Formerly Shark Girl (27 page)

Right now.

“Your painting is gorgeous,” I tell him.

He grins. “Thanks.” He points toward the display.

“So is yours. Wow. And that round of applause

for you?
Wow.
”

“Yeah, that was a . . . surprise.”

Mr. Musker joins us and puts an arm

around both of us. “There’s my two champs.

Congratulations, both of you. I’m so proud,

and you should be, too.”

“I am,” Josh says.

I agree. “Me, too.”

And now that I’ve had a moment to think it over?

I
am.

That blue ribbon? It means a lot.

The cheers and support of the entire crowd?

That means even more.

When I go to bed that night,

I take out my bucket list.

I won’t accomplish numbers

five, six, and seven.

But I did gain something.

Something more valuable

than first place.

Perspective.

You can’t put a price on that.

However.

Sliding into bed, I have to laugh at myself.

The reality? The
humble
reality?

I wouldn’t have minded gaining perspective

and

a blue ribbon

at the same time.

“I’m seeing someone.”

Mom blurts this out the instant

she walks into the kitchen.

I set down the tray of scones

I’ve pulled from the oven.

“And good morning to you, too, Mom.”

She laughs in a shaky way,

then sits down at the table.

“Sorry. I had to get it out

before I lost my nerve again.”

She sits back and folds her arms.

“You’re not surprised,” she declares.

“How long have you known?”

I turn back to the scones,

biting my lip. “Um. A while?”

“I guess all that working late stuff

gave it away, huh?” she continues,

and with a whoosh of gratitude, I nod.

Mom watches me sit down.

We bask in the scent of cinnamon before

Mom puts a scone on her plate.

“His name is Rich,” she says.

I select a scone, too.

“I like a man with an adjective for a name.”

She sips her coffee. “You’re taking this

better than I imagined.”

“What did you imagine?” I ask.

“Oh . . . panic.

Indignation. Twenty questions.”

If she only knew.

“What does he do?”

I hold out my cup as she pours us both juice.

“He’s a veterinarian, actually,” Mom says.

“From Pasadena. I want you to meet him.”

A veterinarian? A healer, then.

Maybe this guy is good enough for Mom.

I sure hope so.

“Tell me about him,” I say.

Mom beams like Cupid got her.

I have so many questions,

yet I ask none of them.

All these months of wondering,

and waiting, and worrying

about what Mom is doing

and if she’s going to get married

and if my world will turn upside down?

They boil down to this:

fresh scones,

the tick of the clock,

Mabel’s small sticky yawn,

and my mom across the table from me.

A moment of peace

before a hectic day at school.

All of this is going to change

in a few short months.

Not because of a boyfriend.

Not even because of a potential stepfather.

But because.

Because of time

and growing up and moving on

and going to college and building a life

and drawing and painting

and helping and healing

and friends who stay friends

even when time is scarce

and distance is great.

All this time

we’ve had our oars in the water,

all of us, and we’ve been busily paddling

on our own individual little paths.

I never really saw it till now.

And the thing that I suddenly see

that keeps me calm?

The realization that

as much as we’ve been paddling,

we’ve all managed

to hold on to each other.

No matter what the storms,

we’ve held on to each other.

Rachel and I will travel our separate paths.

But we’ll always be Jane and Rachel.

Justin will be Justin, and I will never let him go.

My home, my world, my
comfort zone,

as Rachel says? It’s not a place.

It’s not a frozen moment in time.

It’s inside,

in my heart,

full of the pieces of everyone

I love.

Things will change.

But love won’t.

“If you get married,”

I say to Mom

as we put away our dishes,

“I have one request.”

“What is it?” she asks warily.

“I want to bake the wedding cake.”

She pulls me into a hug.

“It’s a deal.”

Then she kisses me

on the top of the head,

like I’m a small toddler.

“I love you,” she says.

“I love you, too, Mom.”

Dear Jane,

I saw a follow-up story about you in a magazine. I’m so glad to hear that you are well and that you are back in school. I always wondered what happened to you.

Jane — you are a
huge
inspiration to me. I’m an artist, like you. And there was a time in my life when I really struggled with it, with finding my own style, with mastering some of the techniques I wanted to, and with finding acceptance from my family. They like my art. They just don’t like the idea of me doing it for a living.

When I read your follow-up story and found out you were back in school and getting ready to graduate, I said to myself, “If that girl can lose her entire drawing arm and
still
keep working at the things she cares about and
still
keep going with her life without giving up or breaking down, then who am I to complain about anything?”

You’ve given me a fresh perspective, and for that, I thank you. I also wish you the best, as one girl to another, one artist to another, one person to another. Best wishes for a long and happy future.

Your friend,

Quinn

“See you Sunday,” Rachel says

as we walk to our separate buses.

“See you then.”

She pauses.

“Have any plans for tomorrow?”

I think of my date with Max.

At the pool. Which could very well

turn into an even bigger disaster

than last time.

I don’t want to talk about it.

Yet. So I only say,

“Yeah, I do, actually.

I’ll tell you about it later.”

She cocks her head, eyes burning with curiosity.

Anyone else would give me the third degree right now.

But Rachel is not anyone else.

She is Rachel.

And she only says,

“You better.”

Saturday morning.

The whole world is dark

and still.

I tiptoe from the house and

ride my bike to the school.

Lights are on in the pool house.

My flip-flops slap

across the pavement.

Not even the birds are cheeping this early.

Easing open the giant door,

I see Max, already in the water.

He’s swimming.

Cleanly, quietly, cutting through the water

with strong, smooth strokes.

Water slips around him, over him,

like liquid air.

He reaches the end of the lane,

pops up, and removes his goggles,

breathing heavily.

Then he turns and sees me.

A smile lights his face,

and in response,

as if my feet no

longer belong to my body,

I find myself

walking

toward the pool,

toward the water,

toward him.

I stop a few feet away.

Max glides closer.

When he reaches the edge,

we stare at each other, our smiles gone.

I take off my wrap and let it fall.

I have never felt so naked,

standing there in my bathing suit,

with my half-arm,