“I should have talked to you separately.”
“Maybe you should have,” I say. I scoot over next to Mila and put my hand on her back.
“I’m sorry, Mila. I am. I just think you’re right. It isn’t fair that you’re not part of anything, and I think you should know the truth. I think you’re old enough to know the truth.”
Mila shrugs my hand off her back and gives me a wild, angry glare. “I hate you both,” she says. “I hate both of you so much, it hurts.” And then she runs to her room and slams the door.
“Very nice,” my mom says.
I don’t say that I’m sorry to my mom. I mean, I am, but I’m too angry to say anything nice.
“Where is Dad now?”
“He’s staying in Singapore all summer.”
“So we won’t even see him until then?”
“These things take time.”
“Could he at least grant Mila the honor of a phone call?”
“Of course,” she says. “I can talk to him about that.”
“Okay, fine,” I say. “Great.”
“Do you have any questions for me?”
Yes. A million questions. What happened to us? When did we all fall apart? When did we stop being nice to one another? When will we be whole again? Will we ever be whole again?
“Nope,” I say. “Can I be excused now?”
“I know this is difficult for you, Viviana. All of this.”
“Can I be excused now?”
“Yes,” my mom says. “Of course.”
“Thank you,” I say. I leave the room feeling 180 degrees worse than I did when I first walked in. There is no worse than this.
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An integral part of the college application process should be self-discovery. Colleges want to know that you’re hungry for new knowledge, new experiences, new discoveries. Be a constant searcher!
I crawl under my blanket, half-expecting the waves of panic to start crashing over me. I’m ready for it: the heart palpitations, the dizziness, the nausea. I’m ready for all of it.
But it doesn’t come, at first.
I’m sad, yes. I’m frustrated, yes.
But I kissed Evan. I kissed him. He kissed me.
And I see it: the stupidity of feeling better because some random guy thinks that I’m pretty and that my pupils are attractive. It shouldn’t take a guy to make me feel better. It shouldn’t be because of him.
And then I think about Sammie.
About how I’ve betrayed her.
Oh wait. Here it comes. That dizzy feeling, that tense embarrassment, that deep worry about what I’ve done. It’s a sharp realization, one with jagged edges that stab deep. Even when I think I’m feeling good, I’m actually failing. I’ve failed. Again.
I text Sammie about the fight with my mom and Mila and the divorce and how my dad won’t be home for another three months. I don’t text her about the tomatoes or the kiss or the hand-holding underneath the umbrella situation.
She texts back for me to come upstairs.
I go back into the dining room to ask my mom if I can stay with Sammie tonight, but she’s not there. I hear whispering and crying in Mila’s room. I could go in, try to make amends, but I don’t. I write a note for my mom—Upstairs with Sammie—and leave it on her keyboard.
Sammie wraps her arms around me right when I walk in. “Do you want to talk?”
This is the point where I should say yes, that I need to tell her about Evan and me. About how stupid it was of me to kiss him.
Instead, I shake my head. “Do you?”
“No,” she says. “Guys are jerks. Guys of all ages. I’m sorry about your jerky dad.”
I’m supposed to say “I’m sorry about your jerky Evan,” but I don’t.
I can’t.
So I just nod. “Tell me a story?” I say.
“Of course.” We head to her bedroom and lean against the window.
Sammie picks up her binoculars and tells me that the O’Briens are eating Thai. “Good for them,” she says. “Shaking it up!”
“Is Professor Cox home?”
She moves her binoculars to his balcony. “No.” She lifts the binoculars. “Oh, but Mrs. Woodley is belly dancing in her living room! Want to see?”
I close my eyes. “No thanks. Describe it for me?”
Sammie nods and tells me about Mrs. Woodley’s new life plan to travel the world with Tad, bungee jumping in New Zealand, river kayaking in Bali, and mountain biking in Namibia.
“Mountain biking in Namibia?”
“It’s a thing people do,” she says. “I read about it online.”
I ask Sammie if I can stay over, and of course she says yes. I decide not to bother texting my mom to tell her. I’m supposed to take Mila to camp tomorrow morning before I come back for my morning shift, but I figure if she cares enough, she’ll find me.
*
I don’t sleep well anymore. I can’t remember the last time I had a really good night. Even when I do sleep, I feel like I’m half-awake, my dreams filled with running and reading and testing and failing. Crowds watching me. Naked dreams. Dreams that are predictable and boring, and yet interminable and torturous.
The morning light is filtering in through the blinds, and I’m already awake, but I’m still startled when Sammie sits up in bed. “Oh my God. Wake. Up.”