I prove her right several times before I prove her wrong. Finally it’s her turn, and I wait until she’s lined up before I say, “So what happened last night?”
Her shot veers left. “Oh. Um…” She walks over to her ball. “I got in a fight with my mom.” Her next shot goes way right. I stand between her and the hole, so she spins her club against the ground.
I nod, waiting. I heard that last night before Mom took Raychel upstairs.
“And…” She lets the spinning stop. “And she slapped me.”
“Damn, Raych.” I move my feet apart so she can putt between them, realizing a moment too late that I’m exhibiting a whole lot of trust. But she just shoots and writes down our scores. I’m trying to think of a tactful way to ask what she’s going to do about her mom when she looks up.
“Why didn’t you tell Andrew? About Carson?”
I look at my feet. “It didn’t … I mean, I wasn’t sure what you’d want him to know. I figured it was your story to tell.”
She nods slowly. “I’m sorry about yesterday, in class. I mean, I meant it, but … it’s just been a really hard year.”
“Oh, yeah, I mean…” Now I’m the one fumbling for words. “No big deal. I mean … you’re my girl, Raych. I get it.” I try to keep the words light, let her make what she wants of them.
I must say it too earnestly, because she studies me for a moment before handing over the scorecard, shaking her head. “We should talk more, later,” she says. Her eyes meet mine again and for a heartbeat, I picture kissing her.
But we’re in the middle of the mini-golf course, and my dad is shouting “Hole in one!” while doing an embarrassing victory dance by the windmill behind her, and I have to step back. Just like always.
RAYCHEL
All in all, it ends up being a pretty nice day—as good as can be expected, under the circumstances. Dr. R. never gets called in to work, the boys manage not to pick at each other for a few hours, and hopefully Andrew and I will snag some time alone to sort things out later. There was a weird moment with Matt on the golf course, but I think I’m just so hyperaware of boys making advances that I read too much into it. Matt’s never made a single move on me. I can trust him.
I’m hoping for a short dinner, because I have to admit—I can’t wait to straighten things out with Andrew. But Dr. R. wants to talk about college applications. He badgers Matt about early decision at Duke. Matt, trying to take the attention off himself, turns to me. “Have you thought any more about early applications?”
I stare at the steak bleeding on my plate. “A little. I’ll probably just do March.”
“What?” Matt demands. “Why?”
“It’s expensive,” I say. “The less I spend, the more I can help my mom. And I can always just go to the university here.”
“There’s nothing wrong with staying,” Andrew says.
“Of course not!” Mrs. R. says from behind my chair, then serves me some potatoes. They hit my plate with a wet slop. “I teach here, after all.”
Matt snorts. “Because they were the only ones that offered you tenure.” It’s true—she’s told us that many times, as a cautionary tale against relying on academia for employment—but the room falls silent until he looks up. “What?”
Mrs. R. has laser eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize my job was such a disappointment to you.”
“What?” Matt says again, looking to Andrew and me for help. “I’m just saying—”
“Oh, I know what you’re saying,” Mrs. R. interrupts. “What I can’t figure out is where you get off saying it.” Matt doesn’t have a chance of defending himself once she gets rolling. She grabs the salad from the counter and comes back to the table. “Where do you think you’re getting the education that’s preparing you for a fancy school? Here, in Big Springs. Where you can take university classes at fourteen. Where a National Book Award winner lives down the street. Where an internationally known pianist gave you lessons, and a president went to school, and plenty of smart people, myself included, choose to raise their children because it offers so many advantages.”
He tries again, but she puts the bowl down and points a serving spoon at him. “You have this town, and our jobs here, to thank for your future, and you’d do well to recognize it.” She sits and puts her napkin in her lap with an angry flourish.
Andrew, to his credit, stays quiet. But Matt tries to laugh and says, “Wow, have a little overreaction, Mom.”
“Go to your room,” Dr. R. snaps.
“What?” Matt looks at him in disbelief. “Fine.” He throws down his fork and storms out.
*
After an awkward and silent dinner, I excuse myself to head upstairs, and tap on Matt’s door. “Come in,” he calls.
I close it quietly behind me. Matt’s lying on his plaid bedspread, tossing a foam football into the air. “You should apologize to your mom,” I tell him.
“I will. Later.” He waits for me to sit down, but I stay next to the dresser with my arms crossed. “What?” he asks.
“You don’t have anything to say to me?”
“You know what?” He catches the football. “Yeah. I do. What the hell, Raych?”
My mouth falls open. “Seriously?”
“You’re just giving up?”
“I’m not giving up,” I say, hands on hips. “I’m making the best decision for my situation.”
Matt tilts his head like I’m being thick. “I just … I worry about you, you know? You’re so smart, Raych. You’re meant for good things. Big things.”
“I can do good things with a state-school degree,” I argue. “And I didn’t say I’m definitely staying here. But it’s Big Springs I want to escape, not the university.”
He sighs. “I just don’t want you to end up flipping burgers or scrubbing toilets or something.”
My hackles rise again. “You know my mom scrubs toilets, right?”
“I just meant—”
“No, I know what you meant.” I step toward him. “I embarrass you. Just like my mom embarrasses me.”
“No—”
“No, I get it. This is the exact same conversation she and I had last night when I walked in on her and Eddie. She’s right, I’m the one being a—”
“What?” Matt says. “Eddie the janitor?”
And then he does the one thing I can’t forgive—the one thing worse than my own reaction.
He laughs.
MATT
How? How have I managed to screw this up so royally?
Raychel stormed out of my room. I just sat there, confused, until I heard her talking to Andrew. Then I decided to escape the insanity before they could team up on me.
Now the headlights shine on one tree at a time, like stop-motion animation, like the thoughts I can’t isolate in my brain. I flip through my music, suddenly understanding why Andrew says it sucks. There’s nothing remotely angry enough for tonight.
I’ve never considered why my brother wants angry music all the time. Or maybe he only wants it when he’s with me.