The Future of Us (29 page)

I fold the note in half and go into the bathroom to wash my face. It looks like a war zone in here with tiles torn out and pipes protruding from the walls. Along the floor, someone placed a row of delicate blue tiles, no doubt what my mom and Martin are planning to use for the remodel.

I’ll have to let them know that I like what they chose. In the kitchen, I pour myself a glass of ice water, and then push play on the answering machine.

“Hi, Emma,” my dad’s voice says. “I’m sorry it’s taken me a while to get back to you. Things have been stressful here. We’ve actually been going back and forth to the hospital with Rachel. The doctors are doing tests and . . .”

My dad pauses for a breath, and I feel myself tearing up. I sent a stuffed puppy when Rachel was born, but I haven’t allowed myself to think about my baby sister very much. Now I want to hold her and tell her I love her and that she has to be okay.

“Please call me back,” my dad continues. “Cynthia and I would love to have you visit us for the summer. We both miss you. I miss you.”

FACEBOOK IS STILL HERE in my Favorite Places.

Please keep the same password
, I tell myself.
Even if it’s just for right now, and then never again.

I type in “[email protected]” and “Millicent,” and then press Enter.

I exhale. The password still works.

I don’t check my relationship status or where I’m living. Instead, I open up my list of friends and scroll down to the
R
s, and there she is.

In the tiny photo, my sister looks about fifteen years old, with dark brown eyes and curly brown hair just like mine. I stare at Rachel’s face, then lean back in my chair, and let myself cry.

After a couple minutes, I wipe my eyes and scroll to the
J
s. Josh and I are friends again. He’s standing in front of a jagged mountain range, a blue backpack strapped over his shoulders. His hair is shaggier than usual and he’s looking straight at the camera with a huge grin. I place the arrow next to Josh’s photo, but I decide not to click it. I don’t want to read into things anymore. If Josh looks happy, then I should be happy for him.

Before I close Facebook, I check one final thing. I click into my Photos. At the bottom, just like before, I have an album called High School Memories. It loads slowly, but after a few minutes I see the photo of me on the day I got my driver’s license. And there’s the photo of Tyson and Josh using their skateboards as swords. There’s the picture of my bikini butt: “The good ole days.” And there, at the very bottom, is the photo of Kellan, Tyson, Josh, and me in the ball pit at GoodTimez. I lean closer to the screen. The quality isn’t perfect, but I can see a spiderweb of lines where I tore the picture, and then light shadows where one day I must have taped it back together.

I UNPLUG THE CORD from the back of my computer and click it into my phone. My dad’s line rings twice, and then Cynthia answers.

“Hi, it’s Emma,” I say.

“Hello, sweetie.” Her voice sounds tired. “Your dad will be so happy you called. He’s giving the baby a bottle right now. Can he call you back?”

“Of course,” I say. “But he said something in his message about Rachel. Is she okay?”

Cynthia sighs heavily. “The doctors don’t know why she’s not gaining enough weight. It’s been difficult.”

I wish I could tell Cynthia what I saw on Facebook, that Rachel is going to grow up to be a beautiful girl. But all I can say is, “She’s going to be fine. I know it.”

“Thank you,” Cynthia says, and I hear her voice catch. “I needed to hear that.”

Cynthia and I talk for a few more minutes, and then she invites me down for the summer, just like my dad did. I tell her that I’m seriously considering it.

When I hang up, I slide on my flip-flops and walk outside, breathing in the cool air. A light breeze picks up, which flutters a small piece of paper tucked against the windshield of my car.

I lift up the windshield wiper and unfold the note, instantly recognizing Kellan’s handwriting.

I refold the paper and head back inside.

“IT’S NOT A DATE,” I say, dipping my spoon into the turkey soup.

“Did she ask you to the bonfire?” Dad says. “Did she offer to pick you up?”

“It’s still not a date,” I say.

“What I don’t understand,” Mom says, “is why you never asked this girl out before.”

Because she’s Sydney Mills!
I want to scream.
She’s a year ahead of me and light-years beyond me.

Instead I say, “It’s complicated.”

“If you’re going to be dating this girl,” Mom says, “we should discuss some ground rules.”

I keep my eyes focused on my soup bowl. “I never said this was turning into a relationship.”

“You got home a few minutes late last night,” Dad says. “I know you were helping Tyson at the pizza shop, but do you want to borrow my watch for tonight?”

He starts removing the hulking gold and silver band from his wrist, but I raise my hand.

“It’s okay,” I say. “Sydney’s cell phone has a clock on it.”

“A cell phone?” Dad says. “Well then, I don’t expect you to roll in with some story about a flat tire without calling us.”

