Infinite in Between (13 page)

LAST PERIOD ALL
the sophomores were herded to their homerooms for a nationwide standardized math exam. Most everyone groaned, except Mia and a few others. Mia loved filling in those tidy bubbles with a number-two pencil. It was her version of Zen.

When the test was over, Mia was so energized that she ditched the school bus and walked home. It was over three miles, but the air was soft, and tulips were poking through the wet earth. As she walked she listened to music and thought about math. It sounded dorky, but when she was taking that standardized test or sitting in calculus, her brain was at peace instead of whirring in overdrive like it was most of the time.

Mia passed a shuttered pizza delivery store and eyed herself in the reflection. She'd finally stopped growing at almost six feet, and her hair was past her shoulders. It was streaked with green and purple. She was wearing her Doc Martens, short denim shorts, and fishnet tights. Her boobs—
both
her boobs—were now a satisfying size C. As she crossed onto a quiet street, she took off her sweater and tied it around her waist, the sun toasting her shoulders.

But then something caught her eye.

A scuffed van was idling at a stop sign. It was just sitting there, engine on. As she passed the van, she tugged off her headphones, clenching them in her fist.

A man with mirrored sunglasses was alone in the driver's seat. He grinned at Mia in this hungry way like he was going to eat her up. Mia hurried through the crosswalk, but then she heard the van behind her. Her legs went weak. She was too scared to take out her phone and call 911. Anyway, it wasn't like 911 could prevent her from being dragged into the van.

Panicked, she broke into a sprint, her heavy boots thudding against the concrete. She ran until she reached a house at the end of the block with a sprinkler arching across the lawn. As she rang the doorbell, her lungs burned and she could barely breathe. The van was at a stop sign thirty feet behind her.

Please be home,
Mia thought as she jabbed the doorbell.
Please save me from this creepy abductor guy.

Miraculously, the door opened, and there was Jake Rodriguez. Mia rarely saw him in school. All she knew about him was that he was gay and he mostly hung around the art room, oil paint splattered on his jeans.

“What's up, Mia?” Jake asked. He was wearing a white T-shirt and plaid shorts, and he was barefoot.

Mia's legs were trembling. She clutched the doorframe so she wouldn't collapse.

“Are you okay?” Jake asked.

Mia gestured to the van. Now it was driving slowly past them along the street. Jake raised his eyebrows like,
Yeah, that does look a little weird.

Mia thought about blurting out,
I was the one who slipped the Captain Underpants book in your locker. Maybe it was a stupid gift, but please, please stay with me until the van is out of sight.
Instead she started crying.

Jake stepped onto the porch and wrapped his arms around her. Mia tried to relax, but it was hard. She'd never been hugged by a guy before.

“Want a ride home?” Jake asked, pulling back. “My mom is here. She can probably drive you.”

Mia wiped her nose with her hand. “Yeah . . . if that's okay.”

Jake disappeared for a minute and then came back with his mom. She was wearing a T-shirt and jeans, her hair in a loose ponytail.

“Are you okay?” she asked, touching Mia's arm. “Did something happen?”

Mia bit her lip. “No, I'm fine,” she said quietly. The man in the van suddenly seemed far away, like maybe she'd imagined it, like maybe he wasn't even a real threat.

As they walked to the car, Jake asked for Mia's number. He pulled out his phone and added her to his contacts. No boy had ever asked for her number. Maybe this was the start of something new. Maybe something good could come from something bad.

WHITNEY WAS GOING
to be late for tennis, but she had something to deal with first. At least it was a home match. She could change into her outfit in two minutes and just miss warm-ups. The tennis coach was a laid-back Canadian guy who didn't even take attendance.

The thing was, Whitney had to find someone who could beat Zach for junior class treasurer. Stupid Zach, who cheated on her when she was in the hospital with pneumonia! Thank god Autumn told her so she could dump Zach before she looked like a total idiot.

