I watched Terrance print MP contest in his notes.
It was a tradition—every fall festival for the last eight years had featured a Megan Pleasant talent competition. It was lean the first couple of years, when she only had a few songs out. You’d end up hearing “Blue Eyes” or “Make Your Move” a dozen times or more. But now there were three albums’ worth of material to work from, and you could sing any Megan song you wanted, or lip-sync (though you’d never win if you lip-synced), or dance, or do an instrumental cover. The grand prize was a cut of the entry fees, and we’d take the rest for the fundraiser.
So many people entered that it was one of the highest-earning parts of Fall Fest. There would be guaranteed at least two hours of Megan Pleasant–themed content to sit through, and the town ate that stuff up. She was by far the most famous person to come out of Acadia. In fact, she was pretty much the only famous person to come out of Acadia.
I guess Brit was a little famous in her own right—the fastest high school girls’ runner in the state. They put her name up on the sign at the town line—BRIT CARTER, IHSA CLASS 1A 100M RECORD HOLDER. But that wasn’t remotely like having your own fan site, or arena tour, or feature in Rolling Stone.
Terrance and I walked home together after the meeting. He toed a rock on the ground, and we kicked it back and forth as we walked.
“Party at Tegan’s on Saturday,” he said as we neared my house. “Should be fun.”
I nodded. I was thinking about Mrs. Benson’s parting words—This won’t be easy, but we just need to buckle down and focus and we can make it happen. It was encouraging, until after a moment’s contemplation she added a second This won’t be easy.
“Obviously, I’ll see you before then, but like, don’t forget,” Terrance said, bumping his shoulder into mine.
“You mean, don’t forget to tell Flora.”
I wanted Flora and Terrance to be together, with the same spirit that I would smoosh my dolls’ faces together when I was little.
His lips twitched. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I genuinely—No idea.”
“Sure,” I said, heading up the steps to my front door. “Good night.”
He waved and continued on down the street.
* * *
It wasn’t that I had forgotten about the encounter at McDonald’s on Saturday—meeting Kyle’s brother for the first time. But come Tuesday night, it wasn’t at the forefront of my mind as I laid Harper down in her crib.
I had spent the evening getting her fed and keeping her occupied as you did an almost-one-year-old. I put the Conlins’ dog, Shepherd, out in the backyard so Harper and I could have some quality floor time. We looked at some books. We played with some toys and her favorite puppet: a black glove with a plush spider body on top (it made your fingers look like the spider legs, and it legitimately blew her mind). I got her in her jammies and sang her a made-up song about the ocean (Harper and me, swimming in the sea, with the turtles and the dolphins and the fishy fishy fishies). I held her and we danced around the room she shared with Cadence as I sang, turning in little circles until eventually she rested her head in the crook of my neck with a soft thunk.
I laid her down, switched on her night-light, peeked once more at her in the crib—her eyelids were drooping—then slipped out of the room and left the door cracked a bit.
So I didn’t forget the encounter entirely, but it didn’t spring to mind either that night. That’s why when I swung around the corner into the kitchen and saw someone standing there, I let out an unholy yelp. I didn’t register that it was August, Kyle’s brother, standing in front of the open fridge and eating out of a Tupperware. All I registered was stranger danger.
He jerked in surprise and promptly dropped the Tupperware.
“Jesus,” he said, clapping a hand to his chest.
“What are you doing?” I said, which didn’t exactly make sense in the moment but came out all the same.
“I was eating.” He blinked. “What are you doing?”
I had frozen in a weird defensive stance, which I apparently no longer needed to hold, now that the threat had been identified. “I thought you were an intruder.”
“I’m not.” Amusement shone in his eyes.
“Well, I know that now,” I said. “You should announce yourself when you walk in somewhere.”
“I didn’t know anyone was home.”
“You thought Harper was watching herself?”
“I mean, she does seem pretty independent for a baby. I saw her change the oil on the car yesterday.”
“Yeah, but she always forgets to coat the gasket.”
He grinned and then looked down to where the remains of the lasagna we had for dinner were spread across the floor.
“Sorry,” he said, grin vanishing. “Sorry about that.” He grabbed the roll of paper towels off the counter. I crouched down to help him clean.
“Were you eating cold lasagna?” I asked, scooping pasta remains into the Tupperware while he wiped up the trail of sauce.
“Yeah?”
“But the microwave is right there. Love yourself.”
“I like it better cold.”
“What?”
“Warm lasagna is too”—he waved a hand—“disorganized.”
“What?” I repeated.
“It holds together better cold. It’s more cohesive.”
“Are you working on some kind of seminar about this?”
“Yup. Yeah. I am, actually. I’m the world’s foremost cold-lasagna scholar.”
August glanced up at me, and I couldn’t explain it, but I was struck with that brand-new-box-of-crayons feeling. Every color pristine, every as-of-yet-uncolored picture a tantalizing possibility.
Acadia High School was by no means huge—there were ninety-six kids in the upcoming senior class. Over the course of my past eleven years in the Acadia school system, I had had a handful of crushes. In seventh grade, Peyton Simms and I went to the Valentine’s dance together (we shared one awkward slow dance and then retreated to opposite sides of the gym). Sophomore year, Logan Turner and I hung out a few times, and kissed by the baseball field in Fairview Park (we called it quits a few days later).
That was okay. Not everyone could manage to spin out new romantic entanglements every other week like Brit did, or get together with their actual literal future spouse in high school, like Heather and Kyle. I was so busy with band, and school stuff, college applications, work. I could wait until college.
But I wasn’t super opposed to the idea of not doing that, should the opportunity arise.
August gave the floor a final swipe and then tore off another sheet of paper towel, handing it to me. My fingers were covered in sauce from picking up pasta pieces.
“So, uh.” I wiped my hands as he picked up the Tupperware and took it over to the trash can to empty it. “How long are you visiting for?”
“Not sure,” he said, his back to me.
“Kind of open-ended, then?”
“Sort of.” A pause. “It’s just temporary.”
“Like for the summer?”
Brit would inevitably make a joke about summer lovin’. She would be relentless. I was okay with that.
Before August could respond, there was a cry, suddenly, from Harper’s room. I got to my feet. “Be right back,” I said, pitching the paper towel into the trash and heading away.
* * *
He was gone when I emerged.
I checked the living room and out the back door. Shepherd bounded up, tail wagging, and I stepped aside to let him in. He followed at my heels as I opened the basement door and stuck my head downstairs, although there was nothing much down there. Just a washer and dryer by the stairs, and some old tools and piles of drywall—Kyle had been saying for ages that he was going to fix it up down there, make it into a proper room, but he hadn’t quite gotten around to it yet.
The place was empty. Except for Harper and Shepherd, I was alone. August didn’t return for the rest of the evening; he was still gone when Heather and Cadence returned.
“Jammy time,” Heather said, ushering Cadence toward her room and then plopping her purse down on the kitchen table to riffle through it.
“August was here earlier,” I said, trying to sound offhand but probably failing.
“Ah, sorry,” she replied. “I forgot to give you a heads-up he might be around. Kyle said you guys ran into each other the other night, so hopefully it wasn’t a total surprise.” She located her wallet, thumbed through it. “I, uh, didn’t want to say anything before about him coming because some stuff was still up in the air about it. But that’s where Kyle was at, when he was gone last weekend. Getting August.”
“Oh.”
She handed me some money for the evening. “Hey, do you think you could do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
I had been babysitting for the Conlins for almost three years now, ever since she and Kyle and Cadence had moved into the house two doors down from us. There were very few favors I wouldn’t do for Heather.