Danielle smiled. “Sure,” she said. “Are you confused about that stuff, too? Like with Camden?”
I lay my head down on the pillow next to hers and looked into her clear, clear eyes.
“Everyone’s confused about that stuff. Always.”
“Except the fairies.”
“Well, obviously.”
Dani’s hand found my left wrist and she tried to circle it with her small fingers.
“Will you stay until I fall asleep?”
“Sure,” I said, “but you know my rule. No talking.”
She nodded, and we lay like that for a while, staring at each other until her eyelids or my eyelids shut first. It was probably a draw.
When I woke up a little while later, the light had gone completely from the room. All I could see above me was the cracked ceiling of my sister’s room. If I unfocused my eyes, I could pretend it was the sky above Camden’s patio. But that exact sky during our exact moment would never happen again.
Without it, it was easy to feel like the Possible had closed itself off to me. I hadn’t known what to do with it. I’d mishandled it somehow and lost my privileges.
I sneaked out of Dani’s room and once I was back in my own room, I did the only thing that seemed like a solution anymore. I called the boy I loved. Who now knew I loved him but hadn’t said it back.
It rang and rang and rang, until his voice mail picked up.
I didn’t leave a message.
When I walked into the family room the next morning, Mom was pulling a blanket off the couch. There were folded sheets and a pillow on an ottoman nearby.
“Did Richard sleep in here?” I asked.
“No,” she said, shaking out the blanket so it made a curt snapping noise. “I did.” She checked her watch. “Richard’s leaving for the store in about fifteen minutes, so you should get ready. With the Ribfest out at the fairgrounds, it could get busy today.”
“Okay,” I said, then leaned against the wall. She was speaking to me. That was something. “And then what?”
“Dinner at Moose’s,” she said. “Like always.”
Except now with more awkward shittiness than ever.
“I meant, like, punishment.”
Mom dropped the folded blanket on top of the sheet. She didn’t scoop them up; I guessed she was going to leave them there for another night.
“Oh, yes,” she said.
“Grounded?”
Now she looked at me and grabbed the pillow. “What do you think?”
“Cool. I’ve never been grounded before. And it always felt like something was missing.”
She threw the pillow onto the floor and put her hands on her hips.
“This is no joke, Ari. What you did—”
“Hurt nobody. I heard Dani had a super-fun day with her babysitter.”
“Hurt nobody?” She took a step toward me, and I pressed myself against the wall. “What about me? You don’t think it hurt me that you lied and completely disregarded my judgment? That I feel like I can’t trust you anymore?”
Her voice broke down at those last few words. She shrank back and sat on the arm of the couch. It made her seem less steady, not more.
“When I said you couldn’t go . . . ,” she continued after taking a deep breath, “that wasn’t me being cruel for no reason. When I heard about the shoplifting and how they cajoled you into ditching your job for the day, I had a gut feeling. That feeling said, These aren’t people who are going to be good for you. Definitely not people you should go on a road trip to another state with.” She paused. “And do Silver Arrow dress-up with.”
I suddenly remembered the pin I’d bought her. I’d never give it to her now, even if Camden was right that it didn’t matter if she wanted it or not. It would remain, forlorn and unappreciated, in its little box. Maybe I could sell it online.
Mom must have mistaken my silence for me actually processing what she’d said, as if it were something that made sense.
“Look,” she said, lifting herself off the arm of the couch now. “Camden seems nice. . . .”
“Please don’t talk about Camden,” I said. “Don’t even say his name.”
“Honey . . . I’ve been where you are. There are some things I’d undo from that time, if I could.” She paused, a shadow of something flickering across her face. “And I was older than you are now. Please trust me that I know what’s best.”
“Okay,” I said. “Let me see if I understand how this works. You want to be gone fifty-five hours a week. You trust me enough to work in the store and take care of Danielle because . . . well, you have to. But you don’t trust me to take care of myself.”
I stopped, not sure how to continue. Mom was silent, probably unsure how to respond. Strangely, I liked it that way. But then there it was again: that expression on her face. That naked pain.
She dabbed something from her eye with the back of one wrist and, after a moment, yelled to the ceiling, “Dani! Get your shoes on! We’re going to Target!” Then she leveled her glance at me. “I’m not talking about this anymore right now.”