What You Left Behind (4 page)

“I don't really like the cafeteria food.”

“Why not?” Cafeteria food was awesome. Nachos and burgers and fries and pretzels and those deep-fried pizza roll things.

She shrugged. “I try to eat healthy.”

I nodded, as if I understood. “So you bring a sandwich or something?”

She full on smiled at that. “No. Steamed veggies and tofu, kale chips, organic fruit, stuff like that.”

“Right. Cool.”
What
the
hell
is
a
kale
chip?

We got to her locker, and sure enough, there was Alan. He blinked at the sight of the two of us together.

“Hey,” Meg said, giving him a look that I probably wasn't supposed to notice but that obviously meant,
Stay
cool.

“Hey,” he said. “Hey, Ryden Brooks.”

“Hey.”

More uncomfortable silence. “Hey” couldn't be the only thing we had to say to each other, could it?

“Sorry I'm late,” she said.

“No problemo.”

Meg fumbled with her lock as I racked my brain, trying to come up with something to talk about. What had I seen on Alan's Facebook page again? Hip-hop and Korean movies. I guessed I could bring up one of those topics. But which one? I knew nothing about hip-hop, and I didn't want to sound dumb. I could ask him about the movies, but would it sound like I was only asking him about Korean stuff because he was Korean? Coming off as an insensitive racist was the last thing I needed.

God, why was I so nervous?

Come
on, Meg. Get the damn locker open already.

“So, Alan,” I said, hating the desperation that came through in my voice. “On Facebook I saw that you like Korean cinema.”
I'm such a loser.

Alan's eyes lit up. “Yeah! Have you ever seen
Shiri
?”

“Uh, no.”

“Oh, man, it's so badass. What about
Joint
Security
Area
?”

I shook my head.

“Dude, you gotta Netflix it. It's about these two soldiers who are killed in the DMZ. It's really good.”

I glanced at Meg as she clicked her lock open. About time. Her wild hair was blocking most of her face, but I could just make out a smile through the tangled web. She was happy. Whether it was because she finally showed that lock who was boss or because of something I'd said, I had no idea. But I wasn't about to stop.

“What's the DMZ?” I asked Alan.

“The demilitarized zone between North Korea and South Korea. Dude, don't you watch the news?”

I shrugged. “Not really.”
Why
didn't I keep my mouth shut? They're going to think I'm a moron.

Meg turned to us and held up an insulated lunch bag. I hadn't had one of those since second grade. “Got it,” she said. “Let's go.”

“Do you like Korean movies too?” I asked her, trying to keep this train wreck going for some reason.

“I've seen a lot of them. But I'm not really into them like Alan is. I don't understand how he can watch the same ones over and over.” She rolled her eyes.

“You're know you're just jealous of my mad cultural pride,” Alan said.

She patted him patronizingly on the back. “That must be it.”

“Hey, you liked
Il
Mare
!”

“Yeah,” she conceded. “That one was actually pretty good.”

“
Il
mare
?” I asked, my ears perking up at the familiar words. “Like,
the
sea
?”

Alan and Meg stared at me.

“What? I take Italian. I'm not a complete idiot, you know.”
Shut
up. You're making it worse.

Meg smiled. “I know. You're in Honors English.”

“Yeah, my guidance counselor has been trying to get me into honors classes for a while. I finally agreed this semester because I figure it'll help seal the deal on my scholarship with UCLA.”

Meg was quiet for a moment, then said, “UCLA, huh?”

“Yeah. My mom and I went on a road trip to see a bunch of soccer schools over Christmas break. As soon as I got to the UCLA campus, I knew that's where I wanted to go. They have a kickass team, and the weather's nice, like, all the time. Plus, it's California, so the people are generally cool. I talked to the coaches and did the whole unofficial visit thing, and they're really interested in me.”

Meg nodded and got this far-off, dreamy look in her eyes.

Alan saw it too and obviously understood it better than I did, because he immediately changed the subject. “Anyway, the Korean title of
Il
Mare
is
Siworae
. It's about these two people who are in love but living two years apart. The only way for them to communicate is through this magic mailbox.”

“There was an American remake with Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves,” Meg said, clearly trying to get her mind off whatever it was that had upset her.

“
The
Lake
House
,” I said.

Again, Meg and Alan stared at me.

I shrugged. “My mom loves that movie.”

