The Art of Holding On and Letting Go (17 page)

Who was I kidding? My clothes weren't shrinking, I was gaining weight. I had no idea how much I weighed. It wasn't something I ever worried about. No more organic whole wheat macaroni and cheese with hidden chunks of cauliflower like I'd had at home. Grandma cooked the real deal. And after growing up on natural peanut butter and nine-grain bread, I had been scarfing down Jif and Wonder any chance I could get. With hardly any exercise for the past couple of months, it was no wonder my butt was busting out of my underwear. But now, even my bra was getting tight. Before, most people wouldn't even notice if I went braless. Maybe I was going through some late stage of puberty. That would just figure. Not only had everything else changed completely in my life, now I didn't even recognize my own body. Couldn't just one thing stay the same? Kaitlyn's car was in the shop getting new brakes, so Nick was forced to drive her to school for the day. He tried convincing Kaitlyn to ride her bike, but no go. We met in the student parking lot after our last class, and I stared at Nick's sleek, black car. I wasn't a car person, but even I had to admire this machine.

“Wow, what is it?” I asked.

“Mazz-err-atti,” Kaitlyn stretched out the name.

We climbed in the car, and I sang softly. “Nick's Maserati goes 185. His dad busted him, and now he don't drive.”

Nick whipped around and grinned.

“Way to go, classic-rock sister!” Nick raised his hand for a high five. “California Cara grooving on Joe Walsh.”

“Who?” Kaitlyn was looking at us like we had lost our minds.

“For shame, do you not work in a music store?” Nick said.

Kaitlyn stuck her tongue out at him.

“My parents listened to him,” I said.
And Uncle Max.

“Actually, I only know it from my older brother,” Nick said. “In honor of Cara, it's classic rock hour.” He punched the button for 94.7 on the radio.

Eddie Van Halen's electric guitar ripped through the car. Kaitlyn covered her ears and groaned, and Nick peeled out of the parking lot, tires squealing.

At the climbing gym, Blake greeted us from behind the counter. No sign of Nate, and my shoulders relaxed an inch. We stopped in the locker rooms to change out of our school clothes. Kaitlyn pulled her hair into a ponytail and scrubbed her face clean. Rather than ghostly white, her cheeks were rubbed to a rosy, fresh-faced glow. Katie was back.

“You gonna climb with us today?”

“Probably not.”

I smiled. She was moving in the right direction; I didn't need to push her.

We found Nick working a route in the bouldering cave, and I automatically got into position to spot him as he attempted to maneuver an overhang. He fell, and I half-caught him with my hands on his back.

He jerked around. “Shit, where'd you come from?”

“Your nightmares,” I said with an evil grin, my hands curved into claws.

Nick cracked up and mock shuddered.

Kaitlyn watched while I bouldered to warm up. She ran both of her hands over the various holds, but didn't attempt to climb on.

“I'll spot you,” I offered.

She shook her head but continued to gaze at the holds, following them up and down and side to side with her eyes.

Nick had disappeared, and we found him at the base of Nemesis. It was still labeled a 5.12b. No sign of Jake today either.

“Doesn't look like he changed much,” I said, scanning the route.

“Give it a go,” Nick said.

It was easy to say yes to this one. I'd already done it once, easily. I grabbed a lead rope, tied in, and hopped on the wall. I swiveled all the way up to the crux, lunged for the big bomber hold, grabbed it, and slipped right off.

“Falling!” I yelled, but Nick wasn't expecting it. He dropped me a few feet before locking off the rope. I swooped and swung sideways, tipped upside down, and got tangled in the rope.

“Sorry!” Nick called up.

“Let me down.”

“Don't you want to get back on?”

“Let me down!”

He lowered me to the ground. “How come you didn't just stay up there and work on it?”

I didn't answer him. My heart was spastic. Kaitlyn was wide-eyed.

“I'm okay,” I told her. I studied the route. “Jake changed out that hold. Serves me right, I told him to do it. It looks just like the bomber jug, but there's nothing behind it to hold on to. It faked me out.”

Kaitlyn still looked spooked.

I turned to Nick. “I'm going again. Ready?”

“Climb on.”

I climbed the route again, fell off again. And again.

