Well, That Was Awkward

1

THAT AWKWARD MOMENT WHEN

You can’t just drop a dead sister into the conversation.

If it accidentally comes up that my sister died, everybody freezes, their mouths hanging open and their eyes wide. Then they shift around awkwardly, muttering apologies, and I have to assure them it’s okay, it’s fine, don’t worry!

Well, that’s not at all what happened today. But usually that’s how it goes: silence, shuffling, sorry, okay.

It came up more when I was younger, before I learned to steer the conversation away at any hint we might be heading in that direction. Sisters, siblings, death? Find the nearest exit, please. In first grade when we were learning graphing, Ms. Murphy told us to stand up when she got to how many siblings we had. Zero? One? Two? Chairs scraped the floor as kids stood up and sat back down, with Ms. Murphy counting. I raised my hand to ask, What if I have a sister, but she’s dead? Is that a zero or a one? Poor Ms. Murphy wasn’t sure either. She said Um, oh, it’s, oh, ah, your choice? Then she blinked very many times and erased that graph and switched to How many teeth have you lost? That night, she called my parents in for a conference to discuss what had happened and to apologize to them. They explained why I had seemed so factual about the situation, so Ms. Murphy wouldn’t think I was a scary unfeeling loon, and comforted her. She retired the next year.

My mom says it definitely wasn’t because I had traumatized her.

But Mom is like that, very supportive. Always on my side. Never gets mad.

My dad doesn’t get mad either, actually. To be fair, he seems generally pretty unemotional about anything that’s not the outer planets.

Except when it comes to the subject of Bret. Just the mention of my sister’s name makes both Mom and Dad kind of jolty, though they attempt to hide it. Now that I’m almost fourteen, I try not to bring up Bret anymore. You know how if you drop something on the subway tracks, you have to just leave it? You can maybe still see it, your bead necklace or phone or whatever, but too bad; you can’t ever get it back. That’s kind of what the topic of Bret is like for us at this point.

But today it came up at Monday-out-day lunch, while AJ Rojanasopondist was insisting that his brother Neal must’ve stolen his permission slip. Which didn’t make any sense, obviously. Why would adorable little Neal want to steal AJ’s permission slip?

It’s a conspiracy, Emmett explained, in solidarity with his best friend.

It’s true, AJ insisted. Neal is evil.

Emmett smiled at that. He has the most genuinely happy smile. It takes over his whole face.

Before lunch, Mr. Phillips had snapped his fingers and told AJ, in front of the whole class, that if he didn’t get his parents to deliver a signed permission slip by the end of the day, he wouldn’t be allowed to go on the trip tomorrow to the concert at the cathedral. So AJ spent the whole lunch period pleading with his mom on Emmett’s phone (AJ’s phone was dead, as usual) while simultaneously shoving three slices of pizza into his mouth, practically whole.

AJ Eating should be its own channel on YouTube. Everybody would watch it. I’m not kidding; it’s seriously that good. The guy barely has to chew.

He and Emmett had taken the other two chairs at the table where Sienna and I were in Famiglia, so it’s not like we could politely not listen to AJ trying to convince his mom that little Neal must have stolen the permission slip out of his binder.

He just wants to mess me up constantly, AJ complained to us after he said good-bye, thanks, I love you to his mom, and handed Emmett’s phone back. We all threw out our used plates and napkins. Sienna and I walked out with them into the sunshine of Broadway and stopped in front of the big group of Loud Crowd kids who were stalled there. Neal may look sweet, AJ continued. But he is actually a demon child.

Emmett, whose older sister, Daphne, is quiet and studious, said, Ugh, demon siblings are the worst. Then he looked at me apologetically, realizing.

Don’t you love permission slips? I asked, to get off the sibling topic.

I hate them, AJ said. Permission slips are my enemy.

"Gracie loves permission slips? Riley Valvert asked, rolling her pretty blue eyes toward her Loud Crowd friends about how lame I am. That’s so sad."

