“This is the one with the bucking bronco, right?” I asked.
She sighed, closing her eyes. On the TV, Drew Tate, the meteorologist, was now pointing at a weather map. “It’s a mechanical bull, and I can’t believe you’re bringing it up when it’s not absolutely necessary.”
“Sorry,” I said, stifling a laugh. It wasn’t easy to throw something at my mom she wasn’t experienced with, but Rachel Quaker, a native Texan, had done just that when she requested a rodeo-themed rehearsal dinner. Besides the bull, there would be special-ordered barbecue and ribs trucked in from her home state, complimentary cowboy hats for all guests, and beribboned baskets full of wet naps. My mother had been complaining about it for weeks. The only upside was that the wedding itself was as traditional as the dinner was not: big church, big guest list, really big money. If my mom had a price for dealing with electronic animals, they’d clearly met it.
“Mark my words, someone will break their neck. We can only pray it is not the bride or groom,” she replied, which had been her mantra since the planning had gotten underway months earlier. She took a sip of her coffee, nodding at the TV. “Look at Patrick Williams. He’s had so much Botox he can’t even look concerned for those poor people on that wrecked ferry.”
My bagel popped up and I grabbed it, taking another look at the screen. This time, I could see her point. Patrick Williams had never met a cosmetic procedure he didn’t like, and HD kept no secrets. “I gotta go. I told Jilly I’d meet her early to study for that Spanish quiz.”
“Be sure to eat that whole bagel,” she called after me as I started for the door. “I’ve got enough worries with Melissa.”
In the car, I ate half as I headed out of our neighborhood, then turned onto the main road to school. At the first stoplight, my phone beeped. It was Jilly, driving KitKat and Crawford to school, like she did every day.
LUNCHBOX FAIL. BE THERE ASAP. COURTYARD?
I glanced at the light, still red, then quickly replied with a thumbs-up. As traffic starting moving again, I heard my ringtone.
“Hola, ni?a bonita,” Ethan said when I picked up. “?Estás lista para la prueba?”
“I think the fact that I have no idea what you are saying does not bode well for this quiz today,” I replied.
“I asked if you were ready for the test,” he said, laughing. “Also I called you a pretty girl.”
“Well, that’s nice.” I smiled. “And the answer is clearly no.”
I heard someone’s voice in the background; he drove to his own school every day with three of his buddies, and the collective volume was always high. “Will you guys shut up? I’m trying to talk to my girlfriend.”
I felt my face flush. That never got old.
“You’re always talking to your girlfriend,” someone said. “And aren’t we stopping for doughnuts? It’s Friday.”
“No can do, I said I’d meet Coach in his office before the late bell,” Ethan said. To me he added, “Still not sure what this is about. Got me kind of in knots.”
“It’s got to be good,” I told him, as I had the night before, and the day before that. Getting called in for a special meeting with his lacrosse coach could only mean something really good or bad, according to Ethan. My money was on the former, but I understood his worry. “Be sure to text me, though. I’m curious.”
“You and me both.” Another chorus of laughter from the background. “I’d better go, we’re almost there. Talk at lunch?”
“Yep,” I said, as school came up in the distance. Usually I got to mine first, as he and his buddies were always stopping for food en route. “I can tell you how badly I bombed that quiz.”
“Vas a hacer bien,” he replied.
“I don’t know what that means!”
“You’ll do fine,” he told me, laughing. “Love you, Lulu.”
“Love you, too,” I told him. “Talk soon.”
I pulled into the lot, then wound around, looking for a parking space. By the time I found one, in the lower part dotted with dusty potholes, my console clock said 7:55. I had twenty minutes to find Jilly, cram like crazy, and then hope for the best for the quiz.
When I got to the bench in the courtyard where we always met, she wasn’t there, so I sat down and pulled out my book to go over verb tenses. I thought about Ethan, going to his coach’s office at probably right that same moment, and closed my eyes, thinking a good thought for him.
By the time the bell rang, Jilly still hadn’t shown up. So much for studying, I thought, although I wasn’t exactly surprised. Everything at the Baker house was nuts, but the mornings were especially so, which was why Jilly had such a low grade in Spanish: she was always late. I was just bad at it. Apparently.
When I got to class, Se?or Richards was already giving out the quizzes. I slid into a seat and opened my bag, taking out a pen and checking the door again for Jilly as he handed me mine. I scanned the first question: no idea. Great.
The late bell rang, and after the normal amount of backpack zipping and general settling-in noises, the room fell silent around me. As I worked down the page I realized I wasn’t entirely clueless, which was encouraging. Up at the front of the room, Se?or Richards was on his laptop, brow furrowed as he scanned the screen.
By the time I’d finished the quiz as best I could, it was eight forty-five and I was one of the last ones to hand in my paper. As I did, I glanced outside for Jilly. A half hour was late, even for her. A few moments later, Se?or Richards got to his feet, coming around to lean against the desk, and told us in Spanish to open our books to page 176. THE SUBJUNCTIVE, the title heading said in English. The upshot seemed to be that you used it when you weren’t certain. Well, I thought, that would come in handy for me.
Just then, outside the half-open door, I heard someone running down the hallway. For a minute I thought it was Jilly, but then they passed by, a blur in my side vision as Se?or Richards directed our attention to the board, where he was busy writing something in his boxy print.
At 9:05, when the bell rang signaling the end of the period, I immediately pulled out my phone, expecting to see a string of increasingly panicked texts from her over the last fifty minutes. But there was nothing except a bunch of news alerts, which I didn’t bother to read. I had a long way to go in the five minutes we were given between classes if I wasn’t going to be late myself, to Art History.