“Too bad Jake's not here to see this,” Nick said.

I stood at the base of the climb, fuming. Nick wasn't even trying to hide his amusement. I had attracted a small crowd. Including Nate.

“How's it going?” He smirked.

“How's it
not
going?” Nick smirked back at him, dimples flashing.

I glared at both of them.

“Your turn,” I told Nick and started to untie from the rope.

“No way. This is your Nemesis.”

Kaitlyn didn't look spooked anymore. She looked … intrigued. She gave me a nod and a smirk of her own. It said, “Do this.”

I blew out a big breath, shook out my hands, and retied my rope. “One more time.”

“Belay on,” Nick sang.

“Climbing.”

“Climb on.”

I studied the crux move again and jumped on the wall with an energy I had never had before. I was one of the calm climbers. Light on my feet, slow and steady. But now I felt power and strength, fueled by anger. It had been simmering inside me for months and now it was flowing and oozing like lava boiling up to my shoulders, down my forearms, into my fingers. I was on fire. Grab. That. Hold.

Aaaarrrrgh! A deep grunt erupted from my chest, I lunged and palmed the hold with an iron left grip, hooked my right toes, and swung my right arm up to the next hold. Bomber! I motored through the rest, clipped the last bolt, yelled, “Take,” and the rage settled back down to a low simmer in my stomach.

“Way to go! High five!” Kaitlyn and Nick said as soon as my feet touched ground. Then they laughed and slapped each other's hands.

“5.12b?” Nick asked.

“Oh yeah.”

Grandpa was sitting in his usual chair when I got home. He lowered the newspaper. “Your mom called while you were gone.”

I sighed. “Great timing. What did she say?”

“Not too much, we got cut off again. They climbed a mountain in Patagonia. I meant to look up the name afterwards and find it on the map, but now I've forgotten it. She said to tell you how much they miss you.”

I scoffed. “Did she say when they're coming home?”

Grandpa shook his head. “Nope, that's when we got cut off.”

“Convenient.” I jumped up and hung from the doorframe.

“Monkey. Don't let your Grandma see you.”

I hopped down and shook out my wrists. My fingertips stung and my forearms burned from all my attempts on Nemesis.

“That Kaitlyn looked different today,” Grandpa said. “No raccoon eyes or black lips.”

“Yeah. She took off her goth face to climb. Didn't want to sweat and smear it all over.”

“How does she do climbing with her hand?”

“You know about her hand? She usually keeps it hidden in her long sleeves.”

“I noticed it that first day when she picked you up. I was about to shake her hand, but all at the same time I realized my hands were greasy from working on the car and that her hand was misshapen.”

“She's pretty sensitive about it.”

“My father lost some fingertips in his woodshop. I'm sure it was hard at the time, but I never saw it slow him down.”

“Kaitlyn's like that too. She does all kinds of stuff with that hand. She hasn't actually tried climbing yet; she just watches. But I think she's getting closer.”

He nodded. “You said ‘goth?' As in gothic? Hmm. She wants to be left alone, but also to be seen, to be noticed.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, every generation has a version. When your mom was that age it was the punk rockers. She even went through a punk stage herself.”

“
My
mom?”

Grandpa chuckled. “She came home from a friend's house once with chunks of hair streaked bright pink. Oh, she gave your grandma fits. Still does,” he said and went back to his newspaper.

The week before Halloween, Grandpa bought tons of candy and hid it so we wouldn't be tempted to eat it before trick-or-treating started. I looked all over the house but never did find it. Grandpa wouldn't reveal the hiding spot, but did say that he moved the candy several times. I noticed that some of the bags were open when they finally came out of hiding. He's a sneaky one, that Grandpa. Grandma was her usual cranky self.

She walked into the living room just as I jumped up to hang from the doorframe.

“Cara, get down! How many times do I have to tell you?”

I hopped down and cracked my knuckles.

Grandma winced. “We're shutting off the porch light at eight o'clock. I'm only giving out candy to the little ones. Those big kids are nothing but trouble coming round here in the middle of the night. Norman, you bought too much candy again.”

Nick was going to a college party with his brother, but Kaitlyn said she wasn't into dressing up. (I could see why, she did it everyday.) We decided to hang out at Kaitlyn's house and pass out candy. Her parents had their own party to attend.

