Drive Me Crazy (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-Eight
Cassie

W
hen Lana slips away from that stupid Bean, I decide to follow her. She’s easy to find in the crowd, thanks to her patchwork cap. There are people all around, so it’s not hard to mix in, though I keep expecting her to look up and see me. But she’s so oblivious, I’m able to stand almost right behind her, hearing every word she says. The whole time I’m listening, part of me
wants
her to see me, but when she hangs up, she heads back without even looking around.

For a minute I just stand there, stunned by what she’s said. I should feel bad, but instead I’m even angrier than before. Lana’s mother is in the hospital, but she’s said
nothing? It’s ninety times worse than anything Fiona never told me about. And Nono didn’t tell me either, for that matter, though she’s been more than happy to spill to Lana all kinds of details about me and my life. That they’d keep that kind of secret, and act like
I’m
the bad guy, is just too awful to stand. I want Lana’s mother to be okay, but also I want this stupid trip to be
over
.

On the way back to the hotel, Nono has to tell me to stop and slow down three times, I’m walking so fast. When we finally get to the lobby, she says, “I think Cassie and I need a minute.”

Of course she never needs a minute with
Lana
, whose back I glare at as she and Howie head to the elevators.

“Cassie, this behavior has got to stop.” Nono sinks onto the nearest couch. “You’ve been cold and distant, barely talking to me, and you and Lana aren’t speaking at all—”

“Right,
I’m
the one who isn’t talking,” I say as meanly as I can.

Her neck straightens, and she pulls her head back. “What do you mean?”

I cross my arms. “You wanted me to be here with you and for us to share things, but you’ve been keeping this secret from me about Lana’s mother the whole time. You won’t let me talk to my friends, but you won’t talk to me
about things, either!”

Instead of being angry at me for talking back, Nono looks surprised.

“I didn’t tell you about Frankie’s brain tumor, darling, because for one thing, we didn’t know for sure what it was until yesterday. Secondly, this hasn’t been my story to tell. If Lana’s kept that from you, perhaps she’s had her reasons.”

A funny feeling shimmers in the back of my head, Nono talking about it not being her story to tell, but mostly I’m shocked by the words
brain tumor
. If that’s how bad it is, then Lana really isn’t my friend. I can’t imagine any reason you wouldn’t want to talk about such a thing right away.

“Maybe we haven’t done this right.” Nono sighs again. “Come on.”

She stands up and leads me down a hall. Before I know it we’re back at Nono’s car and she’s unlocking the glove compartment.

“Here,” she says, stretching out her hand. Lying flat in her palm is my phone. “Talking to people is important.” Her face is apologetic. “I wanted you here, talking with us, but if I say I don’t want to keep things from you, which is true, there’s no sense in me keeping this from you, too. I hope you’ll be respectful about it, but if there are people you need to be talking to, you should.”

I don’t know what to say. This is everything I wanted, but it also somehow isn’t what I want at all.

“We need to go get ready for dinner,” Nono says. “Howie’s been looking forward to Morton’s since Omaha.”

I nod, but food is the last thing on my mind.

After being in Nono’s car for so long, my phone battery is completely dead. I have to wait until it’s charged overnight before I can even turn it on, which is torture. When Lana’s alarm goes off in the morning, she checks to see if I’m awake but doesn’t say anything. I don’t say anything to her, either. Today is Saturday, the day of Kendra Mack’s pool party. The day I was supposed to be back. Now we’re up early, because Howie and Nono want to get as close to Maine as possible, which still isn’t going to be close enough.

In the bathroom, I turn on the shower, but I don’t get in right away. Instead I press my phone on and wait. I’m just as nervous as I was at the amusement park, but I can’t count on Lana to help me this time.

There are several texts, most of them from the day Nono took my phone, plus a missed call from Kendra Mack. I decide to listen to her voice mail first.

“Hey, Cassie Parker!” Her voice is friendly and bright. “I hope you’re okay. None of us have been able to get in touch with you. Hope everything’s fabulous with you and
Cory”—she singsongs his name, and I can hear Izzy Gathing’s nostril-breathing giggles in the background—“and you haven’t, like, dropped off the planet or anything. It would be awful if you weren’t at my party.” There’s more muffled laughter. “So, gimme a call when you get this message, m’kay? Dying to hear from you.”

I desperately scroll through my texts, a panicky feeling creeping up my spine. Two new texts from Cory:
You wanna go out sometime?
which, yes, but then:
Cassie baby, don’t leave me hanging
, which is even dumber than the ones he sent before. There’s a text from Kendra Mack asking am I okay, and another one on its heels from Izzy Gathing, saying Cory Baxter wants to know if my mommy won’t let me go on a date with him. That’s apparently when Kendra Mack decided to call.

