The Art of Holding On and Letting Go (18 page)

Kaitlyn swatted me with the back of her hand. “That was Tom Torres!”

“Yeah. He's in my class.”

“Get out! He's such a cutie.”

“Yeah. Too bad he's gay,” I said.

“What?”

“Ha-ha. Gotcha.”

“Oh funny, ha-ha. But you know, he's never had a girlfriend.”

“I was kidding! Don't even go there.”

“He's one of the cutest guys at school. Such a baby face. Most of the jocks are getting it on with some chickadee, but not Tom. He flirts and everyone loves him, but he never asks anyone out.”

“Maybe he's waiting until he gets his license.”

“I never thought about that. I wonder why he didn't take driver's ed earlier. What do the Chinese call it again?”

“Yuan.”

“Go
yuan
with Tom.” She shoved my shoulder.

I laughed and scooted out of the car.

“Keep your eyes on the road!” Kaitlyn called out.

This time, my group was assigned to the assistant teacher. We gave Elizabeth a “sorry for you” frown as she followed Mr. Demetrios. Tom and I walked to the other car.

“How was the pupusaria?”

“Ooh, listen to your
rrrrr
's. Bien, bien.” He grinned and nodded at me. “Delicioso, as usual. I totally stuffed my face.”

The assistant teacher wore jeans tucked into cowboy boots that clomped, clomped on the asphalt. He told us to call him Billy, and he asked me to drive first.

I glanced at Tom in the rearview mirror, and he gave me a thumbs-up. I was so distracted I shifted the car into reverse instead of drive and lurched backward.

“Whoa, whoa, easy does it,” Billy said. “Slow down and focus on what you're doing.” He said it in a nice, encouraging way. He didn't yell like Mr. Demetrios.

I forced myself to ignore Tom.

“We're going on the freeway now. Take a right.”

I headed down the entrance ramp to the freeway, slowing down as cars whizzed by in the next lane.

“No, no, speed it up. You want to go as fast as the other cars. Put on your left turn signal. There you go, a little faster. You're going to merge in a second.”

Merge! There were too many cars. They were all in the way. Where was I supposed to go?

“Don't slow down, keep up your speed. The other cars will let you in. You can do it,” Billy said, continuing in his calm, soothing voice.

And just like that, I was over in the other lane. It worked! Cars were passing me in the left lane. I pressed down on the gas pedal again.

“Woo-hoo! Way to go!” Tom and Trudy yelled from the backseat.

“Pick up your speed just a bit, keep up with the rest of the traffic. You're doing great.”

I was afraid to take my eyes off the road for even a second, but I grinned the whole time.

Parallel parking was our final task to accomplish. We practiced in a parking lot with bright orange cones. Billy let us listen to the radio, and Jason Derulo came on. Tom gyrated in his seat, spun the wheel, and sang, “Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle,” before Billy changed the station. Trudy's jaw had dropped at the lyrics, Tom ran over two cones, and we all ended up in hysterics.

We staggered out of our car, still laughing, and caught up with Trudy's sister, Elizabeth.

“Donald Demetrios is despicable,” she said with a scowl. “You three were having too much fun out there.”

“How come you two are just learning to drive now?” Tom asked the sisters.

“Oh, we just never got around to it,” Elizabeth said. “We're old-fashioned ladies.”

“And we had old-fashioned husbands,” Trudy added. “But now it's just us, and we've got places to go!”

“You go girls!” Tom gave them a double high five.

Trudy and Elizabeth giggled again as they slapped his hands.

When they left, I walked with Tom over to his bike.

“I can give you a ride home if you're game,” Tom said and patted the handlebars.

I would have hopped on in a second if Grandpa weren't already on his way.

“My grandpa's picking me up.”

“Yeah, that's probably a better idea. But I'll offer it to you again when I get my license.”

I felt like jumping into the air and doing a backflip, but I just grinned, holding his gaze for a second. I spun the beaded bracelets around my wrist. “How come you didn't take driver's ed over the summer?” I asked. “I think Kaitlyn took it last summer.”