Permission slips are amazing, I said. Are you kidding?

Riley looked blankly back at me. She is basically never kidding, so, fair point. Riley is in the Loud Crowd, but despite how beautiful she is, they don’t seem to like her very much. If she weren’t so nasty, and so pretty, I’d feel sorry for her.

I love that my parents have to sign a crumpled scrap of paper, I explained. And then just that little nothing, which I fully could have forged, gives teachers legal cover to ditch school with us to go do some random nonschool thing. How is that not amazing?

Good point, Beth chirped.

Absolutely, Beth’s best friend, Michaela, agreed. She was holding hands with David. They’ve been going out since the end of seventh grade.

Wait, Gracie—you can forge signatures? AJ asked me.

My own parents’, sure, I said. Yours, not so much.

But maybe you could try—

"It is kind of random, Emmett interrupted. Permission slips, and off we go?"

Right? I seconded. I want to marry permission slips.

Ew, Riley said, rolling her eyes again, this time to Michaela, who shrugged.

So do I, Emmett said. I love Emmett. He is simply the best. He helps everybody out. We could have a double wedding.

Perfect, I agreed.

AJ, you always forget everything, Beth teased, poking him in the ribs.

Well, my mom said she’d e-mail in a fresh one, AJ said, wiggling away from Beth’s tiny tickling fingers. But if she doesn’t manage it, Gracie, maybe you could . . .

Since AJ kept talking to me, the Loud Crowd was stuck walking back to school with us. Usually it’s just me and Sienna, sometimes Emmett, occasionally AJ. Sienna and I don’t really hang much with the Loud Crowd. Sienna is quiet and shy, but like the Loud Crowd girls, she is very pretty and also good at sports; I’m neither of those, but I’m easygoing and fun, which is also like them. We’re just not involved in the jostling-for-popularity competition, and we don’t go to parties or get asked out or stuff like that.

Oh, sure, Riley said, rolling her eyes yet again. Like Gracie could forge convincingly.

I heard Sienna groan. Riley is like a rash to her. But Sienna is nice to everybody, and nobody wants to get into it with Riley.

Riley sighed dramatically. Well, I know what you mean, AJ, about demon siblings. My sister and I are constantly up for the same parts when we, you know . . .

When you what? Emmett asked. Wise guy. Though I did appreciate it.

Oh. We’re auditioning for commercials downtown.

Are you? Emmett asked, all innocent.

And print media. Riley shook her shiny dark hair off her face, not even mocking herself, just doing it. Sometimes they want both of us. She and her even prettier older sister are trying to break into commercials and modeling, a fact she manages to mention Every. Single. Day. But my sister is being such a pill about going on open calls lately. Gracie’s lucky she doesn’t—

Riley! Sienna snapped at her.

What? Riley rolled her bright blue eyes dramatically. Eye-rolling: Riley’s one facial expression other than blankly flawless. She so is. Admit it, Gracie. Ugh. Only child? I wish!

Emmett turned his back to Riley and said, So anyway, Gracie . . .

It’s okay, I told him.

Just ahead of us, Michaela and Beth giggled at something together. Riley sped up so she wouldn’t miss out, nudging past Ben to wedge in next to Beth. Hallelujah.

Let’s just get back, Sienna said. Hey, Gracie, are we still going to visit the new tortoises Thursday? Your mom said okay?

Yeah, definitely.

Yeah, Sienna’s right, Riley said over her shoulder, oblivious to the fact that we’d moved on to the much more enjoyable topic of tortoises. We better hurry. If we’re two seconds late, they act like we killed somebody.

Now Emmett groaned.

What? Riley asked. Oh, because Gracie? You guys act like Gracie is all delicate or something. Have you ever met anybody less delicate?

None taken, I said.

Riley shrugged and went back to whispering to her friends.

