Infinite in Between (6 page)

A WEEK BEFORE
Thanksgiving, Zoe finally got the text she'd been waiting for. She had a window seat on the school bus and was listening to music, watching the sunrise, trying to block out the world. That was Zoe's mission these days. She'd wear her noise-canceling headphones the whole way to school, eat lunch in an empty study hall room, and take a nap as soon as she got home.

The text was from Max, her mom's manager. Okay, it was
almost
the text she'd been waiting for.

Can you talk to Sierra at four p.m. today? Eastern time. I will arrange the call.

Zoe peeked at the guy next to her to make sure he didn't see that and start gossiping about her. He'd introduced himself as James on the first day of school. He was a junior with lots of zits and a knobby Adam's apple. He'd told Zoe that he failed his road test, which was why he was on the bus.

Yeah,
Zoe wrote back to Max.
Four is good.

Zoe clutched her phone in her lap. She hadn't talked to her mom in three months. Jane had told her that the rule at Sierra's “place”
was no outside contact. Zoe knew what
place
meant. It meant rehab, but no one was saying it.

Zoe could see that the guy next to her was talking to her. She pushed her headphones down onto her neck.

“I was saying that I like your phone,” James said to her.

“Thanks.” She hoped he wasn't trying to start a conversation. She didn't think she could do that right now.

“Is that the new one?”

“Not really,” Zoe said. She stared out the window. It was going to be hard to make it until four o'clock.

Zoe slid an English muffin into the toaster and was just opening the fridge for jam when Jane walked through the door, home early from work. For a second Zoe was embarrassed to be helping herself to food. She still felt like a guest here.

“I wanted to get a jump on Thanksgiving cooking,” Jane said. Her eyes darted to Zoe's phone on the counter, which made Zoe suspect she was there to make sure things went smoothly with today's call. Even though Max had texted Zoe to set up the call, Jane seemed to be talking to him quite a lot. It was Jane who told her that Max said her mom was returning from Arizona in two days. Also, Jane and Max had decided that Zoe would fly to LA for Thanksgiving then come back to Hankinson to finish up the fall semester. Over Christmas break she was moving back to California for good.

The toaster popped, which made Zoe jump. She reached for a butter knife but accidentally dropped it onto the floor.

“You can help me cook if you want,” Jane said, bending over for the knife. “After your call.”

“Okay . . . thanks,” Zoe said.

At four on the dot Zoe's phone rang. She was sitting on her bed, examining her toenails. On both big toes she still had a smudge of purple from the pedicure she got on the last day she and her mom were together.

“Mom?” she asked hoarsely.

“Zoe? This is Lani,” a woman's voice said. “I'm your mom's counselor. I've heard a lot about you.”

Lani spoke slowly, like Zoe was a preschooler.

“I'm about to put your mom on,” Lani said. “I'll be on the call too. Your mom is excited to talk to you, but she's still vulnerable. I'm sure you understand. Let's be strong for her.”

Before Zoe had a chance to ask what that even
meant
, Sierra said, “Hey, Z. How's it going?”

Zoe's eyes welled up. She tried to say hi back, to sound strong, but she felt like crying.

Lani jumped in. “I know this is hard for both of you. It will be wonderful to see each other at Thanksgiving next week.”

Zoe wiped her eyes. “Will Lani be there?” she asked her mom.

“No,” Lani said. “I won't.”

“Are things—” Zoe paused. “Are they better?”

In a million years she could never say
alcoholic
out loud. Back in October, Jane had driven Zoe to an Al-Anon support group at a church in downtown Hankinson, but Zoe couldn't get out of the car. Her legs literally wouldn't move.

“Can you explain for me?” Sierra asked Lani.

“Recovery is a process,” Lani said. “Your mom will need everyone's support on her journey.”

Zoe picked at her toenail. When they hung up a few minutes later, Zoe realized she'd never actually talked directly with her mom. Lani was the go-between for the entire call.

A few days later Zoe was helping Jane bake a pecan pie. Paul Simon was playing. Jane was explaining how her son, David, was coming for Thanksgiving and he was bringing a few buddies from Downing College.

Jane worked as an administrator at Downing, the small college forty-five minutes away. David went there and lived in the dorms. He came home every few weeks to do laundry. Zoe hid in her bedroom whenever he was here. She'd never had a sibling or even a cousin before. She didn't know how to do the family thing.

