Infinite in Between (5 page)

“YOU COULD HAVE
knocked,” Whitney said as Alicia opened her door and walked right into her room.
God.
At least she was just trying on lip gloss and not changing into pajamas.

“Dad is taking us camping this weekend.” Alicia plopped onto the edge of Whitney's bed. “I thought you'd like to know. He just left to buy hot dogs. And that color's not right for you. Too pale. You look dead.”

“Camping?”
Whitney studied her reflection and then wiped her lips with a tissue. Whitney's family used to go camping when she was younger, but they hadn't been in forever. “All of us?”

“Mom's got open houses,” Alicia said. “Plus, it's not like we want them together and arguing all weekend. I can't stand them sometimes. Anyway, Dad told me we're going to the campground with those boulders by the lake.”

“Mosquito heaven?”

“Yep.”

“Can we get out of it? I have plans tomorrow night.”

Alicia checked out her nose ring in the mirror. She loved sharing the bad news. “Dad says he needs to talk to us, and he wants
somewhere away from it all.”

“He should have had two boys,” Whitney said.

An hour later Whitney found her dad in his office cleaning his tropical fish tank. Their dog was sleeping in a knot on the sofa. Whitney's dad was a chemistry professor at the college. People called him
brilliant
. Sometimes Whitney wondered if people made a big deal because her dad was black, and there weren't a lot of black chemists around here.

“Dad?” Whitney asked.

Whitney's dad pushed his reading glasses up onto his head. He wore his hair short, and it was graying around the temples.

“I'm just wondering . . . do I have to go camping tomorrow night? I'm supposed to go to the mall with Kyra and this other girl, Laurel. She's a new friend.”

Her dad examined the thin strip where he was testing the pH of the tank water. “This is the time to do it,” he said. “Before you and Alicia get busy with your activities and the weather turns cold.”

Whitney stood in the doorway, rising on her tippy-toes and slowly lowering again. Alicia took a psychology class last spring and got really into analyzing everyone. She told Whitney that their dad was a self-centered narcissist. She also said their mom compulsively shopped to fill the unhappy voids in her life. Whitney wasn't sure if any of it was true.

“Laurel's mom is driving us,” Whitney said. “I know Laurel from summer soccer, and now she goes to Hankinson.”

Whitney's dad jotted something in his notebook. Whitney had been hoping Zoe Laybourne would come shopping too, but when
Zoe didn't show up at lunch all week, Whitney assumed Kyra had scared her off. Sometimes she wished she could dump Kyra, but that would make her life hell.

“What did you say again?” Whitney's dad asked. He squirted a few droplets into the tank. It sent ripples into the water, making the fish flutter their iridescent tails.

“I'm supposed to go to the mall tomorrow night.”

“Sorry, Whit,” her dad said. “I need to talk to you girls. The mall will always be there. The campground closes for the season in a few weeks.”

Whitney bit her lip. She decided not to tell him how she and her friends were planning to search for leopard-print unitards to wear on the homecoming float. The freshman homecoming theme was “Back to the Jungle.” Her dad would say it was trivial. That was what he thought about most things that were important to Whitney.

GREGOR'S MOM MADE
spaghetti the evening of the homecoming parade. Spicy red sauce and extra Parmesan, exactly the way he liked it. It was just Gregor and his parents because Erica was getting Chinese food with Russell, her sleazy boyfriend who drove a blue pickup truck with oversized tires.

“I've got something for you,” Gregor's dad said. His eyes were teary as he reached toward the counter for a wrapped present.

“Smile, sweetie,” Gregor's mom said. She had her phone up, recording the scene.

Gregor set down his fork. Thank god Erica wasn't here. She was always making fun of the way their parents babied Gregor. “Why did you get me something?”

Gregor's dad smiled. “Just open it.”

Gregor carefully peeled off the tape. Inside was a brown leather journal with his name engraved in gold letters on the front.

“It's the same kind of journal I had when I was your age,” his dad said. “My dad gave it to me on my first day of high school. I had to backorder yours. That's why it's a little late.”

“Thank you. I love it.” Gregor flipped through the blank pages,
wondering about all the things that hadn't happened yet but would feel important to record in one, two, even three years.

It was exciting to think about that. It made Gregor wonder about Whitney.

After dinner his dad dropped him off downtown and then headed over to Nana Margaret's. His parents took turns bringing meals to his dad's mom, who was eighty-two and lived alone. Gregor waved good-bye and then walked toward the small crowd gathered along the street for the homecoming parade. He rubbed his hands together, wishing he'd brought gloves.

“Hey, Gregor!” Dinky called, waving him over.

Dinky was standing with some other ninth-grade guys from band. The first week of school, Gregor had started drums with Dinky. It was a lot, running from drums to orchestra and practicing two instruments, but it was also fun to do something different. With drums, Gregor could let loose. Cello was much more precise.

“It's crazy cold, right?” Dinky asked. The marching band was passing so he had to shout.

