except that I still find him painfully cute.
It would have made no sense to any of them. It barely made sense to me!
So I simply said to Josh, “Well, I guess I’ll see you then.”
As I turned back to my family, I realized I’d said pretty much the same thing when I’d left Josh at Dog Ear that afternoon. Of course, I’d been completely lying then.
Now? I hoped what I said would actually come true.
I barely tasted the rest of my frozen custard. In fact, I threw my cone away when it was only half-eaten. This was unheard of.
But, of course, everything was different this summer.
My parents hammered that point home as we walked back to the car, doing our best to wipe our sticky hands with flimsy paper napkins.
“Your dad and I have decided that we’re going to move into Granly’s room,” my mom announced. “Hannah, you can have our old room so that you can have a quiet place to study. Abbie and Chelsea, we can split up the bunk beds for you if you want.”
“But—” Abbie began. It was pure reflex for her to protest the injustice of Hannah getting her own room. But then it all must have sunk in, because Abbie clapped her mouth shut.
Mom and Dad were moving into Granly’s room—her empty room.
It made sense. After all, the house was small and it was silly to leave an entire bedroom empty all summer.
But it was also incredibly depressing.
After we’d loaded ourselves soberly into the car, I pressed my knuckles to my lips.
Part of me wondered, why had we even bothered with this first-night outing? All our Bluepointe rituals were shattered now that the person at their center was gone.
But another (guilty) part of me was glad that we’d gone and I’d gotten another glimpse of Josh.
After we got home, I flopped into the rocker on the front porch. I didn’t want to go in and watch my parents move their stuff into Granly’s room. Instead I rocked slowly while the crickets sawed away outside the window screens. After a few minutes I picked up my purse from the floor where I’d tossed it and fished out my wrinkled memo pad and a pen.
What if? What if Granly was still here? What if I hadn’t run to town this afternoon? What if the library had been open? That whole “butterfly causing a tsunami with one beat of its wings” thing has always made me crazy. It makes it seem like there’s an either/or between everything—your grandmother living or dying. A summer spent in humongous Los Angeles or a tiny town in Michigan.
Why can’t you have both sides of the either/or? If my grandma was here, maybe I wouldn’t have met a cute boy today. Now I’ve met the cute boy, but I can’t tell my grandma about him. See? Either/or. I guess that’s just how life works.
I scratched out my exhausted thoughts until the pen almost fell out of my hand. Then I stumbled to my room and flopped into bed in my checkered shirt. I hadn’t unpacked yet and couldn’t find any of my pajamas.
In the middle of the night, I was awakened by the muffled (but still unbearable) sound of my mother crying from Granly’s room on the other side of the wall.
It didn’t wake Abbie up, because nothing ever woke Abbie up.
But just to test the theory, I grabbed the little flashlight that was always in the nightstand drawer. I flicked it on and aimed it at Abbie’s face—her utterly placid, sleeping face. I wiggled the light back and forth over her eyes, but they remained stubbornly closed. Then she made a cooing noise and flipped over so she faced the wall.
It didn’t seem fair that Abbie was not only sound asleep but was having a good dream.
Now in the next room I heard the low grumble of my dad’s voice. He must have said the exact right thing, because my mom gave a sniffly laugh, then quieted down. Gratefully I smushed my head deeper into my pillow and resolved to laugh at my dad’s next joke, no matter how corny it was.
I aimed the flashlight at the wall. It was papered instead of painted because Granly thought wallpaper
It would have made no sense to any of them. It barely made sense to me!
So I simply said to Josh, “Well, I guess I’ll see you then.”
As I turned back to my family, I realized I’d said pretty much the same thing when I’d left Josh at Dog Ear that afternoon. Of course, I’d been completely lying then.
Now? I hoped what I said would actually come true.
I barely tasted the rest of my frozen custard. In fact, I threw my cone away when it was only half-eaten. This was unheard of.
But, of course, everything was different this summer.
My parents hammered that point home as we walked back to the car, doing our best to wipe our sticky hands with flimsy paper napkins.
“Your dad and I have decided that we’re going to move into Granly’s room,” my mom announced. “Hannah, you can have our old room so that you can have a quiet place to study. Abbie and Chelsea, we can split up the bunk beds for you if you want.”
“But—” Abbie began. It was pure reflex for her to protest the injustice of Hannah getting her own room. But then it all must have sunk in, because Abbie clapped her mouth shut.
Mom and Dad were moving into Granly’s room—her empty room.
It made sense. After all, the house was small and it was silly to leave an entire bedroom empty all summer.
But it was also incredibly depressing.
After we’d loaded ourselves soberly into the car, I pressed my knuckles to my lips.
Part of me wondered, why had we even bothered with this first-night outing? All our Bluepointe rituals were shattered now that the person at their center was gone.
But another (guilty) part of me was glad that we’d gone and I’d gotten another glimpse of Josh.
After we got home, I flopped into the rocker on the front porch. I didn’t want to go in and watch my parents move their stuff into Granly’s room. Instead I rocked slowly while the crickets sawed away outside the window screens. After a few minutes I picked up my purse from the floor where I’d tossed it and fished out my wrinkled memo pad and a pen.
What if? What if Granly was still here? What if I hadn’t run to town this afternoon? What if the library had been open? That whole “butterfly causing a tsunami with one beat of its wings” thing has always made me crazy. It makes it seem like there’s an either/or between everything—your grandmother living or dying. A summer spent in humongous Los Angeles or a tiny town in Michigan.
Why can’t you have both sides of the either/or? If my grandma was here, maybe I wouldn’t have met a cute boy today. Now I’ve met the cute boy, but I can’t tell my grandma about him. See? Either/or. I guess that’s just how life works.
I scratched out my exhausted thoughts until the pen almost fell out of my hand. Then I stumbled to my room and flopped into bed in my checkered shirt. I hadn’t unpacked yet and couldn’t find any of my pajamas.
In the middle of the night, I was awakened by the muffled (but still unbearable) sound of my mother crying from Granly’s room on the other side of the wall.
It didn’t wake Abbie up, because nothing ever woke Abbie up.
But just to test the theory, I grabbed the little flashlight that was always in the nightstand drawer. I flicked it on and aimed it at Abbie’s face—her utterly placid, sleeping face. I wiggled the light back and forth over her eyes, but they remained stubbornly closed. Then she made a cooing noise and flipped over so she faced the wall.
It didn’t seem fair that Abbie was not only sound asleep but was having a good dream.
Now in the next room I heard the low grumble of my dad’s voice. He must have said the exact right thing, because my mom gave a sniffly laugh, then quieted down. Gratefully I smushed my head deeper into my pillow and resolved to laugh at my dad’s next joke, no matter how corny it was.
I aimed the flashlight at the wall. It was papered instead of painted because Granly thought wallpaper
Similar Books
