“Get off the couch!” she shouts, as if she’s talking right to me. “Today is the first day of the rest of your life!”
I bounce off the couch and start hopping around the room, mimicking her movements. I fear that I might look like a total oaf with no rhythm. Wearing jeans doesn’t help. But I don’t really care. Because moving is good. I can feel my heart working hard to keep up. I like that I’m winded and sucking in air. I love that I have sweat dripping down my back and collecting in the waistband of my underwear. My body is doing what it’s supposed to do.
I’m alive.
The workout show is an hour long. There’s a nice cooldown session at the end. I sit cross-legged on the floor and stretch. I can feel my muscles pull away from my rib cage as I reach my hand over my head and breathe out from my mouth. The cooldown part is kind of crunchy granola, and the host keeps telling all of us at home to stay centered.
“Be in the moment,” she says. “This is your moment. There is only one you.”
chapter twenty-nine
Ben comes busting through the door at six p.m. with my mom trailing behind him. I probably smell from my spontaneous eighties aerobics session a few hours ago, but nobody says anything. I press save on a persuasive essay about why cell phones should be allowed in school (uh, they’re good in an emergency) and shut down the computer so I can focus on my brother. He’s all excited because he got his costume for the play today. He yanks it out of his backpack with so much force that his lunch box and homework folder come toppling out, too. He waves his costume in front of my face. I pull it from his grasp so I can see it. It’s just a green hoodie with giant googly eyes glued to the top to make it look like a frog. Ben thinks it’s the greatest thing ever.
“It’s awesome,” I say, holding it up to him. “Try it on. I wanna see.”
Ben pulls the sweatshirt over his head and the googly eyes roll back and forth, landing cross-eyed. “Do you like it?”
“I think it’s pretty much the best costume I’ve ever seen. And you’re the best frog in the history of frogs.”
He grins up at me and the googly eyes roll back. I pull the sweatshirt off him even though he begs me to let him wear it through dinner.
“What if you get spaghetti sauce all over it? What frog eats spaghetti? That stain wouldn’t even make sense.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” he says, even though I can tell he’s not entirely convinced that a spaghetti-eating frog wouldn’t be totally cool.
When we sit down to eat, Ben launches into his usual play-by-play of his whole day at school. Today was library day, so he picked out a bunch of books he wants to read together before bed.
“I got one with a mermaid in it because she looks like you,” he says.
My mom smiles and points at the side of her mouth with her fork to let Ben know he has some stray sauce to wipe up. He grabs his napkin from his lap and swipes it across his messy face.
“Your grandma checked in today,” my mom says, looking at me. I can tell she’s trying to sound casual so Ben doesn’t pick up on any weird vibes.
“Any news?”
“Nothing.” My mom shakes her head. Tired. Resigned.
That means nobody has heard from my dad since he took off with his bag full of new clothes and my grandma’s jewelry.
“Maybe it’s for the best,” I say.
“Perhaps.”
*
After I’ve showered and read the mermaid book to Ben three times in a row, I crawl into my own bed. Outside, the front gate of Paradise Manor bangs shut. I can hear Evan. I recognize his voice. He’s talking on his phone in the courtyard. I peek out from my curtain just as he’s heading up the stairs in front of my bedroom window. I hadn’t realized he was that close. I freeze when he actually sees me. He stops, stunned, in the middle of the stairs to observe me through the window. We only make eye contact. Silent. I wave, and he waves back. Halfhearted. I let go of the curtain. It falls back into place, and Evan disappears behind it.
chapter thirty
Today, May twenty-third, is Ben’s birthday, so when Brenda arrives, I suggest we walk to the corner market to buy a cake mix and a tub of frosting with the money I still have saved up from teaching swim lessons. We’ve had two sessions since I told Brenda I gave Aaron a ride to school on October fifteenth, and she doesn’t stop to stare at me for even one second this afternoon when I say I want to leave Paradise Manor.
“Let’s go,” she says, so I follow her down the stairs and out the front gate.
The sidewalk seems less busy than when I mailed Aaron’s letter last week. Or less shocking. It just feels like I’m supposed to be walking here. The world is everywhere and it’s even better to be out in it with someone next to me. And even though I like Brenda, right now I kind of wish she were Evan. The thought surprises me. I’ve been trying not to think of him since he cut me out of his life.