Gregor watched the band closely. Freshman percussion practiced with the marching band, but they didn't perform with them until spring.

“They're playing that song from
The Jungle Book
,” Gregor said, blowing warm air on his fingers. “How come?”

“Because of our float,” Dinky said, pointing down the street. “The freshman theme is ‘Back to the Jungle.' Didn't you hear all those announcements about decorating it?”

An old-fashioned fire truck rolled past them. It had a banner
tied to the side that said
GO, HANKINSON WILDCATS
. Behind that, an SUV was pulling a flatbed with a plastic palm tree and a bunch of people shrieking.

Gregor laughed. Even his braces felt cold. “What does ‘back to the jungle'
mean
? Like, how can we get
back
to the jungle? Hankinson never was a jungle—”

The freshman float rolled in front of them. And there, dancing and waving, was Whitney Montaine. She was wearing a low-cut black shirt, a beaded necklace, and a swath of leopard-print fabric tied around her waist.

Whitney was in two of Gregor's honors classes. He tried not to be obvious, but he watched her all the time. She was left-handed and wore gold earrings with the letter
W
on them and made a squeaky sound when she sneezed.

As the float passed, Gregor raised one hand to wave at Whitney. For an amazing second it looked like Whitney was waving back at him. But then he saw her eyes moving over the whole crowd, smiling at everyone and no one.

JAKE PULLED HIS
shirt over his head. The locker room smelled like chlorine and cleaning fluid, but at least it was quiet. At least he was the only one in here. Jake had made a deal with the PE teacher to go to the art room instead of freshman gym if he swam laps in the pool during his first-period study hall. He just didn't want to face the other guys in the locker room. For the last few weeks of eighth grade, after people found out what he'd said to Teddy, guys turned away from him when they changed, like they didn't want him to see them in boxers. That made Jake feel like crap almost more than anything else.
Almost.
Losing Teddy's friendship was worse.

Just then the door to the locker room opened.

Teddy.

Jake quickly crossed his arms over his bare chest.

“Oh . . . hey,” Teddy said.

“Hey,” Jake managed.

“What's up?”

“Not much. Just swimming.”

Teddy wasn't in any of his classes, but they said hi in the halls.
Once, in the lunch line, Jake handed him a bag of SunChips and Teddy said thanks.

“I lost my sweatshirt after football yesterday,” Teddy said.

Teddy had gone out for JV football. Jake saw him wearing his jersey on the first game day. He'd painted his numbers in blue on his cheek. They were supposed to have done JV football together. Jake should have had numbers on his cheeks too.

“Maybe check the lost and found bin?”

“Yeah.” Teddy stayed in the doorway, his bag slung over his shoulder.

Jake glanced at his T-shirt crumpled on the bench. He wished he could put it back on without seeming obvious.

“How's football going?” Jake asked.

“It's cool. We've lost most of our games, but whatever. We suck. I'm sure that's my fault.”

Jake laughed hoarsely. They'd done a football clinic together in junior high, and Teddy always said how much he sucked. Jake and Teddy had known each other since elementary school, but they'd gotten to be best friends through football. After practice they'd go to Teddy's basement and share a beer. They hated the taste but wanted to build up tolerance for high school.

“What's up with you?” Teddy asked.

“Not much.” Jake wished he had some great story to tell Teddy, but nothing was coming to mind. “I'm taking an art class downtown.”

“Are you going out for Halloween?”

“Probably not.”

That sucked to admit. Jake's middle-school friends had
regrouped, and he hadn't made any real friends in high school yet other than casual acquaintances from the art room. More than anything, he missed Teddy. Whenever he thought back to the bus ride home from Washington, DC, he wished he could take it back. He'd been sleep-deprived from the trip. He hadn't been thinking clearly.

“People are talking about this freshman slaughter thing that happens on Halloween,” Teddy said, “but they're probably full of shit.”

“Oh,” Jake said. “Good to know.”

“Listen.” Teddy snapped his fingers a few times. He wasn't looking Jake in the eye. “There's something I want to tell you.”

Jake's heart started racing. Was Teddy going to apologize? It wasn't like Teddy did anything wrong, though. Jake found out later that some girls had overheard him on the bus, and they'd told everyone.
Jeez.
All he wanted was to put his stupid T-shirt back on.

Teddy hoisted his bag farther up on his shoulder. “I'm with Marin. We're going out. Whatever.”

“Marin
Banerjee
?” Marin was the girl who Jake had taken to the semiformal last year and kissed during a slow dance. Teddy knew this! Teddy also knew that Jake wasn't into her.

It wasn't like he and Teddy had ever talked about how maybe they liked guys instead of girls. But they
did
things. A few times, when they were playing video games, Teddy had held Jake's hand around the remote. And once, they were wrestling in the basement, and Teddy had stretched his body on top of Jake's. They'd stayed like that for a long time, inhaling each other's exhales.

“Marin's cool,” Jake said. “That's cool.”

“Yeah, she's awesome. You're really not going out for Halloween?”

