This race is a disaster before it even begins. I hardly slept, still beating myself up for not being there for Grandma. When my alarm blares at 4:30 a.m., I slam on the snooze button and oversleep. I make it to the race and nearly miss the last bus to the start line. I’ve forgotten my water bottle, and my legs hurt already. Once we set off, I know it’s a bad sign when I check my watch and see I’ve only run half a mile and want to quit.
Fatigue and mental defeat set in at Mile 3, and I start mixing a little walking in with my running. I would probably give up except I see Ryan at Mile 4 cheering me on with his sign and a goofy grin. It gives me a boost, but it doesn’t last long. Soon the weight of my regret and self-loathing is back on my shoulders, pushing me down like a giant hand. As I run through the city streets and tree-lined neighborhoods, I feel Grandma’s trembling and see her tear-stained face plastered like a billboard in my mind. It’s nearly impossible to run with all of this emotional baggage.
At the halfway point, I’ve convinced myself to quit; I don’t have it in me. But when I see Ryan and walk over to tell him, he gives me a pep talk that convinces me to stick with it. Among his convincing arguments are that I’m already halfway done, this will get me one step closer to my mom’s goal, and he drove by my house on his way here and saw my grandma and Cherise on the front porch drinking coffee. Plus, there’s his smile.
So I continue on and survive to the finish line, with Ryan popping up at nearly every mile giving me a surge of energy to keep me going. It’s not a great finish time at all, but I ran more than I walked, so I guess it counts.
I rush home, and Grandma is fine, playing cards with Cherise. And she’s fine for the next couple of weeks, slowly coming back to her regular self. This allows me to focus on the big news at school: the basketball team is expected to win the CIF championship this year. It’s all over school, and it’s all anyone talks about. Hallways are plastered with black-and-gold posters advertising the games and ones with glitter paint celebrating each of the players. We had an assembly last week before the first-round game, and there’s a noontime rally going on right now in advance of today’s game. Last year, they came up one win short of a state championship, and no one is going to let that happen again.
Ryan is on the outdoor stage today at lunch asking for all the students to come out and support the team tonight. It’s going to be a tough crowd in a hostile gym, and they’ll need all of our cheers. The students erupt, and the cheerleaders jump around him and shake their shiny pom-poms. Even from across the quad, I am dazzled by his energy.
Mari nails me on the cheek with a pretzel. “Ow! What?” I turn my head in her direction.
“I asked you a question. Like three times.”
“I didn’t hear you,” I explain.
“What, were you still daydreaming about your smooch with Prince Hottie?” she teases.
On his way to the rally, Ryan stopped by to say hi, and he kissed me when he left. I guess the word is out about Ryan and me—that we’re “dating” or whatever. I’m starting to get the dirty looks from some girls and the wide-eyed awe from others when Ryan and I hold hands in the hallway or when he kisses me goodbye.
“No, I was watching the rally,” I protest. “What did you ask?”
“I asked if you want to go to the game straight from school since it starts at five. We could go to Starbucks on our way or something.”
I know we need to get there early, but I should probably go home first. “I need to check on my grandma before I go. Can you pick me up around four thirty?”
“Fine with me, but you probably won’t get to see Boy Wonder warm-up.” She makes googly eyes at me.
I grab the pretzel and nail her with it. “Ha, ha, ha.”
We continue watching the rally until the bell rings. On my way to fifth period, I already feel badly for Mrs. Hamilton. If it’s anything like last week, very few will be paying attention to her. People will be texting plans, and this time, they’ll probably be Googling directions. I silently vow to participate in class today.
Thank goodness Mari has a small car that we can squeeze into an empty space on a side street around the corner from the school. It’s the only parking available by the time we arrive at the game. The gym is packed, and the crowd screams as the players are being introduced. There is no more space left in the visitor section, so we have to wedge ourselves into a tiny spot in the home team section. Thankfully, neither of us wore any Union High gear. In fact, my green I Love Ireland shirt and Mari’s black hoodie make us look like we belong to the other school anyway.