The last text is from Kendra Mack, sent the day before yesterday:
My mom told me you can’t come on Saturday. Too bad. Have fun in Maine!
It’s impossible to tell whether she’s being snarky or nice.

Hands shaking, I hit reply, trying to figure out not only what to say, but also how to feel. Part of me wants to cry, looking at all of Cory’s texts. No longer blinded by my first thrill, it’s clear to me now that no real boy would write texts like these, especially not someone like Cory. I know this was all a big joke. Which makes another part of me furious
that Kendra Mack would do this to me. Mostly, though, I’m horrified. The idea of them laughing at me this whole time makes me feel so sick I have to sit down on the edge of the tub. I even sent them that embarrassing selfie. Who knows who else has seen these texts by now, or who else knows about my crush. I am utterly, wholly, and completely mortified.

There’s nothing for me to do but get in the shower.

While I’m rinsing the second round of conditioner out of my hair, a thing that Kendra Mack once said when Neftali Manji had one of her freak-outs comes to me:
Act like everything’s fine and it will be fine.
Maybe Nono taking away my phone was the best thing that could have happened. By not responding to them at all, maybe I’ve shown that I’m above this. Maybe enough time has passed and everything’s blown over. Probably by now they’ve got five other jokes going on. If I act cool, I can still save face, and still have a life back home. Just because they made fun of me for a minute doesn’t mean my friends hate me. They make fun of each other all the time.

As I sugar-scrub my elbows and feet, I compose what I’ll say: that my phone went haywire and I’m only just now getting their messages. Then, something like,
You really thought I’d fallen for that Cory Baxter thing? Ha, right. Joke’s on you.

I mouth the words under the streaming water, holding my hand to my chest like I’m being haughty. It doesn’t feel good, but if it’s what I have to do to keep from being mocked and, worse, ostracized, then I will. It might even give them all something to talk about at the party today—
Oh, that Cassie’s so funny. It’s not the same without her here.
Them wishing I were there is certainly much, much better than being glad that I’m not.

When I get out, I wipe the steam off the mirror with the edge of my towel. I have to practice looking aloof four times before I hit on the right expression, and then I do it over to make sure it sticks. What’s happened is awful, but I’ve survived worse—this isn’t near as bad as when Fiona vanished from my life forever—and I certainly won’t be letting on to Lana about any of it now.

Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lana

C
assie has her precious phone back. I don’t realize it until after breakfast, when we’re already on the road and she asks Grandma Tess if it’s okay to text her parents. That explains why she took even longer in the bathroom than usual—she had to get straight back to her friends. I lean forward and ask Grandpa Howe to pick the next playlist for us, turning my back to her. I don’t care what her friends have been saying.

Thanks to more singing good songs and some new stories from Grandpa Howe and Grandma Tess, plus a few <3 texts from my mom, I’m almost even able to forget about Cassie. We stop in Cleveland for a decent lunch and a short walk, but then it’s back in the car. Grandma Tess and
Grandpa Howe swap driving every few hours, and we start reading
Tiger Lily
, which is nowhere near as entertaining as
Peter Pan
or
The Graveyard Book
. I’m not paying super-close attention anyway, since all I want to hear is that my mom is back safe at home. Still, I don’t want to text too much and bother them.

We’re almost to our stop for the night in Schenectady when my parents finally call. It’s a short conversation, since they’re both very tired. Dad says home certainly is a better place to wait than the hospital, and I almost say,
Or a thousand miles away
, but then I remember this is how they want it. Even with a brain tumor, Mom doesn’t really need me. Except to stay out of her way.

Though their call is what I’ve been waiting for all day, my heart still feels heavy and sad when we hang up. It makes me realize that even though Cassie has her phone back, and today is the Big Day of Kendra Mack’s Pool Party, things have stayed quiet on her side of the car, too. I heard it buzz, once, sometime in the middle of the morning, but when I took a quick glance, I could see it was just her brother. If I weren’t trying to de-friend her in my mind, I’d be a little concerned. It seems like all Cassie cares about is her group back home, but from their silence today, I wonder if they still care about her.

Too bad she decided to yell and turn her back on me
two days ago, because I might have been the only person she had left. I hope she regrets it and realizes that now.