We arrived at the cafeteria and went our separate ways. But it was clear that things had changed. I was one step closer to being a part of Meg's world.

• • •

“You looked like you could use some help,” Alan says, dragging me back to the here and now. Of
course
he'd be at a party meant for the whole incoming senior class. Of
course
I'd run into him here.

The look in his eyes is pretty damn close to the one in my mom's—M, E, and G bobbing up and down in a pool of sadness—but there's a difference. Alan isn't sad for
me
. He's just plain old sad. Because he lost Meg too.

Something starts to bubble up inside me, but I shove it down before it can show itself.

“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “Thanks.” I sit down, right there, halfway up the hill, with Hope's car seat. She's kind of on an incline, but it's sturdy enough. And hey, when she wakes up, she'll have a great view of the lake.

Alan sits too. He rests his forearms on his knees. He's got his red WWSOD bracelet on.
What
would
Sandra
Oh
do?
The corner of my mouth turns up in a pathetic attempt at a smile. The guy is freaking obsessed with famous Koreans.

“I called you,” he says.

“Yeah.”

“A lot.”

“Yeah.”

“I came by your house too, but your mom said you weren't up for having visitors.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that. I…uh…” I try to come up with a reasonable excuse for not returning his calls or wanting to see him, but I've got nothing. The truth is, I couldn't face him, knowing he was thinking what Meg's parents and everyone who was ever close to her were thinking—that she's dead because of me.

Eventually I give up trying to come up with a response. Alan doesn't seem to be expecting a real answer anyway.

We're quiet for a long time. I stare out at Lake Winnipesaukee. You can see across to the other side easily, but its size is deceiving because it's not round. It's all warped, with hidden bends and nooks. You could spend your whole life out here and it would keep surprising you.

I haven't been here in a long time.

After a while, Alan says, “She looks like her.”

I blink out of my daze. “What?”

“The baby. She looks like Meg.”

The name hits me hard, right in the gut. Even though it's always with me, I haven't heard it spoken aloud in months. I dig my heels into the grass and run soccer drills in my head. When all the bad feelings are safely restrained, I turn to Alan and find him staring at Hope. I look back at the lake. “You think?” I ask. My voice is flat.

I already know she looks like Meg. It's all I see whenever I look at her. Shoshanna was right—Hope is cute. Beautiful even. Like her mother. Especially lately, now that she's growing out of that smooshed-face, all-newborns-look-alike thing. Other than her eyes, which are a dark blueish (though my mom says that will probably change), everything else about Hope is pure Meg, right down to her fair skin, the shape of her lips, and her jet-black hair, which sticks out in every direction and is growing fuller every day. And she's only half a year old—as she grows up and becomes more of a person, it's gonna get worse. Her eyes are going to turn dark brown, almost black. I know it.

“It's uncanny.” Alan's voice is full of awe. I don't think I've ever heard anyone use the word “uncanny” in actual conversation before. “What's her name?” he asks after another minute.

I startle. “You don't know her name?”

“How would I? You won't talk to me, Meg's parents won't talk about the baby, and no one else I've asked has known any more than I do.”

Well, shit.
Now I feel even worse.

“Her name is Hope,” I say.

“Hope?”

“Hope.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That's ironic.”

This time, both corners of my mouth pull up. “Tell me about it.”

A few people pass us on their way down to the picnic, but they don't stop. They just wave and hurry down the hill.

“So,” I say after a few minutes. “I'll see ya.”

I stand and start to gather Hope and all her crap.

“Wait, Ryden.” Alan stands and brushes the grass off his butt. He nods toward Hope. “It's like…at least Meg didn't die for nothing, you know?”

He's totally serious, waiting for me to say, “Yup, I understand completely. Right-o.” But that's not going to happen. Because if I could go back in time and do it all differently, I would.

It's not that I blame Hope or want her to go away or anything like that.

I just wish I'd realized that Meg's birth control pills weren't going to work because of all the chemo. I wish I'd used a condom. I wish Meg had listened to me and gotten the abortion—I wish I'd fought even harder for that. Because if any of those things had happened, Meg might still be here.

But Hope is here now, and Meg's not. That's the way it is, and I'm trying to do my best with it.

I don't respond to Alan's question. Instead, I sling the diaper bag over my shoulder and say, “Later, man.”

Then I walk to the parking lot and don't look back.