“Rich is coming with his wife, Glenda, and their daughter,” Jane said. Rich was Jane's ex-husband, David's father.

“Isn't it awkward to have your ex-husband over with his new family?”

“It's been a lot of years.” Jane cut open a bag of pecans. “A lot of water under the bridge. We go with it.”

Zoe nodded. It was cool how Jane talked to her like an equal. She'd even told Zoe a little about her grandparents, Sierra and Jane's mom and dad, who had died in a car accident more than twenty years ago. Sierra rarely talked about them because it upset her too much, but Jane told her stories about them, and even explained
carefully how Sierra had been in bad shape after they died. The one thing they never discussed, though, was why Sierra and Jane had had a falling out.

“You should know,” Jane said as she handed Zoe a measuring cup, “that the best recipe for pecan pie is on the corn syrup bottle.”

“Really?” Zoe studied the label on the glass bottle.

Jane's phone rang. She glanced at the counter. “Max.”

Zoe wrinkled her nose. “Why's he calling again?”

“Not sure.” Jane wiped her hands on a dishrag. “Hello?”

Zoe reached into the pecan bag for a few nuts.

“Oh. Oh no.” Jane walked into the living room and sat down on the piano stool.

Zoe tried to drum her fingers to “Graceland,” but all she could hear in her head was pounding, like her brain was on the spin cycle of a washing machine.

A few minutes later Jane came back into the kitchen.

“Okay, so . . .” Jane said, turning her phone around in her hands. “Max talked to Lani. . . . Sierra didn't come home today. She's still at . . . the place. She needs a few more weeks.”

“What's wrong?” Zoe asked, her throat tight. “Did I say something wrong on that phone call?”

“Oh no, honey. No, no.” Jane reached over and touched Zoe's arm. “He didn't say what was wrong exactly. I'm sure she's just working things through. But you'll stay here and have Thanksgiving with us.”

Lani had promised that her mom would pick her up at the airport in Los Angeles. Zoe was going to bake her a pecan pie and
somehow carry it cross-country.

“I'm sorry.” Jane set her hand on Zoe's shoulder, but Zoe wriggled away.

She ran upstairs to the bathroom and grabbed the nail polish remover from the cabinet. With a few swipes she erased all the remaining purple from her toes.

OF COURSE KYRA
had to go all drama queen at the mall. She and Whitney were shopping for their lucky audition shirts, but Whitney was also planning to tell Kyra that her parents had separated. Her dad had told her and Alicia that awful weekend that he forced them to go camping. Her mom had moved into a rental house
six weeks ago
.

Kyra's mom had dropped them off at the mall. Christmas music was blasting, and holiday shoppers were shoving around with their armfuls of bags. Whitney wanted to find their shirts for the
Grease
auditions and then get to Auntie Anne's so they could share a cinnamon-sugar pretzel and she could tell Kyra about her parents. She'd already told Laurel, but then made her promise not to say anything. It was stressful keeping her stories straight. Whitney was so stressed, she'd gotten a migraine a few days ago and stayed home from school, puking in pain.

“It's not fair!” Kyra shouted, pushing her bottom lip out.

They'd just left the cashier at Bloomingdale's. Several people looked over at them.

“We'll find you a good shirt,” Whitney said, dropping her wallet into her purse.

They'd been shopping for an hour and still couldn't find anything that fit Kyra's chest. She kept saying everything made her look fat. And then the
only
shirt she liked happened to be the gauzy gold one that Whitney just bought. Whitney found it first, on the sale rack.

“Let's check the sale rack again,” Kyra said. “Just to be sure they don't have another.”

Whitney shrugged. “I really think it was the only medium.”

“But it's not fair,” Kyra said. “You'll get a good part in
Grease
, and I'll just stand around looking fat.”

“You're not fat,” Whitney said, taking Kyra's hand and pulling her out of the store. “Plus, we can't audition in matching shirts.”

“You're just saying that because
you
have the shirt,” Kyra said. “You'll probably get a lead. You're so lucky you're black. No one wants to cast another white girl.”

“Biracial,” Whitney said. “My mom's white.”

“You know what I mean. My dad says diversity is a big advantage.”

