THIRTY-SEVEN

I FEEL BETTER ABOUT THE Kaylan fight, but I still barely sleep that night. I’m tossing and turning and trying to figure out what we can do about the Isabela thing, and my mind keeps going back to that leadership program at camp. Helping someone else shine is a key part of leadership.

She should be shining.

One day she will stop raising her hand, and Mr. Gavinder won’t even notice. She’ll lose all her confidence in math. She’ll stop caring about it. And she won’t even really know why or how it happened.

The next morning, I’m half-asleep at the kitchen table, sipping my orange juice, when my mom asks my dad what’s on his agenda for the day. She does this every morning. And that’s the exact moment they start arguing.

It usually goes like this: If he says nothing, or “applying for jobs” in a short kind of way, she gets annoyed. And then he criticizes her for not being supportive. And then they look at me all sad and pathetic. And I try to pretend I haven’t heard them arguing and that all is totally fine, and I’m strong and happy and school is great and I’m thrilled about an only-bagel bat mitzvah.

I guess I still have more work to do in terms of keeping feelings to myself. I’m midsip of my orange juice when it occurs to me.

I can’t keep pretending that everything is fine.

The boy I need to tell how I really feel is actually my dad.

And I need to do it soon.

“I just have one question,” I say to my mom’s back as she’s scrambling a few eggs for Gemma and me. My dad has left the kitchen and gone upstairs to stare blankly at his computer. I’ve seen him do it, and it’s pretty scary—those empty eyes, the brightness of the screen. It’s like he’s entering an abyss, and I don’t know when or if we will get him back.

“Yes?” my mom asks, forcing her voice to be cheerful.

“Remember when you were obsessing over the party favors for my bat mitzvah? And you wanted to design a logo and stuff? And then you decided on a hoodie?” I pause, waiting for my mom to chime in. She doesn’t. “I just wondered if you ever ordered them or if you canceled it or whatever.” I pause again. She’s still silent. “People at school were asking me.”

She finally turns around and pulls out a chair to sit down at the kitchen table next to me.

She looks at me for a few seconds, like she’s debating what to say. “I was waiting to order them, Ari. I wanted to see who was coming so we could get them personalized. I wanted a little embroidered name on the corner of each hoodie.” She rolls her lips together, and a few tears trickle down from her eyelids. “Dad’s promotion was supposed to come through. None of this was supposed to be an issue.”

“I’m kind of sad about this, Mom,” I tell her.

“I know. I am too.” She’s quiet for a few seconds and then she says, “Have you seen a letter around here? It was kind of important. Someone wanted to get in touch with us. It was right on the counter, next to the microwave. And now I can’t seem to find it.”

I look at her, straight in the eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I was kind of hoping she’d come up with some alternative plan for the giveaway, like buying a ton of white T-shirts and ironing something cool on them. But she doesn’t. She’s lost in her own world and isn’t willing to improvise.

I walk up the stairs and crawl back into bed. I have ten minutes before I need to leave for the bus, and I’m not hungry for breakfast anyway.

I feel a little guilty for lying to her about the letter. But not that guilty.

When Kaylan and I get to school, all the lunch table girls are hanging out on the floor by our lockers.

“I told everyone we made up,” Kaylan whispers as we walk over there. “Just FYI.”

“Oh, um, okay.” I start unpacking my books and lining them up on the top shelf of my locker.

“And I told them you’re going to start opening up and stuff,” she continues. “Like leaning on us, and we’ll all feel like real friends.”

“Kay.” I crack up so hard I can’t talk. “Did you leave anything for me to say?”

“Um, yeah, that’s all I said to them. . . .”

I hug her for a second and then sit down in front of my locker.

“So glad you guys are talking again!” Cami puts her arms around Kaylan and me. “Seriously. So, so happy.”

I pull back after a few seconds. “Me too.”

“And you can talk to me about anything at any time,” Cami says. “You know that, right?”

I nod, forcing myself not to laugh. This girl is way too much, especially for this early in the morning.

“They’re announcing the clubs this morning!” Cami says loudly so everyone can hear, doing a little shimmy. “Get excited!”

I look at my watch and realize the first bell will ring in approximately nine minutes. “When?”

“Before first bell,” Cami declares.

I take out my notebook to start reviewing my Spanish vocabulary words. The girls keep talking all around me, but I try to tune them out. Even Kaylan is going on and on about what the comedy club will do, and how they can have a comedy showcase at the end of the year and maybe even some famous comedians will come.

Even though I feel great about the Kaylan stuff, I have this slimy feeling about that letter from Anthony and Eve Bowlin, and an even slimier feeling about how I lied to my mom. I start to wonder if selling the house would really save everything. Maybe I should dig it out and give it to her.

Abuelo—grandfather

Abuela—grandmother

Hermana—sister

I look at my watch again. “Guys, first bell is literally going off in a minute. Where is this announcement?”

Cami looks around. “She said she was announcing! I am so confused. I really thought that—”

She’s cut off when we hear the chime signaling that an announcement is about to start. We all look at one another, tense expressions on our faces. I didn’t expect this to become so hectic. I didn’t even think most people would suggest clubs. Now it’s like we’re in some kind of competition we didn’t plan or want or even know we were in.

“Hello, Brookside Middle School students! Good morning on this bright and sunny day! I am thrilled to announce the new additions to our outstanding after-school clubs roster. We had many more entries than we ever expected, and all were incredible ideas.” Ms. Bixhorn pauses and clears her throat. “If your club wasn’t picked, don’t worry. We will accept more submissions midyear when we have a better sense of everyone’s interests.” She pauses again.

“OMG, she is so slow,” Amirah whines.

Kaylan shushes her.

