Infinite in Between (22 page)

GREGOR PUT OFF
college applications until winter break. Now, no joke, it was down to the wire. His guidance counselor was leaving for Belize tomorrow. She told Gregor that she needed to know first thing in the morning where to send his transcripts and recommendation letters. The other seniors' deadline was two weeks ago, but she'd given him an extension.

Gregor leaned against a pillow and turned to a new page in his journal.

December 23

I can't decide where to apply. How can I make this choice about the rest of my life? City or small town? Liberal arts or big university? Music conservatory? Every decision I make sets my life on a different course. Here's something else. Whitney and I are starting to talk in school. STOP. Goal: get through one journal entry without mentioning Whitney. (I will try.)

Okay. College.

       
•
   
Reed. My dad went there. I still have a Reed sweatshirt.

       
•
   
Ithaca College. They keep sending me catalogs.

       
•
   
Berklee College of Music. Top music conservatory. Ava is a sophomore there. Yes, that Ava. We've texted a few times, no big deal.

       
•
   
Juilliard. I'd never get in.

       
•
   
University of MD. My sister goes there.

       
•
   
Manhattan School of Music. I have a good chance of getting in with cello. Whitney just got accepted to NYU. We'd live in the same city.

(So much for not mentioning Whitney.)

ON NEW YEAR'S
Day, Zoe was playing piano in the living room when the doorbell rang. She slipped a sweatshirt over her tank top. Rich Morrison, Aunt Jane's ex-husband, was shivering on the doorstep. As Zoe opened the door, an icy wind blasted into the foyer.

“Hey, Zoe,” Rich said, shutting the door behind him. He set a tote bag on the ground and kicked off his boots. “Happy New Year.”

“Yeah, Happy New Year.”

Zoe crossed her arms over her chest. She'd never talked much to Rich at family gatherings, but he seemed friendly enough. He was her cousin David's father, and he and his wife, Glenda, had that little girl, Mariah. At David's college graduation last year, Zoe had seen him blowing raspberries on Mariah's stomach and that seemed cute.

“Is Jane here?” Rich asked. “I'm dropping off containers from Thanksgiving. I told her I'd swing by.”

Zoe shook her head. “She's at a brunch with people from Downing. She'll be home around three.”

Aunt Jane had invited Zoe to the brunch, but she needed to work on her song. Anna was coming over later with a draft of the
lyrics, and Zoe was supposed to have the melody figured out. Anna signed them up to perform an original song for the Class Acts talent show in April. She said it would help get Zoe out of her funk.

“I'll leave the containers on the counter,” Rich said, draping his coat over the couch. “I need to grab a bill for David too.”

Rich headed into the kitchen, and Zoe sat at the piano again. She'd come up with a sequence of notes, but when she tried it now, the song only lasted seven seconds.
Damn.
Everything felt so crappy right now. Zoe's mom was drinking again and refusing to go to rehab. She'd told Max who told Jane who told Zoe that she felt a “moderation approach” to alcohol would be more effective. On top of that, all everyone at school talked about was college and where they were applying. Zoe had no clue what she wanted to do next year. She'd applied to Downing because that was where Aunt Jane worked, but she wasn't even sure she wanted to go to college. Maybe she'd take some cooking classes or work full-time at Bean.

“Are you composing?” Rich was standing under the archway in the living room.

Zoe flinched. She hadn't realized Rich was listening. “My friend and I are trying to write a song.”

“Did Jane tell you I play piano?”

Zoe shook her head.

“In a band on weekends. We write our own stuff.”

Rich slid onto the piano bench next to her. He rubbed his hands together to warm them up and then played a ragtime tune. He was good, like,
really
good.

“That's amazing,” Zoe said.

“I wrote it last fall. Want to learn it?”

“Sure.”

Piano was the one thing that got her out of herself. She'd recently restarted lessons with a teacher whose house was two streets away from Bean.

Rich played with his right hand, showing Zoe the notes. Zoe picked out a few notes herself.

“You're fast,” he said. “How long have you been taking lessons?”