That afternoon at work, Joni comes up to me as I'm squeegeeing the refrigerator doors. She's wearing jeans and a sweater that looks like it was made in a beginners' knitting class. The holes between the stitches are really big.

“Aren't you cold?” she asks, nodding at my bare arms.

“Nope.”

“If you say so.”

“Where's your name tag?” I ask.

Joni reaches under her loose collar and pulls out the top of the tank she's wearing underneath. The name tag is pinned to the thin white cotton.

“You know you're supposed to wear it where people can actually see it, right?”

She shrugs. “All they said was that we had to wear it. They didn't say where.”

“Have you always had such a problem with authority?”

She sticks her tongue out at me. It's tinted blue.

“What the hell have you been eating?” I shift my squeegee and bucket down to the next frost- and fingerprint-covered door.

She holds up her left hand. There's a blue Ring Pop on her middle finger.

I put on an appalled face and point a finger accusingly. “How dare you taint this hallowed ground with corn syrup and artificial dyes! Sacrilege!”

She laughs. “What can I say, I'm a rebel. You wanna take a break?”

I laugh too, a little. “I only get a fifteen, and I haven't even been here an hour yet. I try to go as long as possible before going on break, 'cause then the second part of my shift goes by quicker.”

“Crafty.”

I tap my temple. “Yep.”

“Well, I get a fifteen and a forty-five, so come find me when you want to go on break.”

“Um. Okay.”

“Um. Okay,” she mimics and skips off down the aisle with all the random stuff that doesn't have a logical home—the paper plates, the dog food, the colanders.

I straighten a few bags of frozen veggies before moving on to the next door. I probably should have said no. I don't know why I didn't. My break at work is the one tiny sliver of my day where I don't have to do anything.

But Joni's cool. She's easy to talk to. I get the sense that she's not into guys, so there's no chance of being anything more than friends.

And the best part is, she doesn't know anything about me.

• • •

A couple of hours later, I go in search of Joni and find her working register fourteen. I wave from my safe space, off to the side, away from the never-ending checkout line, and she turns off her light.

“Follow me,” she says as she makes her way over to me.

I trail her through the store. When we get to the deli, she punches a code into a door I've never been through before and holds it open. I walk through to find that we're in the employees-only section behind the deli counter. There's a little corridor with a few turnoffs—the one closest to the door is where the deli guys stand to talk to the customers over the counter.

“Hey, Julio,” Joni says to the guy at the meat slicer. “
¿Cómo estás
?
”

“
Hola
, Joni.” He says her name like
ho-ni
. “My daughter drew you a picture. I left it in the back for you.”

“Awesome!
¡Gracias
!
”

We keep walking down the hall, past doors marked “Refrigeration. Keep closed at all times,” and wind up in a little break room. It's empty and spotless. The main break room on the other side of the store is rarely empty, and it's
never
this clean. There are about a million employees at this place, and I've never seen anyone wipe down the tables or clean out the microwave. There's a child's drawing on the table: a beige piece of construction paper with what I'm pretty sure are fish swimming around under the ocean.
To
Joney
, it reads in wobbly black crayon.
From
Annalisa
.

Joni picks it up and smiles. “Aww. Sweet kid.” She gestures to the empty chairs. “Have a seat.” She pulls two long, oval-shaped things wrapped in white paper out of the fridge and tosses me one.

“What is this?”

“It's a sandwich, dummy.”

“Where did it come from?”

“The deli. Those guys love me.”

Okay, I'm really confused. “Haven't you only been working here for a few days?”

“You can make friends in way less than a few days, Mr. Ryden Whatever-Your-Name-Is.”

Joni bites into her hero. A glob of mustard squirts out onto her chin. Rather than using a napkin to wipe it away, she tries to lick it off. I laugh as she squints and strains her tongue to try to reach the spot. It doesn't work, obviously, so eventually she uses her sandwich to wipe it off and then licks the glob off the bread.

“That is disgusting,” I say.

She just grins and takes another bite.

I dig into my sandwich too. It's Swiss cheese, lettuce, tomato, pickles, and olives. Not what I would have chosen, but I only have a few minutes left of my break and I'm suddenly starving.

“Tell me something about yourself,” Joni says.

I swallow the bite of hero in an attempt to force down the lump that's risen in my throat. “What do you want to know?”

