Then Everything Happens at Once, page 9
My mind starts chanting an irritating chorus of I can’t love Freddie until I love myself. I have to love myself before Freddie can love me. Unless . . .
Could this really be happening? How am I able to go from knowing something is impossible, to rearranging my entire outlook and suddenly becoming convinced something impossible is not only possible, but that it’s happening right freaking now? It’s like I’m a pessimist with sudden-onset bouts of unrealistic optimism.
It takes all my strength to murmur my next words: “What are you trying to say right now, Freddie?”
“Okay, so, I’ve just been thinking that . . .” He trails off when the garage door starts opening as headlights appear at the bottom of the driveway.
Mrs. Morales’s SUV pulls up on the driveway, and she pops out of the driver’s door, waving at us as she moves to the back seat to unbuckle his sister, Shaya.
“Mom, what are you doing here? I thought you were going to baby swimming, then for dinner.”
“Well, swimming was canceled because a kiddo pooped in the pool just before we got there, and by the time they get that cleaned up, it would be time for the next class,” Mrs. Morales says. “Poor little guy. His mother was dead of embarrassment. Anyway, I rescheduled dinner and swimming for next week, and I just stopped for some groceries instead.”
“That’s gross,” Freddie says.
She leans into the car. “You can either carry the groceries inside, or,” she tells Freddie, holding a snowsuit-bundled Shaya out to us, “you can carry this sack of potatoes. You pick.”
“Hi,” Shaya says. “I poop.”
Freddie laughs, ruffling Shaya’s shaggy brown hair. “I pick the groceries.”
“How could you give away the surprise like that, Boo?” Mrs. Morales says to Shaya.
“Nice try pawning her loaded diaper off on me.”
Mrs. Morales comes over to me, Shaya on her right hip and a purse hanging from her left shoulder. Shaya struggles to get down, so Mrs. Morales lowers her to the ground, keeping hold of one of her hands as Shaya pulls to go in the opposite direction.
“Hello, Baylee! I’m glad to see you’re all right.”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“We’re all relieved it wasn’t worse. How’s your nose?”
“It’s still here.”
“I’m glad. I don’t even notice anything.”
“It’s the cover-up. I’m pretty good with makeup.”
“Very nice,” she says. “Well, I’m making sure Freddie refreshes himself on defensive driving.”
“I know how to drive, Mom,” Freddie says.
“I know you do.” Then to me, she says, “Anyway, say hi to your mother for me.”
“Hi, Bayee,” Shaya says, holding a grasping hand out at me like she thinks I’ll come pick her up the way I normally would. “I poop!”
I wave, managing a half-assed polite smile and a weak response wave to Shaya’s excitement at seeing me. Mrs. Morales picks up Shaya, tucking her horizontally under an arm, and the two of them disappear inside.
I was in a moment just then. A moment that I hadn’t fashioned in my own mind. This was happening for real and it just freaking went poof.
“I guess I should get going,” Freddie says, a thumb gesturing to the SUV, where the groceries wait.
“Okay?”
“There was more I was going to say, but it doesn’t really feel like the right time now. Maybe I’ll text you?”
I stand and wander out of the garage, watching Freddie looping too many plastic bags over his fingers. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s my fault,” he says, seeming uncomfortable. “I’ll text you later.”
I shuffle down the sidewalk.
“Hey,” he calls, and I turn. “You want a ride to school tomorrow?”
“No.” The word just shot out of my mouth. “I mean, no, thank you.”
Freddie looks down, and I continue putting more distance between us, leaving a trail of heel clicks behind me. When I get home, Mom looks surprised to see me back so early.
“I’m making spaghetti,” she says. “It’s almost ready.”
“Okay,” I say. “But I’m not very hungry right now. I’ll come down later.”
Mom looks at me with suspicion, because I am usually always hungry. My mood doesn’t affect my appetite, but it affects my ability to sit on the couch next to my mother, slurping spaghetti while obsessing over Freddie and what just happened. I take the stairs up to my room.