“On and off. I just started again.”

Pretty soon they were both playing, Zoe's fingers alongside Rich's on the keyboard. They sounded solid together. Zoe was getting into it.

She gave Rich a grateful smile. This was what it meant to push beyond the gloom. These were the moments when Zoe realized that, somehow, she was going to muddle through.

WHITNEY CLIMBED ONTO
the school bus. It felt silly to be taking a field trip like they were back in fifth grade. Pretty much everyone had their driver's licenses by now! But her senior lit teacher wanted them to go to the Downing Library to learn about academic research, to get ready for college next year.

“Hey there,” Whitney said as she sat next to Gregor and unbuttoned her navy pea coat. It was hot on the bus and smelled like sweaty socks. “The school bus makes me feel like one of those clowns in a car that's too small.”

“Or those big guys who ride tiny dirt bikes,” Gregor said, smiling. His voice was deep, and he'd gotten tall this year, like almost six feet. For the past few months Whitney and Gregor had been joking around in their classes. She'd even gone to his jazz band's holiday concert back in December. Whitney had watched Gregor onstage wearing a black shirt and black jeans, his hair spiked. The audience went crazy whenever he had a solo. It was obvious he was a rock star on the drums. But then, back at school on Monday, his hair was messy and he was his usual semi-geeky self. It was kind of adorable.

“When's the last time you rode the bus?” she asked Gregor.

“Never, really,” Gregor said. “I walked in middle school, and then my dad used to drive me before I got my license. I guess I've just taken the bus on field trips.”

Gregor's dad.
Whitney's tongue felt heavy, and saliva was pooling in her mouth. They'd never talked about his dad before.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “About your dad. That must have been terrible.”

“Yeah . . . well,” Gregor said quietly.

The bus pulled onto the main road. Whitney watched a police car zip around them, the siren on but the lights off.

“I think my mom knew him,” she said after a moment. She was remembering what she heard last year, how her mom had had a secret crush on his dad.

“Really? Is your mom a lawyer too?”

Whitney shook her head. “They went to high school together. My mom mentioned it once. Isn't that crazy?”

Gregor stared at her. “Your mom grew up here?”

Whitney told him the year that her mom had graduated from high school.

“I think that's the same year as my dad.” Gregor paused. “I wonder if they were friends.”

The light changed to green, and the bus rolled forward.

“I hope so,” Whitney said. She wasn't going to tell him the parts about the car running over his dad's foot or her mom's crush.

“I should check his journal from high school,” Gregor said. “What's your mom's name?”

“You have his
journal
?” Whitney couldn't imagine what it would be like to read her own dad's journal! She had no idea what
occurred in his brain, maybe chemistry formulas and tropical fish and the occasional realization that he had daughters to deal with.

“I haven't read it,” Gregor said. “Maybe someday. I have a journal like it. He gave it to me freshman year.”

Kyra and Brock and Ted were in the back bellowing to each other like they owned the bus. Whitney wished they would shut up, even though two years ago she would have been right there with them.

“What do you write about?” she asked. Maybe she was getting too personal, but she'd never met a guy who kept a journal. It seemed so soulful, like Jack Kerouac or Kurt Cobain.

Gregor's cheeks were flushed, and he was looking into his lap. “I write about anything, I guess. Whatever comes up. It's weird to talk about this. I don't usually—”

“Me neither,” Whitney said. “I've always wanted to have a journal. I've never told anyone that.”

As Gregor drummed his thumbs against his thighs, she had this crazy idea to reach over and hold his hand.

“If you want to hear something else about me that no one knows,” she said, “I sleep with a teddy bear. Dorky, right?”

Gregor grinned. “Really?”

“It's cute. It's small and red and says
coup de couer
.”

“Coup de couer?”
Gregor asked.

“It means—”

“‘Falling in love,'” he said. “I took French for seven years.”

“But it's more than that. It's supposed to be like a shock of love. At least that's what I heard. The bear saved my life.”

Gregor was staring hard at her. He had nice teeth, white and straight.

