The school year was ending. Everyone at Halsey was in the final stretch, gearing up for camps or trips or unplanned weeks of sleeping in and hanging out. Even Kiki, who would be putting in long hours at her mom’s restaurant, could not wait for summer to start.
I’d missed the previous summer. It had mostly come and gone without me, though I did remember one August weekend in the Hamptons, back when Natalie’s family still had their beach house. Natalie and I were bobbing in the Atlantic, and I’d started thinking about how my mom had loved that the ocean linked New York to Spain. Suddenly, a giant wave had knocked me over, and I’d gotten rattled and teary. But Natalie hadn’t been able to tell because both of our faces were wet with seawater.
She also showed me how to water-ski. At first, just standing up had seemed impossible. I was too exhausted, too discouraged. But then I was on my feet, whizzing—no, flying, across the bay! I’d found my balance! For a moment anyway. Seconds later, I lost it and went under again.
This year, I was looking forward to summer—deep-red tomatoes and corn on the cob, street fairs in the city and swimming in Armonk, and walking through Central Park with swirly scoops of Tasti D-Lite or melty sticks of Ben & Jerry’s. And all we had to do was get through our tests and reach the finish line, the afternoon when the last teacher said, “Pencils down,” and the last girl said, “I blew it” or “I nailed it,” and everyone—everyone!—knew that what really mattered was that it was over. Middle school was about to be over.
• • •
“I took the morning off,” Dad said, handing me a blueberry-banana smoothie.
“The first three rows are for the eighth grade parents,” I reminded him. Mom used to be the one to stake out seats at school events. She’d found moving up day moving even when it starred other mothers’ daughters.
I was wearing a new floral dress and heels. Alone in the elevator, I studied myself in the mirror. My hair had grown long and my smile was no longer metallic. I’d even put on eyeliner and mascara. “Spanish Eyes,” I thought. Mom had loved that song.
Kiki met me in my lobby. Her dress was coral and fitted. “Happy MUD,” Kiki said.
“Mud?”
“Moving up day.”
“You are so weird,” I said.
We hurried to our homerooms and were soon filing into the auditorium. So many things had happened in this room! I’d sung in choruses and cabarets, and I’d met Dear Kate here too. Here was also where, just over a year ago, the school had held a memorial service for Mom.
The entire school community had shown up—from Inez, the security guard, to all our teachers and neighbors. I’d felt so wrung out, and the person I’d really needed to talk to was the person who wasn’t there.
Mrs. Morris, from 6C, had helped me put together a photo presentation. Look! It’s Maria! A baby in Spain! A toddler in a flamenco dress! A girl on a bike! A teen at a dance! A bride! Look! The couple is expecting! And now there’s Sofia: infant—toddler—girl—teen!
As background music, we’d picked “Iberia” played by Alicia de Larrocha. It was a parade of happy photos, but everyone had known where it was leading, and it was over all too soon. The last photo was of Mom alone, a close-up of her beautiful face, her Spanish eyes.
The headmaster had spoken, then the chaplain and principal. Dean Isaacson had read excerpts of adoring emails from former students. A surprisingly elegant reception had followed, arranged by the head of the dining hall. I’d hated every minute, but Mom would probably have thought it was nicely done.
Now, my classmates and I were seated toward the back of the room. The lights dimmed, and a different slide show began—this one featuring not my family but the Halsey family of fifty eighth graders, onstage, on courts, on fields, in labs.
Were we really graduating?
We walked down the center aisle to the front of the room in single file. The dean handed each of us a thornless white rose, and we stepped onto the stage clutching our flowers as HSG alumnae had done for two centuries. Principal Milliman told the audience to refrain from clapping until all the names had been called, and then she presented us one by one to the upper school principal.
“Sofia Wolfe,” she said when it was my turn. I held the rose in my left hand and shook Principal Milliman’s and Principal Kapur’s hands with my right. After the last girl (Xia Zhu) stepped onto the stage, the headmistress said, “And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Rising freshmen, prepare to throw your roses!”
We faced the crowd. I’d never seen so many parents. Kiki’s dad had taken a bus up from DC, and even the celebrity parents and grandparents had shown up. There was a famous actor mom, a former mayor of New York, a world-class tennis player. But my own family was so…tiny. Was it really just Dad by himself out there? Should we have flown in Abuelito? Or convinced Grandma Pat to leave Florida one more time? Amazing to think that Dad still had his mom. For a second, I wished we’d invited Kate. But no. Halsey was Mom’s school, and in this room, Kate was Dear Kate. Besides, I still had mixed feelings about Dad and her dating.
The headmistress leaned into the microphone. “On your mark. Get set. Throw!”
I threw my rose. Fifty white roses sailed through the air like arrows in a western. Each family picked up a rose and waved it at their daughter. A lot of moms and dads had tears in their eyes. Looking at them got me choked up too.
Soon, we broke rank, and group hug followed group hug. Everyone went to find her family, and I silently congratulated myself—not because I’d made it through middle school, but because I’d made it through the past fourteen months.
• • •
“It sucks,” Alexa was saying on the phone. “Sofia’s all proud of herself because she ‘moved up,’ whatever that means, while we still have finals and Regents exams.” I was in the upstairs bathroom in Armonk and hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, but Alexa’s complaints were coming through loud and clear behind her closed door. “In English, we finished Nine Stories, and I’m supposed to write a tenth! In world history, I have to draw a map of Europe with the names of forty-five countries, including Andorra, Armenia, and Azerbaijan. And when I look out the window, there’s Señorita Sofia chilling in the hammock!”
Excuse me? It was my fault that our schools were on different schedules? Her words stung, and I hated that she was talking to her friends about me.
Fortunately, Alexa was about to go on a wilderness adventure in the Canadian Rockies—for six weeks! Dad told me that her father had provided the frequent flier miles.
Well, good. A little distance would be excellent.
A lot of distance, even better.
• • •
Dad volunteered to make Alexa a farewell dinner and told me he wanted me there. He said Kate was going to drive Alexa to Boston the next day and would meet the program director before the group flew to Calgary.
When we walked into the house, carrying bags loaded with steak, asparagus, and strawberries, Alexa and Kate were in the middle of a fight. “Sorry to be a killjoy,” Kate was saying, “but this backpack is way too heavy!”
“You are a killjoy, Mom! It’s your specialty!” Dad and I traded glances and ducked into the kitchen.
“You need pants, shorts, T-shirts, hiking boots, sneakers, a bathing suit, a hat, and sunscreen,” Kate said. “You do not need heels or a miniskirt. And they said no cell phones because there’s no reception in the hinterlands, remember?”
“Mom, you so don’t get it!” Alexa said, her voice rising. “And nobody says ‘hinterlands’!”
“Call your father. Or ask Brian. Their mantra is: ‘Less is more.’ And what if your luggage gets lost? Don’t pack anything you’re not willing to lose. Your passport is in your carry-on, right? With a change of underwear?”
“God, Mom! I’ve traveled before!” Alexa shouted. Coconut, the cat, scurried into the kitchen to join us.
“Well, no one’s going to help you lug your luggage,” Kate persisted. “And makeup? You’re going hiking!”
“I get zits, okay?”
“Do you want to take a game with you? I have travel chess.”
“That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard in my entire life! You know what? Just forget about dinner. I’m going to Amanda’s!” She flew out the door and let it slam behind her.
Two hours later, Kate phoned Alexa’s cell and got no response. She texted. Nothing. She phoned Amanda’s landline. No one picked up. She texted again, and Alexa finally texted back, “Having pizza. Don’t wait up.”
So much for our heartwarming farewell dinner.
• • •
“Shouldn’t I be in a summer program?” I asked Dad over scrambled eggs at City Diner. “Mom would have signed me up for art class or piano lessons or jazz dancing or community service or something.”
“You could be in Panama building homes for Habitat for Humanity,” he conceded. “But you already speak Spanish, and I like having you around. Is that selfish?”
“Yeah, but it’s okay.” Truth was, I didn’t mind unstructured days. I knew I wasn’t just being lazy. I was healing. If that meant sleeping late, reading, vegging with Kiki, and watching videos, so be it. “Besides, in a few weeks,” I reminded Dad, “we’ll be seeing Abuelito.” Not that I wanted to think about the task that awaited us in Spain.
