No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.
—Aesop

Friday, May 15, 9:52 p.m.
Gaga’s 81st birthday
What would have been Gaga’s 81st birthday

Everywhere I look, I’m surrounded by things that remind me of Gaga.

Since her funeral, our kitchen counter is covered with pies and cakes, our refrigerator is filled with casseroles, and every tabletop is covered with plants or flowers people have brought by to pay their respects.

I keep thinking about what Gaga would say about everything.

April, I try my best to eat healthy, but who can resist a chocolate pie? April, why would anyone put carrots in their cake? They belong in a salad. April, what’s the point of giving flowers? They barely last a week. Now a plant . . . that’s a different story.

Our house has become a gathering place. Mom, Aunt Lilly, and Aunt Lila have been together here all week—drinking tea, sorting through Gaga’s “affairs,” as they’re calling it, and greeting people who come by. Mom told me it’s a healing process, but all the constant reminders have made me feel stuck in my sadness.

I’ve tried to distract myself and force my brain to focus on other things. I cleaned out my closet, organized my backpack, and even tried to develop a late-in-the-year interest in algebra. But nothing worked. I’ve just felt so sad since Gaga died and no matter what I do, I can’t think about anything other than Gaga.

Last night, I talked to Dad about it.

“Time heals all wounds,” he said.

“It’s not healing mine,” I told him.

Dad gave me a hug and told me it was going to require more time.

When I went to bed, I made a conscious decision to try and be less sad. I did it because today would have been Gaga’s eighty-first birthday, and I know if she were here, she’d tell me life is too short to be sad.

Still, when I woke up this morning, I couldn’t help wishing she were here so we could celebrate her birthday, and it made me feel even sadder.

And I wasn’t the only one who was thinking about her birthday. When I went to the kitchen for breakfast, Mom was standing at the counter, buttering toast and blinking back tears. It was obvious she was thinking about Gaga too. It made me feel kind of helpless to see her standing there like that. I wasn’t sure what to do.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

Mom got a jar of jam out of the refrigerator and starting smearing it on the toast. “You know, it would have been her eighty-first birthday today.”

“I know.”

Mom put down the knife she was using and put her head in her hands. Usually it’s the parent’s job to make a child feel better, but Mom looked like she needed to be comforted. I went to her and gave her a big hug. “I’m sorry you’re sad,” I whispered.

“She loved you so much,” Mom whispered in my ear.

I had to blink back my own tears. I didn’t want to go to school with puffy eyes, but as I left the house, my heart felt heavy. All through my morning classes, I literally felt like my heart was a ten-pound weight inside my chest.

When I sat down for lunch with Harry and Sophie, it was pretty obvious they were having a hard time too. Harry motioned to our trays. Sophie’s and his contained chicken fingers, and there was a tuna wrap on mine. “Do you think Gaga would have picked the chicken fingers or a wrap?” he asked.

“That’s a random question,” I said.

Harry frowned at me like he was disappointed in my answer. “Everyone has their process.” He paused. “I think she would have picked chicken fingers.”

“I agree,” said Sophie.

They both looked at me like I should weigh in. “She loved fried chicken,” I said, even though I was pretty sure Faraway High’s version wouldn’t have appealed to her.

Sophie pursed her lips. “Did she like wraps?”

Harry and Sophie both looked at me again, like I would know best. But I had no idea. I’d never seen Gaga eat one. Still, it didn’t mean she wouldn’t have. I thought about what Mom had said before I left the house. I felt awful that Gaga loved me so much and I couldn’t even answer a simple question about her, like if she liked wraps or not.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. Then I picked up my wrap and took a bite. I didn’t want to keep talking about Gaga.

Apparently, neither did Harry or Sophie. We all ate in silence. They finished their chicken fingers, but all I could do was pick at my wrap. I ended up dumping most of it in the trash. Even though I barely ate, I had a stomachache all afternoon. I tried to pay attention in my classes, but everything my teachers said swirled around me like they were speaking in Chinese or Russian or some other language I couldn’t understand.