But Whitney was not going to let him cruise through another student council election and feel all studly and popular when he was a cheating jerk. She had to get revenge.

She'd considered running against him. She could beat him easily, except then it would be too obvious. Everyone would think she was hurt. Which she was. But the important thing was not letting it show.

“Jake!” Whitney shouted. She'd just come out of the guidance counselor's office where she'd gotten a petition to run for treasurer.
And there was Jake Rodriguez walking down the hall toward her.

“Hey, Whitney,” Jake said. “What's up?”

Whitney smiled at Jake. He was perfect. He was cute and friendly and people said he was a great artist. Also, he was gay, which would totally help. The girls all thought he was hot, and the guys weren't threatened that he was going to steal their girlfriends.

“Maybe this is crazy,” Whitney said, “but do you want to run for treasurer for our class next year?”

“Uh.” Jake shifted his sketchbook from one arm to the other. “Why?”

“Well . . .” Whitney paused. She and Jake had never really hung out. She should text him sometime. “I think you'd be good for it.”

“I ran for student council last year and sort of . . . lost,” Jake said.

“Really?” Whitney had no idea! If she'd known, she would have voted for him.

Jake looked down at his sneakers.

“Seriously, I'll make it happen for you,” Whitney said. “I'll get all the signatures. Don't worry. You'll totally win.”

Jake shrugged. He wasn't saying yes, but he wasn't saying no.

“Give me your number,” Whitney said, pulling out her phone. “I'll text you when I have fifty signatures. That's all we need.”

Jake paused for a second and then offered up his number.

Whitney gave Jake a quick hug and then sprinted to the locker room to change and grab her tennis racket.

By the time her first match started, she already had sixteen signatures on Jake's petition.

When she broke for water, she got ten more.

By the next day at lunch she had more than fifty.

This was awesome. Revenge was awesome.

She texted Jake at the end of the following day.

One hundred and eighty-two
, was all she wrote.

They were going to murder Zach.

“SUNSHINE?” GREGOR'S DAD
asked him.

“That makes me think about swimming,” Gregor said. He was brushing leaves and dead bugs and pine needles off the pool cover. “Or, I don't know . . . Maybe music?”

“With music, of course I think of cello,” his dad said. “Bach. Tchaikovsky.”

“Beethoven.”

His dad repositioned the hose that was spilling water into the pool. “Vivaldi. I love hearing you play Vivaldi.”

Gregor and his dad were opening the pool and playing a word-association game while they worked.

“What about chocolate?” Gregor's dad asked. “What do you think of when I say chocolate?”

“That yellow bag of Toll House chips. Also, I think of popcorn. I don't know why.”

“Popcorn. I think of watching movies. Or maybe road trips. Remember how Mom always used to make popcorn for long drives?”

Gregor sprinkled baby powder on the pool cover to keep it from getting moldy over the summer. Speaking of driving, his dad had
taken him parallel parking this morning. Gregor wanted to take his road test before he left for Michigan, where he was attending a music conservatory for three weeks in July.

“What about
happy
?” Gregor asked his dad. He slid his tongue over his smooth teeth. On Friday he'd finally gotten his braces off after two years of achy teeth and canker sores. “What do you think of?”

“Right now,” his dad said.

Gregor smiled. That was exactly what he was thinking.

Jake: Can you meet after school to give me the files?

Zach: Sure. Congrats on stealing treasurer from me.

Jake: Uh, thanks.

Zach: Hey, did you hear about Ted?

Jake: What about him?

Zach: Ask him yourself. Did you hear Allegra Nichols is moving back from Maine?

Jake: No! When?

Zach: August. You have to admit, she was cute. Did you hear a movie is being filmed in Hankinson? You should audition. I'm going to. You've got that Hollywood look.

Jake: Uh.

Zach: Don't take that the wrong way. You're hot and all, but I'm straight.

Jake: That's cool/fuck off.

Zach: You da man! Come to think of it, Allegra was annoying.

Jake: You guys were perfect for each other.