Dad speared a home fry. “We have to find a new apartment before that.”
“We’ve been doing a lame job looking,” I said. Dad liked to spend his free time with Kate, not real estate agents, so when he wasn’t on call, we headed north. When he was on call, Kate sometimes came to the city. Last weekend, the three of us had eaten lunch at the Boathouse in Central Park, then ridden a gondola on the Great Pond.
In the gondola, I’d snapped a photo of Kate and Dad. She was wearing a mint-green dress and sunglasses and, despite myself, I could see that she and Dad looked good together. Happy. I did not, however, share or edit the image in any way. For now, it was enough to let them be inside my cell phone.
• • •
Dad bounded up the front steps and rang Kate’s doorbell. “Honey, we’re home!” he sang. If Alexa had been there, he might not have sounded so exuberant.
“Come in!” She opened the door and gave us both a hug.
“It’s such a nice day,” I said, “I might head over to the lake.” I thought I deserved a gold star for being a good sport, but I had my own reason for giving them some privacy: maybe Sam would be there. Sometimes, I wondered if I was crazy to think about him as much as I did. For all I knew, he had a girlfriend. All we’d done was skip stones and wave once—nothing. But I felt like we had a connection, and I hoped it wasn’t just in my head.
“Sign my name at the snack bar!” Kate said.
“Have fun!” Dad added.
I considered saying, “You too!” But no. I had my limits.
At the club, I looked at the menu and thought about ordering a flatbread or “truffled chickpeas.” But I wasn’t hungry. I saw kids playing cards on the lawn and Marco Polo in the water, and I wondered if there was a way to join in. For a second, I almost wished Alexa were there. Kiki had helped us break the ice, and maybe Alexa and I could get it to keep thawing? The Spanish tutorial had also helped un poquito.
Then again, who was I kidding? When I’d last been with Alexa, she’d trash-talked mothers and blown off her own farewell dinner. It was good she was gone. Better to feel a little lonely than get caught in her toxic force field.
I went down the steps, struggled to unfold a red lawn chair decorated with a white windmill, and settled in with The Princess Bride, yanking down the hem of my checked sundress. I wanted to look confident, but how do you project confidence while reading?
Someone behind me—a lifeguard?—said, “Excuse me, ma’am? Are you a member?”
Oh no! Should I have signed in? This was the first time I’d come to the club by myself since it had opened. I didn’t know the rules.
“I’m the guest of—” I turned around.
Sam was smiling. “I haven’t seen you in a while,” he said. He was wearing running shorts and no shirt, and I tried to look at his eyes, not his chest. “How’s the stone skipping? Been practicing?”
“No. I had finals. But we might start coming out more now.”
“Who’s we?”
“My dad and me. I think you played volleyball with him once?” I could feel myself blush.
“What about your mom?”
I didn’t expect that question and decided to just come out with it: “She died last year—well, a year and two months ago.” If this was going to scare him off, better sooner than later.
Died. Dead. Such short words—single syllables, four letters each. But they changed everything. Was there a better way to say it? “She passed away”? “She’s gone”? I didn’t like the sound of any of it, but I preferred the bitter D words to the sugarcoated ones.
I waited for Sam to ask the inevitable “How?” I always resented that question because then my job was to reassure people that aneurysms are rare and they didn’t have to worry about their moms. Their moms would live long past forty-two, maybe to eighty-two or ninety-two or 102!
But Sam said, “Oh, I’m sorry. That must’ve been really hard.”
“Thanks. Still is.”
One of the condolence cards Dad and I received after Mom’s “tragic death” (they almost all said that) included the words, “Time doesn’t heal, but it helps.” At first, I’d thought that was trite. Now I knew it was true. It had helped that fourteen months had come between that April afternoon and this June one.
In the latest dream I’d had about my mom, she was sitting quietly in my bedroom chair in our apartment. When I’d woken up, the chair was empty. I’d felt a bolt of fresh sorrow and sat upright. I’d wondered, Is Mom really dead? How can I survive without her? Then I’d realized I had survived. I was surviving.
“My grandpa died last fall,” Sam continued. “My mom was a mess.”
Sometimes, I objected when people jumped in with stories of their own. I’d think, We’re talking about my mother. But it was an impossible conversation. There was no ideal response to “My mother died.” Nothing anybody could say was right, yet saying nothing was wrong.
“Tell me about your grandpa,” I said. “What was he like?”
Was that what I hoped people would ask: “What was she like?” instead of “How did she die?”
“You really want to know?” he asked.
I looked into his sea-green eyes and nodded.
“Let’s take a walk.” He extended his hand and pulled me up. A jolt of energy surged between us. Did he feel it too? He stopped at a nearby chair, stepped into his flip-flops, lifted his arms, and pulled on a white Tar Heels T-shirt. I was startled to notice the wispy blond hair of his armpits. “Grandpa Fritz was a Southern gentleman,” he began, leading me to the path around the lake. “But he moved to New York and built a little beach house.” He glanced at me, then away. “Ever been to Fire Island?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“It’s only a few hours from here, but it’s another world. There are no cars, and everyone rides old, rusty bikes. My grandpa used to spend the whole summer in a place called Kismet. We’d go out on the ferry, and he’d meet us with a beat-up red wagon. On Sunday, my parents would go back to work, and he and I would hang out all week. He’s the one who taught me to skip stones. We even went clamming. Ever been clamming?”
I shook my head again. I wondered if nervousness was making him talkative and me silent. Funny how it could have either effect.
“You squish your toes in the bay till you feel a stone, but it’s not a stone; it’s a clam. We collected buckets and made spaghetti with clam sauce. We went fishing too. We’d use frozen minnows for bait and bamboo rods with corks for bobbers. If the baby bluefish were running, that was dinner. My grandpa showed me how to chop off their heads and tails, and we’d bread the fish and sizzle them. Back then, if my parents served clams or fish, I’d have pushed the plate away, but whatever Grandpa cooked, I ate. You like seafood?”
“I used to spend every August in Spain. Spaniards are big on fish, and I was a pescatarian for a few months when I was twelve. But go on.”
“I’m not boring you?”
“Not at all.” I smiled and he smiled and more arrows of energy ricocheted between us.
“Well, I kept getting taller, while my grandpa started, like, shrinking. I still went to see him every summer, but instead of him taking care of me, we were taking care of each other.” Sam picked up a stray plastic cup and tossed it into a garbage can in the parking lot. “Then last summer, I was mostly taking care of him. But he was still always fixing things—his wooden deck, his outdoor shower, his fence to keep deer out. He even stitched up the holes in his pants because he never liked to buy anything new. We fished together, but he had stopped fishing by himself. So neighbors dropped by and left buckets with their catch. He loved that, and he loved eating for free, living off the land and sea. It’s hard to have a garden in Fire Island—ground’s too sandy—but somehow, he grew tomatoes, lettuce, and arugula. He was really proud of his arugula.” He paused. “Sofia?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut me up.”
I laughed. “I don’t want to.”
“Can I show you something?”
“Sure.”
He led me toward the same windmill that Alexa had shown me, and he seemed so pleased with himself that I didn’t have the heart to say, Been here, done this. Maybe Armonk didn’t have many tourist sites? As we climbed the wooden ladder, he said, “I haven’t talked about my grandfather this much since his funeral. I usually just think about him.”
“I know what you mean.”
“What about your mom? Did she look like you?”
“Yeah.”
We reached the top of the windmill. “So she had beautiful eyes.” He turned away and looked at the lake. We sat on the same wooden bench where I’d sat with Alexa. The blades of the windmill were turning, creaking. The warm sun was streaming in, lighting up specks of dust, and landing in thick broken stripes on Sam’s shorts and T-shirt. We sat down and were silent, and I tried not to stare at his thighs.
I could almost hear Kiki and Natalie squealing, “Omigod, Sofia, he is hot.” I hoped I wasn’t looking at him as if he were chocolate cake and I was starving.
I’d felt nervous up here with Alexa and felt even more nervous with Sam. But it was happy nervous, excited nervous, not I-hope-I-don’t-say-the-wrong-thing nervous.
