The Start of Me and You (17 page)

“
Oof
,” I muttered, stepping back. When I opened my eyes, Clark Driscoll’s eyes were on mine.

“Hey, Paige,” he said. “Sorry about that.”

“No, it was my fault. I wasn’t looking.” I remembered the puffed-up jerk he used to be—the guy who picked on kids like Max. But I couldn’t see even a glimmer of that guy in the Clark Driscoll that stood in front of me. The purplish shadows under his eyes made his skin look sallow.

“Rough morning?” he asked. His voice was quiet, carried across the desert landscape of sadness that we both
knew too well. I’d been fighting my way out of this wasteland, but Clark, it seemed, had made a home there.

“Yeah,” I said. “You could say that.”

“I have bad days with it, too.” He said this with such softness that I realized he thought I was upset about Aaron. He delivered his brief eulogy for Aaron the same way, resigned and with a crack in his voice. It was, then and now, like watching a wild beast too grief-stricken to protect himself—rolling over to expose a soft underbelly.

“And feel guilty when you have good days?” This popped out of my mouth, unscripted. I would have been horrified if he hadn’t given me a wistful smile.

“Every time,” he said. Then he looked away, like he’d said too much. “See ya.”

The day dragged as my thoughts lingered on my grandmother and my mother, but I stayed at school. Months before, my encounter with Clark would have deepened my sadness. Instead, that day, it reminded me that I’d survived worse. I could be strong for my grandmother because I knew what it meant to be strong now. That’s something I couldn’t have said last year.

“The left side of Grammy’s face does droop a little, and she’ll need to rest more,” my mother explained later in the week. My dad sat beside her, their hands linked. “But,
other than that, things won’t be that different. Just physical therapy, some medical equipment in her apartment, and the nurses will be there more often, monitoring everything.”

“But,” I said, swallowing hard. I’d been worrying about what I was going to ask for the past week, but I needed to know. Of course I shouldn’t have Googled “stroke complications,” but I was nothing if not a worst-case-scenario kind of girl. “Now that she’s had one stroke, isn’t it likely that she’ll have another one?”

“Maybe,” my mother said, her expression falling.

My dad jumped in. “Maybe not.”

Cameron was sitting next to me at the kitchen table, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

“So that’s all that will change? She’s mostly okay?” Cameron asked.

My mother nodded. “She’ll probably be a lot more tired between new medicines and trying to recover, but yes, everything should be fine.”

“When can we go see her?”

“As soon as she’s settled again,” my mother told me. “But she knows that you are thinking about her.”

With all the worry surrounding my grandma, I almost forgot about our QuizBowl match against Coventry. I’d made
myself flash cards for all kinds of subjects, but I still felt unprepared. Max drove me to the away match, and I read our practice questions the whole way.

The Coventry School was beautiful inside—small but stately. We were in a classroom that smelled like polished wood and chalk, without Oakhurst’s gross undertones of industrial cleaner and mold spores. I watched Max greet the Coventry team, who all wore the standard school uniform and seemed thrilled to see him.

No one was more thrilled than a girl with a platinum-blond pixie cut. She launched herself into Max’s arms, hugging him tightly. She grinned as they talked, adjusting her glasses, and I smiled at the idea of Max having a nerd-girl counterpart. When she took her place at Coventry’s table, her nameplate read, “Nicolette.” Different, but beautiful. Fitting.

Coventry took us to task in the first round. Nicolette answered three questions, two of which I didn’t know the answer to. But, in the second round, Max came alive. Even though he answered each question almost apologetically, he racked up dozens of points against his former team. The energy caught on, and soon Lauren and Malcolm lobbed a few correct answers of their own.

The third round meant choosing one of four topics. We’d be asked ten questions based around that topic, and we got to pick before Coventry.

“Okay,” Max said, whispering as he leaned in. “I think we could do well with the Bay of Pigs or Voter Rights one, but here’s the thing: if we don’t take the “Music from the Movies—1980s” category, Coventry will. And believe me, Nic and James won’t miss a single one.”

The three of them looked at me. The stress of my grandma’s stroke wore down on me, but somewhere in between exhaustion and resignation, I felt devil-may-care, like I had nothing to lose. “Pick it.”

“Are you sure?” Lauren asked, nearly glaring at me. “You need to be sure because we’d do well with the other two.”

“I’m sure.” I thought back to all the times I’d raided my mom’s DVD collection to watch those movies, snickering at the hairstyles and clothing choices. When we were little, Cameron and I sang along and mimicked trademark dance moves. I’d been unknowingly studying this pop-culture topic for years.

Max articulated our choice, and the questions began. I didn’t need to consult my teammates. I rattled off the answers without overthinking, for once. I didn’t even realize when I’d answered the tenth question; I sat poised, waiting for the next.

“That’s all of them,” Ms. Pepper said. She was moderating the match but failing to moderate her grin. “All one hundred points, plus the twenty-point bonus for getting them all correct.”

Malcolm slapped my back, and Lauren gave me a prim smile. I leaned back in my chair, proud and relieved. Max knocked his knee into mine under the table, a quiet I-told-you-so.

We won, narrowly, which meant we actually needed my third round cleanup. After the match, our team went right back to mingling with Coventry as if we’d been seeing a movie together instead of competing. Max was catching up with his Coventry adviser, while Malcolm and even Lauren chatted with the other team. I stood back a bit, not sure where I fit in.

“So,” Ms. Pepper said from beside me. “Are you liking QuizBowl so far?”

“I am,” I said. “It’s nerve-racking, but … it’s also an adrenaline rush.”

I recognized my moment. We stood away from the crowd, where no one could overhear.