[Freddie] I know I was being a little cryptic and weird.
[Baylee] Try a lot. And leaving me hanging, all confused, is not OK.
It takes an incomprehensible amount of time, like at least ten minutes of me sitting on my bed, staring out the window, but his response comes.
It’s not a text, though. It’s a voice note.
“Let’s say there’s a group of friends—like at school—and maybe two of those friends are curious about each other. Maybe one of them just realized that there’s more to the other than they originally thought. But if they try it out, it’ll create a lot of awkwardness and general bullshit with the others. Should they still go for it?”
I start typing a response, but another voice note comes through.
“I’m being cryptic again, but just think about it. Don’t react too quickly. Just really think about it, okay?”
I’m not thinking about it. I’m feeling it all over my body.
This is it. I’m done waiting for things to happen.
They’re happening now.
Twelve
The next day, I get a ride to school with my mother on her way to work at her drive-through coffee store, except I’m now a good thirty minutes early and the school is deserted. After I hang the faux-leather messenger bag I use as a backpack in my locker, I settle on the ground against my closed locker, purse in my lap. My fingers scroll through photos of arm tattoos that resulted from a Google search. I’m pretty much decided on the fact that I will start tattooing my upper arms as soon as I have access to thousands of dollars. I could do with a little extra edge, and my gross, doughy arms covered in black-shaded flowers, hearts, or music notes would definitely make me hate them less.
[Alex] Hey. Maybe if ur not busy tonight, we could DM for a bit?
[Baylee] OK.
[Alex] I have something to do after school, but I can message u when I’m home later.
[Baylee] OK.
[Alex] How r u?
[Baylee] OK.
[Alex] Everything is just very OK with u then? 😏
[Baylee] It’s all very swell, actually.
[Alex] Swell. I like that word.
[Baylee] It’s a good word.
[Alex] I’m sorry I went MIA for a bit there. I realize I came off like a bit of a jerk.
[Baylee] I came off like a jerk first.
[Alex] I have more to say but I gotta get to school. Talk later?
[Baylee] Um. OK. 😋
The first few students start shambling down the hallway, and I go back to scoping out the arm-tattoo situation, feeling warmth inside from Alex’s reappearance. I never thought some rando DM guy suddenly dropping off the face of the earth for a couple of days would feel like such a major loss, but now that he’s back, I feel a whole lot more settled and ready to deal with anything today might bring. Even Freddie and that whole awkwardness.
“Baylee! I feel like I haven’t seen you in forty-seven years,” Rianne shouts from the other end of the hall. She stops at her locker, then heads over and takes a seat on the floor next to me. “Saturday—you’re sleeping over, too, right?”
“Of course!”
Rianne runs her fingers through her purple hair, then fluffs her razor-slashed black bangs. “I went with a very vintage raccoon-eyes look today—what do you think?”
“I like it,” I say. “Makes you kind of look like you had a wild time last night and you passed out on a stranger’s couch for a few hours.”
Rianne nods in satisfaction. “I love that. In reality, I video-chatted with my grandpa and folded laundry, but I would much rather people think I slept in an alley behind some club.”
As bodies begin to crowd around us, Rianne and I climb to our feet and rummage through our lockers to get our first-period things. The guys are visible now, coming down the hall together, likely because Freddie picked Trey and Rav up. I’m all twisted inside, thinking back to Freddie’s voice note. I can’t tell if he’s avoiding me, because I’m too busy doing everything I can not to look at him.
“Hey,” I say, nudging Rianne with my elbow. “I totally forgot to ask Lara how it went yesterday with Trey and all that.”
I kind of forgot about Lara altogether yesterday.
Rianne shrugs. “It was all right. I mean, we just steered clear of the guys all day. But we can’t do that forever. We need to talk about our end-of-year trip. Trey’s already convinced too many people that canoeing up north and sleeping in tents is the way to go.”
“He must be stopped.”