Whitney pressed her lips together. Kyra had been in a terrible mood since Brock dumped her in November. Also, Kyra was jealous that Whitney and Laurel did soccer together and had gotten closer this fall.

That was why today was supposed to be a
good
thing. Laurel was home with strep, so Whitney and Kyra were going to shop together and bond. If only they could find Kyra a shirt. Then everything would be okay.

“Look, there's Jake,” Whitney said, leaning in close to Kyra. She pointed at the guy with the longish blond hair and blue North Face jacket. He'd been in her freshman orientation group. “He went to Loch Middle. Don't you think he's really cute?”

Jake saw them looking at him and nodded with his chin. It was such a dude gesture that Whitney and Kyra collapsed into giggles. Whitney had to squeeze her legs tight not to pee her pants. Jake veered into the bookstore.

“Jake Rodriguez,” Kyra said, panting. “He's your type. Pretty boy. Supposedly, he's a really good artist. His dad is an artist, like, for real.”

Whitney wiped at her eyes. “Do you know him?”

“He mowed my mom's lawn last summer, but it's not like we talked. He thinks he's better than us. Which he's not.” Kyra clapped her hands. “Hang on! Laurel went to Loch Middle too. Let's ask her about him.”

They both whipped out their phones and raced to see who could text Laurel first.

“Yes!” Kyra said, pumping her phone in the air. “I got Laurel! She just texted me.”

“What'd she say?”

“Whoa.” Kyra opened her mouth wide. “Whoa.”

“What?”
Whitney tried to peek, but Kyra was clutching her phone to her chest.

Kyra wrote Laurel back and then turned to Whitney. Her mouth was puckered like she was sucking a lemon lollipop. “It sounds like your pretty boy likes . . . pretty boys.”

“No way! How does she know?”

Kyra's phone pinged again. “Hang on,” she said, staring at the screen.

“What?” Whitney asked. This was getting annoying.

“Girls, too, possibly. He went to a dance with that Indian girl, Marin, last year. They kissed.”

“So he's bi.” Whitney swung her bag in her arms. “I can live with that.”

“Right.” Kyra linked arms with Whitney as they walked past Book Nook. “Like you, with your commitment issues, need to have a guy who can't decide whether he likes you or a dude.”

“I don't have commitment issues. I'm just waiting for—”

“I figured it out!” Kyra pulled Whitney toward Victoria's Secret. “I'll get a gold camisole and wear something see-through over it. I've got ta-tas. Why not show them off?”

Whitney followed Kyra into the store. Maybe she'd wait to tell her the news about her parents.

MIA COULDN'T PUT
this book down, even though she was reading it on the floor of Book Nook. Her parents were in the Nordic outlet buying yet more beige furniture. Her mom had handed her a credit card in the hopes that Mia would splurge at the mall and transform herself into a preppy rah-rah girl. Mia went to the bookstore instead.

The novel was called
Impossible
, and it was about a family curse and a girl discovering a letter from her long-lost mom behind a bookshelf. It reminded her of the envelope her orientation group had hidden at the start of the year.

Mia looked up from her book and saw Jake Rodriguez—from her orientation group!—sitting in the children's section. He was leaning against a shelf, his long legs stretched in front of him, flipping through . . .
Captain Underpants
? In his faded jeans and blue jacket, he looked like a model. It seemed unfair that a guy had better hair than she did. She'd been growing hers out since September, but it still wasn't past her earlobes.

Mia wondered if Jake even remembered her from orientation.
He was really cute and had that popular attitude going on. He probably had more important things in his life than to think about her.

Jake set Captain Underpants on a kiddie table and stretched his arms over his head. His shirt lifted up, revealing his stomach with a slight tickle of hair and the black band of his boxers. Mia's stomach flipped. She wondered if he'd had sex yet. According to statistics, 30 percent of American ninth graders had had sex. Thoroughly shocking, but facts were facts.

Mia watched Jake head out of the store. As soon as he was gone, she hurried across the children's section and scooped up
Captain Underpants and the Perilous Plot of Professor Poopypants
. She tucked it under
Impossible
, carried both books to the register, and bought them with her mom's credit card. Her mom hated real books. She complained that they got too dusty, and she was always trying to get Mia to read on a tablet. Oh well. It wasn't the first time her mom would be disappointed in her.