“My mom was beautiful,” I said, “and maybe I will tell you about her sometime.” My eyes prickled. “But not now, okay?” Whenever I tried to talk honestly about my mom, I couldn’t trust my voice not to go wobbly. “It usually makes me cry, and that’s the last thing I want to do right now.”
My tears still came too easily. I wondered if they always would. After my mom died, I could have sat and sobbed forever. Since that was not an option, I’d put a lid on my tears. Yet they were always right there, ready at a moment’s notice.
Sam slipped his arm around me. “What’s the first thing you want to do?”
I looked into his eyes and tilted my head. I felt like a heroine in a romantic movie. And then I kissed him—gently and tentatively at first and then, when he kissed back, like I meant it.
I hoped he didn’t think I was easy, some fast city kid. Had he kissed a lot of girls? We barely knew each other, although I already knew him much more than Miles or Julian or Daniel.
It was amazing to be kissing Sam, but was I doing it right? Should I have let him make the first move? Should I be placing my hands somewhere? I closed my eyes and tried to banish all thought, and before I knew it, nothing mattered except that we were kissing and his arms were around me. It felt so good to be held.
And kissed! I felt like I was melting into him. His T-shirt smelled like it had just come out of the dryer, and his chest felt solid against mine. I briefly worried that my breasts inside my bra might feel disappointingly small, but I chased away that thought—he didn’t seem disappointed.
So this was kissing! No wonder it inspired singers and painters and writers. Kissing! Kissssing! Kisssssssing! Someday, I hoped I could tell Sam not only about Mom but also about this day. I’d tell him that these afternoon kisses—right now, with him—were my first true kisses, the first ones that counted.
I wanted them to go on forever, so I memorized that June afternoon, holding and being held, kissing and being kissed, feeling the warm, slanting sunrays as the windmill turned and creaked. No matter what happened, I would keep that hour inside me. I knew this because I’d learned how strange time and memory could be.
I’d learned that while most weeks and months whoosh by, there are moments—some good, some horrible—that last forever. Moments that split your life into Before and After.
Maybe these kisses could last forever—but in a good way. I loved feeling his soft lips and strong shoulders, peeking at his closed eyes and long lashes. I wanted time to stretch like taffy and be every bit as sweet. I pictured Sarah Brown in Guys and Dolls singing, “I’ve nevvvver been in love before…”
I must have giggled because Sam asked, “Are you laughing at me?”
“Not laughing,” I said. “Just smiling hard.”
“Good.” We kissed some more. My heart felt so big inside me. I couldn’t believe that on the day that I’d gotten my first real kiss, I’d also gotten my next fifty. Was that how it sometimes worked?
Soon, I pulled away to check the time on my cell. Five thirty already? “I’d better go,” I said. “I don’t want my dad to worry.”
“I’ll walk with you. Where are you staying?”
“We’re not. We’re going back to the city tonight.”
“When are you coming back?”
“Next week, I think.” I liked his eagerness.
“Why not during the week?”
“My dad has to work. He’s a doctor.”
“What about you? Are you a doctor?”
I laughed. “Maybe I can come back sooner. I hadn’t thought of it.” We walked by the lake and through the ball field. “This is the house.”
“That house? That one?” He looked at it as though it were haunted.
“My dad’s going out with Katherine Baird.” He fell silent. “You know ‘Dear Kate’?”
“Everyone knows everyone around here. But don’t say anything, okay? What happens in windmills stays in windmills.”
“Of course.”
Was he acting weird, or was I imagining it? I wished I could schedule a private session with Dear Kate. I’d ask, “How come the second you kiss a boy, everything gets complicated?” I’d heard other girls say that.
“Give me your number—I don’t have my cell,” Sam said. I reached into my bag for a pen, noticing with relief that it was a normal one, not one of the freebies Dad sometimes brought home that said “Monistat” or had the name of some vaginal goo for urinary tract infections. I scribbled my number on a piece of paper, then tapped his into my cell phone. I wanted to give him one last kiss, but he was already backing away. “Adiós, right? Adiós? Sorry. I take French.”
“Adiós is correct. But hasta pronto is better. It means ‘see you soon.’”
He took off, and I turned toward the house and ran up the steps. I felt like I was flying. But I couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that something was wrong. Why had Sam been in such a hurry to say good-bye?
• • •
During dinner on the deck with Kate and Dad, I wanted to say, Guess where I spent the afternoon. In a windmill, kissing the sweetest, hottest guy in the whole wide world! Instead, I said, “This may be a lot to ask, but can I stay a little longer next week? Like maybe I could come Wednesday, and Dad could come Friday after work? It’s so nice out here, all the fresh air and everything. It’s just an idea. I don’t want to impose.”
Dad looked surprised. Usually, he was the one pushing Armonk. He’d even apologized to me for taking me away from my friends. Not that I minded. Kiki had come out with me twice, and a lot of my other friends were away anyway—at camps or on programs or vacations. Natalie was visiting cousins in New Hampshire. Madison was in China and, according to Kiki, had eaten a starfish.
Dad looked at me approvingly, no doubt thinking his city girl had fallen under the spell of the country. I wasn’t going to tell him that it was the spell of Sam.
“Tell you what,” he said. “You clear the dishes, and Kate and I will talk.”
“Okay.” As I walked back and forth to the kitchen with plates and glasses, I heard bits of their conversation: “Impose? Are you kidding? This house is way too quiet without Alexa. I’m flapping around in my empty nest, answering email all day, and the one girl I want to hear from never writes.” Dad meanwhile was assuring her that I wouldn’t need much supervision.
They called me back, and Kate said she’d be happy to pick me up at North White Plains Station the following Wednesday. “Depending on your schedule, Gregg,” she added, “you could come out Friday and leave Sunday.”
Dad’s eyebrows went up. Were our daytrips going to turn into overnights—just like that? If Dear Kate thought it was okay, maybe Dad figured: Who was he to argue?
But what about Mom? I thought foolishly.
For a second, I wondered where Dad would sleep. Then I knew the answer.
A song by Stephen Sondheim came to me: “Not a Day Goes By.” The Halsey Upper School chorus had sung an arrangement of it last fall, and it had gotten stuck in my head, playing over and over and over.
• • •
I texted Sam that I’d be back on Wednesday. He texted: Excellent! We agreed to meet at 3:00 p.m. at the club for a bike ride.
Wednesday morning, when Dad was at work, I took a long shower, shaving my legs and washing my hair, and I was surprised to hear myself singing. It had been a while since I’d gone through my rusty repertoire—the Beatles, Disney, Spanish ballads.
I got dressed, blow-dried my hair, and took the subway (switching trains alone for the first time) to Grand Central. I’d never taken Metro North before, but Dad gave me instructions and said, “Just act as if you’ve taken it a million times.” At Grand Central, I found the right track, then asked several women, “Does this go to North White Plains?” before getting on the train. Finally, I took a seat and opened the newest Fifteen.
The train started moving, and I turned to Dear Kate’s column, nervous that one of my questions might show up. None did. Kate had mentioned that writing for a magazine wasn’t like writing for a newspaper or blog or website; she had to work months ahead. She said she’d turned in her back-to-school column before summer even started, a fact that struck me as depressing.
On the train, I felt cold and conspicuous. Everyone else was much older.
I remembered the first time I’d taken a taxi by myself, to a bat mitzvah while my parents were at a dinner party. I’d successfully hailed a cab, then got scared and phoned my mom. What if the driver was a kidnapper? Mom talked with me on her cell as if she were air traffic control. “No te preocupes.” Don’t worry. And she stayed on with me until I arrived safe and sound.
Taking a taxi alone was a rite of passage for city kids. After the first, the rest were easy. I hoped taking a train alone would be like that too.
I took a quiz (“Do You Think For Yourself?”) and was reading an article (“The Fine Art of Flirting”) when I heard the conductor announce, “White Plains!” I jumped up and hurried off. The train doors hissed shut behind me.
I went to the parking lot and looked around. Where was Kate?
It took me a few minutes to realize I’d made a mistake. I’d gotten off too soon!