“The selections are: Krav Maga, Israeli self-defense . . .” The girls and I stare at one another. “Ultimate Frisbee, Social Action Task Force, Dance Team, Cooking Club, Debate Team, and last but not least, Mindfulness Club. Thanks to everyone who entered an idea. Please get to first period calmly and quickly and have an outstanding Brookside Middle School day.”

Cami shakes her head at all of us. “I don’t get it. Advice is, like, the main thing we all need now. . . .” She walks ahead, not waiting for us, still shaking her head like it’s all our fault.

Amirah and June and some of the others try to run and catch up to her, but I stay back.

“And coloring club is like mindfulness, Arianna!” M.W. says forcefully. “We should have joined forces!”

“Oh, yeah, I didn’t think of it.” I smile. “But don’t worry, there will be other chances.”

She shrugs and hoists her backpack over her shoulder and walks away.

Soon it’s just Kaylan and me at the lockers. I don’t know what to say to her.

“You crushed it,” Kaylan says softly.

“Thanks,” I say. “I didn’t exactly do anything, though. I just suggested it. I’m sorry comedy wasn’t picked.”

“I’m bummed, but it’s okay,” she says. “I can still pursue it outside of school, and maybe, like, go to local comedy clubs and see if they want to have some kind of kids in comedy night or something?”

I nod, super enthusiastic. “That’s an amazing idea! And you can have kids from other schools, too!”

“Totally,” she says, still seeming a touch defeated. “Plus for the list it just said pursue a passion, not finish it. . . .”

“True,” I say. “We’re still totally on track for the list. And can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

I play with the zipper on my hoodie. “I think I may have more than one passion. And I think that’s okay? How can I narrow it down to just one?”

We start walking together. Kaylan says, “That’s true. I mean, we just said pursue a passion and find one . . . but we didn’t say only one.”

“Exactly!”

“Oh wait!” She stops in the middle of the hallway. “I wanted this to be for Make our mark, too!”

I clench my teeth. “Um, well, you still can! Like you just said with the kids’ nights at local comedy clubs . . .”

“But what if I run out of time?”

“Well, we still have some time!”

“I guess. Maybe I need to think of something else for Make our mark now.” She shakes her head. “Ugh! This isn’t going like I expected.”

I put an arm around her. “Don’t stress. Honestly. You still have a really good idea.”

We walk quietly the rest of the way to class with our arms linked.

“We could JHH now for pursuing our passions because we totally are,” I suggest. “Would that make you feel better?”

She nods. We go into the single-stall bathroom near the main office and make sure the door is locked. We put our backpacks on the hooks on the back of the door.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Yup!”

Jump in the air. High-five. Hug.

“I think we needed a good JHH,” I tell her.

She hugs me again. “I totally agree.”

During study hall, I decide to email Alice. How long can she possibly be without her phone? I don’t even know how she’s surviving.

Dear Alice,

Did you get your phone back yet? I miss you! I feel like we haven’t talked or texted in forever. So much to update you on! They picked my Mindfulness Club idea at school. I’m so excited.

Kaylan and I were in a fight, but we made up. So much to explain.

I miss you soooooo much! XOXO Ari

Later that night, I’m out on my front porch in the wicker rocking chair, staring at the falling leaves and trying to ignore my parents fighting inside when my phone rings.

I jump, immediately thinking it’s Alice.

But it’s Golfy!

“Guess who is going right near Brookside tomorrow for his great-uncle’s ninetieth birthday party?” he asks.

“Um.”

“Me. Can we hang?” he asks.

“Did you just find out about this party?” I laugh. “It’s literally tomorrow.”

“Kind of, yeah. No one ever tells me anything . . . sorry it’s last minute.” He pauses. “Are you free?”

Every part of me wants to say yes, of course, let’s go for a long walk and then go sit somewhere near a pretty view and talk all about life and the meaning of everything. Golfy has a good perspective on things. Maybe he can help me sort out the drama with my parents. Now that I know how good it feels to open up to people, I kind of want to do it all the time.

“Are you there?” he asks again.

“I’m here,” I say. “I’d love to hang. But where? My house is kind of chaos right now.”

“I can handle chaos,” he says.

“Your family is perfect, Golfy.”

“No family is perfect,” he replies. “Anyway, we don’t have to hang at your house. We can go bowling or something or mini-golf, or out for ice cream sundaes.”

“All of that sounds amazing.”

“Okay, then it’s set, and you can’t back out,” he instructs.

“What makes you think I’ll back out?” I laugh a little, putting my feet up on the wicker ottoman. The air feels crisp and cool—the epitome of fall. I smell a fire blazing in a fireplace somewhere close to me. I just want to curl up under a cozy blanket and eat some cider donuts. It may not be summer anymore, which is sad, but when the air smells and feels like this, I think you just need to lean into fall and accept and embrace the coziness.

“I just have a weird feeling you might.” He laughs too now. “Oh, did they pick your club? You never told me.”

“They did! I just found out. I’m so excited.”

“That’s awesome, Ari!” He stops talking for a second. “Did you hear me clapping?”

“Um, kind of. I’m outside, and it’s a little loud out here. The man next door is playing catch with his grandsons, and they keep screaming.”

“Well, I’m pumped for you.”

“Thanks,” I say.

I think I could talk to Golfy for twenty-four hours straight and not get bored or tired or run out of things to say.

I don’t know what it is about him. But to me, he is the greatest.

I don’t really care that no one else sees it; I see it, and that’s what matters.

“I’ll call you in the morning to firm up the plans. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Nighty-night, Nodberg.”

“Nighty-night, Golfy.”

“You can call me Jonah. You know that, right?”

“I know.” I laugh for a second. “But is it okay if I call you Golfy?”

“Sure. I was just saying.”

“Cool. Good to know.”