Page 37 of Look on the Bright Side

She was aware that most fourteen-year-old boys were not quite as remarkable as Justin Edward Dean. Oh, he wasn’t perfect (though he kind of was). He got moody. He didn’t vocalize his feelings until he was in control of them, which made him private and glum sometimes. He resented not being able to do sports (his parents forbade it), and he was a bit spoiled, not understanding that she had to babysit most weekend nights, and later work waiting tables, because she was saving money for college. Her parents supported them, and Grammy and Grandpop had put away a little nest egg for each grandchild, but college (and medical school) would be expensive. Smith family vacations were to Aunt Grace and Uncle Larry’s house in Maine for one week of the summer. The two Smith cars were old and worn. The Deans went to Europe and Canada and Norway for their summer vacations. Heather drove an enormous SUV with heated leather seats, and Theo had more shoes than anyone Lark knew.

Justin preferred it to be just the two of them, though he accepted that Addison was going to be a significant part of their nonschool hours. Lark’s circle was bigger than his—she had her siblings, Addie’s group of friends, and Jordyn Rae, whose family continued to own the most beautiful golden retrievers, and who hosted the best sleepovers. Lark didn’t want to be one of those girls whose entire social life was only with her boyfriend. At school, knowing from Harlow that she’d have to be more than just a good student to get into the best schools, Lark joined the Gay-Straight Alliance to support Addie and other LGBTQ kids, and the Green Club to make the school campus as ecologically harmless as possible, and kept up with her piano lessons, though Addie had since quit.

But, gosh, it was so wonderful, having Justin. She loved the dinners at the Deans’ house, loved when her parents would invite Justin to go to the Land Ho! with all of them for dinner—the seven of them plus Grammy and Grandpop. Over the cheerful noise of the restaurant, Grandpop pointed out that he and Grammy had met young, as well.

“I never even looked at another girl,” he said, and Grammy gave him a sweet smile. “Why would I? She’s perfect! Keep this one close, young man,” he said to Justin, putting a hand on Lark’s head. “She’ll never let you down.”

She and Justin had looked at each other and smiled, even as Winnie said, “Stop trying to marry them off, Grandpop! They’re fourteen!” Ever wise, Winnie. Ever cynical, even at eleven.

And of course, underneath their blooming, gentle love was the terror—that Justin’s leukemia would recur. If he made it five years without incident, he’d be officially cancer-free at eighteen. Cured. For now, every bruise, every yawn put Lark (and his parents) on high alert. After the initial year of chemo finished, Justin went to Dana-Farber every three months, then every six, and each time nothing was detected, it was like God invented a new level of happiness. To celebrate, Heather and Theo always took Justin and Lark to the Mews, that beautiful, elegant restaurant in Provincetown, all of them giddy with relief. The staff got to know their reason for coming, and always saved a great table for them overlooking the water.

One year post-leukemia. Then two. Three. During the second half of the fourth year, Justin grew a little withdrawn and somber, waiting for each week to pass. As the five-year mark crept closer, each day was an eternity.

It was the only time they weren’t in harmony, and it hurt her heart, seeing him shut down, staring at the floor, not telling her what she already knew. She wrote him little notes and tucked them around his room or put them in his locker. I love you. You are my favorite person. Stay hopeful. The finish line is getting closer. I’m with you no matter what. He didn’t mention them, and even dinners with his parents were stiff and forced.

At night, she’d cry silently into her pillow until Addie snapped. “Stop planning his funeral already! At least wait till he’s sick again, for God’s sake!” Then her sister climbed down from her top bunk and got into bed with her, spooning against her. “Just go to sleep,” she whispered, and Lark did.

Lark and Justin decided not to go to junior prom…well, he decided, which was fine. Except what if the cancer did come back? What if they never made it to senior prom? What if he died? What would she do?

And then, finally, in January of their senior year, Justin was cleared. He was officially in the 90 percent of kids with ALL who made it out just fine.

The next morning, the school held a secret assembly. All the teachers and staff and the entire senior class came to school early and gathered in the gym with balloons, the pep band in uniform, instruments ready. They sat in nervous silence on the bleachers until Mrs.Arrow, the school secretary, spotted Mrs.Dean’s car. Justin was detained in the office briefly over some pretense so Heather and Theo could scurry around to join them. Then, over the PA came a voice. “Justin Dean, please report to the gym. Justin Dean to the gym, please.”

A second later, the door opened, and there he was. The band burst into the theme from Rocky, confetti cascaded from the ceiling, and everyone cheered. Justin jumped; his mouth fell open. Then, realizing this was for him, he covered his eyes with his hand for a few seconds. Shook his head. Then he held up his arms to the class, as if in a prayer of gratitude.

Everyone went wild. He was done. He had beat it. He was finally unfettered from that insidious fear. Then Addie pushed Lark out from the front row, and she ran over to him, tears of joy streaming down her face. With those dark blue eyes laughing, he kissed her, right in front of everyone. Another huge cheer. “Jus-tin! Jus-tin! Jus-tin!” their classmates chanted, and Heather was crying, Theo had his arm around the principal, and it was the happiest moment of Lark’s life.