As soon as we drop our bags in the hotel closet, Cassie flops on her bed and turns on the TV. In the bathroom, I change into my pajamas and brush my teeth. I’m not ready to go to sleep, but I’m not in the mood for any more reading, and I don’t want to finish Tamika’s letter until after Mom’s surgery, either. I’ve already said good night to my parents, so texting them again is silly, and Grandpa Howe and Grandma Tess definitely need their sleep. Maybe Cassie’s the only person I have right now, too. Which I guess means I’ll just stare at the TV for a while, because I’m certainly not talking to
her
.

I haven’t forgotten what she said, though, about people not talking to me because I don’t talk to them, either.

When I come back out of the bathroom, she’s still watching TV.

“All yours,” I say, to say something.

She gets up from the bed as huffily as she can, takes her pajamas and toiletry bags from her suitcase, and disappears behind the door.

The truth is, I don’t know how to act in a fight like this. We’ve created so many rules on this trip, and none of them are any help. Tamika and I have never fought, except the one time ages ago when I was too scared to try jumping
backward across a deep ditch on our obstacle course, and she got annoyed that it ruined her game. But when that happened, I just biked home early, and the next day she called to see if I wanted to test out her new ice cream sundae experiment. We didn’t talk about it—we just got over it.

Maybe it can be that simple for me and Cassie. We don’t have to become real friends again, of course, but it’d be nice to get a break from the silent treatment. With everything that’s happening with my parents, I don’t need Cassie’s sullenness to deal with too.

The minute she comes out of the bathroom, I decide to be Tamika-brave and not think about it too much.

“So, the party was today, right?” I try as she gets into bed. “Did you get to at least tell everyone why you’re not there?”

She doesn’t say anything, just holds up the remote and flips through the channels.

“I’m sure everyone missed you. I bet you’ll have a ton of texts tomorrow.” I’m trying to keep my voice even, trying to be calm, but I feel jumpy and nervous, and even with my best efforts, my words still sound that way.

Cassie turns her head, slow, to look at me. Her lids are lowered, wary, and she’s still pointing the remote at the television.

“Do me a favor, Lana, okay?”

“Sure.” Finally, she’s talking to me. Maybe it is as simple as this.

Her voice is as cold as the kitchen floor with no socks on in winter: “Rule Number Thirteen is, Don’t Act Like You Care.”

The only thing—the only thing—that makes the next morning any good is that today, finally, we’ll get to Maine, and tonight I will catch the Magic Moment. I’ll wish my mom better, and Cassie can wish whatever she wants with her friends, and then we can head back home and this whole thing will be over. It’s not how I wanted to feel at the end of this trip, but based on how it’s gone, I’ll take what I can get. Cassie can hate me all she wants. I just can’t wait to get to the End of the Road.

After the long, long treks we’ve had over the last couple of days, seven hours in the car feels almost like nothing. It helps too that Grandma Tess has gotten excited again, knowing how close we are. We drive through Massachusetts and a little bit of New Hampshire, and then finally we’re crossing the big, green bridge from Portsmouth into Kittery.

Grandma Tess honks the car horn three times. “Hello, Maine!” she sings, rolling down the window and waving
a hand out into the sunshine. Even the air that pours into the car feels brighter, fresher, and more magical. Finally, we’re here.

There are still several towns to drive through, of course, but Grandpa Howe has a story about each one. If it’s not somewhere he’s been, it’s somewhere someone he’s known has lived, or died, or done something crazy in, and I lean in close to listen to every tale.

It’s almost four when we arrive at the small house Grandpa Howe rented online. It isn’t the End of the Road, but it’s still along the same beach where you catch the Magic Moment. The best part is, Cassie and I get our own rooms. Mine’s not a lot bigger than a closet, with the ceiling sloping so low over the bed I have to be careful not to bump my head, but at least now I can close the door and be away from her. Even better? We have a real kitchen, and there’s a sliding glass door that opens straight onto a wide porch, and then the beach.

Grandma Tess goes from room to room, opening all the windows, smiling bigger with each burst of ocean air that wafts in. She took her shoes off immediately and dances now on tiptoe between the rooms, twirling and humming, and kissing Grandpa Howe on the cheek every time she passes.

“I don’t know, Howie.” She gazes out our kitchen
window to the heavily treed front yard. “We may just have to buy this little house and move here.”

Grandpa Howe teases her about how she’s too spoiled by California weather to make it in Maine, and she snaps him with a dish towel.

“Speaking of spoiled,” he says, dodging, “it’s been almost two weeks since I cooked a good meal. I need to make sure I haven’t forgotten how.”