I called her cell. “I’m really sorry! I know you said North White Plains—”
“It’s okay. Stay there. I’ll come get you. It’ll take me a few minutes.”
I thanked her, apologized again, and waited by the curb for what felt like a long time. When Kate arrived, she studied my outfit. “You weren’t cold?”
“I didn’t think about air-conditioning.” I looked down at my tiny pink skirt and white tank top. Underneath, I was wearing a matching pink bra and thong that Kiki had talked me into at Victoria’s Secret. “The thong’s the thing!” Kiki had said. “Once you get used to them, they’re more comfortable than regular underwear.” Like an idiot, I had listened. So far, the thong felt like a wedgie.
“I made us dinner reservations at an Indian restaurant at 7:00 p.m.,” Kate said. “Your dad said you like chicken fritters and creamed spinach with cheese?”
“Saag paneer! I love Indian food,” I said.
“Great. Listen, Sofia, my October column is due in the morning, and I’m still working on it. If you’re interested, I’d love for you to take a peek when I’m done, you know, make sure I’m on target.”
“I’d love to!” I said. Kiki would faint! But would this column include one of my letters? About lying or noticing girls or that stupid personal pimple? At some point, I knew I should either come clean or change my screen name. The longer I waited, the more underhanded it all seemed. I didn’t want Dear Kate to find out that I’d chosen to keep silent about our correspondence.
“While I’m working, you can swim or read or just make yourself at home. Sound good?”
“Sounds great. And I might meet a friend for a bike ride.”
“Sure. I assume that would be okay with your dad.”
“It’d be fine.”
“Okay. You can bring her over after.”
“Actually, it’s a…him.”
Kate gave me a glance. “Ah, the plot thickens.” She nodded, almost to herself. I hoped Kate didn’t feel tricked—or used. Should I have mentioned the “him” part earlier?
“I’d feel better if we ran this by your dad. Do you mind? Why don’t you call him? No biggie, but let’s keep everything in the open, all right? You’ll find I’m very reasonable if you keep me in the loop.”
I pressed DAD, a pit gathering in my stomach. “He’s not picking up.” I left a message: “Dad, I’m with Kate, and I’m going to meet a boy at Windmill Club. He’s really nice and not a bad influence or anything. We’re going for a bike ride, and then Kate and I are going out for dinner at seven. Call us back. Or meet us! Love you.”
“Good,” Kate said.
“Is it okay that I said he could meet us?”
“Of course. But it’s also okay if it’s just us.”
I felt bad about missing my stop, being sneaky about Sam, inviting Dad on our girls’ night out, and withholding the truth about Catlover and Dear Kate. “I’ll make sure you meet the Mystery Boy,” I said, immediately regretting those words. Hadn’t I referred to her as the “Mystery Woman” back when we were emailing? “I don’t know why I didn’t mention him before.”
“Oh, I do. Kids don’t tell adults everything. But I’d like us to be as up front as possible, especially while I’m, you know, taking care of you. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said, tempted to tell her about Sam. No doubt Catlover would have written about him at length to Dear Kate. But now that I knew the real Kate, it was more complicated. I couldn’t exactly tell her that I’d made out in a windmill with a boy I barely knew.
“After your bike ride, why don’t you bring him over to say hello?”
“Okay.”
I looked at her and wondered if I should spill all—well, almost all—about Sam and about Catlover. I was thinking about where to start when Kate said, “Oh! Look!” and pointed to a large, reddish-brown deer with velvety antlers. “A buck. Isn’t he magnificent? We rarely see the males!” Kate rambled on about deer, and then we pulled into her driveway, my confession unspoken.
Maybe over dinner I’d find a way to open up—especially if it was just the two of us.
• • •
Sam was waiting for me at the club. “Kate wants to meet you later,” I told him. I didn’t want him to think I was overprotected or that I’d rushed to announce that we were a couple. But what choice did I have?
“Actually, there’s something I want to tell you.” Sam looked troubled, and I thought, He wants to break up with me already? We aren’t even going out! But then his expression changed, and he asked, “Where’s your bike?”
“My bike?”
“It’s customary to have a bike when you go on a bike ride.”
I laughed, embarrassed. “You think Kate has one I can use?”
“I know she does.” We walked his bike back to Kate’s. He didn’t say what was on his mind, and I didn’t prod. We looked in the garage, and Sam went to a far corner and pulled out Alexa’s bike from behind a sled.
“It’s a little big, but it’s okay,” I said.
“Put on this helmet.”
“Oh, come on.” Was he serious?
“I’m serious,” Sam said.
“I don’t want to wear a helmet.”
“You have to.”
So much for my blow-dried hair! He helped me strap on the helmet, and our faces were inches apart. His fingers brushed my cheek as he fastened the strap under my chin and snapped the clasp. In the musty cool of the garage, he gave me a quick kiss, and the sound and feel and surprise of that kiss made up for the fact that I’d have helmet hair all afternoon.
Sam waited by the bikes while I went back inside and called up, “We’ll be back soon. I’m borrowing Alexa’s bike.”
“Have a good time!” Kate called down. I appreciated that she was treating me like a trustworthy teenager. I didn’t want to ruin that.
Sam and I set off—out the driveway, onto the street, past a few houses, and whoa! That was quite a hill! Talk about steep! We weren’t really going to go down it, were we?
I pedaled ahead, hoping I looked cute from behind and that my skirt wasn’t blowing too much. All I had on underneath was that tiny, pink thong. Why had I listened to Kiki? What had I been thinking? I looked behind me. Sam looked even hotter than he had last weekend, which was saying a lot. I turned toward the hill, then back to Sam, smiling while trying to hold down my skirt. One hand on the bike, one on the skirt. The wind whipped through my hair and I started going faster, faster. It was exciting but also scary and…
• • •
Dirt, pebbles, rocks.
My knees. My shoulder. My head.
Someone was moaning.
Whoa, whoa. Was I moaning? Were those moans coming from me?
What was going on?
Someone was cradling my head, saying, “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Kate’s voice? She was stroking my hair, but her fingertips felt wet. Why were her fingertips wet? “Has someone called 911?”
“An ambulance is on the way.”
“Can somebody call her father?” Kate’s voice again.
“What’s his number?”
“I don’t have my cell. 917—917—917—He works at Mount Sinai. Gregg Wolfe. Can someone get ahold of him?” Kate sounded so upset.
I wanted to tell them my father’s number and tried to say it out loud. But no words came. Just “Ow, ow, ow.”
Everything hurt. I opened my eyes, closed them, opened them again. A woman was hugging Sam. Sam! I forgot about Sam! Who was hugging Sam?
A siren. Louder, closer.
A streak of blurry red.
The smell of burning rubber. An ambulance?
Two men rushed toward me. It was like on TV. Who were they? Parachuters? Paramedics?
“What happened?”
“We were biking.” Sam’s voice! “She must have hit a patch of gravel. Or maybe she used the wrong brake? She went flying over the handlebars. When she hit the ground, she started shaking.” Sam’s voice was shaking.
“Where’s the girl’s mother?” a man asked. I wanted to tell him about my mother. And I tried…but ow, ow, no words.
A person above me was attaching something plastic to my neck.
“Her mother died last year,” Kate said. This was true, but I wanted to shout, “She did not!” Or at least say something else about my mother. Didn’t anyone ever want to know anything about my mother besides that she died?
Was I dying too? Was this what it felt like? A fuzzy, quiet fading away?
“I’m dating her father,” Kate said, her voice strange and high. “Is she going to be okay?”
Who, me? Why wouldn’t I be okay?
“We’ll do everything we can.” Two people lifted me onto a stretcher, strapped me down.
“Be careful!” Kate’s voice.
“Ma’am, step away! Let us do our job.” They slid me into their ambulance as if I were a loaf of bread going into an oven.
Another man’s voice: “Okay, come with us, quick! Get in front!”
A door slammed, sirens blared. A woman—a nurse?—was next to me.
A man was talking. The driver? “Valhalla isn’t the closest hospital, but it’s the best place for head trauma.”
Valhalla? Like in mythology? Wasn’t that where heroes went when they died?
Kate’s voice but husky. “Sofia, I’m with you. I’m up front. You had a bike accident, but you’re going to be okay.”
