THIRTY-EIGHT

THE NEXT DAY, I’M GETTING ready to meet Golfy at the Ice Cream Shop when I think I hear Kaylan’s voice coming from my kitchen. But she told me she was going shopping with her mom today, and I told her I was seeing Golfy. So I have no idea what she’s doing here.

I open my door a tiny crack—just enough so I can hear what’s going on down there but not so much that it makes the loud creaking sound and everyone in the world will know I’m listening.

“I have it all figured out,” Kaylan says in her quiet voice, which is actually still pretty loud. She can’t help it. She just talks in a loud way even when she tries not to. “It’s all set.”

“Are you sure, Kaylan?” My mom sounds worn out. “Seems a little hard to organize and a lot for you to take on.”

“I’m sure,” Kaylan replies. “I got this.”

“I don’t know. I need to discuss it with Marc.”

“You said your brother’s done stand-up in LA, right?” Kaylan asks. “I’ll definitely need his help. May I have his email, please?”

I’m guessing this is about the kids’ nights at the comedy clubs. Since her club didn’t get picked, I feel like she’ll become even more hard-core about pursuing comedy. Like she literally won’t take no for an answer.

She could’ve just asked me for Uncle David’s email.

I try to eavesdrop a little more, but they leave the kitchen and go into my dad’s office and then I can’t hear them anymore.

By the time I’m finished getting dressed, Kaylan is gone. My mom is still searching all over the house for that letter, and with each day that passes I feel a little more guilty that it’s a crumpled ball at the bottom of my desk drawer.

“Was Kaylan here?” I ask Gemma. She’s sitting in the den with her feet up on the coffee table watching an old Full House episode.

“No clue,” she replies. “When was this show on for real? It seems really old.”

“No clue,” I mimic her. “Where’s Mom?”

Gemma shrugs. “I dunno. Somewhere.”

She’s a lot of help.

“Mom,” I say to her back. She’s taking every book off the bookshelf in the living room, searching. “Mom,” I say again when she doesn’t answer me.

“What, Ari?” She finally turns around. Her hair is in her face.

“Was Kaylan here? I thought I heard her.”

She ignores my question. “Are you sure you didn’t see a letter anywhere? Your father is about to kill me. I misplaced something very important.”

“He’s about to kill you?” I recoil. “Come on, Mom.”

“You know what I mean.” She turns around again, hands on her hips. “Let me know if you see a letter. It was in a pale-green envelope.”

“Why is this letter so important?” I ask. “I don’t get it.”

“I can’t get into it now, Ari.” She pauses. “Have fun with Golfman or, that’s not it . . . whatever it is you call him.”

“Golfy, Mom.”

“Okay.”

I wait for her to say more, but she doesn’t. It’s sad my own mother doesn’t take more of an interest in me or my new boy-friend or boyfriend or who knows what he is, but at the very least, he’s someone very important to me.

I feel like she’d be all excited about this, wanting to know every detail, so much so that I’d end up finding it annoying.

But no—she’s just not herself lately.

I walk to the Ice Cream Shop, and Golfy’s already there when I arrive. He’s at one of the tables outside, under the purple umbrellas, reading a library book.

“Hi,” I say sheepishly. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen him, and I think he looks different—his hair is shaggier, he’s not wearing a baseball cap, and somehow he looks older in a way, or more mature.

I don’t know any boys from my school who would sit alone in a public place reading a library book. But Golfy looks totally natural doing it.

“Oh, hey!” He jumps up and gives me an awkward hug and the sides of our foreheads crash a little bit. “How are you, Noddie?”

“I’m good.” I sit back down because it feels strange to just be standing there after a hug. “How are you? How was your great-uncle’s party?”

“It was so fab,” he says. “He taught everyone how to do this really old-fashioned dance? The fox-trot. He literally led a dance class at his own birthday party. I mean, he’s ninety but he’s still got it. It was the funniest thing ever.”

“He sounds so awesome.”