“My mom went as Cat Woman in this slinky-dinky outfit. She kept twirling her tail and meowing and rubbing up against my dad who was dressed as a flasher. Trench coat with shorts on underneath, I hope to God. They're so disgusting.”

It was a perfect sweater-weather night. Cool and clear. The moon shone through the skeleton tree branches, porch lights lit up the street. We passed out miniature chocolates to miniature princesses, ghosts, and a string of cartoon characters. Later in the evening, Nick stopped by on his way to the party.

I wouldn't have recognized him if he had just walked by. He was dressed all preppy with a pink oxford over a pastel-yellow polo shirt with the collar flipped up, and a sweater tied around his shoulders. Tan chinos with shiny penny loafers. The only clues to his previous identity were his purple black hair and the ever-present hemp necklace.

“What do you think of me now?” he said, turning around to model his outfit.

We cracked up. “What did you do, raid your dad's closet?” Kaitlyn said.

“Yes! I did. Just call me Chip the Third. Where's my tennis racket?”

Too funny. He continued, “Come with me. I've got extra clothes, you can go as Buffy and Muffy. No wait, you guys should just switch clothes. Cara's already got the prep thing going on.”

“Hey,” I protested.

“She's not a prep,” Kaitlyn said. “She's got more of an REI thing happening. Or Moosejaw.”

“True,” Nick said. “She could be one of their cover models.”

“What's Moosejaw?”

“A local shop,” Kaitlyn explained. “They always have funny ads with hot,
au naturel
adventure girls.”

“Oh please.” I rolled my eyes. I could see Becky on a magazine cover. I was just one of the guys.

“You're no stranger to photo shoots,” Nick said. “You're in the climbing magazines.”

“I was climbing, not posing.”

“Whatever. Are you two having another sleep-over? Another pillow fight in your-”

“Give it a rest,” Kaitlyn said and whizzed a miniature Hershey's at his chest. “What do guys do when you sleep over? Sit around in your boxers having burping contests?”

“You ever see someone light a fart on fire?” Nick said.

“You. Are. Disgusting. Go away!” We pelted him with more candy bars, and he jogged away, laughing.

We retreated to the house with a handful of candy each, leaving the rest in the bowl on the porch for the late crowd.

“You sure you don't want to go to the party?” I asked.

“Not me. You?”

“No. I don't really get into stuff like that.”

“Me neither. Not anymore anyway. I used to go with Josh sometimes, but…”

“What?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “You're the sophisticated world traveler. You've probably been to some awesome parties.”

Ha! Maybe I had experienced different things than Kaitlyn and Nick and others who never really left their hometown. But sophisticated?

“I've been all over with my parents, but we usually camped. We weren't high-styling luxury travelers. I've learned a lot about other cultures though.”

“Like what?”

“Like, there are German words that we don't have at all. A single word that captures an entire idea. Like, waldeinsamkeit.”

“Bless you,” Kaitlyn said.

I laughed. “It means forest solitude. Thoreau used hundreds of words to describe that, and the Germans just sum it up in one perfect word. And did you know that in Chinese there is no such word as ‘coincidence.' ”

“Really?”

“Yeah. So think about the meaning of that. That nothing ever happens just by chance. There's a reason or some sort of force or energy behind it.”

“God?”

“Maybe. God, spirits, angels, nature, fate. The Chinese call it yuan. Destiny. But I guess it depends on what you believe.”

“I don't know what I believe,” Kaitlyn said. “But it's interesting. Like with us. The way we met. It seemed like a random event, just a
coincidence
that you sat at our lunch table and we started talking. But maybe there was more to it. We were meant to be friends. Something drew us to each other.”

“Exactly,” I said.

“Do-do-Do-do.” Kaitlyn wiggled her fingers. “Spooky.”

Kaitlyn gave me a ride to my next Road Rules class, and I couldn't help thinking about yuan, destiny. How maybe it wasn't just a coincidence that I ran smack into Tom my first day in the cafeteria and then he turned up in my driver's ed class. As Kaitlyn pulled up in front of the building, Tom rode up on his
bicicleta
. He hopped off, locked his bike around a lamppost, and loped through the doors without noticing us.