Shouts and cheers bounce from one side of the bleachers to the other as the score goes back and forth. Their fans yell all sorts of things at our players, especially Ryan. I can’t hear them clearly, but they don’t sound like compliments. In the third quarter, though, Union starts to pull away as Ryan finally starts making his shots. As he scores more points, the students at the edge of the section near us begin the name-calling. Now that it’s closer to us, I can hear what they’re saying. They aren’t just calling out the standard “you suck” and “loser” comments. The students shout “zebra” and “chonky” and “half-breed” at Ryan. It makes me mad, but if Ryan hears it, it only motivates him because he scores almost all our points in the second half. Union wins by ten points.
After the final buzzer, Mari and I make a beeline for our section, and Ryan finds us almost immediately.
I give him a hug, not caring how sweaty he is. “Great game,” I say.
“Thanks.” He grins and high-fives a couple people who swarm us.
“Tough crowd,” Mari adds.
“Yeah, just a little.” He raises an eyebrow. “They’re not too original, though. It wasn’t anything I haven’t heard before.”
He fields a few more congratulations from students and parents then looks me up and down and does the same to Mari. “What’s with the green and black?” He rests his hand on his heart to indicate his pain.
“Sorry.” My chin drops to my chest.
“Nah, I’m just kidding. I—” He’s interrupted by a mob of friends piling on top of him. Mari and I step back to avoid being clobbered.
“Let’s go,” I say to Mari. “He’s too busy.”
“No,” she scolds me. “You at least have to say goodbye.”
We hang around, and when his friends leave, I say, “We’re going to take off. I’ll talk to you later?”
“Wait.” He grabs my arm. “I want you to meet my parents. Don’t move.” He signals for us to stay and weaves his way through the crowd.
“Ooooh, the parents,” Mari jokes. “So, uh, I’m going to go hang out right outside the entrance.”
I feel my face turn white. “What? No, you have to stay!”
“The only thing more awkward than meeting his parents will be meeting his parents with me there.” She laughs. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be outside when you’re done.”
She disappears, and I’m left alone in a strange gym amid a swarm of people, none of whom are familiar—my school or theirs. I pretend to study something on my phone, but even that feels awkward. Luckily, Ryan returns quickly with his mom, dad, and brother.
He stands between us. “Mom, Dad... this is Emma.” He points his open hand at me, and I’m so nervous I nearly curtsy.
Mr. Mellano gives my hand a firm shake, but when I extend my hand toward his mom, she takes me in for a hug instead. “Oh Emma. It’s so nice to finally meet you. We’ve heard so much about you.”
My mind instantly wonders what exactly they’ve heard. I didn’t notice any sad head tilts, so maybe they don’t know my tragic tale.
Ryan’s brother clears his throat, and Ryan says, “Oh yeah, this is my brother, Jake.”
I’m not sure what to do, so I raise a hand for a wave. Ryan’s brother looks like a miniature version of him except his skin tone is darker and his hair is wavier.
Ryan’s mom asks me how I like California, and his dad tells me he’s been to Cleveland. I’m not nearly as good with adults as Ryan is. I stutter and stumble over my simple one-sentence responses. I’m not sure if it’s so much nerves as it is staring at how beautiful his parents are, too.
I can see the Scandinavian in his dad’s bright blue eyes and honey skin. His mom looks like an Olympic athlete version of that actress Lucy Liu. She’s nearly as tall as Mr. Mellano, which explains Ryan but not his brother who is closer to my size. Her short-sleeved Union High shirt reveals muscles chiseled into her upper arms. Her long black hair falls gracefully over her shoulder—I’m so jealous—and her face is even more striking with high cheekbones, flawless skin, and her own set of sky-blue eyes.
My staring is probably shifting from interest to creepy, so I look at Ryan. He’s so hot, especially after a game, and all this does is mix up my brain. I snap back and manage to focus on the conversation. I answer a few more questions without sounding too stupid, then Ryan’s coach signals for him to rejoin the team.
“It was nice to meet you,” I say, and Ryan’s mom hugs me again. I say goodbye and leave to find Mari.
She’s waiting outside the exit. “So?” she asks.
“That is the most perfect-looking family I’ve ever seen.” She laughs, and I relay the entire scene as we walk to the car.
Grandma is finishing her dinner when I walk through the front door. I help her clean up, and she invites me to join her for an after-dinner cup of tea. It’s unusually warm tonight, so we sit outside.