An accident?
“Oh no! Is the bike okay?” Hey, that sounded like my voice!
“Sweetheart!” Kate sounded so relieved. “Yes! It’s fine! And you’ll be fine too!”
The same words popped out. “Oh no! Is the bike okay?” Alexa would kill me if I wrecked her bike!
“It’s fine. How do you feel?” Kate’s voice.
“Oh no!” My voice again. “Is the bike okay?”
“Yes, it’s fine. No worries.” Now Kate sounded worried. Why did she sound worried?
“Keep her talking,” a person next to me said. “Keep her awake. I have the IV ready in case she needs antiseizure meds.”
I was so tired, sooo tired. I’d never been so tired.
Kate kept talking to me, and the driver started talking—on a phone? He sounded far away, very far away. “Fourteen-year-old girl…possible brain injury…contact seizure…bicycle accident…brief loss of consciousness…convulsions…cuts and abrasions on head, shoulder, elbow, knees…”
Kate’s voice again: “I remember his number!” Then, softly, “Gregg, listen, Sofia was in a bike accident. We’re in an ambulance going to the Westchester Medical Center. She’s…talking. Meet us there. Drive carefully—or get a cab. I don’t have my cell with me, but I’ll call again as soon as I know anything.”
Oh, I get it! Kate was calling my dad. She should call my mom too. Oh, wait, my mom, my mom…
I closed my eyes again.
I wanted to sleep, needed to sleep, sleep, sleep.
• • •
The back door of the ambulance flew open and daylight poured in. People lifted me, brought me inside. They set me on a table in a too-bright emergency room. It was like TV. Doctors in white and green were talking about a “chest, pelvis, and cervical spine x-ray.” They were also taking off the plastic collar. And cutting off my skirt. Wait, were they snipping the elastic of my thong?
Whoa there! Just a second! Was I naked? In front of all these people?! This was so embarrassing! I heard my voice. A question was burbling up, popping out: “Oh no! Is the bike okay?”
Everyone ignored me, but the words surfaced again: “Oh no! Is the bike okay?”
“We want to make sure you are okay,” a female doctor answered. I saw a lady lean against a wall, crumple. Who was that? Kate?
“Do you know how you got hurt?” a male doctor asked.
“Diving board?” I replied.
Kate said. “A bike accident. It was a very steep hill.”
“But I’m a good bicyclist,” I protested. Kate looked shocked. Why was she so shocked? Did she think I was not a good bicyclist? “Oh no! Is the bike okay?” I added.
“Yes. It’s fine,” Kate said. “We’re not worried about the bike.”
A nurse with squeaky sneakers rolled me into a hallway. “We’re going to do a CAT scan.” She handed Kate forms.
Where was my mom? I wanted my mom. Oh…right…
I wished they’d turn off the lights and leave me alone and let me sleep. But wait, first, I had a question: “Oh no! Is the bike okay?”
“It’s fine,” Kate said so quietly that I wondered if I’d destroyed the bike, completely totaled it.
A doctor approached Kate. “Head injuries are weird,” he murmured. “Repetition like this is not uncommon. Some patients lose short-term memory and then it comes back.”
“Thank you,” Kate said.
“No promises. All I’m saying is not to assume the worst.”
I felt like I was wrapped in gauze. Everything hurt. Wait, was I in bed? How did I get in bed?
“Kate?” My voice.
“Yes?” Kate leaned over me, eyes wide and expectant.
“Don’t go,” I said.
“I’m not going anywhere.” She squeezed my hand, stroked my palm. “I’m staying right here with you.”
I wanted to squeeze back but couldn’t. I was too tired. I felt her fingers curling around mine. It was nice, comforting.
“We need to get her prepped for the CT,” a nurse said.
I was being wheeled down a long corridor. “Oh no! Is the bike okay?”
The nurse replied jovially, “Darlin’, who cares about a silly ol’ bike? We’re making sure you’re okay. Okay?”
And then someone gave me a drug that took away the pain…
• • •
A small, white room. A hospital? In my arm, an IV. On the wall, a monitor with different-colored zigzagging lines. I opened my eyes and saw Dad and Kate. Side by side in two chairs. She was leaning on him. They looked tense and yellowy.
“Daddy.”
“Cupcake!” He jumped up and came to my bedside.
“Am I going to be okay?” I whispered.
“More than okay!” He kissed my forehead, held me. “Tell me what happened.”
“I don’t know. We were biking. I hope Sam doesn’t think I’m a klutz.” Kate peered over the bedrail, looking as if I were saying something profound. “I really wanted to go on the bike ride.”
“There will be other bike rides,” Dad said, looking younger and more himself again.
A doctor appeared. “Sofia?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to say three words, and in a few minutes, I’ll ask you to repeat them, all right?”
“All right.”
“Cow. Ball. Bottle. I’ll be back in two minutes. Mom, Dad, no helping.”
It bothered me that the doctor had assumed that Kate and Dad were my parents, and they didn’t correct him. But I could see how they could pass for parents, even though Kate didn’t look anything like my mom. Kate wasn’t small, and she didn’t have chocolate hair or Spanish eyes. And she didn’t resemble me.
The doctor leaned in and examined my scalp, lifting up pieces of hair. It felt gross, full of gravel and dirt and…dried blood? “As soon as I catch a break, I’ll put in some staples,” he promised.
Dad thanked him, doctor to doctor.
After he left, Kate said, “I wish he’d just do it now.”
“In an emergency room,” Dad said, “there’s a hierarchy. Trust me, you don’t want to be the most popular patient. If you’re getting neglected, you should thank your stars.”
Kate nodded, then turned to me. “Sofia, it’s so good to hear you talking in full sentences again.”
“What do you mean?”
“For a while there, you kept repeating the same sentence.”
“I did?”
The doctor poked his head in the door. “Okay, princess, what were those words?”
Huh? Words? I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Not to worry,” he said, Dr. Casual. “I’ll come back later and give you three new words. I’ll do those sutures too.” He left.
Kate looked anxious, and I sensed that I’d flunked an important quiz. My stomach tightened. “Dad, what am I going to do about my finals?”
“I have good news. You already took them. And you did really well.”
“Really? I did?”
“You aced everything except math, and you did okay in math too. Relax. It’s summer vacation.”
“It is?” It was all so bewildering. I couldn’t remember my finals, the accident, or, apparently, even three simple words.
• • •
More doctors, more words. Hours later, when I finally said, “Car, paper, owl” as if it were no big deal, the doctor high-fived me, Dad acted as if I’d nailed Final Jeopardy, and Kate looked like she might cry. Next, the doctor sat down to clean my head. He gave me a shot and, while talking about his own little boy, used a staple gun to close the gash in my scalp. I thanked him and said that my head ached and I was really thirsty. He said he was sorry but he couldn’t give me water or painkillers yet and then was called away.
“She’ll have to stay in the hospital overnight,” a nurse stated. “For observation.”
“Of course,” Dad answered.
“We’ll move her upstairs as soon as a room becomes ready.”
“I’m really thirsty,” I said.
I closed my eyes and heard Kate ask, “Why can’t she have water?”
“Withholding fluids helps prevent vomiting,” Dad replied. “It’s also important in case she has a seizure or needs surgery as a result of a subdural hematoma.”
“A subdural—?”
“Blood around the brain.”
Kate stopped asking questions, and I dozed on and off, propped against pillows in the hospital bed. After a while, I started staring at the medical monitor. I realized I could control one of the lines with my breathing, so I practiced, as if it were a video game, then said, “Dad, watch.”
I blew three short breaths followed by three long ones. With each breath, the green middle line on the monitor spiked up, up, up, then down, down, down, making little stair steps.
Dad laughed. “You are a funny little wolf cub. Can you spell wolf cub backward?”
I hesitated but did it: B-U-C-F-L-O-W. “Or did you mean like our name? Because I could add the E.”
Kate hugged us, eyes glistening. Then she excused herself, returning moments later with a clear plastic bag containing my bra, top, and the ripped thong—which was mortifying. “The skirt was too torn to salvage,” she said. “The helmet too. It had a crack down the middle.”
