Page 111 of Something in Between

—RALPH WALDO EMERSON

JOURNALISTS SHOW UPat our house for the next couple of days, but no one in our family talks to them so, after a while, they finally leave us alone. There are a few mean-spirited articles online, but soon some married senator is caught sending nude pictures of himself online to a few young female constituents, and the hungry news media moves on.

At school the next day, Kayla tells me she’s called Dylan twenty times in the past forty-eight hours. “You really need to give it a rest,” I tell her. “Don’t you think you’re becoming a little obsessive?”

We’re walking through a hallway between classes. I’m headed to English, which has been a total bore. Chaucer feels as foreign as America these days.

“I only left five messages yesterday,” Kayla says, sliding on some transparent vanilla glitter lip gloss. “I’m starting to think Mason was better than nothing.”

“Don’t go there,” I say. “He’s bad news and you know it.”

“I know.” She pops her lips. “But why won’t Dylan forgive me?”

“People need time,” I say. “And you dumped him. What do you expect?”

“I thought I was doing him a favor breaking up with him since he was gone so much, you know, so he wouldn’t have to miss me,” she says, heading toward Calculus. “I guess I just didn’t want to be hurt and so I hurt him instead.”

I of all people understand that sentiment and tell her so.

Kayla stands by the open door to my class, she has a free period next and can hang around a little. “I miss him,” she says.

I squeeze her arm. “Maybe you can let him miss you a little more.”

“Why? Do I seem desperate?”

“A little,” I say, digging in my backpack for my homework. I can’t figure out where I put it. “Okay, a lot.”

“So you want me to pull back?” she says. “Play chase the rabbit?”

“Yes, little bunny,” I say, finding my homework folded inside my math textbook as if I’m in grade school. I’m so disorganized lately. Although I think it’s a good thing I’ve loosened up. I connect with people better. I don’t get so worked up about small stuff.

“Just do me one favor,” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say, dropping my homework in the bin at the front of the room. “Depends.”

Kayla watches me. “What? You don’t trust me?”

“Just tell me,” I say.

“Will you come with me to Lo’s next get-together? I know she’s having one this weekend. Bob Marley Lives is playing it.”

“Of course,” I say. “But you and Dylan really need to have a conversation before the party. Otherwise everything will be super awkward. And you won’t be able to talk there that much.”

“How can I have a conversation if he won’t speak to me?”

“Let me try,” I say. “I’ll see what I can do. There’s a chance he’ll be open to talking. Right? Just don’t get your hopes up. I mean, what if he’s seeing someone?”

“We can fix that,” Kayla says, not accepting defeat. She twirls a lock of her curly hair and winks. “See you later.”

I say goodbye to Kayla, admiring her for never giving up on what she wants. I’ve always liked that about her. Then I realize, I could use some of that moxie too. And in my case, it won’t just be the affections of a slacker rocker on the line.

It will be our whole life.

When I get home, I tell my dad we have to call our lawyer. I have a plan.

* * *

Mr. Alvarado’s office hasn’t changed. Not a photo has been moved on his wall. Half of them are still hanging crooked. Dad’s reaction is the same as mine. He gazes at all the walls and squints disgustedly.

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