When Anji left, Jonathan dragged a chair in front of my bedroom door and folded his arms across his chest like some kind of scrawny bodyguard. Then he told me that I could take a nap while he watched a movie or listened to music on his phone.
“There’s no way I’m going to sleep with you staring at me. That’s too weird. It’s nice just having someone to hang out with. The best thing you can do is keep me awake. I’m exhausted.”
Jonathan suggested that, instead of hanging out in my room where my pillow was surely calling to me, we could hang out downstairs and find something to eat. It sounded like a good idea to me, and I knew we had a frozen pizza, so we made our way to the kitchen. Just as the oven timer went off, Dad wandered in. He looked excited to have someone other than Romy and me around the house (especially since my sister was almost always locked away in her room). I kept trying to pull Jonathan away, to drag him and our pizza back to my room to avoid a night spent yammering with my dad, but Jonathan didn’t seem to mind him being there.
“So Lucia tells me you’re an accountant?” Jonathan said, making it sound like my dad’s job was the most exciting career choice ever. He settled in at the counter, looking ready for a nice, long chat. “How is that?”
“How is that?” Dad repeated, scratching his slightly stubbly chin. “Not thrilling, I can tell you that much.” He chuckled. “But it’s not awful. My boss is the pits, and I’d give anything to have one day of my life where I don’t look at the computer, but it’s better than no job at all. How’s that for an answer?”
“Well said, Mr. Frank,” Jonathan said politely, with a nod.
I gave him a funny look. “What are you doing?” I whispered when my dad opened the fridge to get out some milk for us.
“Making conversation,” Jonathan said.
“About my dad’s job?” I asked, lifting my eyebrows.
“What else do I talk to him about?” he asked. “I’m not exactly a dad expert. The only thing my own dad ever talks to me about is sports—which I don’t play or watch—and his job, if he talks to me at all. If I’m not careful, I’ll get nervous and accidentally spill everything I know about you know what.” He wiggled his eyebrows and made himself look like a zombie. I guessed he was talking about my nighttime wanderings, but I’m not sure what zombies had to do with it.
My dad returned to the counter and poured two tall glasses of milk. He plunked them down in front of us. In a weird voice I’d never heard before, Jonathan asked, “So how about those fierce Giants, Mr. Frank?”
“Fierce giants?” my dad asked, looking at me as though I might be able to offer him an explanation. “Is that a book you’re reading? Or a TV show?”
I laughed out loud—it was impossible not to.
“Oh.” Jonathan’s cheeks flushed. “Are you more of a Jets guy?” That’s when my dad started laughing too. “What’s funny? Did you move to New York from another state? Are you a Seahawks fan? Patriots? One of those cheeseheads who don’t wear shirts in the cold?” I’d never seen Jonathan flustered before. Slightly uncomfortable or shy, sure. But at the moment, my friend who always knew just what to say to lighten the mood seemed completely at a loss. “Help me out here, people. Those are the only football teams I know.”
“I can honestly say I don’t know the first thing about football,” my dad said. “Or baseball. Or basketball, for that matter. I follow a little soccer, but mostly I’m a movie-and-books kind of guy.”
Jonathan looked relieved. “Me too!”
“Do you have a favorite book?” my dad asked, leaning against the counter.
“A few,” Jonathan said eagerly. “I’ve always been a big Roald Dahl fan. And Harry Potter, obviously—but my dad says I’m too old for fantasy. I’m just getting into Carl Hiaasen. He’s funny.”
“You’re never too old for fantasy,” my dad said, shaking his head. “But I do love Carl Hiaasen.”
“Really?” Jonathan asked, incredulous. “You’ve heard of him?”
“Of course.”
“Maybe you guys should start a book club,” I interrupted, only slightly kidding.
“I can’t believe you’ve read Carl Hiaasen,” Jonathan muttered. “My dad only reads self-help books. Not that they really help him.”
My dad laughed. “I’d be happy to talk with you about books anytime, Jonathan.”
“Seriously?” Jonathan looked like someone had just offered him an entire chocolate cake—with sprinkles and a side of ice cream.
“It would be my pleasure.” Dad handed each of us a cookie, then popped one into his own mouth before heading for the kitchen door. “Let me know if you guys need anything else, all right? Jonathan, I can give you a ride home whenever you need to go. But stay as long as you like. I’ll be in the living room watching some TV.”
When we got back up to my bedroom, Jonathan said, “Your dad is so awesome, Lucia.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “He’s not bad.”
“No, seriously. If I had a dad like that . . .” He trailed off.
“I’ve heard you talk about your dad a little bit,” I said, hoping I wasn’t treading into uncomfortable territory. I knew if I were in his shoes, I wouldn’t want anyone asking any questions about my mom. “But I don’t know much.”
Jonathan shrugged and pushed his hair back from his face. “I don’t usually talk about this with Anji much anymore, since she doesn’t really get it. Her family is so perfect that I think it’s hard for her to understand. She tries, but it can be hard for someone in a really good place to realize how far the pieces of your life fly when a family splits up. But you get it. Right?” I nodded, realizing this was one of the first conversations Jonathan and I had ever had without Anji around. “I was nine when my dad left. We got along okay when I was little, but the older I got, the more obvious it became that he and I were seriously different. I love music and books and drawing, and he likes sports and money . . . and himself.”