“Um, I wanted to ask you,” I said, already bumbling. “I’m applying for a summer writing program and was hoping maybe you’d write a recommendation letter for me?”

Ms. Pepper all-out beamed. “I’d love to. What program?”

“It’s, um, screen writing, actually,” I said. “At NYU. I mean, I probably won’t get in, but … I’m applying.”

“That’s fantastic,” she said. “Just e-mail me the contact info, and I’ll send in a recommendation right away. When will you find out?”

“Not until the spring,” I said.

She turned to me fully. “You know … I’ve been trying to convince the school to let me teach a creative writing class next year. Do you think you’d be interested in that?”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“Janie,” Max called, leaning back from his conversation to make eye contact with me. “You ready to go?”

I nodded, then glanced at Ms. Pepper. “He’s my ride.”

“Ah.” Her eyes were on Max. “If you don’t mind me asking, why does he call you Janie?”

“It’s stupid,” I told her, unsure of how I could possibly explain the nickname’s origin. But she still looked at me, waiting. “A stupid
Pride and Prejudice
reference.”

She smirked and tilted her head, trying to get a different perspective of me. “He thinks you’re a Jane, huh? Interesting.”

“I’m not, though,” I said. “I’m an Elizabeth.”

Her mouth formed a knowing smile. “Well, we’re all Elizabeths, I suppose. When we need to be.”

I opened my mouth to ask what she meant, but Max came up to us, keys in hand. We grabbed our coats, and I took once last glance at Ms. Pepper, hoping for a hint. She smiled, shaking her head ever so slightly, as I left with Max.

When we were out the classroom door, I asked him, “So, do you miss Coventry?”

“Nah.” He shrugged. “I mean, a little, but I’m glad I’m at Oakhurst.”

“Well, it seems like they miss you. Especially Nicolette.” I raised my eyebrows suggestively, poking his arm. “I think she likes you.”

“Yeah. We went out a few times at the end of summer.” This shocked me away from my juvenile grin. I’d never pictured Max as someone’s boyfriend. He was … Max. “I ended things. It wasn’t a big deal, and we’re still friends, obviously.”

I studied him now, imagining him on a date with Nicolette. “Did you end it because you were leaving Coventry?”

“Partially, yeah.” He frowned but didn’t elaborate.

I had to know more, but a voice called, “Hey! Paige and Max!”

We turned to see Malcolm at the door, waving his arm widely. Lauren was beside him, arms crossed over her pea coat. They met up with us beside Max’s car.

“Do you guys want to go get ice cream? We were gonna stop on the way home.” Malcolm smiled brightly, balancing—as always—Lauren’s stoicism.

“Ice cream?” I asked, with a little laugh. “That’s an intuitive choice, on this frigid night.”

The look on Lauren’s face wasn’t exactly annoyed. Formal as she was, Lauren could only look cross. Or vexed. “I like peppermint ice cream. It’s a seasonal flavor at Kemper’s,
owing to peppermint’s association with Christmas. It only became available this week.”

My comment seemed like pretty basic sarcasm, so I wasn’t sure if I should apologize or explain myself. Instead, I stood there with my mouth opening and closing like a guppy.

Max looked down at me. “Sounds good, yeah?”

I nodded, then spent the car ride trying to guess Max’s favorite ice-cream flavor. Coffee, as it turned out. With hot fudge. Malcolm got dark-chocolate ice cream with marshmallow topping.

The sight of the butter-pecan ice cream made me think of my grandmother. I was out with friends, indulging, and she was in physical therapy every day. So I got one scoop of butter pecan, an act of sugary solidarity, and one of black-raspberry chip, which I’d always wondered about.

When Lauren ate the first spoonful of her peppermint ice cream, she sighed contentedly. We sat at a little parlor table and, at one point, Malcolm made me laugh so hard that I almost dribbled ice cream out of my mouth.

“So black-raspberry chip,” Max said on our way out. “That’s your favorite?”

“Well, it was really good,” I said. “I only got it because I’d never tried it before. But I don’t know if it’s my favorite. I think I’d have to taste them all to be sure.”

“Look at you,” he said. “Beginner’s mind–ing your ice-cream selections.”

A few weeks before, I’d mentioned beginner’s mind to him accidentally, and I’d fumbled through an explanation. It was hard to explain without mentioning Aaron, but I still didn’t want to bring him up with Max. We’d become friends on the other side of tragedy, and he only knew the girl I was now.

“We should all come here again after the next match,” Max said. “You can sample everything you’ve never tried before.”

Malcolm honked on his way out of the parking lot, and Lauren raised her hand in a slight wave from the passenger’s seat. We waved back, and I smiled a little to myself. The four of us didn’t necessarily have a lot in common, but they made me feel like one of them, and they made me laugh—even Lauren. When I joined QuizBowl, I hadn’t expected to like it so much.

But then, that’s the sweetness of trying something new.

Chapter Thirteen

I stared out the front window, breathing against the cold glass as a black Jeep appeared on my street. In the past few months, we had all hung out together a number of times, but it was always Max who picked me up if Tessa couldn’t. Not that I minded; Max was punctual and never complained about having to cart me around.

But tonight I was climbing into the passenger’s seat of Ryan Chase’s Jeep. Tessa was coming to Alcott’s straight from yoga class, and Max would be late, too.

“Hey,” I said, clicking my seat belt into place.

“Hey,” Ryan Chase said, and smiled at me as he backed out of the driveway.

“Thanks for picking me up.” I figured I would get the
precursory gratitude out of the way so we could talk about more important things. Like the two of us dating, for example.