The Start of Me and You (32 page)

As if on cue, Cameron meandered into the kitchen, interrupting us.

“Mom was looking for you,” she said, her voice monotone.

“I’ve been right here.”

She shot me a look of annoyance that I wasn’t sure how I had earned.

“Hey, Cameron,” Max said, smiling. It was more subdued than his usual grin, but it wasn’t forced either. “Good to see you.”

She stood up a little straighter. “Hey, Max.”

“I’m really sorry about your grandmother.”

Now Cameron smiled wanly and bobbed her head but said nothing.

“We should really have a Fact-O-Mazing rematch some time. Defend our title.”

“Really?” Cameron smiled more genuinely. She glanced over at me, gauging my reaction to one of my friends being nice to her. I didn’t know what she was expecting, but Max trying to communicate with her was the last thing on my mind. She grinned at Max, pointing at the Do-Si-Dos. “Are you just now giving her those cookies?”

“Uh, yeah,” Max said, shifting his eyes downward.

Before I could ask, Cameron turned back to me. “You should go find Mom.”

I opened my mouth to excuse myself, but Max beat me to it.

“I’m heading downstairs,” he said.

In a flash of desperation, I caught him by the hand. Now was not the appropriate time to talk about this, but I had to say something. We were at my grandmother’s repast, where my sister was still probably close enough to hear us, but I didn’t care.

“Don’t go back to Coventry,” I whispered. “Please.”

His gaze met mine and held for only a moment before he said, “Okay.”

Simple as that. I dropped his hand, feeling at once ridiculous and relieved, and he disappeared downstairs.

The rest of the evening was a haze of people coming and going, alternately embracing me and apologizing for my loss. Their faces, their words—it all became hard to distinguish.

My friends lingered longer than most people, watching my face for the smallest breakdown indicator. Eventually, they filtered out, too. My mom went up to her room after the last person had gone, and even Tessa and my dad left to get changes of clothes.

I settled onto a kitchen stool, propped my elbows up against the island, and closed my eyes for a moment. Max’s face was the first thing to come into my mind, and I admonished myself for the hundredth time that night, for thinking about Max immediately after Grammy’s funeral. But the two were tied, in my mind. Before I met Max, I was only really honest with my grandmother. But Max? Max I could tell anything to. It made a difference, telling my secrets to someone who remembered every word.

He didn’t hug me when he left. Instead, he reached out for my hand. Our eyes met. We said nothing at first. He squeezed my hand and stepped away before fully letting
go. But then he turned back, facing me again. “Paige, I’m really sorry. About your grandmother … and about everything else.”

“Me, too.”

He was standing on the porch step, making us eye level. “I feel like I handled everything totally wrong. Can we just start over?”

“Yes,” I said. “Please.”

“Okay.” He exhaled, eyes briefly closing, like he was relieved. “Good. Because, I mean, it doesn’t even matter how we became friends, right? It just matters that we still are. So, friendship fresh start?”

What did this have to do with how we became friends?
I wondered. But he stuck his hand out—a formal agreement—and I shook it.

“Deal,” I said.

I told myself it was enough, at least for now. There was hardly any room left in my body to ache for anyone but my grandmother, but Max fit right into the little sliver I had left. I began to wonder, really, how much more my heart could take.

But I’d survived grief before, so I forced myself to reframe. My grandmother lived long enough to see the first bloom of a dream she planted in me. She lived long enough to see my mom and dad happy again. She had a beautiful marriage and a beautiful life after it, too. She had Paris.

There was so much to be grateful for. How much Grammy taught me in the time that I had her. My dad, caring so ably for my mom. My friends, sticking resolutely by my side. The vase of flowers from Max’s mom—the one that was for me. And the container of lasagna, and a box of Girl Scout cookies all my own. I was supported, not pitied, and I wondered if maybe that had always been true.

This thought, even in the bleakness of an unmapped life without my grandmother, put another tiny light in my jar, another breadcrumb on my trail. Darkness might keep flooding in, but I finally had just enough light to find the way back to myself.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I laid low for the rest of the weekend. Tessa and Morgan and Kayleigh each stopped by once, bringing me magazines or coffee and trying to cheer me up. I figured they were each taking turns, rotating shifts. While I appreciated it, I was happiest to stay in my pajamas in front of the TV, lost in loving Lucy and her squawky antics. I used to think rewatching and rereading were embarrassingly boring pastimes. But there is something to be said for how comforting it is to already know what happens. There is no such luxury in real life.

Soon enough, Sunday evening rolled around, and the reality of the last two weeks of school sunk in around me. May, so far, had been gray and dreary, which suited me fine. The idea of putting on something other than pajamas to go out in the drizzle was enough to make me shudder. I
swore to myself that I would get out of bed in an hour. I was looking up information about the NYU campus, planning a packing list.

Beyond my laptop screen, I saw my bedroom door open just an inch or two. I looked up and saw my sister, peeking in. Her eyes were buggy, her mouth forming an expression of half surprise, half glee.

“I bet I can cheer you up,” she said, her voice a near whisper, before I could ask her why she was being such a creep. She opened the door a bit more.

I furrowed my eyebrows. “How?”

She pursed her lips, wanting to savor every moment of what she was about to say. “Chrissie Cohen is failing out of college.”

My jaw dropped. “No.”

“Yes.”

I placed my hand over my mouth, hiding a barely repressed smile. “Oh my God.”

Cameron nodded and bit down on both of her lips, her eyes wide.

“It’s not funny; it’s not funny,” I chanted.

“Yes it is!” she squealed, and we both burst into uninhibited laughter.

We both took a minute to recover before I asked her, “How do you know?”

“Zach Cohen and I are friends online,” she said, then turned a bit. “Oh, hey Mom.”