“Sam made me wear it. I didn’t want to mess up my hair.”
“Probably saved your life,” Dad said.
“Can you tell him I’m okay?”
“It’s almost 10:00 p.m., but I bet he’s up. What’s his last name?”
“Davison,” Kate said. “On Fox Ridge Road. In Windmill Farm, everyone knows everyone. It’s a little incestuous.”
“I’ll call him now,” Dad said, getting up. “And then, Katie, you can go home and get some sleep. You can take my car.”
“I’d rather stay. If that’s all right.”
“More than all right.” He kissed her, and she hugged him, and I heard him whisper, “I love you,” and heard her whisper it back.
First I thought, Wow.
Then I was surprised to realize that I wasn’t more surprised. They were about to spend the night in the hospital with me. They were a couple, in good times and bad.
When Dad left the room to call Sam, he turned off the light. Kate mumbled, “I’m staying right here, Sofia.” I nodded, exhausted, and when Dad came back, we all three tried to sleep. A nurse had wanted to move me out of the ER, but there were no available beds.
• • •
In the middle of the night, a scream pierced the hallway. I woke with a start. I heard: “No! No! No! No!”
I sat up, alarmed. It was dark, but I saw that Dad and Kate were both wide-awake too.
Dad got up and reached for my hand.
The wail continued: “No! No! No! No!” What was it? An animal?
It was harrowing.
Then I remembered I was in a hospital. And I knew—I just knew—that it was the cry of a mother hearing news she could not bear.
I felt sick for her, but her wailing also made me want to leave the hospital. To get out. To get better. To be alive.
• • •
In the morning, a speech pathologist in a white smock arrived with a clipboard. She asked me to touch my nose, blink twice, and name the president.
I did.
“Do you know where you are?”
“A hospital.” I looked around and saw that during the night, I’d been moved to a different room, which meant I must have fallen fast asleep after all.
“Do you know where?”
“No.”
“She’s not from here,” Kate interjected. “She doesn’t know we’re in Valhalla.” I appreciated her defending me and noticed that she was wearing the same sweater as the day before. Dad had gone out for coffee.
The woman dismissed Kate with a wave. “What are your favorite foods?” she asked, pencil poised.
I had to think about that. “Paella, tortilla española, gambas al ajillo, shumai, lamb saag, shrimp tikka masala,” I began. “Sushi, gyoza, curry tom…”
The speech pathologist looked confused. Kate jumped in again. “She’s a city kid. She has a sophisticated palate.”
The woman asked, “What about hamburgers, Sofia? You eat hamburgers?”
“Love ’em. Hot dogs too. Hamburgers with ketchup, hot dogs with mustard.”
At last, the speech pathologist smiled. “And apple pie?”
“And chocolate cake. In fact, I’m starving. When can I get out of here?”
“As soon as the release forms are filled out. You got lucky.”
“Lucky?” I inspected my torn-up knees and sore shoulder.
“Lucky,” she repeated.
• • •
“Well, well.” Dad was reading a text on his cell phone. “We’re about to have company. Sam’s coming by.”
I felt a rush of warmth. My knees and shoulder and head hurt, and I was tired, but I could feel myself coming back to life. “When?”
“Now. He’s on his way.”
Dad showed me on his phone: Please tell Sofia I’ll be there at noon. Sam.
“I wish I could wash my hair, and this hospital gown isn’t exactly—”
“You look gorgeous,” Dad said. Which was sweet. Dad looked awful—rumpled and unshaven. Had he and Kate really spent the whole night with me? I peered at Kate—I’d never seen her so unkempt, and it occurred to me that, in their own way, she and Dad looked a little as if they belonged together. Which was disturbing but also a teeny tiny bit comforting. (Though it was also disturbing to even think that.)
Kate helped me stagger to the bathroom, where I inspected myself in the mirror. “I do look better than I thought,” I admitted.
“You look great. It’s incredible.”
“I feel like caca, as my mom would’ve said. Caca is poop in Spanish.”
Kate met my eyes in the mirror. “That’s the first time you’ve mentioned your mother to me.”
“Actually, it’s not.” Maybe it was because my guard was down or because of the meds, but I wanted to take advantage of this moment and tell her about Catlover and Dear Kate. I wanted to be honest with her, the way I used to be. And I was just about to when Dad knocked on the door.
“Visitors! Sam and Lori Davison!” he announced. Kate held my arm as I took slow, careful steps back toward my hospital bed.
“Hi!” Sam said uncomfortably.
“Hi!” I smiled. “I think you met my dad, playing volleyball.”
Everyone started trying to piece together what had happened. Apparently, moments after saying good-bye to Kate, I’d flipped over the handlebars. Sam called 911 with his cell and also called his mom, Lori, who drove straight to Kate’s house where, as Lori put it, she honked “like a crazy woman” until Kate got into her car.
I vaguely remembered Kate and the red blur of an ambulance, but I couldn’t remember the accident at all, which was, no doubt, just as well.
Lori handed me a bag. “It’s a sundress,” she said. “You can wear it home, and Kate can get it back to me anytime.”
“And these you can keep,” Sam said and handed me a dozen yellow roses. “I’m really sorry.”
“They’re beautiful. Thank you.” I wished I had the nerve to ask the grown-ups to let Sam and me have a moment. One moment and one kiss would have made me feel a whole lot better.
“Sam, thank you,” Dad said, “for making Sofia wear a helmet.”
“The ER people threw it out because it got cracked,” I said. Suddenly, I remembered Alexa’s bicycle and said, “Oh no! Is the bike okay?”
Kate made a face, but Sam said, “It’s fine. I already put it back in the garage.”
• • •
I woke up groggy and sore, in a queen-size bed with crisp, lavender sheets and a patchwork quilt comforter. Outside, I heard a concert of songbirds and the faint creak of a…windmill?
A flood of memories: a train, a helmet, a bicycle, a hospital.
My eyes rested on a vase of yellow roses on the bed table. I studied their delicate petals and fragile centers. I touched one, then another. I pressed my face into the bouquet, breathed in, and thought, Sam. Yes. Sam.
I knew where I was: Dear Kate’s guest room. What was nice was that I didn’t feel like a guest.
I walked downstairs. Dad and Kate were drinking blue smoothies and doing the Times crossword. His assistant must have rescheduled his appointments.
It was rare that Dad missed work (except when Mom died), but he said that every once in a while, even doctors get to call in sick. Besides, his patients were used to last-minute changes. Whenever a woman went into labor, his whole schedule got thrown off. I’d gone with Mom to the opera twice because, as she used to joke, whenever she and Dad had tickets, someone had twins. Dad said it was an occupational hazard of obstetrics: “Dr. Wolfe, at your cervix.” “Push, push, push, all day long.”
I entered the kitchen, and Dad and Kate made a fuss over my cuts and scrapes. “Who’s taking care of Pepito?” I asked.
“He has plenty of kibble and water for a day or two,” Dad assured me. “And I asked Mrs. Russell to run up and look in on him. She has the key.” On cue, Coconut padded over and wound herself around my legs, her soft, white tail caressing the skin beneath my bandaged knees. I crouched and petted her, massaging the scruff of her neck. Soon, she was purring loudly enough for us all to hear.
“You really are a cat person,” Kate said.
“Yeah, I love cats.” I studied Kate. “Actually, there’s something I need to tell you.”
Dad must have noticed my serious tone because he looked up from the newspaper. I hadn’t planned to say anything in front of him, but I didn’t want to miss this chance—or hold on to my secret any longer. I needed to tell the truth. “I am a cat lover,” I stated. “A catlover. I love cats. I could have, like, ninety-nine of them.”
Dad looked confused, like, Did the accident have repercussions after all?
But Kate’s jaw dropped and her eyes went wide. She stood and smiled. “C’mere,” she said, opening her arms.
I walked into her embrace and let myself be hugged. Then, without warning, I started to cry. Was it the relief of being honest? The release of the anxiety from the day before? The bittersweet comfort of being in a mother’s arms?
“Wow,” Kate said softly. “So I’m the Mystery Woman?”
I nodded.
“What am I not getting?” Dad asked. Kate’s eyes were wet now too. “Could one of you fill me in?”