“He must. I’m not sleeping in a tent and acting like that’s a good time.”
“Neither am I.” I fake a gag. “Mosquitoes, poop holes in the ground for toilets, canoes.” Canoes that I definitely won’t fit into.
The end-of-year trip is an idea a couple of guys on the hockey team threw out there months ago, then suddenly our whole grade decided to get in on it. Only trouble is, no one could agree on what to do, so we’re all planning separate trips, and in our group, Rianne’s the organizer.
Lara arrives, heading straight for Rianne and me. She looks especially nice today, with heavier makeup and her hair twisted into a high messy bun and oversized gold hoop earrings. She must be hoping Trey will notice and . . . do what? Maybe she just wants him to look and wish. Just being looked at that way must be such a thrill.
“Where do you stand on the trip?” Rianne asks Lara as we walk together.
Lara shrugs, keeping an eye on the guys, and we all note them coming over at the same time.
“Well, for the record, I vote against the wilderness thing,” she states, having now decided to have an opinion, when Trey’s within earshot.
“Of course you would,” Trey says, from his spot between Freddie and Rav. “Luckily, no one gives a flying fudge what you think.”
“Trey, come on,” Freddie says at the same time as I open my mouth to tell Trey off.
“Yeah” is the only thing I can think of saying in the moment, and I glance at Lara, who sends hate rays to the floor with her eyes. Usually it’s my job to stand up for my best friend, and Freddie does the same for Trey. I’m confused. I don’t want to look at Freddie directly, but it kind of feels like he might be staring at me.
“Guys, I’m really getting sick of this drama constantly interfering with the group,” Rianne says. “Can you two just make up your minds and move on?”
“My mind is made up, and I’ve moved on,” Lara says.
“I don’t really care where you’ve moved on to, but don’t act like you weren’t just baiting me with your comment about the trip,” Trey says.
“I wasn’t baiting you,” Lara says. “I’m not the only one who doesn’t want anything to do with camping.”
“Here’s an idea,” Trey says, laying on the fake enthusiasm thick. “You girls do your own thing! We’ll bring different girls. Better girls.” When Freddie lifts a hand to smack his shoulder, Trey looks at Rianne and me. “You two can still come.”
“Come on!” Rianne cries, throwing her hands up in the air. “You and Lara are constantly ruining everything.”
Rianne is always somehow able to state the harsh, impartial truth and get away with it. If I said that, Lara would see it as a personal betrayal. But because it’s Rianne, Lara lets the comment hang in the air, shakes her head, then makes eye contact with me for support.
That’s when I notice Taylor at her locker to my right, so obviously eavesdropping.
“I am so down with camping,” she says as she slams her locker door shut. Then she gestures to the small group forming around her, the other guys on the basketball team Freddie and Trey are friendly with and the girls Lara would probably be hanging out with if it wasn’t for Rianne and me. “We all are. Just saying.”
“Literally no one asked you,” I tell Taylor.
She ignores me and starts whispering with the girl next to her.
“Let’s just agree on something we all want to do,” I say to my own friends. “We can each come up with an idea, then we’ll vote.”
“I vote for Lara not coming,” Trey says.
“I think that’s a great idea,” she says. “I’ve decided to no longer spend my free time around you anyway. Butthurt Trey is even worse than regular Trey.”
“I’m not butthurt,” Trey says, and I see Rav roll his eyes. “You’re not that great to be around, Lara. Trust me.”
“Trey, let it go,” Freddie says. “Let’s just let things cool down awhile. We’ll talk about this next week or something.”
“I don’t know why you’re trying to protect her feelings all of a sudden, bro,” Trey says. “You can’t stand her either.”
“What?” Lara flashes Freddie a look of shock. “Wow—that’s really great.”
“That’s not—” Freddie starts, then he smacks Trey’s shoulder again. “Nice, Trey. Real nice.”
“Whatever, bro. Just keep her away from me,” Trey says, before heading in the opposite direction.