The dance team meeting after school wasn’t much better. Ms. Baumann wanted to go over last-minute details for schedules, transportation, and costumes for the state meet tomorrow, and I was having a hard time paying attention to what she was saying.

Maybe it’s because I still can’t dance, which means I’m going along just to give moral support. But honestly, as she went on and on about making sure no one’s bra straps were sticking out of their costumes, I wanted to scream, “You’re worried about bra straps when I’m sitting here thinking about my dead grandmother’s birthday!”

When the meeting ended, all I wanted to do was go home. Then, as I was leaving, I got a text from Leo.

Leo: Want to hang out?

Me: Sure.

Leo: Cold Shack?

Me: See you in ten.

Leo: I’ll be there.

Me: :-)

I don’t know why I said yes when only moments earlier I’d been so anxious to go home.

“What’s going on?” he asked as soon as he saw me.

I knew I couldn’t hide how I was feeling from him. When we sat down in a booth with our ice cream, I told him that today would have been Gaga’s birthday and that I couldn’t stop thinking about her. “She’s been on my mind ever since she died. But especially today.” I paused. “I want to find a way to just forget about it so I’ll stop feeling sad.”

Leo was quiet as he took a bite of his chocolate peanut butter ice cream. “Perhaps forgetting about it is the opposite of what you need to do.”

I raised a brow at him. “What do you mean?”

“I think you need to remember everything you can about Gaga. Especially today. I say we celebrate her birthday.”

I was confused. “Why would I want to do that?”

Leo shrugged. “You don’t have anything to lose. It might make you feel better.”

Leo had a point. But there was still something I didn’t quite get. “How do we celebrate her birthday?” I asked quietly.

Leo took another bite of his ice cream. “Tell me about Gaga,” he finally said.

It was a big question. I wasn’t sure where to start. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything you want to tell me,” said Leo.

I took a bite of my coffee fudge chip ice cream as I formulated my thoughts. I wasn’t sure I’d want to say much, but once I started talking, I couldn’t stop.

I told Leo how when I was little, Gaga used to save her stale bread and take me to Oakland Park to feed it to the ducks. I told him that May, June, and I stayed at her house for a week when Mom and Dad went out of town, and that she let us stay up late every night watching TV in her bed. I told him how she always did and said things that were so unexpected—especially as she got older. “She took up running and got married at eighty. She started the Happiness Movement with her friends.” I paused. “She even learned to snow ski after she was diagnosed with cancer.”

Leo didn’t interrupt as I spoke.

I told him how she had so much wisdom about life and always shared it with her family when they needed it. I told him that when Matt broke up with me, she cheered me up by teaching me how to knit and telling me all of her funny, crazy theories about boys. And then when I broke my leg skiing, she made me feel better by sharing her personal life story with me and explaining how she thought what she learned might be helpful to me. “Gaga always made me feel understood and loved,” I told Leo.

When I finished talking, Leo smiled. “I feel like I got to know Gaga through you. Lucky me,” he said. “She sounds like an incredible and unique person.”

I exhaled. I don’t know if it was from telling him everything I did or from hearing what he said, but either way, for the first time since the funeral, I felt lighter and happier. “Thanks,” I said.

“For what?” asked Leo.

It made me smile. He’s so smart. He knew exactly what he’d done, but I think he wanted me to say it. “For making me remember instead of trying to forget.”

Leo nodded like it was the right answer. “We should get a cupcake in honor of Gaga’s birthday.”

“We’ve already had ice cream,” I reminded him.

Leo grinned. “Last time I checked it was tradition to have cake and ice cream on your birthday.”

“Good point,” I said. So Leo and I went up to the counter and bought a cupcake, then we sat on a bench outside the Cold Shack and ate it.

“Would Gaga have liked me?” Leo asked as we licked sticky icing from our fingers.

“Totally.” I bit my lip. “Just like I do.” I wondered if it was wrong to be so openly flirtatious on Gaga’s birthday, but I’m pretty sure she would have approved. And it seemed fitting that Leo found a way to cheer me up when I was down. He has a unique gift for doing that.

Just like Gaga.