“Not me,” Kate said.
“Dad,” I began, “you know how Kate visited HSG, and you started going out with her? Well, I started writing her, and she wrote back, and I told her about Mom and then about you meeting someone new, and we wrote a lot before I found out that…you two were going out.”
“What’s remarkable,” Kate said, “is that with all the mail I get, I really felt for Catlover99. She seemed like a good kid who’d been through a lot.” Kate looked at us both, and Dad smiled and seemed a little choked up. “Maria must have been quite a woman.” Kate added, “But I’m not sure I remember too many other specifics.”
“That’s okay!” I said too quickly.
“Of course, I could go through my old mail and reread what you wrote. Would you like me to?”
“No!”
She laughed. “Would you prefer I delete them all?”
“Yes!”
“Fine. We’ll do that together. Right after breakfast.”
“There’s nothing bad in them. It’s just…”
She put up a hand. “I get it. Girls write me because they know whatever they say won’t come back to haunt them.”
“Thank you,” I said, relieved. “Can I still proofread your column?”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I just sent it off to my editor. Next time, okay?”
“Okay.”
She refilled Dad’s coffee mug and poured me some orange juice. “And now, Sofia, in the spirit of full disclosure, I have something I think I should tell you, though maybe Sam should be the one?”
I looked at her, puzzled.
“Here’s the thing. Sam’s a good guy. I know because, well…he went out with Alexa.”
“Alexa?” I said. “Alexa-Alexa?”
“Sam hasn’t been around much lately, but Alexa did mention that he came to say good-bye one evening before she went to Canada. Anyway, last winter they went to the Snow Ball—it’s like a prom. So you might just want to ask him where things stand.”
I was speechless. No wonder Sam blanched when I pointed out the Bairds’ house. No wonder he knew exactly where to find Alexa’s bike.
Dad looked surprised too, and when neither of us spoke, he said, “Ladies, any other bombshells?”
“It’s your turn,” Kate replied. “Are you harboring any secrets, Dr. Wolfe?”
“Oh, hell,” he said, “as long as we’re coming clean…”
Kate looked apprehensive, and I braced myself. What had Dad not told us?
“Remember when I first drove here in February? I said I had a meeting and asked you to sign a book for my niece.” Niece? “Well, I didn’t have a meeting or a niece,” Dad said. “I had an agenda.”
Kate looked at me and smiled. “What do you think, Sofia? Liar, liar, pants on fire?”
I shrugged—which hurt. “Oww.”
Kate stroked my back gently and faced Dad. “Tell you what, Gregg, I won’t count that as a secret. More like a strategy.”
“It worked,” he said.
“It did,” Kate agreed.
I texted Sam to meet me beneath the big maple tree. I needed to know what was going on.
“I’m going to the club,” I said, grabbing an apple. “But first, Kate, can we delete all those emails, if you really don’t mind?”
Kate led me to her messy office, and I lifted a framed black-and-white portrait of Alexa as a little kid going down the big slide.
“Alexa’s father took that picture,” she said.
Her phone rang and she checked caller ID. “It’s my editor. Give me a minute?”
“Sure.” She took her cell into the hallway.
I peeked at a chat on her computer and, feeling slightly guilty, started skimming.
DearKate: It’s just all happening so fast. I don’t want to be rash.
TheBryans: You are the least rash person on the planet! You’re the opposite of rash. What’s the opposite of “rash”?
DearKate: Calamine lotion?
TheBryans: Exactly! That’s you, soothing and sensible. Which is lovely, truly. But if your heart’s trying to tell your brain something, why not shut up for once and listen?
DearKate: You’re probably right.
TheBryans: Oh, I’m definitely right. Is Sofia totally okay?
DearKate: Yes. Thank God!
The Bryans: Phew!
DearKate: Have you heard from Alexa?
TheBryans: One call, one postcard.
DearKate: Same. My postcard said, “The Rockies rock.”
TheBryans: Ours said, “Can you believe I’m someplace where you’ve never been?”
DearKate: If she calls again, don’t tell her. I need to tell her myself.
TheBryans: Believe me, we’re not touching that subject. But go for it. You help kids live their lives. You get to live yours.
Kate came back, and I pretended to be studying the foreign editions of her book, but I was confused. Who were the Bryans? And what subject were they not touching?
“Okay, Catlover99, let’s do this,” Kate said. She went into her old mail, clicked on Addresses, scrolled down to the C’s, and highlighted all my emails. When she pressed Delete, a box asked, “Are you sure you want to delete the selected messages?”
I nodded, Kate clicked, and ta-da! They all disappeared—poof!
I wished it were that easy to delete—no, transform—Catlover99 herself. I didn’t want to get rid of her. I just wanted her to be bolder and braver. I wanted her to speak up and sing and laugh and be herself again, her best self. She could do that, couldn’t she?
• • •
“Sam!” I waved. I was wearing shorts, a T-shirt, sandals, and regular underwear—not a thong.
“Sofia! I can’t believe how okay you look.”
“Okay? After all I’ve been through?” I pointed to my knees and shoulder.
“Unbelievable. Fantastic. Incredible.”
“That’s better,” I said, then frowned.
“Hey, I feel really bad about what happened. I should’ve realized you’re not used to biking.”
“At least you made me wear a helmet. And I’d ridden a little, in Spain. Not that I’m planning to get back on a bike anytime soon.”
“I don’t blame you. I blame myself. That bike was too big for you.”
“Yeah, well”—I looked right at him—“that’s because it belongs to Alexa.” My heart was pounding. “Sam, I mean, if you’re going to feel bad about something…”
He exhaled. “Remember when I walked you home…after the windmill? You told me where you were staying and I—”
“Freaked out and took off?”
“Sofia, I haven’t gone out with many girls, but the last one was—”
“I know. Kate told me an hour ago.”
“I was going to tell you yesterday.”
“Did you two even break up? I once asked Alexa if she had a boyfriend, and she made it sound on again, off again.”
“I don’t think she ever thought of me as her ‘boyfriend.’”
“You went to a prom thing.”
“True.”
“Do you still like her?”
We walked down the stairs of the club. There were no chairs stacked up, so Sam entered a shadowy room he called the “lifeguard dungeon” and came out with two red folding chairs. He opened his up as I struggled with mine, and then he opened mine for me. “I…admire her,” he continued as we both sat down. “She says what she thinks, no matter how it comes off.”
“And that’s good?” I asked.
“Not always. But she and I go pretty far back.”
“Go on.”
“We knew each other when we were kids. We were on the swim team; we shot hoops in her driveway; we played Ping-Pong in the Teen Room.”
“And then?”
“Last fall, I started high school. I’d grown, like, six inches over the summer, and she started telling me about parties and invited me to the Snow Ball. But if I said hi in the hall, she’d sometimes act like she barely knew me. And if I called her, she never called back. She can be pretty—”
“Bitchy?”
“I was going to say ‘unpredictable,’” he replied.
I shrugged.
“She’s been through a lot,” he said, and I thought: Yeah, who hasn’t? “I think the stuff with her father really threw her,” he added.
“What stuff?”
“You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“Alexa was in sixth grade when her dad came out.”
“Wait. Her dad’s gay?”
“For a while, it was all anyone talked about. This was before the legalization of gay marriage and stuff. She got picked on. And then she got quiet. And then she got sort of mean.”
“I didn’t know any of this,” I said, wondering what else I was in the dark about. “And the whole time, her mom was Dear Kate?”
“Oh man, I hadn’t thought about it that way. Yeah, Mrs. Baird was running around giving advice about bullying and God knows what else”—(Bras, periods, cliques, crushes, I thought)—“while her one and only daughter was a holy terror.” He shook his head. “I wish I could have stopped people from being mean to Alexa and stopped her from being mean back, but—”
I touched his toes with my toes. “But you were ten.”
He laughed. “Good point! I was ten!” I tried to picture Sam as a sandy-haired ten-year-old. “Still, Sofia, I can’t pretend I never liked Alexa. She was a friend. And then she was more.”
“How much more?” I asked, my stomach twisting.
“Pretty much more.” He met my eyes, and I felt as if I’d been punched.