Grandma and Grandpa updated the backyard to be a smaller version of their New London house, I think. They built a covered patio with ropes of mini globe lights strung from one end to the other. One flickers, and for a moment, it looks like a firefly out here in the California night air. Grass and brightly colored flowers surround it on all sides. We sit in two of the tan cushioned chairs.
“It’s really pretty out here, Grandma.”
“Thank you. Your grandfather did all of this.” She waves her hand in front of her. “We used to sit out here almost every night, but I don’t come out that much anymore.” A dreaminess fills her eyes. I make a mental note to come out here with her more often.
She asks me more about the game, about school, and she asks about Mari. We talk about her friends, this week’s bridge game, and the new TV show we’ve started watching about a dog and its owner.
Eventually we tire out and sip our cooled tea in silence. My mind drifts to my to-do list, at the top of which is finding a fiftieth race. I take inventory and realize I’m so close to fulfilling all of their goals: one more race for Mom, almost into Ohio State for Connor, and I just need to plan Greece for Dad. A new idea jumps into my head at that last thought.
“Hey Grandma, I was thinking about taking a trip to Greece after I graduate and before I go off to college, and I thought...” My voice stalls when I see the surprise on her face. I didn’t think before I spoke, and I hope I haven’t upset her at the mention of Greece.
Her mind seems to travel somewhere, then she looks over at me and smiles. “You’ll love it.”
“I kind of wanted to go to Corfu, where you guys are from. What do you think?”
Her eyes brighten. “Oh, it’s beautiful. Of course you’d have to visit Kassiopi. And they say Paleokastritsa Beach is the place to go now. And then there’s your grandfather’s favorite taverna, but I’m sure that’s no longer there.” Her eyes search the night air for more memories.
“I should probably write all this down.” I laugh.
“Oh!” She sits taller in her chair. “I’ll call my niece. I’m sure you could stay with her. Or my nephew. Though he’s a little wild, from what I understand.”
“Thanks. I’d love to meet my family.” I hadn’t really thought of that. When I originally developed the plan, it was only about getting to Corfu. I guess I figured I’d stay in a hotel, but meeting Dad’s family—while a little scary and intimidating—is much more meaningful.
“Let me go get her number and my iPad. We could look things up together. I don’t even know what’s there anymore.” She’s little-girl-on-Christmas-morning excited, and I swear her Greek accent is thicker after just the mention of Greece.
While she’s inside, my foot taps and my heart flips at the thought of planning this trip and making it real. I open the notepad app on my phone to get ready to type in all our ideas, and I see a previous note I started: “Funeral.” I forgot it was still in here. I open it, and the memory floods my mind.
There was such commotion in the house after Mom passed away. People came by nonstop with rectangular casseroles, all forms of chocolate desserts, cards with overly dramatic pre-printed sentiments, and clusters of flowers—none of which were Mom’s favorite daisies. At one point, I couldn’t even see the kitchen table because it was mired in flower arrangements. I escaped to my room and started this list of all the things I thought Mom, Dad, and Connor would want at the funeral. I brought it to Uncle Jim and Aunt Jules, but they told me they would take care of everything and that I shouldn’t worry. I tried to explain to them that I wasn’t worried, but they insisted it would be too much for me. I know they only wanted to help me, but it left me feeling useless and detached from the celebration for my own family. The funeral meant nothing to me because it didn’t have a slideshow or Mom’s daisies decorating the church or Dad’s baklava at the reception or Connor’s Ohio State scarlet and gray on the programs.
“It doesn’t have much charge left, but it should be good for a while.” Grandma is back with the iPad, and I close the funeral note. I think she’s forgotten to get her sister’s phone number, but I’m certainly not going to remind her of that. We spend the next hour reading about a more modern Corfu than Grandma remembers. Recalling memories of Grandpa and Dad doesn’t seem to make her sad. It does the opposite; her eyes sparkle. I save all the websites we find and I type in the list of sights to see on a new note I name “Dad’s Greece.”
Grandma tells me lots of stories well into the night. It’s definitely one of her good days, and I finally understand that it doesn’t mean she’s cured. There will be more bad days, maybe even tomorrow. But I’m content, sitting here under these imitation fireflies, enjoying a good moment.