“WHAT?” ZOE ASKED.
“Why are you staring?”

Lola grinned. “Something seems different about you. I'm trying to put my finger on it. Know what I mean?”

Lola was Rosa's granddaughter. Rosa had been Sierra's housekeeper for years, and Lola often tagged along. She was a year younger than Zoe and went to high school in LA. Of all the friends Zoe had left behind in California, Lola was honestly the only one she was happy to see again.

“Different how?” Zoe rolled up a fluffy white towel and slid it behind her head. They were sprawled on chairs next to the saltwater pool in the backyard. Sierra had spent a zillion dollars having it renovated this year. In honor of the brand-new pool, she kept offering to take Zoe for a brand-new bikini.
No, thanks
. Zoe was fine in her tankini top and paddleboard shorts.

“I don't know. . . . You seem more confident,” Lola said. She giggled and twisted a strand of shiny black hair around her finger. “Did you do the deed? I've heard that changes people.”

“Almost, but no.” Zoe took a sip of water. “Why, did you?”

“I wish.” Lola ducked in toward Zoe. “I did get drunk, though.
Don't tell my grandmother.”

“I won't.”

“Jack and Coke. I don't recommend it.”

Zoe nodded. She'd never tried alcohol and didn't plan to. She'd learned in Al-Anon that addiction was hereditary.

“There is a guy, actually,” Zoe said to Lola. Her stomach quivered with excitement. She hadn't told anyone what her mom had said about her dad. Not like she knew much, but Zoe was happy to have even a speck of information.

“I thought so!” Lola squealed. “Who is he? Is he hot?”

“No, it's not like that,” Zoe said. She pushed aside her towel, stood up, and dove into the pool.

Lola splashed in after her. “What's his name?”

Zoe spit out a mouthful of saltwater.

“Not telling?” Lola asked.

Zoe swam underwater to the shallow end. She knew she wasn't making any sense, but it wasn't like she had anything else to share.

“No details whatsoever?” Lola squealed, paddling across the pool. “So unfair!”

“Tell me about it,” Zoe said.

MIA WALKED TO
the end of her driveway to check the mail. It was almost a hundred out, and she felt lightheaded as she opened the mailbox. Or maybe it was mental lethargy. Summer was stretching out, boring and endless, in front of her. She was doing some babysitting and taking extra piano lessons, but Sophie was at Catholic sleep-away camp, and her parents were always at work. Checking the mail had become a high point, even though it was just catalogs and bills.

Today a large yellow envelope sat on top of the usual offerings. It was addressed to the parents of Mia Flint from the Intensive Math Learning Institute. The sun scorched Mia's neck as she tore it open.

Dear Parents of Mia Flint:

Congratulations on your daughter's stellar achievements! As you undoubtedly know, Mia is extremely talented in mathematics. This past spring a standardized math test was administered to every sophomore in the United States. In all areas of the test, Mia scored in the top percentile, gaining acceptance into the Intensive Math Learning Institute.

For three weeks this August, IMLI will be hosting forty teenagers from around the country, all going into their junior year of high school, on the campus of Stanford University in Palo Alto, California. We will cover all expenses, both travel and program fees. The students will live with host families near campus and spend their days working with mathematics professors and graduate students . . .

Mia could hardly breathe. She skimmed to the last sentence.

. . . because of high demand for this program, please RSVP by July 10 to let us know whether Mia will be attending.

Mia closed the mailbox and ran back to the house for her phone. As she typed in the number at the bottom of the page, her heart was racing. She hadn't made a prank call since last fall. After the debacle with calling Whitney, she vowed she was done with them. But this wasn't really a prank. This was a
necessity
.

“Hello . . . IMLI,” said a man on the other end.

“I'm calling on behalf of Mia Flint,” Mia said. She kept her voice high and formal. “This is her mother, Susan. We're delighted to accept your invitation to IMLI.”

When Mia hung up a few minutes later, she was beaming. Her escape plan was starting.