“He really is. My parents are still at his house looking through old photos. He has boxes and boxes. They’re trying to make sense of them.”

“Oh, that’s so nice.” I smile. “So? Ice cream.”

“Well, duh.” He stands up and so do I, and we walk inside. “What’s good here?”

“Well, the espresso cookie is my favorite. But the peaches and cream is also really good. And so is the cookie dough.” I shrug. “Basically every flavor is good.”

He stares at the flavor list on the wall. “What about the shakes?”

“Also good.” I laugh.

“Hmm. This is so hard to pick.” He turns around and faces me. “What should I do?”

I shrug. “Get a shake. And I’ll get a cone. And we can share?”

“Perfect.”

After we have our ice cream and our shake, we go back outside to the tables. He asks, “So what’s new? Talk to me.”

I take a sip of the chocolate peanut butter shake. “Actually, I kind of have a dilemma,” I start.

The whole walk over here, I was debating telling him about the letter situation. I think I need to. It’s weighing on me, and my shoulders feel so heavy—I need to discuss this with someone.

“Spill it,” he says, taking a bite of the cone.

“So, there was this letter,” I start, already feeling my body relax that I’m opening up and talking about this. “And it was so weird. Like, someone drove by our house and decided they needed to buy it and would make any offer.” I take another sip of shake. “And I got so mad when I saw it. Like, what the heck? This is our house. And yeah my dad lost his job, but we don’t need to sell our house! Not yet! Right?”

“Right . . . I mean, I don’t really know, but I guess.” He looks at me, waiting for me to continue. “And?”

“And I hid the letter. And my mom is looking all over for it. And she’s super stressed. But I just don’t think we need to sell our house,” I explain. “But now I feel so bad. Should I tell her I have the letter?”

He bites his lip and looks up into the sky like maybe there will be some kind of divine intervention or answer or something. “Noddie . . .” He smiles a nervous kind of smile. “I think you should give back the letter. Just say you found it under a pile of laundry or something. Don’t say you stole it. Ya know? And just, like, let it unfold how it’s going to unfold.”

“Well, there’s one other problem . . .” I look down at the table. “I crumpled it up, and it’s kind of a mess now.”

He nods. “Hmm. Okay. Well, again, the laundry theory works. It got crumpled under some really heavy clothes!”

“But I don’t want to move,” I whine.

“Ooh! But what if these people are like billionaires and they’re willing to pay ten million dollars for your house and then you can buy a gigantic house with a pool and home movie theater and then your dad won’t be stressed, and it could be really great?” He does a pretend mic drop. “Huh? Right? Maybe it even has some kind of outdoor kitchen with one of those cool pizza ovens.”

I roll my eyes. “Um. That sounds kind of doubtful. But maybe. I like your optimism, Jonah Malkin.”

“Well, it could happen,” he reminds me. “That’s all I’m saying.”

We stay at the ice cream place way longer than anyone really should. But no one else is waiting for our table, so I figure it’s okay.

Finally at around five in the afternoon, my mom texts me.

Mom: Where are you? We are eating at 6. Tacos.

I write back:

Ari: Be home for dinner.

Thankfully, she doesn’t write anything else after that. “What time do you need to be back at your great-uncle’s?” I ask Golfy.

“Probably now,” he replies. “But no one has called me, so . . .”

“I need to be home by six for dinner,” I tell him.

“Let’s start walking over to your house,” he says. “My parents can pick me up there. I won’t come in. Don’t worry.”

“Okay. Thanks. And sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he says.

We walk quietly for a few minutes, and then Golfy takes my hand. We’re both a little sweaty, but I don’t really mind. Holding someone’s hand may be one of the simplest, nicest feelings in the world. It’s this sense that you’re going somewhere with someone else. You’re not in this alone. There’s someone there, someone right next to you, and that someone makes you feel safe and secure.

The person is saying it’s going to be okay without saying anything at all.

It’s the universal symbol for we got this.