“Extraordinary,” Dad finished. His voice held a note of wonder, like he’d just learned magic was real, and a hot spike of jealousy ran through me. I hadn’t known, until right then, how much I would have liked my father to talk about me like that.
“He needs more of a challenge in school, obviously,” Mom said. “No wonder he’s been acting up this year. The poor thing is bored out of his mind, and with a mind like his—boredom is dangerous. But he’s also still a kid. We shouldn’t overschedule him, or isolate him from his peers. And of course, there’s Ivy to consider.” I held myself even stiller on the stairs, barely breathing as she added, “Ivy can’t be made to feel less than.”
I know it’s the opposite of what my mother wanted, but as soon as she uttered the phrase, I felt exactly that.
And it continued all year. I could see through my parents’ casual facade whenever they talked about Daniel skipping eighth grade to start high school with me, or when brochures started arriving about summer programs at MIT. Daniel was extraordinary, and I was less than. So when I thought Mateo was pretending our kiss had never happened, I was disappointed but not surprised. It felt inevitable.
The train continues to rattle along as Mateo waits for a response, but I can’t give him that one. “What did the note say?” I ask instead.
“Huh?”
“You said you left a note, with the Sugar Babies? What did it say?”
“Oh. I asked if you wanted to get king-sized ones at the Infinity War premiere.”
He’d asked me out. In such an impossibly cute way that I want to bang my head against the window. Not to mention, I ended up seeing Infinity War with Daniel, of all goddamn people. My extraordinary brother, thief of Sugar Babies and dreams.
“I would have,” I mutter, slumping in my seat. I want to ask Mateo why he didn’t follow up, but I’m pretty sure I already know. He might not have been having my crisis of confidence back then, but it’s still excruciating to think that you put yourself out there and got nothing back. No wonder we stopped talking shortly after that.
“Next stop, Government Center,” the conductor calls, and that snaps me back to the present. The last two stops were a blur, and we’re running out of time before we lose Cal. “Oh no,” I say, turning in my seat. “Do you think he’s really leaving without us?”
“Looks like it,” Mateo says as Cal stands.
I glance at the pile of notifications on my phone, and my heart drops. Emily: Principal Nelson says the police are coming to school later.
I know exactly what my classmates are going to tell them; and meanwhile, our only link to an actual suspect—one who’s blond, knows Boney, and works in the studio where he died—is about to take off. “If we separate now, we’re screwed,” I say, getting to my feet.
Mateo, politely, doesn’t point out that I’m the only one who’s screwed. He just moves his legs into the aisle so I can slide past him.
I consider my options as I make my way toward Cal. I’m still upset about what he said to me. I might not have the moral high ground all the time, especially lately, but I definitely had it for this argument. I want an apology, but if I lead with that, he’ll blow me off. And maybe…it’s possible…that I could have handled the conversation better.
You can be right in principle and still wrong in approach, Mom used to tell me when I’d get frustrated that other kids in student government wouldn’t follow my lead. Nobody likes to feel steamrolled. I’d always brush her off, because I didn’t understand the point of mincing words or wasting time when you knew what had to be done. Even when Boney beat me out for class president, I told myself that the problem wasn’t me, it was my classmates. And him.
If I hadn’t been such a sore loser, would today have gone differently? Would Boney have taken the election more seriously, and come to school today?
I blink rapidly to clear my stinging eyes before tapping Cal’s arm. When he turns with a cool frown, I speak in a rush. “Cal, don’t go, okay? Can we take a breather? I shouldn’t have said what I did about you and…” He stiffens, and I swallow Ms. Jamison’s name. “I shouldn’t have said that. And maybe we shouldn’t have followed you, but we were scared and worried and didn’t know what else to do. I realize it was sneaky, though, and…”
Nope; I can’t do it. I can’t bring myself to say I’m sorry when the only thing I’m sorry about is getting yelled at by Cal. So I finish with “I won’t do it again.”