"Is she trying to be nasty or is she actually an incurably terrible person?" Sienna growled, quietly enough so Riley wouldn’t hear, as we crossed Broadway at 110th.

Maybe she just has gas, I whispered back.

Ha! Ben said. Gas! I guess he heard me. I shrugged at him.

She just, ugh. Sienna gritted her teeth and watched her sneakers hit the pavement.

All of us got stuck together in the median, while uptown and downtown traffic flew by on either side.

"I don’t know why everybody has to be so careful, Riley murmured, still on the edge of calm, her graceful hands resting on her narrow hips. Gracie said herself that it’s okay. Right, Gracie?"

Everybody looked at me.

Oh! I quickly said. It’s fine! Anyway—

See? Riley interrupted, smiling so pretty. "I mean, it’s not like she even knew her sister. She didn’t kill her. So I don’t see why it’s such a thing."

The light changed. Riley linked her arm through Beth’s and whispered something to her as they crossed the street ahead of us.

Sienna touched my arm to hold me back from stepping off the median and into the street, letting some space grow between those people and us. You okay?

Sure! I smiled. She’s just . . . being Riley. It’s fine. Anybody have gum?

Emmett and Sienna both instantly handed me their packs. Thanks. I took one from each and shoved both pieces into my mouth as we crossed the street. Bet I can blow a bubble as big as my face before we get back, I said.

Bet, Emmett said.

He won, but not by much.

2

IT’S ABOUT TIME

I do love class trips. I wasn’t only saying that to distract, unsuccessfully. I love everything about them. Well, almost everything.

Permission slips are just the beginning.

I love lining up in the lobby, and then marching out those doors in our two lines like we’re a messed-up first draft of Madeline.

Well, our lines weren’t straight and we weren’t wearing hats. Or even matching outfits. As usual I was in jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt; Sienna had on little shorts and a hoodie; some of those girls who wear dresses were in those. Okay, so much for Madeline. We look completely not alike—for instance, Sienna is short and just the perfect amount curvy, her light brown skin completely unblotchy, her nose tiny and adorable. Riley, in contrast, is almost my height but like half my weight, with shiny black hair and ocean-blue eyes and not a single curve or percentage point of body fat on her. The other girls are, like, every combination of race and size, from Beth who looks like a fifth grader at most, to Michaela who looks like she’s sixteen and ready to go clubbing, to . . . well, me.

Behind us, two women in sunglasses waited for the light to change so they could push their ergonomic strollers across Broadway toward Riverside Park. Three huge guys and one tall ponytailed girl, all in Columbia T-shirts, argued in, I think, Latin, or maybe they were just premed, heading south on Broadway, parting to let the guy who wanders around saying, Hallelujah, Jesus loves you! pass between them, his Bible held high.

Hallelujah Guy, Emmett said, suddenly beside me.

I love Hallelujah Guy, I said. Haven’t seen him in a while.

Same, Emmett whispered. I was getting worried about him.

Glad he’s okay, Sienna said.

Hallelujah, I added.

Down the block and around the corner from school, a woman with a big nose and long, slightly wild brown hair (like mine, on both counts) sat alone at a table outside the Hungarian Pastry Shop, reading a book and eating a croissant. I almost stopped right there on the sidewalk to stare at her, because it was like seeing my own future.

And it looked okay.

Such a relief.

The woman who looked exactly like I bet I will look in maybe twenty years or thirty was just sitting there with a novel and a snack, smack in the middle of a Tuesday morning. Nobody telling her to hurry. No bells clanging the news that it was time to go to gym now. Nobody making sure she was safe. She just sat there, fully okay, like she owned the morning as much as she owned that paperback.

It put me in the best mood, seeing that woman with the greasy croissant waiting like a comma on top of the pile of tea-stained napkins. It gave me such a jolt of hope about my future.

You are so psyched, Sienna whispered.

Fully, I said.

Same.

Class trips are the best invention ever, and also did you see that woman—

Right? Sienna agreed. The best! Screw electricity.