“Can we bake chocolate chip cookies?” I ask. Grandpa Howe is an expert at baking everything, but his chocolate chip cookies are so delicious, we often eat half a batch of the raw dough before we even turn on the oven.

“Mind reader,” Grandpa Howe says. “And that’s just the first course.”

I smile and curl against his strong arm, glad at least
he
hasn’t forgotten our pacts.

Cassie and Grandma Tess stay behind while we go shopping. Grandma Tess wants to write a few postcards to friends, and Cassie is sulking in her room. She’s still up there with the door closed when Grandpa Howe and I get back. Not that I’m surprised. She ignores the smell of the first perfect batch of cookies, and only comes out when Grandpa Howe calls us to the table for his amazing dinner of mussels over pasta, with a crisp, fresh salad I helped make.

She disappears again as soon as we’ve finished clearing the table, but I decide not to let it bother me. We’re all finally
here
. No more hotels, no more long hours in the car. Grandma Tess is rinsing dishes and putting them in the dishwasher, and Grandpa Howe has another sheet of cookies in the oven. The sun has gone down, and the sky is the deep, dark blue of promise. The rising moon is a little more than half-full, and even just standing on our porch, five fireflies flick on the edges of my vision. A small breeze lifts my bangs, and thrilled little goose bumps race over my whole body.

It’s time.

I tell Grandpa Howe I’d like to go down to the beach, if that’s okay. He’s pouring wine for Grandma Tess, looking more relaxed and happy than he has all trip.

“Do you want company?” he asks, handing Grandma Tess her glass.

Part of me does want Grandpa Howe to come, so he can help me know when I really catch the Magic Moment. Still, something inside tells me I need to do this alone.

“I’ll be okay. And I won’t be long.”

“Don’t get snapped up by any mermaids.” He winks.

“Howie,” Grandma Tess scolds. “Everyone knows they only come out at the full moon.”

Grandpa Howe laughs and says we’ll have more cookies
when I get back, and as I open the sliding glass door to the beach, it feels as though I’m sliding back the curtain between my old, sad life where my mom is sick—and I’m sick inside all the time with worry for her—and the new, healthy one this wish is about to make.

Ten minutes later, though, it’s still not happening. I’ve practiced catching and releasing three different fireflies, and I’ve already seen two shooting stars. The tide is glowing weirdly with clouds of stirred-up phosphorescence, and even the wind smells like magic.

The problem is, I can’t skip the stone. Not even two hops. The beach is covered with dozens of perfect rocks that fit right between my pointer finger and thumb, but hard as I try, most of them sink into the water without jumping once. I knew catching the Magic Moment isn’t something just anyone can do, but everything leading up to now has felt so right, and there isn’t anyone else besides me who needs it more.

I try again, but the disappointing
plunk
of my rock disappearing among the ripples makes my pulse beat harder in my throat. This has to happen. It
has
to. If it doesn’t, I’m sure my mom’s going to die. That’s been the main—the only—reason I’ve needed so badly to get here, and if I can’t make this wish, not only will my mom not get better,
but then I’ll have ruined things for Cassie—and lost her friendship forever—for no reason at all.

I take a deep breath, picking up another flat rock. “You must do the thing you think you cannot do,” I whisper into the beachy night air. I pretend I’m Tamika, and that I don’t hear how shaky my voice sounds. I grip the skipping stone in my palm: oval, smooth, heavy as a roll of pennies, and give it a flick.

Fail, again.

Determined—both to do this and not to cry—I hunt for another perfect stone. When I find it, I stand as tall as I can, feeling the hard, pebbly beach under the thin soles of my flip-flops. I look out across the water for the spot where I think my rock will hit on its seventh skip. I visualize each of the necessary jumps, concentrating on the weight in my fingers. I bend my wrist and rotate it back and forth once, twice. On the third time I let go, pulling my arm around with as much force as I can.

I watch as my rock skips: once, twice, three times, then four.

But it doesn’t come back up.

Overhead, there’s the faint trail of another shooting star I’ve missed.

I sink to the cool, damp shore, not believing. I curl my fingers deep into the ground, grabbing up gritty handfuls
and throwing them as hard as I can. Watching the pathetic little ripples they make, anger, disappointment, and three kinds of sadness roll through my stomach and my chest, up my throat, and take over my whole face. I’ve tried so hard—so hard—to be strong when I thought I couldn’t be, to do all the right things for my parents, and Cassie, and Grandpa Howe and Grandma Tess. Now I’m here, and I still can’t do it. I can’t do any of this right at all.