“When I was a freshman, she was a sophomore, and the guys on my team were all like, ‘Dude!’”
I crossed my arms and pulled my toes back. Lately, I’d felt like I was moving forward. But now I wondered if life was like Chutes and Ladders—you advance and advance but just as quickly, you can slide backward and lose ground.
“She’s the one who showed me the windmill,” Sam said.
“She showed me too,” I confessed. “I didn’t want to say anything.”
“She did? Really?” I nodded, and he went quiet, taking that in. “Hey, Sofia, what if we tried not to keep stuff from each other? I never knew what Alexa was thinking, and that sucked actually. Maybe you and I can be more, you know, honest?”
“Okay,” I mumbled.
“So now what? Alexa’s in Canada, right?”
“Until the end of July.” I uncrossed my arms and let my pinkie finger brush the back of his hand.
He stood and pulled me up. “Let’s take a walk.”
I didn’t want to let him off the hook so easily, but he hadn’t really done anything wrong, had he? He was allowed to have a past. Yeah, but did it have to involve Alexa?
“Sofia! Sofia!” he started whisper-singing, “I just met a girl named Sofia!”
I smiled, despite myself, and told him that when I was in seventh grade, my school had put on West Side Story, and I was Maria.
“You were the lead? I bet you were amazing.”
“I kind of was.” I smiled.
He put his arm around me, but I winced. “Ouch! My shoulder!”
“Sorry!” We held hands instead, our fingers intertwined.
“My mom’s name was Maria,” I told him. “She loved that song.” My voice caught, and for a second, I felt so open that I told myself to take it slow, to try not to care too much too fast.
I’d gotten hurt careening down that hill. Maybe I should try—at least try—to put on the brakes.
• • •
I walked back to Kate’s house alone, and when I got to the edge of her yard, I could see Dad and her in the hammock. I was about to say hi when I overheard Kate say, “Gregg, maybe I do have another bombshell.” I slowed down behind the weeping willow and listened, half-hidden.
“You are the bombshell,” Dad teased. Kate must have looked serious because he added, “Wait. Should I be nervous?”
“I don’t know.”
“You two have to move, right?” Kate began. “You’re about to be evicted and you still haven’t found a new place to live.”
“You’re making it sound dire. We can always rent.”
“I love my house,” she continued. “I did as a girl and I do now. But it’s really…big. Look, I know I need to talk to Alexa about this, but on the other hand, Alexa is going to be leaving soon one way or the other.”
I stayed completely still, like one of those rabbits at dusk that, when observed, turns into a miniature lawn statue. I didn’t like that spying had become my new specialty, but I couldn’t resist.
“What I mean,” Kate continued, “is that there’s room in my house for you and Sofia and even your cat. At least for a while.” She paused. “Or longer?”
“You do need to talk to Alexa, and I need to talk to Sofia,” Dad began, “but if you’re saying what I hope you’re saying, well, it’s an idea worth considering.”
My mouth fell open. This wasn’t small talk; this was big talk! Giant talk! And whoa—weren’t they taking things way too fast?
“We aren’t just in a honeymoon phase, are we?” Kate asked.
“No, we’re good together. Of course, you’re the relationship expert, Katie. I just know what I feel.”
“Which is?”
“Happy when I’m with you,” Dad said. “And at home when I’m here. And like I’ve hit the jackpot because if I’m going to add a mother figure to Sofia’s life, it’s pretty great that I found an expert with girls.”
They kissed and I thought, I don’t need a mother figure! Then I wondered if that was true.
“How about you?” Dad asked. “How do you feel?”
“Happy when I’m with you,” Kate replied. “And at home with you here. And a little anxious because Alexa already has two father figures and is not looking for a third. And also, for once, a little selfish because I want what’s best for me, which is you.”
“What would Dear Kate say?” Dad asked.
“Little Miss Know-It-All would say we’re getting ahead of ourselves.”
I wanted to chime in, She’d have a point!
“Well, I’d say she’s jealous,” Dad said.
“Yeah, what does she know about adults anyway?”
They laughed, then fell silent. More kissing? No way could I show myself now! I backtracked and did another lap around the lake—this time in a daze.
Was I glad the two of them had found each other?
Or was I sorry I’d ever encouraged Dad to go hear Dear Kate’s talk?
• • •
“I’m back!” I shouted and let the door bang behind me.
Dad came over with an I-have-something-important-to-tell-you expression. “Come, let’s sit on the porch.” I shrugged and followed, and we sat in the rocking chairs. “How you feeling, cupcake? No headaches?”
“I’m okay,” I said, waiting.
“You know we have to move…” He didn’t have to say any more; I’d heard it all anyway. I knew what was coming. And I knew that everything kept going, ready or not. Real life wasn’t like watching a movie on a laptop. You couldn’t press Pause or Rewind or Skip or Start Over. Life barely skipped a beat for Death. The planet never slowed down to let people absorb a shock or play catch-up. It just kept spinning and spinning.
“I was thinking,” Dad continued, “Kate and I were thinking—”
I looked out at the lush lawn. Why make him even say it out loud? “Here?” I mumbled. “Temporarily?”
“Maybe. But I hope…Katie and I hope…”
I put my hand up to stop his words. I liked Kate and was happy for Dad and, well, both of them. But if they moved in together, that would be it—the very last nail in the coffin.
“Does Alexa know?”
“Not yet. Katie’s been trying to reach her in Canada.”
I felt so heavy, it was as if I might never be able to get up from the chair. “Will you keep working at Mount Sinai?”
“I’ll commute. I might hate it in winter, but I’ll get audiobooks or you’ll make me playlists or whatever. And we can drive in together if you stay at Halsey. I already paid your deposit. Or you can go to Byram Hills. Your choice.”
My choice? What a concept.
Did I want to commute to the small, all-girls’ private school where I had gone for nine years and had lots of friends? Or did I want to be the new girl at a medium-size coed public school where I knew only Sam and Alexa?
“Can I think about it?”
“Of course. But if you stay at Halsey, I need to send them a tuition check. And if you switch, we need to get you registered.”
“Okay,” I said, though none of this was really okay. “Hey, Dad,” I said, “what’d you do with that book you got signed for your ‘niece’ anyway?”
“Put it in my waiting room,” he said sheepishly.
• • •
Fireflies twinkled in the backyard. Dad and Kate were sitting on the porch swing. I found my cell phone and started texting Kiki.
Catlover99: you there?
kikiroo: yep. right here.
Catlover99: the thong didn’t make it but i did
kikiroo: huh?
Catlover99: i had an accident
kikiroo: #1 or #2? hehe
Catlover99: no. for real
Catlover99: a bike accident…i spent the night before last in the hospital!
kikiroo: OMG!!!
kikiroo: are u ok???
Catlover99: mostly. but that’s not the big news
kikiroo: huh? whats the big news???
Catlover99: if i tell you in person, i’ll cry
Catlover99: which is why i’m writing it
kikiroo: k…
Catlover99: we’re moving!
kikiroo: WHAT???!!!!!!!!
Catlover99: kate invited us to move in
Catlover99: to her house
kikiroo: im in shock. no.
kikiroo: im depressed.
kikiroo: no. im jealous!!!
Catlover99: i’m in shock. and i’m always jealous of you
kikiroo: youll still go to HSG, right?
Catlover99: maybe… or maybe to that school we saw?
kikiroo: u cant!!!!
kikiroo: no no no NO NOOOOOOO
Catlover99: i don’t know yet
kikiroo: you can’t leave! i’m serious!
Catlover99: either way, you can come out a lot
Catlover99: alexa likes you more than me…
Catlover99: you can pretend it’s your country house
kikiroo: i can’t believe this…
Catlover99: i mean it. you can help decorate my room
kikiroo: do u have to share with alexa??
Catlover99: omg!! no!! can you imagine? alexa would never want to share a room with me.
Catlover99: and she is NOT going to be thrilled to have me as a sister!!
kikiroo: i would be.
Catlover99: awww thanks
kikiroo: ok if i call?
Catlover99: yes but reception can be spotty. call the landline, k?
The phone rang. I picked up, and Kiki, without even waiting for “hi,” said, “Start from the beginning. You were in the hospital?”