There were donuts from Hole in One and coffee from Dunkin’, and everyone swarmed off the bleachers to hug Justin or clap him on the shoulder.

“You two make me believe in love,” said Jordyn, grinning. “Seriously. The rest of us are like, ugh, so ordinary.”

It was glorious to be ordinary. To have a boyfriend who no longer had to get chemo or check his lymph nodes or wait with grim patience to see if he would die or not.

“I’m really sorry I’ve been so…withdrawn,” Justin said that night as they sat in his bedroom (door open, a house rule). “It’s just…I kept picturing you without me, and it made me so sad, I couldn’t bear talking to you.”

“I understand,” she whispered.

“I love you, little bird.” It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, but it felt different tonight. More adult, more mature, more meaningful…more true than ever before.

“I love you, too,” she said. She kissed him with all her heart then, not the sweet, chaste kisses they’d had before now, but full-on passionate, long, deliciously wet kisses, and wrapped her arms around his waist. He got up and closed his door silently, and second base was achieved, his hands hot on her bra, slipping underneath the lace, her body limp and aching with lust, him on top of her, and it was all the hotter, knowing they wouldn’t go any further. Not with his parents downstairs.

The rest of their senior year lit up like a Cape Cod sunset, dazzling with color and possibility. Freed from the fear of dying, Justin seemed to burst from his cocoon into everything Lark always knew he was—funny, smart, so kind, so good. And my God, so handsome. That sweet boy with the blue eyes had become a man who shaved every day and was suddenly three inches taller than he’d been the year before. The smell of him gave her a contact pheromone high, and home was wherever he was. He made his parents laugh till they cried, threw the baseball to Robbie, brought her mom flowers whenever he came over for dinner and told Addie she was his second favorite girl in the world. Even Winnie liked him.

They were prom king and queen. No one was surprised. On Awards Night, Lark was named the second Smith child to become valedictorian and nabbed seven extra scholarships, courtesy of local businesses and organizations. She felt simultaneously stunned and embarrassed and sorry for the other students who didn’t win, but Justin stood up and whistled each time Larkby Smith was announced by the speaker. By the end of the night, she had $13,400 more for college than she’d had that morning, just shy of the record set by Harlow three years before.

Lark and Justin had both decided to go to college in Boston. After all they’d been through these past five years, there was no way they were going to be apart. Half their class would be going to school in Boston, more or less. Why not? It was a great city, full of colleges and universities. It had the Common and Fenway Park, water views and history, the North End and the Freedom Trail, the Boston Pops and the Head of the Charles.

The plan to become a doctor had been cementing itself since Lark was little. Science and math were her strongest subjects, and she slayed the AP exams and the SAT. (Addison didn’t bother taking them; she wanted to be an interior decorator.) Boston University gave Lark a solid work-study package, and between that, her scholarships and savings, the nest egg from Grammy and Grandpop and a modest student loan, she could swing it.

Justin would be at Boston College, where his dad had gone, with the plan of becoming a mechanical engineer. No need for him to get any scholarships, the lucky guy. Addison would be studying interior design online and was doing some modeling here and there. Being Addison, she had also landed a job as an assistant to a prestigious Boston interior designer, who offered Addie the use of a tiny, adorable apartment as part of the package. It was only a fifteen-minute walk from BU.

Home was just an hour and forty minutes without traffic (which was silly, because it was Boston, and there was always traffic). Still, not that bad, and between Mom and Dad and the Deans splitting chauffeur duty, all three were able to go home pretty much whenever they wanted to.

Boston was big enough, small enough, far enough and close enough. It was a cozy city where you’d bump into someone you knew every day. Harlow had gone to college in Colorado, which Lark couldn’t even imagine. Why live anywhere but Massachusetts? Aside from the long, gray winters, gritty and biting winds, wicked bad nor’easters and more and more frequent scorching temperatures each summer; despite the Massholes who did ninety on the Pike and never used their signals; despite the traffic in the tunnel, where you prayed chunks of the ceiling wouldn’t fall on your car; despite the fanatical and sometimes violent devotion to the Sox/Bruins/Celtics/Pats; despite the Irish Mafia and rampaging drug problems, Boston was paradise.

The entire state was, she, Addie and Justin all agreed. They’d never leave the Bay State. The beaches, the fresh seafood, the beautiful small towns outside Boston, the gentle hills of the Berkshires, the bustling North Shore, the quieter South Shore and the magical Cape…it had everything.

That first year, Lark and Justin met up two or three (or five or seven) days each week, getting together for dinner or a walk, or one of them going to the other’s campus to study as their feet entangled under the library tables, or lying in some ridiculously pretty spot outside, watching the leaves turn yellow and gold. Lark loved being able to touch him just for no reason, lean against him, hold hands. She’d known his hands since they were small, guiding her down the hallway to the nurse’s office that singular day. Sometimes, they just looked at each other, no need to talk, their eyes shining with love, still a little stunned that after all these years, after all the changes of childhood and adolescence, after five years of cancer treatment, after the mini-dramas and changes of high school, they were still so right.

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