Tom shoved his hands in his pockets. “It's kind of embarrassing,” he said, hunching his shoulders up around his ears. “I was in an accident a few years ago. After that, I was afraid to ride in a car. It got better, but it still makes me nervous to be the driver.”

He bent over, pretending to walk with a cane, and said in a shaky voice, “I drive like a little old lady.”

I laughed.

“I was busy teaching at a basketball camp in the summer, so it was easy to put off.”

I was about to ask him about the car accident, but Grandpa pulled up in the rumbling Mustang.

“Chido.”
Tom let out a soft whistle and walked over to check out the car.

I settled in the front seat, and Tom leaned in the window. I introduced him to Grandpa.

“Wow, this is an incredible ride,” Tom said. “It's totally mint.” “Yep, I've tried to take good care of her.”

“You gonna let Cara drive it when she gets her license?”

“Sure, before I put it up for the winter. I'm guessing she's going to want her own car down the road though.”

“You are so lucky,” Tom said to me. “My parents both drive Cadillacs. GM has tried to make it sleek looking, but it's still a boring middle-aged boat of a car.”

Grandpa chuckled. “My winter car is a Taurus. Now that's a boring boat of a car, but it drives a lot better in the snow than this machine.” He revved the engine. “Cadillacs are good, safe cars, too. You can pick Cara up anytime if you're driving a Cadillac.”

Grandpa winked at me. I stared at him, eyes wide. Grandpa!

“It's a deal,” Tom said.

I sneaked a peak at Tom, then eyed Grandpa again, warning him not to say anything else.

Tom waved good-bye as Grandpa pulled away from the curb, and I waved back. I watched him in the side mirror. He was still standing there, admiring the Mustang as we roared away.

The next day at school, Tom jogged up behind me and Kaitlyn and draped an arm around each of us. He flashed a grin, said, “Morning ladies,” and then he was gone, motoring down the hall. Two girls brushed past us. One of them bumped into Kaitlyn, threw a nasty glance her way and said, “Excuuuse meee,” then giggled with her friend. They hurried ahead, catching up to Tom, and flanked him on either side.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“Ann-Marie Fidesco. Wannabe cheerleader. Birdbrain, skank. That's about all you need to know.”

“She has a problem with you?”

“She has a problem with everyone outside of her elite group of phonies. She went to my old middle school for a year before she moved to this school district. Swimming was part of our gym class, so we had to change and shower before we got into the pool. She went around and told all the guys that I was a true redhead. You know, meaning that I had red hair
everywhere
. She was responsible for my nickname that year. You don't even want to know what it was.”

“What?”

“Not telling.”

“Come on.”

“Fire bush.”

My eyes popped wide, and my lips twitched into a grin.

“Yeah, funny now, not then.”

“It's not funny, I'm sorry. Is that why you started dying your hair black?”

“God no. That was ages ago, in seventh grade. Ann-Marie moved the next year. Unfortunately, I had to follow her to this high school, but the nickname did not come with me. I don't know if she even remembers me.”

We saw Nick at his locker and stopped to say hi. He was wearing a studded dog collar around his neck.

“What's this?” Kaitlyn asked, reaching out to touch the black, studded band.

Nick stepped back out of her reach. “What's it look like?” he snapped.

“Bite my head off already. What happened to your hemp rope? You never take it off.”

Nick glanced at me then back at Kaitlyn. “My brother came back.”

“When?”

“Last night. He just got out of jail.”

“Wow.”

“This morning he was gone. So was the cash from all of our wallets and my dad's credit card.”

“Oh, Nick.” Kaitlyn stepped closer and touched his shoulder.

Nick slammed his locker shut, shook his head, and stalked off.

Kaitlyn looked like she was trying to decide if she should go after him. “Did you follow that?”

“Not really. He has another brother?”

“Yeah, Mike. He's a few years older than Nate. Nick's the baby. And he's always worshiped Mike. But Mike started getting into drugs and trouble a few years ago. He wasn't crazy bad or anything, he just had a hippie-Grateful-Dead-free-love kind of attitude. His dad bailed him out a couple of times, trying to keep everything quiet, then he turned into a total control freak. Mike had these amazing long dreads, and his dad made him cut them all off. After that, Mike took off with some girl and no one knew where they were for a while. Then they found out he was in jail down in Florida. And his dad wouldn't even help him. He's a lawyer! His dad said it wasn't his job to be Mike's lawyer, it was his job to practice ‘tough love.' ”

“What about their mom?” I asked.