“That was David,” I say. He used that excuse twice for coming home late after dates with Jessica . . . or whoever it was.

Mom blows gently on her soup. “This is a three-day weekend,” she says, “so your dad and I have agreed to extend your curfew by one hour.”

I’m sure this is because of my comment about David moving to Seattle to get away from them. “I don’t think I’ll need it. I’m actually pretty tired.”

“Well, if you change your mind,” Mom says, “you can always call us on her cell phone.”

I push back my chair. “I have to get ready.”

SYDNEY CALLED from her cellphone to tell me she was running a few minutes late. One of the fiancés, I don’t know which sister he belonged to, had to drop off something for her parents and borrowed her car. He just brought it back a little while ago.

One day maybe I’ll meet these fiancés, and I wonder how similar we’ll be. David would probably call them go-with-the-flow guys. Maybe he was right when he called me that, but I’m not so sure I want to be that kind of guy anymore. Maybe I
do
want to go to college somewhere else, like a school that specializes in visual arts. And while Waikiki and Acapulco are probably great, my dream vacation might be hiking in the mountains, or taking a train through Europe.

The doorbell rings while I’m brushing my teeth. Just like I asked them not to, I hear my parents opening the door.

I bolt down the stairs, zipping up my black sweatshirt. When I reach the front door, Sydney is standing in a sky-blue strapless dress that falls above her knees. Her hair spills down her back in waves. She’s smiling and chatting with my parents while Dad examines her cell phone.

“Hello, honey,” Mom says. She raises her eyebrows at me. “When you told us Sydney was pretty, you were being a little modest.”

Sydney tilts her head. “Thank you, Mrs. Templeton. That’s very sweet.”

I take the phone out of Dad’s hands and give it back to Sydney. “Ready to go?”

“It was wonderful to meet both of you,” Sydney says.

I walk across the threshold and Sydney loops her arm in mine. We start down the path, but then Dad clears his throat.

“Josh?” he calls out. “What time do you think the bonfire will be over?”

I turn back around. Haven’t we already discussed this? “It’s a three-day weekend. Didn’t you say—?”

“You were out late last night,” Mom says. “Let’s stick with the regular curfew tonight. That should give you plenty of time to hang out with your friends.”

THE ROAD TO RICK’S HOUSE takes forever. I drive slower when I reach the unpaved section, partially to avoid potholes and partially because I’m not thrilled about being dragged to this bonfire. I know Kellan is up to something. She told me she ran into Josh while dropping off my car, but she wouldn’t say what they talked about.

I should have begged Kellan to cash in her favor another time. She could have driven out here with Tyson in the pickup, or taken the car she shares with her mom. But she wanted me to come with her. And knowing there’s a pregnancy in her near future, I decided that a bonfire at the lake is an important place to keep an eye on her.

“It must be the endorphins from the bike ride,” Kellan says, jiggling her feet in the passenger seat. “I got home, took a shower, and now I’m feeling totally refreshed.”

We approach a gravel lot full of parked cars.

“Only an hour, right?” I ask.

“One hour,” Kellan says. “We say hi, sit by a few fires, and if you’re still hating it, we can go back to your place and watch a movie.”

I almost laugh and tell Kellan I rented
Wayne’s World
. But the last thing I want to admit is that I watched it to win over Cody.

I ease behind a bunch of cars. A few kids are hanging around drinking beer, but most people are heading toward a dirt path through the pine trees.

Kellan points to an open space on the right. “Park there.”

At the same time, we realize that would put us two spaces from Sydney’s convertible. When a truck’s tires roll onto the gravel behind us, Kellan and I both glance into her side mirror.

“Tyson’s pickup!” she says. “Let’s park next to him instead.”

I steer over and pull in beside Tyson. There’s a senior guy in the passenger seat and another in the bed steadying a heap of firewood.

“Kel!” Tyson says, hopping out of the cab. “Hey, Em!”

Kellan opens her door and gets out. “We have names,” she says. “Two syllables each.”

The seniors slap Tyson on the back, and then they each grab an armload of logs and head toward the pine trees. Tyson walks to the back of the truck and gathers together a stack of logs.

“Want to help?” he asks. “It’s a short walk to the bonfire pits.”

Kellan crosses her arms over her chest. “Do I look like I’m built for heavy labor?”

I grab a couple logs.

“Thanks, Emma,” Tyson says, shaking his head in Kellan’s direction. “At least someone knows how to be useful.”

Kellan lifts the tailgate of the truck, clicking it into place. “Look at me, being useful.”

She skips off down the path with Tyson following. I reposition the wood in my arms, take a deep breath, and start after them.