“I know . . . it sounds silly,” Whitney said. “I was in the hospital with pneumonia sophomore year. Someone gave me the bear and then I got better. I guess it's my lucky charm.”

Gregor shook his head but didn't say anything. Whitney wondered what it would be like to kiss him, but she quickly pushed that thought away.

“That's cool,” he finally said, his voice cracking. “I mean . . . about your bear.”

“Lydia, by the way.”

“What's that?”

“Lydia Gibson. That was my mom's name in high school if you ever look it up in your dad's journal.”

“DID KENI TELL
you that's okay?” Jake asked. His friend Zoe was walking around Bean, taping up hearts that she'd cut from construction paper. It was six thirty on Valentine's Day, and they were expecting a rush of customers. “She's a lesbian anarchist after all. She may be offended by little pink hearts.”

“I doubt they're going to offend anyone,” Zoe said. “It's Valentine's Day!”

“It offends
me
,” Jake said.

Zoe handed him a pile of hearts. “As assistant manager,” she said, “I command you to hang these hearts on the brick wall.”

“Fucking power trip,” Jake muttered, reaching for the tape.

“Fuck your broken heart,” Zoe said, laughing.

Jake had started working at Bean in December. His parents had suggested it because he needed something to get him out of the house and help him get over Ted. Also, he wanted to make spending money for college. Keni was the general manager, and she was the one who hired him, but most of his shifts were with Zoe.

Zoe had actually been in his freshman orientation group. Not that she remembered, but Jake forgave her for that. It must have
been insane to have a famous mom having a public breakdown and then to randomly show up at Hankinson High School.

But the crazy thing was, he and Zoe instantly hit it off. It was nothing like his friendship with Mona Lisa, where she ordered him around and always had to be the star of the show. Zoe and Jake even had the same swearing habit. Jake also loved Zoe's other best friend, Anna. She worked across the street and came in on breaks. The three of them called themselves JAZ for Jake-Anna-Zoe. It was a joke on how people named their cliques back in middle school.

“Did you brew the Brazilian blend?” Zoe asked after Jake had finished taping up the hearts.

“Yep.”

“And you inventoried the cakes? You checked red velvet? That's a big one on Valentine's Day.”

“Done. Or should I say,
Yes, Your Royal Highness
?”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “I'm going to get some tea from the supply closet. Need anything?”

“To have today over with,” Jake said.

Once she disappeared, he snatched up a pen and some blank receipt tape. Even art wasn't cutting it these days.

For Ted

I could spend a July afternoon

sitting next to you

spitting cherry pits

rapid fire

sun dipping

I pucker my lips and inflate my cheeks

bing

smile when you tell me I look like a camel

“A
camel
?” Zoe leaned over Jake, her palms pressing hard on his shoulders. “Are you writing bad poetry again?”

“Fuck you!” Jake flipped over the paper. “Who said you could read it? And it's not bad. See how I said
cherry
and then
bing
? Get it?”

Zoe groaned. “You should have called it
Fro Ted
.”

Jake had to laugh. He'd recently admitted to Zoe that Ted's breakup text had been full of typos.

“Honey,” Zoe said. She took the pen and put the cap back on. “You're obsessing about someone who broke up with you
six months ago
. Do I need to call an emergency JAZ summit? When things ended with Dinky, I felt fine within days.”

“That's because
you
dumped
him
,” Jake said. “Also, you guys are hooking up again. Duh.”

“Oh, right.” Zoe fanned her face with her hand. “Silly me.”

“Ted and I had history,” Jake said. “We were in love. This hurts all the time. I never stop thinking about how much this hurts.”

Zoe stretched out her arms and pretended to play a goddamn violin.

Screw her.

An older couple walked through the front door. The woman was carrying a bouquet of roses, and the guy had a cleft in his chin.

“I hate them,” Jake muttered to Zoe. “I bet he's going to top off
the evening with a box of Russell Stover assorted chocolates.”

“Turn that hate to love.” Zoe swiped her card in the register and patted Jake on the back. “Because it's time to deliver some Valentine's cheer.”