She shrugs. “I dunno, basic stuff.”

Basic stuff I can do. “All right, shoot.”

“How did you get this?” She points to the thin scar that cuts through my left eyebrow.

My stomach twists, and I shake my head. I've never told anyone that story—not even Meg. At the time, it was
her
scars that were more important. In particular the one on the back of her thigh, where they extracted a big chunk of skin and tissue around her cancerous mole. “More basic.”

“More basic than that?”

“Yup.”

She sighs. “Okay. What's your last name?”

“Brooks. What's yours?”

“Ríos. How old are you?”

“Seventeen. You?”

“Seventeen.”

That surprises me. I thought she was older for some reason. “When's your birthday?” I ask.

“March 6. You?”

“March 6!”

Joni's eyes get huge and she sits up straighter in her seat. “Are you serious?!”

I burst out laughing. “No. It's actually January 13. That would have been crazy though, right?”

She throws a tomato from her sandwich at me. “You jerk.”

I peel the tomato off my shoulder and eat it. It feels good to joke around like this. “Moving on. Where do you go to school?”

“Clinton Central.” That explains why I've never seen her before—Clinton's a few towns away from Whole Foods in the opposite direction of Downey. “And you go to…let me guess…Haverford Prep.”

I almost choke on my last bite of sandwich. “Why the hell would you think
that
?”

She studies me. “You strike me as one of those angsty, life-is-so-
hard
, privileged types whose daddy is making him work a part-time job to learn the value of a dollar. Why else would you be so miserable all the time?”

My good mood burns a fiery death. “You really don't know what you're talking about.” I push back my chair and toss the hero wrapper in the garbage. “My break's over. Thanks for the sandwich, but please just leave me alone from now on, okay?”

I don't know what I was thinking when I thought I could be friends with this girl. I'd wanted it to be different, to have someone fun to talk to and hang out with who wouldn't look at me with pity. But she's just as judgmental as everyone else.

Finding someone you can
really
connect with is like winning the fucking lottery—it happens basically never, but if it does, you really shouldn't blow it.

• • •

May 23.

“How are you feeling?” Ryden asked me the moment I hopped off the school bus this morning.

The first thought I had was that he'd found out about the cancer.
Panic.
“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? You were out sick yesterday, right? And there was that whole running-out-of-English incident the day before?”

Relief.
“I'm better now. Thanks.”

“Good.”

I know I'm not supposed to think about him. No more crush. Focus on school. That's what's important.

I started to walk again, but he caught my arm. “Meg.”

I know this would probably sound crazy if I ever said it out loud to anyone, except maybe Mabel, but I think that was the best moment of my life so far. Because I've never felt anything as good as when our skin first touched. It was like time stopped. Heat passed between us like fire when his hand clasped my wrist. Okay, maybe not fire, but something really, really hot.

“Go to the dance with me tomorrow?”

Every possible answer went through my mind: Yes. No. I can't.

I broke eye contact and looked down at my feet. Someone's old Math II quiz was being pushed along the ground by a mild gust of wind. It was crinkly, like it had been wet and then dried in the sun. There were footprints all over it. It had been through so much, but it was still here.

“Ryden…”

“Don't say no. Just come with me tomorrow, and if you don't have fun, I promise I'll never bother you again.”

There was a little tremor in his voice when he said the word “bother.” I really wanted to say yes.

The wind picked up, and the math quiz was carried away.

The parking lot was emptying out—first period was going to start soon. But I knew I had to give him an answer.

Finally, I said, “Dances aren't really my thing.” Obviously it was the truth, since I'm not supposed to do anything overly physical lately, but it sounded stupid even to me.

He let go of my arm, looking incredibly dejected. But here's what I still don't get:
why
? He can have anyone he wants. Why me?

“That's cool, I get it. See you later, Meg.”

“Wait!” I called out as he walked away.

He turned back.

“Do you want to do something else tomorrow night? Something more…low key?”

A huge, gorgeous grin crept over his face. “Yeah, absolutely. School dances are lame anyway. What did you have in mind?”

Honestly, we could sit on the side of the road counting cars for all I care. I just can't wait to be alone with him. But I do have an idea: the secret beach. “You'll see,” I said, and I still can't believe how cool I was able to play it.

Holy crap. I'm going on a date with Ryden Brooks. Mabel's going to flip.
:-)