Chapter Seven
My alarm goes off at 8:00, sharp. As Laurel turns over in her bed, I yawn and stretch, pretending I’m waking up the same as she is.
“Mooooorning!” Laurel throws off her covers and hops out of bed. “I slept like the dead.”
The dead literally can’t sleep, but Laurel and her mom have said this so many times after sleepovers that I know it’s a figure of speech. “Good morning.”
She jogs in place. By the time I push myself up to a seated position, she’s resting one leg on the metal bed frame. She reaches for her pointed toes with both hands. “Coach Vicky said I’ve got to stay flexible so I’m not behind when I return to the gym.”
She switches legs, right as the shower turns on in the bathroom. The sound of water rushing through pipes duels with the ticking wall clock and the hum of the air conditioner.
Laurel steps away from her bed, then pulls one arm across her chest as far as it’ll stretch. “Do you need to shower?”
“I’ll take one tonight.”
“Me too, I think.” She bounces in place. Eyes sparkling, she claps her hands together and squeals. “It’s our first full day in Spain, Elle!”
Something jumps in my stomach, lodging in my throat. Of course Laurel’s excited. She doesn’t know about the team assignments yet.
I follow her across the room to our closets. She pulls out a dress with thin shoulder straps.
“Do you like this?”
I imagine what it’d feel like to wear it, how the straps might slip down my arms and my legs would stick together. “No.”
Brows scrunching, she puts it back.
“What are you going to wear today?” she asks.
“Not sure.” I peer into my closet. Most of my shirts are a single color. Technically, they’re made for boys, but I like them because they don’t have scratchy tags on their collars. “Maybe my blue shirt. With… my black shorts?”
Laurel pokes her head around the closet door. “You didn’t bring any skirts or dresses?”
I shake my head. I only own a few, and they hang in the deepest part of my closet, behind last year’s Purim costume.
“But don’t you want to dress up nice and all?”
I repeat her words in my head, but I still don’t understand. “Why? We see these people every day in school.”
“Not other kids. Xavi.” She turns back to the wardrobe and lifts a skirt and blouse combo, right as the shower shuts off. “Or Meritxell for you, I guess? I didn’t realize you liked girls like that.”
“Oh.” My face gets hot. I’d always thought it was no big deal, like all of Laurel’s boy crushes, but maybe I’m wrong.
“It’s cool, though.” She peeks around the closet door again. “You can always borrow something of mine—or maybe we can go shopping! Madison’s been to Barcelona before. She told me and Sophie there’s great shopping on La Rambla.”
My stomach knots up. I don’t even know if shopping will be possible if we’re on different teams. And when did Laurel start calling Sophie-Anne just Sophie? That’s a Madison thing.
“That’s the name of this huge street,” Laurel continues. “Madison says it has tons of performers, plus you can walk down it all the way from the center of the city to the beach.”
Laurel flits behind her closet door, and I take a breath, silently rehearsing how to tell her about the team assignments. Her pajama pants make an arc through the air, landing on her bed.
“Hey, Laur—”
The shower starts up again, cutting me off.
“So.” She raises her voice, and I swallow the rest of my sentence down. “What did you and Andy talk about? Yesterday, I mean. On the plane, after he and I…”
I pull my blue T-shirt over my head. “Changed seats?”
If Laurel feels bad about abandoning me, she doesn’t say anything. “Right.”
My thoughts circle back to Abba’s headphones that are now mine. Sheli and Bloom. Our story about the CEO. Kosher meals and a playlist of sleepover songs.
The panicky feeling of waking up next to Andy. Matching silver headphones.
“Elle?”
“Graphic novels.” I pull on my T-shirt and swipe at a pair of shorts. “He told Abba that he loves Fisher’s Final.”
“Huh. I never would’ve guessed Andy reads stuff like that.”
“Why not?”
“Well, he’s a super popular basketball player.”
I don’t see what that has to do with liking graphic novels.
“Did he say anything else? Like about Madison, maybe?”
“He said Madison was mad because he broke up with her.” The shower shuts off again, and I head back to my bed.
Laurel trails after me. “Well, sure. But did he say why?”
“No.” Maybe he would have, but… “I didn’t ask.”
Laurel frowns as I sit on my bed. “Oh. That’s too bad.”
My fingers curl over the edge of my mattress. I’m not sure why she suddenly seems so interested in Andy.
“Y’all awake?” Sophie-Anne’s voice startles us both.
“Yep. Just a sec.” Laurel darts forward and opens the bathroom door. “Morrrr-ning!”
“Morning.” Sophie-Anne peers into our room, her hair twisted up in a fluffy white towel. “Madison and I were about to do our makeup—”
“Just in case Xavi’s in the dining room again,” Madison hollers.
“Right.” Laurel grins. “Just in case. Coming, Elle?”
I rock forward on my bed, then back, thinking of Xavi’s sharp jaw, and the stubble under his chin. I shake my head.
“Okay, well, I’ll be done in a bit. Then we can go to breakfast.”
All three of their voices float back to me as they throw around words like Sephora, MAC, and e.l.f. Makeup sounds like a foreign language to me.
While I wait, I dig through my suitcase for my hairbrush. Next, my backpack for my dot diary. Now that Laurel’s not asking me about special clothes and Andy, I can’t help thinking about the team assignments.
I stare at my diary. Under its plain black cover, there are pages filled with schedules, my personal thoughts, and pictures. In the very back, I’ve left space for my categories. There are lists for foods (kosher dairy; kosher meat; pareve; trayf), colors (primary; secondary; tertiary), things that are contagious (grins; yawns), and so on.
Dr. Talia says my categories are a coping strategy, a way for me to feel in control. To me, they just make sense. Everything has a place in my dot diary. Nothing’s left out.
As I raise my brush to my head, laughter erupts from the bathroom.
“… maybe even invite him to figure out clues with us.”
My brush hits a snarl. I wince, then use my fingers to loosen the tangle.
“Ready, Elle?” Laurel reappears. Her lips are bright and glossy, cheeks a rosy pink.
She used to only wear this much makeup for gymnastics meets.
I slip my dot diary into my backpack, then follow her out the door.
As we head downstairs with Sophie-Anne and Madison, I remember one of the first categories I ever created, all the way back in third grade on the day I met Laurel: Time.
The list only has two items on it, but they’re both important.
- Before: When I didn’t know anyone on my first day at Lynnwood.
- After: Laurel got assigned to be my guide, then we became friends.
I’d always thought of “before” as the worst, because I’d just moved to Georgia and didn’t know anyone. “After” is when everything fell into place and Laurel became my best-and-only.
It’s the opposite now, because “before” means Laurel still thinks we’ll be on the same team.
Downstairs, kids gather in the hall, all studying the notice taped to the dining room door.
“Look!” Sophie-Anne squeals.
I press my arms hard against my sides.
Laurel lets Sophie-Anne pull her forward, and there’s nothing to do but follow. No matter what Dr. Talia says about coping strategies and control, Time is a category that makes me feel helpless.
Every step brings me closer to an “after” that’s going to be awful.