Then I looked up, my mouth still trying to twist around the drink. Standing in front of me, as if he’d been there the whole time but I was only seeing him now, was Captain Atticus Marr.

  Well. It was Camden.

  But he was dressed like Atticus Marr. The younger, brash rookie version from the reboot rather than the seasoned and contemplative Original Marr my mom had admired so much. (Or was superhot for. I finally got that a few years back.) Like Eliza, he wore a gray T-shirt and gray cargo pants, but his uniform included a silver collarless flight jacket. He’d even swept his hair, with the help of gel or something else that looked shellacked and impenetrable, into the exact right cowlick.

  It was a faithful, eerie re-creation. No question about that. Both incarnations of Atticus Marr made fangirls light-headed. I would have needed to step outside for some fresh air, if Atticus Marr were my thing.

  Except he wasn’t. Marr was sometimes arrogant and obvious. I liked the repressed, suffering, telepathic Dr. Azor Ray. I liked him more than a lot.

  “Ari!” said Atticus/Camden. He smiled like he was glad to see me. Like that could be a real thing. “Eliza said you might be coming.”

  “Hey,” I said, scanning the outfit. “Or do I need to call you Captain?”

  “I knew you’d appreciate it. You like? It’s a test run for the SuperCon later this summer. Oh, good, I see you have a drink already.” He turned to Kendall, who was looking at him in a way that I didn’t even want to interpret. “I’m Camden,” he said. “I’ve seen you before.”

  “Ditto,” said Kendall. “Your house is amazing.”

  “Thanks. I’ll give you a tour later, if you want. Not that there’s much else to see—it is a barn, after all. But I’m happy to show you the bedrooms.” There was an awkward pause. “Wow, that came out wrong. I so didn’t mean it like that.”

  Kendall laughed, then Camden did, too, when he saw he’d made it okay.

  “I want to talk to you guys, but I have to give my mom something.” He grabbed a glass and poured some wine into it. “I’ll be right back.”

  He moved away from us toward the outdoor patio, and Kendall leaned in close. “Do you think Ed Penniman bought this house for them? I wonder if he comes and visits, and where he sits.”

  “You didn’t see the Ed Penniman Chair over there? It’s got a plaque and a velvet pillow.”

  Kendall slapped my arm playfully. Then we were quiet again, watching Camden hand his mother the wineglass, bending down to say something in her ear, his arm protectively sweeping her shoulder.

  “That must be one of her pieces,” I said, directing Kendall to a large felt disk hanging on the wall, a swirl of colors like a sun from the next galaxy over.

  “It is,” said Eliza, reappearing and stepping between us. “I have a smaller version hanging in my room. She made it for my birthday because she knew I loved this one so much.” Her eyes misted up.

  It was a son’s girlfriend gift, and it was also really hard not to wonder what Camden and Eliza’s relationship was like now that Eliza was with Max. How long had they gone out? Was it a dumping or a mutual split? And why would Camden ever let her go because look at her, she was a freaking superstar even as Reboot Satina.

  “How long have you known Camden?” ask
ed Kendall, as if reading my mind.

  “Since he started at Dashwood two years ago.”

  “We’ve never met anyone from Dashwood,” said Kendall. “Isn’t that weird?”

  “I have a couple of friends at Fitzpatrick,” said Eliza, not answering the question. “What do you do there?”

  “What do you mean? We go to school.”

  “What are your interests? Activities?”

  “I’m on the newspaper staff,” offered Kendall.

  “Perfect. Then I know exactly who to introduce you to.” She grabbed Kendall’s elbow and guided her away. I started to follow them, but then caught sight of Camden moving back toward me. So I stayed, and turned to him, and tried to keep breathing.

  He looked down at my drink. “How is that?”

  “Um . . .”

  “I assumed as much.” He took it out of my hand and placed it on a nearby counter, and there was something simple and chivalrous about the gesture that made that floating thing happen to my kneecaps. “Your friend seems to be gone. Do you want the tour anyway?”

  I nodded, and he nodded back, then indicated that I should follow him. A simple tilt of his head, with his eyes on me. My God. Did he know that’s all it would take for me to go with him anywhere?

  He led me out of the kitchen area and through the living room zone, then up the spiral stairs, past some guy sitting on a single step playing the mandolin as if that weren’t completely random. The stairs were narrow and steep, which made me focus on putting one foot in front of the other. I gripped the railing hard.

  On the second level, there was a small landing with a couch and wood-burning stove. Three closed doors led off of it. A floor-to-ceiling window overlooked some hills to the west, where the sun had just set and the sky was an abstract quilt of reds and blues about to fade forever.

  Without a word, Camden slid one panel of the window open, then the other, and stepped up to it so the tips of his boots were practically on the ledge. There was no screen. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.