“Hey, Freddie,” Taylor says, coming too close to him. “How’s your car? I heard it was like a crime scene in there.”
“Keep on walking, Taylor,” Freddie snaps, then walks off after Trey, Rav following.
Taylor doesn’t even make eye contact with me, but she knows I heard. I let it go, even though I’m furious enough to want to rip a chunk of hair from her head, because if I let it go, she’s less likely to drop the name Kunkel’s Cankles out there for my friends to hear.
“Way to go, everyone,” Rianne says. “The splitting of our group is in effect. Girls on one side, boys on the other.”
“It’ll calm down soon,” I say.
“Can you two just get back together already?” Rianne asks.
“We are not getting back together,” Lara says.
Rianne’s eyebrow goes up. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“I’m one hundred percent not getting back together with him—trust me. He’ll just have to grow up and stop being a jerk.”
“I kind of believe you,” Rianne says, looking suspicious. She turns to me. “What do you think?”
“I think she’s serious. It’s done for good,” I say, which makes Lara smile with vindication.
“Interesting. Well, I’m warning you: this better be smoothed over by Saturday. If it’s not, then the guys aren’t coming. I’m not having this ruin Baylee’s party,” Rianne says.
“But how can we not have guys there?” I ask.
“Oh, we’ll have plenty of guys there, just not these ones. They want better girls? Well, we can get better guys,” Rianne says, then she seems to lose interest. “Do we have to go to class? Can we get out of this somehow?”
“We could just walk right out,” I say.
She wags her eyebrows at me, and then I’m doing it, too.
“We are going to class,” Lara says.
“Let’s go for ice cream,” I say.
“Ugh, I’m not going to work on my day off! Let’s go to the mall for fries with vinegar and ketchup,” Rianne says.
“Bye,” Lara says, heading off to her first class.
“Farewell, my fellow wannabe-delinquent friend,” I tell Rianne.
“Farewell. I shall miss you,” she says. “See you at lunch.”
I head over to my social sciences class, which I dislike because none of my actual friends are in this class with me. I take my usual seat at the back, where there are long tables instead of individual desks.
When this unfamiliar-yet-familiar guy walks in after everyone else, I have this moment of sheer confusion, knowing this person isn’t a stranger, but they don’t belong in this setting.
Thirteen
Garrett shambles toward the back, throwing superior, dirtbag expressions over the students already seated, like he’s assessing what spot would benefit him best in the long run. I allow the disgust to reconfigure my features, knowing it’s a matter of milliseconds before he notices me.
And then he does. And his grin turns into an open-mouthed, almost-gleeful expression of recognition.
“Mr. Ronson,” the teacher calls, “why don’t you take a seat up here?”
“Well, sir, I’d much rather sit back there with my friend B,” Garrett says. “We go way back!”
I lose all feeling from the neck down. Heads twist to see who B is, and it feels like they all know he’s calling me Bertha. Garrett heads over and takes a seat next to me, going as far as dragging his chair a few inches closer.
“Why are you here?” I hear myself saying.
He laughs. “I couldn’t stand to be away from you, B.”
“Whatever you’re thinking, I’m telling you that you are not going to invade my school life,” I say. “There’s no way I’m letting you do this here.”
Garrett lets out this good-natured laugh. “Do what? I’m not doing anything. I seriously think it’s cool that I’m in your class. It’s cool, am I right? What are the chances.”
Mr. What’s-His-Face goes through roll call.
I lean away from Garrett. “Do not speak to me.”
Garrett snorts in response, then pretends to zip his lips shut.
I keep my eyes aimed at the front, while Garrett’s whistly, exaggerated nasal breathing continually reminds me of his presence.
Lara sends me a text that I’m able to read on account of being all the way at the back.
[Lara] Bookworm later?
[Baylee] OK.
Alex can’t talk until later tonight, which means there’s a good chance he’s working after school. I feel a pang of excitement at the thought of seeing Alex for real, finally finding out what he looks like.