Who needs antibiotics? I agreed.

Oooh, too soon. She had missed a few days for strep last week.

We spotted the albino peacock as we passed the cathedral grounds. Hey! Look! They mate for life, Sienna said, pointing. She was quoting my little cousin Shane, who told me that peacock fact last weekend, so I told Sienna. We tell each other everything, Sienna and I. We had decided instantly that that was the most romantic peacock fact ever. It made us love the peacocks (and my little cousin Shane) even more than usual.

Who mates for life? Emmett asked.

Peacocks, Sienna and I answered together.

Really? Emmett asked.

Well, with peahens, I guess, I added. Usually.

No judgment. Whatever, Sienna agreed. You be you, peacocks!

They do? AJ asked, next to Emmett. Is that true? Peacocks mate for life?

According to Gracie’s eight-year-old cousin, Sienna said. The genius.

Who’s a genius? AJ asked. Gracie or the cousin?

Or the peacocks? Emmett asked.

All, Sienna said, but mostly Gracie. She locked her arm through mine.

That made me so happy, I guess I was smiling pretty huge. AJ tilted his head at me, like he was considering me, seeing me fresh.

And that was when the weird thing happened.

My face was instantly hot like a fever. I suddenly had to concentrate on how to breathe. I honestly could not remember how do it. Which is a problem, because, breathing. Such a good activity to stay involved in.

I had to figure it out fresh like I was inventing the process: breathe in, and then out. As a series of actions, instead of doing both at once and choking right there on my own air, halfway up the cathedral steps.

People in comas know how to breathe.

What just happened to me?

AJ and I have been friends since kindergarten, but for the first time it hit me that AJ is weirdly good-looking. It was actually erasing all my skills, how attractive AJ looked, loping up the cathedral steps next to me. Not that I have so many skills, but normally breathing is among them.

You okay? Sienna asked.

Fhytuynfdts, I said.

Ah, she responded. Good point.

Plus AJ is on travel team for, I don’t know. Every sport? Not that that’s a big sales pitch to me, but still. You can’t ignore that that is generally considered key, even if not particularly by my parents or me. Also, wow. He is very not unpleasant to look at. When did this happen to AJ and why was I not informed?

He was never taller than I was before today, was he?

It occurred to me that I could be having some sort of weird allergy attack. I had never had an allergy attack before, so maybe that was how it felt. Or a seizure. Or, like, it could be a mental breakdown. Or maybe this is how the zombie apocalypse begins. In which case, I should warn somebody.

Breathe in, then out. Left foot, then right foot. So many things I had to keep track of, to maintain my own survival.

I would not even make travel breathing team.

All peacocks mate for life? Riley asked, turning up beside me suddenly. Or just the albino ones?

Racist, I said.

Sienna laughed and then AJ laughed too, a short chuckle but still. Not a sympathy chuckle, though. Kind of a rumbly chuckle. An approvingly rumbly chuckle.

Oh no. I tripped on a jutting piece of cathedral step. Sienna kept me from face-planting, yanking me up by the elbow. Seriously, Gracie. You okay?

Everybody, take turns! Feet: right, then left. Hales: in-, then ex-.

The inside of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine is cool even in the finally warm springtime of early April, and dark even in bright squinty Tuesday morning daylight. Luckily, because I was damp from sweat.

When nobody is laughing in a rumbly way about a funny thing I just said or considering me with his distractingly cute head tilted slightly to the side, I still run the risk of drowning in my own sweat. So, just imagine the dampness right then.

While our eyes adjusted to the dark, we all had to bump into one another for a while. Sorry, sorry, we kept saying, bonking into somebody else. Oh, sorry, so sorry.

Check out the dragons, AJ said, pointing up.

There were dragons hanging from the ceiling of the cathedral, like this was Shun Lee. Shun Lee is a kooky restaurant across from Lincoln Center that I go to sometimes with my grandparents for