Obviously, I was late to my second-period class, mostly because I was duh-duh-duh’ing the whole path there, though. As always after school, I went to Frankie’s because, one, Frankie’s house had real food, and, two, Frankie refused to step foot onto my property any more than she had to. My parents were eccentric people. Eccentric is being kind, really. They’re nutty, to be honest, but they were my little cashews, so I loved them. Frankie loved them, too, though she loved them as one admires an impressionist painting—from a safe distance.
I lived in an adobe UFO. My name is Jupiter, guys. It’s not that far of a leap, is it? It was painted a bright white, because, you know, we’ve got to be easily seen by the mother ship, y’all. Plus, how are you going to embarrass your teenage daughters if your flying saucer house isn’t the brightest white you can get it? We did live on the water, though, so as loath as I was to admit it, it was a pretty spectacular place to grow up.
“I can’t believe we’re graduating in three weeks,” I told Frankie as she fished a gallon of Blue Bell from her freezer.
She tossed it on top of the counter. “I know,” she said, her face turning a little pale.
I laughed. “What’s up, buttercup?”
She flipped the lid of the ice cream then went to the cupboard to get two bowls. “Nothing, I’m just a little apprehensive about leaving home in a few months. I don’t feel ready, you know, emotionally.”
Frankie set the bowls down on the counter and started to dole out a few scoops in each. When she was done, she slid me mine and I caught it with my spoon.
“Frankenstein, you got this,” I told her as she put the gallon away. She sat next to me, hooked her spoon into her bowl, and pulled out a heaping spoonful large enough for Tommy Jones, our high school’s seven-foot basketball player who could gulp down a cheeseburger in one bite just because he could. I know because I was there. I saw it. You’d think he’d climbed Everest with the way everyone freaked.
“I don’t know, Jup. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. I can’t believe people are letting me decide what I’m going to do with the rest of my life when I can barely tie my shoes in the morning. I shouldn’t be trusted with that kind of decision-making. For God’s sake, Jupiter! I’ve killed at least three goldfish a year on average since the third grade because I forget to feed them.”
“First, let’s address the fish fiascos for a second by acknowledging the fact that any animal you possess should be only of the four-legged persuasion as they are the only kinds capable of letting you know they’re starving. What say you, counselor?” I asked.
“Agreed, your honor.”
“Okay, let’s proceed to problem number two. Will you shut your pie hole?”
Frankie eyed me with feigned disdain (that rhymes) and stuffed her mouth full of ice cream, which made me fall down across the top of the counter in laughter, which in turn made Frankie lose control of herself. Ice cream went dribbling down her chin.
“Ba! You look like a vampire with a cow fetish!”
“Shut it,” she said, swiping a napkin across her mouth.
I sat back down and sighed. “In all seriousness, Frank, it’s not a big deal you’re undecided about what your life will be. Go anyway, live a little, discover what you want, then decide.”
She snorted. “Easy for you to say, brat. You already know what you want to do.”
I shrugged. She was right. I knew exactly what I wanted to do. “Well, I got lucky’s all. Just wait, your time will come.”
I tossed my book bag onto the countertop and pulled out the pile of papers that had fallen when I’d run into Ezra that morning. I hadn’t had a chance to organize them since I’d been so distracted by the whirlwind of impending finals.
“I can’t believe what a friggin’ idiot I was this morning with Ezra.”
“I can.”
“Frankie!”
“I’m sorry but you’re a dinkus when you’re around him.”
“I know.” I sighed. “It’s just him, too, man. I don’t get it.”
“I get it,” she teased, getting up from her stool. “You, like, like him,” she sang. “Jupiter likes a boy!” She clutched her hands to her chest and opened her eyes brightly in mock idiocy. “And he’s dark and broody and misunderstood.” Frankie started skipping around her kitchen island. “Jupiter’s a cliché! Jupiter’s a cliché!”
“For the love of God, Frankie, I know, all right? I know! It’s pathetically stupid.”
She threw herself onto her stool and smiled at me, her chest panting from the effort of my ridicule. “What’s wrong with pathetically stupid, anyway?” she asked. “Pathetically stupid is real. It’s rife with adventure. It’s utterly fun. And totally me. It’s us.”
“To pathetically stupid!” I yelled, lifting up a spoonful of melting ice cream.
“To pathetically stupid!” she yelled as well, clinking her spoon with mine.
I started to shuffle my pile of papers, organizing them by subject into my folders, when I came upon a piece I didn’t remember putting into my folders that morning.
“Why would I put my acceptance letter to UW in here?” I asked no one.
Frankie yanked it out of my hand. “Because you like to stare at it? Because it’s so pretty?” she answered, petting it.
“I know I didn’t put that letter in there, though,” I said, confused.
“Maybe Mercury did it.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Maybe aliens did it!”
I snorted. “Shut up, fool.”
Frankie laughed. “Well, you must have accidentally tossed it in with your homework or somethin’. Was it on your desk?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Wait a second,” Frankie interrupted, her face drawing closer to the letter. “Dear Mr. Brandon?” she started reading. “It is with great pleasure we offer you admission to the University of Washington…”
My heart started pounding. “Wait, what?”
“Holy shit!” Frankie exclaimed. “Ezra Brandon and you are going to the same school.”
“Wait, what?” I repeated.
“No way!” Frankie said, dropping the hand that held Ezra’s acceptance letter onto the countertop. “That is so weird,” she said. She eyed me warily. “Did you know?” she asked, her brows furrowed in obvious disgust.
“No!” I insisted, meaning it. “I’m not that chick.”
“You swear?”
“I swear on our tickets to Bumbershoot,” I said, crossing my heart with my thumb.
“So you definitely did not know,” she said thoughtfully. “Dude,” she said, drawing it out as if in disbelief.
“I know.”
“This is so weird.”
“I know.”
“Well, what are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“I don’t get it. You’ve liked this boy for almost two years and you’re not going to do anything about the fact that you’ll soon be sharing a school across the entire United States together?”
“Right. There’s nothing to do.”
“You’re a dweeb, Jupiter.”
“Yeah,” I said, too distracted by the strange coincidence to zing her back.
“Huh,” Frankie grunted after a few seconds of silence.
I looked up at her. “What?”
“I just, I have this idea.”
Understanding dawned on me. “No. No. I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no.”
“Oh come on!” she whined. “This is it! This is the answer you’ve been looking for.”
“Absolutely not!” I practically shouted.
“Jupiter, it feels like fate!”
I laughed hysterically. “No way, Frankie. No way.”
“Listen,” she said, her eyes reflected a mischievous gleam, “your parents refuse to help you get to UW because they’re crazy—” she began when I interrupted her.
“They’re not crazy,” I insisted, though she was a little bit right.
They’d told me that college was only for brainwashed, corporate lackeys who sold their souls at graduation for a job at a desk and no sun when I told them of my acceptance to the University of Washington. So I basically had to do everything by myself, obtaining grants as well as a few scholarships to pay for my classes, books, and room and board. The only thing I hadn’t worked out was how I was going to get to Seattle since I didn’t have a car.
“Oh, they’re crazy all right, but let’s get back to this scathingly brilliant idea I just had.”
“Frankie, I can’t. It’s too much.” She smiled at me deviously. “Frankie! I’d rather kiss a dissected frog than drive the length of the United States with Ezra Brandon. I’d die of embarrassment every five minutes!”
“My condolences then,” she said and winked.