Kaitlyn shrugged. “She doesn't like things to be messy.”

“That's crazy. I don't get it.”

“Me neither. That hemp rope that Nick always wears, it's Mike's. I've never seen him without it.”

Nick's parents had abandoned his brother when he needed help. It shouldn't have surprised me after these past few months without my parents. But still, it's just not what parents are supposed to do. I was in the way, and they pushed me aside. Mom was devoted to Dad, Dad was devoted to Uncle Max, but where did that leave me? Dumped at my grandparents', that's where.

I went home for lunch that afternoon for the first time in a month. I thought I'd let Nick have a chance to talk to Kaitlyn in private. And I needed to think. My thoughts were clumped in my head like strings of cold spaghetti, and I needed to pull them apart. Where was Miss Marple when you needed her?

Kaitlyn used to have red hair, she wore bright-colored clothes. She said she went through a rough time last year and wrapped herself up in darkness. She covered herself in black, painted her room midnight
.
Agatha Christie would call it
The Mysterious Case of the Transforming Girl.

And Nick. Always goofing around, hamming it up, dressed as darkly dramatic as Kaitlyn. Wearing a necklace to hold on to the memory of his brother.

And me. What about me? Hanging out with my new friends, going to school as if everything was normal. Dreaming about me and Tom and destiny. I'd stopped responding to texts from Coach Mel as if that part of my life had never existed. As if the questions about my parents and Uncle Max weren't screaming inside my chest, trying to pound their way out past my rib cage. Nothing was as it seemed.

I hopped on my mom's old bike and sped down the street. The wind whipped my hair back off my face, cold air rushing into my ears. Kaitlyn had missed two days of school. I had tried texting and calling her, but she wasn't responding. Nick said he tried calling her too, but she hadn't called him back either.

I had found the bike in the garage, an old ten-speed with two flat tires. Grandpa pumped up the tires and gave them a kick. “Good as new,” he said.

A car drove by, and the sound of Fleetwood Mac drifted out of the open window. The beat settled in my chest. I remembered the time I came home to find Dad blaring the stereo, singing along with Stevie Nicks. “Come dance with me,” he had yelled over the music. And we had danced, swaying and twirling around the living room.

My mother's hands had gripped these same handlebars. The warm sensation traveled right up my arms to my neck, my skin tingling at the base of my skull. Like I was about to experience another earth-tilting moment, like the day I fell off the competition wall, the day Uncle Max was swept in an avalanche. Where were my parents now?

Or maybe the sensation had to do with Kaitlyn. Something was wrong with Kaitlyn. I gripped the handlebars tighter, my hands stiff from the cold.

I leaned the bike against Kaitlyn's garage and rang the doorbell. No answer. I knocked on the door. No answer. I pounded on the door. No answer. I peeked in the kitchen window; the house looked deserted. I walked around the back to Kaitlyn's bedroom window. The shade was drawn. I rapped on the window. Nothing.

What was going on? A bubble of panic was spreading through my lungs. Kaitlyn wouldn't have gone anywhere without telling me or Nick. She would have called us back unless something was really wrong with her.

Then I heard it as much as felt it; a faint thumping, rumbling behind Kaitlyn's window. The rhythmic beat of music. I rapped on the glass again and shouted her name. Kaitlyn's pale face peeked around a corner of the window shade. I jumped back as if she were a ghost.

She opened the window and squinted in the afternoon sunshine.

And I don't want the world to see me,

'cause I don't think that they'd understand.

The music pulsed around her like an aura.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She just looked at me.

When everything's made to be broken,

I just want you to know who I am.

“I was worried about you.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Kaitlyn, what's wrong? Go open the front door, okay?”

She nodded and disappeared from the window.

The door was open when I got back to the front of the house, and I followed Kaitlyn to her room. She wore baggy gray sweatpants and her hair was fuzzed up and tangled. She climbed into bed and pulled the purple afghan up to her chin.