“I guess not. I don't know.”

“Well, see you around.”

Once Teddy was gone, Jake realized that he never did come in and look for his football sweatshirt.

MIA RUSHED TO
her locker after last period, hugging her folders tight to her chest. It was Mr. Maguire's fault that she was so late. Her earth science teacher was one of those cliquey teachers who buddied around with the popular kids. That morning he'd matched up everyone except Mia for the soil lab. By the time she worked up the nerve to tell him, all the dirt had been taken. She had to go back after school and sample the fungus levels, or Mr. Maguire said he'd dock it off her grade.

Honestly, it wouldn't have been a big deal, except Mia missed the bus and it was drizzling out, too wet to walk. That meant she'd have to take the late bus with the JV jocks who did afterschool sports. They weren't teasing her this year or saying she was stoned, but she didn't want to be alone with them on the bus either.

Thinking about all this, Mia was in a lousy mood when she stood at her locker. She was just loading her notebooks into her backpack when she noticed that Kyra Bauersmith's locker was slightly open. Kyra's locker was two down, which gave Mia a front-row seat to Kyra and Brock's daily makeout sessions. Kyra didn't deserve someone like Brock Sawyer. But there he was, pressing himself against her
melon boobs every morning.

The hallway was empty. All Mia could hear was the distant clanking of the vending machine in the teachers' lounge. She eased Kyra's locker all the way open. Inside were lip glosses, a pack of gum, tags from expensive clothing, selfies of her with Whitney and other girls, and pictures of her and Brock together. Mia had been lusting after Brock Sawyer since middle school. Brock, with his amber-brown eyes and a playful dimple in one cheek. In eighth grade, she'd filled pages of notebooks with signatures like
Mia Sawyer
and
Mia Flint Sawyer
and
Mrs. Brock Sawyer
.

Quick as lightning, Mia peeled a small photo of Brock from Kyra's locker and slipped it into her backpack.

In this universe, Brock was Kyra's boyfriend.

In an alternate universe, he belonged entirely to Mia.

That evening the house was empty. Mia's mom was on a business trip and her dad was at the gym. Mia did her homework and practiced piano for thirty minutes. Then she microwaved a pizza bagel, cut up an apple, and carried the plate to her room. She sat cross-legged on her carpet and found the photo of Brock in her backpack. It was a rectangular picture, like from one of those photo booths at the mall. It must have been taken over the summer, because Brock's skin was as tan as a new penny.

Mia had never stolen anything before. But she'd been doing some crazy stuff recently, like googling
penis
to see what would come back. And the other day, when Sophie wasn't even around, she tried on her mom's lacy nightie and posed in front of the mirror. She envisioned explaining all that to the principal if she got busted for
stealing the photo, and it made her cheeks so hot she ran into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face.

The next morning Mia jolted awake in bed. She had stolen a photo of Brock Sawyer!

She showered, tugged on jeans and a T-shirt, and got out the pink Chucks from her uncle George. When he'd given them to her over the summer, they seemed too cool, like they were for someone who wanted to call attention to herself. But today she was ready for them.

She was just approaching her locker when she heard Kyra's voice.

“Where's my picture of Brock?” Kyra asked Whitney and this other popular girl, Laurel. “Who stole it?”

Mia froze. Just before the bus had arrived, she'd put Brock's picture deep into her jeans pocket. Maybe it was risky, but she liked having it near her.

As Mia opened her locker, Whitney sidestepped out of the way.

“How do you
know
someone stole it?” Laurel asked. “It could have fallen out.”

“Yeah,” Whitney said. “Tape has a tendency to unstick.”

Being so close to them was making Mia's heart go wild. They were having this conversation about the photo
because of her
.

“You realize that you two are the only people who know my locker combination,” Kyra said.

“Are you accusing us of
stealing
?” Whitney snapped. “Why would I want a picture of Brock?”

“Because you always get everything you want,” Kyra shot back. “And if you don't get it, then you take it.”

Whitney lurched back like she'd been slapped. “This is about homecoming queen, isn't it? You're still mad that I got it and you didn't.”

“Guys, chill,” Laurel said. “I'm sure you can find the picture.”

“That's exactly what I'm going to do.” Kyra slammed her locker. “I'm going to my dad's office. Come on, Laurel. We'll see what he says.”

“You're seriously going to involve the
principal
in this?” Whitney called after them.

Once Kyra and Laurel were gone, Whitney pressed her thumbs to her temples. Mia stared into her locker.

“You probably think we're dumb,” Whitney said.

Mia shook her head quickly.

“We
are
dumb,” Whitney said. She flipped her long braids over her shoulder and started to walk away, but then she turned back. “I like your Chucks, by the way. Cool color.”

Mia skipped homeroom. She hurried through the hallways and down the stairs to the basement. She checked that no one was coming and then opened the door to the fire extinguisher cabinet and reached for the hidden envelope. Mia pulled the photo of Brock out of her pocket and tucked it inside with the letters from freshman orientation.