Behind Cameron, I could see that my mom wore her robe and no makeup, crossing her arms.

“What’s going on with you two?” she asked. It was only the second time I’d seen her all weekend. We had each stayed in our own rooms as my dad shuttled between us, taking food requests. He must have made tea for my mom ten times in the past two days, and I could hear them talking quietly in her room as her favorite old movies played in the background.

“Well?” my mom asked. “What’s so funny?”

Cameron cleared her throat. She knew very well that our mom would not appreciate us laughing at her friend’s daughter failing out of school. So she ad-libbed. “Uh. Paige … told me a joke.”

My mom glanced at me. “I could certainly use a laugh.”

I shot Cameron a look, not wanting to be caught in a lie. Miraculously, a joke Max told me weeks before popped into my head.

“So, the past, present, and future walk into a bar,” I said. “It was tense.”

“Ha!” my mom said.

Cameron laughed, too, since it was the first time she’d heard the joke.

“That’s a good one,” my mom said, smiling as she pulled her robe tightly around her and headed down the stairs.

When she was gone, Cameron gave me a conspiratorial smile. “Nice going.”

“Thanks.”

“Where’d you even hear that joke?”

“Max,” I said, and a thought occurred to me. “Oh, hey, I meant to ask you. At the repast, you said something to Max about those Girl Scout cookies. What was that about?”

She shrugged. “He came over here to drop them off one day.”

Now she had my full attention. “He what? When? Where was I?”

“Over spring break. I think you were out to dinner with mom.”

Right after our fight at the pool? Not possible. Right? I would have known that. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because he told me they were a surprise!” Cameron crossed her arms.

I closed my eyes, trying to breathe evenly. My pulse thumped in my neck. Getting my sister worked up was not the way to handle this. “Okay. Could you tell me exactly what happened? Please? It’s important.”

“I answered the door, and he had this box of Girl Scout cookies. He asked me if I could leave them in your room for you, but I told him I wasn’t allowed in your room.” She looked at me pointedly, making sure I’d noticed her adherence to my rule, and I nodded. “I said
he
could leave them for you, but I couldn’t go in there.”

I shot up. “You let him in my room?”

She gave me her are-you-crazy face. “What was I
supposed to do? I was the only one home! You always yell at me for going in there!”

My mouth hung open, my throat too dry to swallow. My planner. I had it open on my desk. I was sure of it. No. No, no, no.

Cameron sighed. “It was not a big deal. He went in for, like, a
second
. And I stood right by the door and waited! But he said he changed his mind and that he’d surprise you with the cookies later.”

Why did you even become friends with me?
he’d asked. I was too stunned—too sickened with embarrassment—to cry. He changed his mind because he saw that list. He saw that Ryan Chase was a part of my stupid plan. My stomach clenched, almost heaving in horror.

He knew. This whole time, his avoidance of me, those glances full of hurt—it wasn’t about our fight. It was because he thought I’d used him to get to Ryan. And I had, hadn’t I? At least at first.

“Did I do something wrong?” Cameron asked, her voice quiet now.

“No.” My voice shook, even over that one syllable. I wanted to blink, like in
I Dream of Jeannie
, and magically change everything back. But it was so undoable. Heat spread across me like a fever. “No, you didn’t. I did.”

I pressed a pillow against my face. Could I apologize? The words seemed too mortifying to think, let alone speak
out loud. No wonder he said he needed some time. If I found out he’d been using me to get to Tessa, I wouldn’t have been able to even look at him.

And yet, he came to Grammy’s wake. He said he wanted to start again. Even after that.

“Hey, Paige?”

“What?” I asked miserably. The pillow muffled the word.

“Do you kind of love Max?”

I pulled my face away from my pillow, so Cameron could see whatever tortured expression was on my face. “Why would you ask that?”

“No reason.” She stood from my bed, giving me a half smile. “I just think you should, is all.”

“You’re sure you’re up to this?” Morgan asked. We were sitting in the parking lot of the high school track with Kayleigh, all wearing identical red shirts. “Warrior Track,” they read on the front. On the back, thick letters spelled “Chase.” Ryan’s mom had ordered them for all of our friends. In other words: I was actually such good friends with Ryan Chase that his mom ordered me a shirt with his name on it. If someone would have told me that at the beginning of the school year, I would have passed out in delight.

“I’m sure,” I said. Instead of shutting down, I was
forcing myself out into the world, to see Ryan run in one of his last track meets of the year.

It was Tuesday, and I had just finished my second day of school since my grandmother died. Max walked with me after English both days. Our conversations were tentative—two wounded people trying to trust that the other was unarmed. But that was okay, for now—especially with how the tremors of losing my grandmother shook me. I needed to have my feet on solid ground before I could move forward.

Still, I hated the idea of being apart from Max without having time to spackle over the fractures in our friendship. I would leave for New York in June, and he would be in Italy for July and some of August. Maybe I’d e-mail him from New York, telling him everything—like I had all year. Maybe we could start from there.

Morgan, Kayleigh, and I walked toward the bleachers where Tessa was already sitting, her hair in two braids. She even had eye black smeared across her cheeks, making her look like an official fan. She and Malcolm were too busy clapping and cheering to see us at first. A few rows behind them, I spotted Clark sitting with one of his friends. Our eyes met, and I gave him a little wave. It would always be there—our quiet connection.

“Hey!” Tessa said.

“Well, look at you,” I said, smiling at her. “Sports fan. Is Ryan up soon?”

“Yeah, you’re just in time for the relay.”

There was a pause, and I added, quietly, “Is he here?”

She knew exactly who I meant. “No. He’s babysitting today.”

Tessa shielded her eyes from the sun, searching for Ryan in the group of runners taking their places.

“Get ’em, Chase!” she yelled, and the gun fired.