“Come on, you must have a few things in common,” I said, laughing. Leave it to Jonathan to make even a downer conversation somewhat funny.
“I honestly have no idea.” Jonathan frowned. “He mostly stopped showing up for his weekends a couple years ago. Lots of excuses and apologies. We hardly talk at all.”
“Are you serious? Do you ever tell him how you feel?”
“Lots of times. He’ll make an effort for a while, but then it’s like he forgets we ever had the conversation. I’m not going to stop trying, though.” Jonathan grabbed my moonstone off the bedside table and rolled it around in his palm while he talked. I wondered if it offered him the same calming effect it did me. “I don’t ever want to give up on our relationship and regret it later.”
“That has to be hard.”
“It’s very hard. Whenever we do hang out, he mostly lectures me and tries to convert me into a football fan. For a little while, I tried to be the kid he wanted me to be—but then I realized it wasn’t worth changing who I am just to make him happy.” He stared at the stone, rubbing his thumb along the deep black core. “It’s okay. My mom is great and we do fine, just the two of us. I wish she didn’t have to work so much, but she got a second job so she doesn’t have to take as much money from my dad. She said his money is rotten.”
“Sheesh, Jonathan.” I blinked. I thought about how different Jonathan’s situation was from my own. Sure, my parents were divorced, but Mom obviously still cared, and she made a serious effort to stay close and connected. I wondered if, over time, she would begin to distance herself the way Jonathan’s dad had? Deep down, I knew the answer was no. As mad as I was at her for everything that had happened with our family, I knew she would never stop wanting to spend time with me.
“Sheesh is a pretty good word for it,” Jonathan said lightly. “So that’s why I like your dad. He’s so nice. And it’s fun talking to him.”
“You can come over and hang out with him whenever you like,” I offered. “Mi casa es su casa.”
“Thanks. I’ll definitely take you up on that. Nice job with your Spanish vocab, by the way.” Jonathan glanced at my alarm clock and then stood up. “I’m really sorry, but I should probably get home. Are you going to be okay here tonight?” He tossed me my moonstone, adding, “I won’t take that tonight, since I’m leaving you alone.” I caught it and stuffed it inside my pocket.
“I’ll be fine,” I told him. “In fact, as soon as you leave, I’m gonna head over to Velvet’s house for that movie night she’s doing with the Chosen Ones and Will and his friends. They can keep me occupied.”
Jonathan stared at me without saying anything. After a beat he swallowed and said, “For real?”
“Of course not for real!” I threw my stuffed elephant at him. It bopped him on the head then bounced back onto the bed. “I’m just going to try to stay up as long as I can, then I guess I’ll hope for the best?”
“I have an idea,” Jonathan said, scampering over to my door. “How about I rig something up so if you try to leave this room, you’ll wake up?” He made sure my door was shut tight, then proceeded to stack a whole bunch of things—books, shoes, a basket filled with tubes of lip gloss—in a tippy-looking stack. “There,” he said, crab-walking back across the room to inspect his handiwork from afar. “If you try to get through that door, it will all fall and make a giant mess.”
“How are you going to get out?”
“Right. That is a fair question.” He pulled his eyebrows together, then scuttled back over to the stack and carved a small path through the barricade. “I’ll squeeze through here when I leave. If you’re sleepwalking, there’s no way you’ll be in the right mind to get through this maze without knocking something over, right?”
“I dunno,” I said. “I don’t know how this magic—or whatever it is—works. And what if I have to go to the bathroom?”
“What time is your scheduled evening toilet break?” Jonathan asked seriously.
“Not that again!” I said, and pelted him with a pillow. “I do not plan bathroom breaks. I try to plan as much stuff as I can since almost all of life’s little surprises are giant bummers—but I don’t go that far.”
“I know.” He laughed. “And I get it—about life’s surprises, I mean.”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “Thanks for telling me about your dad.”
“Of course. We’re friends, right?” He saluted me and said, “Later, Lucia. Let me know how it goes tonight.”
As soon as he was gone, I lay down on my bed and looked up at my ceiling. There were still a few glow-in-the-dark stars stuck in one corner of the room, remnants of a package Will and I had split between us a few summers before.
Will. Once again I wondered how different everything might have been if it hadn’t been for that dumb kiss and Velvet’s lies. Or would it? Who could know for sure what might have happened over the summer or once middle school started? So much was changing, and it was impossible to predict things I couldn’t control. One thing I did know for sure was that I should have told Velvet she had been a bad friend. I should have stood up for myself.
At least I had gotten to know Jonathan and Anji because of all that had happened. Eventually, maybe, I would be as close to them as I had once been with both Velvet and Will. If I were one to believe in silver linings, I’d say that was the one good thing that had come from Velvet’s betrayal: my growing friendship with Anji and Jonathan. When she cast me aside, they were there to rescue me. And I was pretty sure the best was yet to come.