The Start of Me and You (3 page)

“Happy first day of junior year,” Tessa said flatly, cranking up the music as she backed out of the driveway. She wore beat-up jeans and a white linen shirt with colorful embroidery scrawled across the top, possibly from the trip to Mexico with her parents in July. Her hair was still damp
at the roots, waves drying in the warm air through the open windows.

We pulled into the junior lot, and it hit me: we’re halfway done. Some days, it felt as if we’d been in high school for our whole lives. Other days, freshman and sophomore year felt like the white lines on the highway—a passing blur along a much bigger journey. This time next year, we’d be seniors. The main high school building—outdated by at least twenty years—loomed in front of us like a behemoth, and I stared at it head-on.

“You ready?” Tessa removed her sunglasses. I glanced around, sizing up our classmates as they reunited after a whole summer. It was always the same first-day information—who started dating someone new, who changed their hair color, whose parents bought them a new car? Not me, on any count.

“I guess.” My response was followed by the palm of someone’s hand, slapping against the window of the passenger’s seat. Morgan’s grinning face followed.

“Hi!” she squealed, giving me a quick hug as we got out of the car. I’d seen Morgan almost every day of summer vacation, but her excitement made it seem like we’d been separated for years, by flood and famine. As usual, her red hair was parted with a scientific attention rivaled only by NASA and tucked behind her ears to reveal pearl earrings.

“Kayleigh,” Morgan said over her shoulder. “They’re here. Get off the phone.”

Kayleigh, who was leaning on Morgan’s car a few feet away, kept typing. I smiled at the sight of her bright-pink jeans. She’d been at camp most of the summer, and I’d missed her boldness—and not just in her outfits.

“Aren’t you guys excited?!” Morgan asked, clutching my arm. I nodded to appease her, and Tessa shrugged. “It’s going to be the most perfect year!”

I smiled, almost tempted to make the correction. “Perfect” is an absolute adjective and can’t be modified. Something is or isn’t perfect. It can’t be more or less perfect.

“I know that look.” Morgan narrowed her eyes at me. “Go ahead.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied.

“Yeah right, Grammar Girl.” Morgan’s head pivoted back around. “Kayleigh Renée! C’mon!”

“Sorry,” Kayleigh said, pocketing her phone. She glanced around at us and smiled, her pink lip gloss catching the morning sun. “Hi, juniors.”

We started toward the main building, where a red banner hung across the front doors: OHS—ANOTHER “SUPERIOR” YEAR. I wasn’t sure why they were trying to sell us, since attendance was obligatory. Oakhurst High scored well in state rankings every year, mostly because of its location. Settled in our cushy suburb outside of Indianapolis, the
school was full of kids whose parents worked downtown and expected excellence. Even the druggies and slackers made grades decent enough for technical school or junior college.

“Another superiorly boring year,” Tessa grumbled, hiking up her jeans by the belt loops.

Morgan gave Tessa a sidelong glance. “Those jeans look like they’re going to fall off you.”

Tessa shot her a dark look. “It is not my fault that they don’t make cute jeans in my size.”

Kayleigh shifted her eyes toward Tessa. “Everyone hates you—you know that, right?”

“You missed me this summer,” Tessa said, nudging Kayleigh with her elbow.

She grinned back. “I probably would have missed you more if you ever gained a pound from all that junk you eat.”

Kayleigh had arrived home earlier that week with a shorter haircut and a senior boyfriend named Eric, who lived two towns over. They were together for the last few weeks of camp, and they’d even “fooled around.” I wasn’t fully clear on what that meant, details-wise, but Kayleigh’s face was smug when she told us.

My friends had all had boyfriends before—only a few of whom lasted more than a month or two. Tessa lost interest in high school guys after her last date at the beginning of the summer. He had apparently listened to techno music
in the car and then tried to kiss her in a way that could only be described, according to her, as reptilian.

Inside the doors, the familiar smell of school rushed over me, musty textbooks mingled with the scent of freshly painted walls, and I took a deep breath.

“Did you just intentionally inhale the scent of
high school
?” Kayleigh asked, laughing.

I shrugged. “I know it’s not a
good
smell, but it smells like … possibility.”

“Possibility has a smell?” Morgan asked, teasing me. “What else does? Happiness?”

“Sure,” I said, giving her a defiant look. “Birthday candle smoke. Movie theater popcorn. A fresh Christmas tree.”

“Warm pancakes,” Tessa added. “Chlorine and sunscreen—like the pool.”

Those last two things didn’t hold any happiness for me these days, but I turned to Morgan and Kayleigh. “Exactly.”

“Well, my locker’s upstairs, so I’ll see you guys at lunch,” Kayleigh said as we passed the first staircase. She turned around and wiggled her eyebrows at me. “I hope you go to the right classes! And no huffing your new school supplies.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, but she just laughed.

As we turned down the junior hallway, there they were: all the faces we’d grown up with—the ones that Aaron belonged beside. I received That Look from at least ten people. Their eyes clouded over, faces suddenly marred by sadness and memory. When they saw my face, they also
saw his. Tessa and Morgan, to their infinite credit, pretended not to notice.

“This is my locker,” Morgan said, checking her planner. The locker combination was written at the top of the page, in handwriting so precise that it made Times New Roman look sloppy. “Stop here for a second.”

She twisted the lock around, and Tessa leaned back against the wall, bored already. Tessa’s GPA was almost as high as mine, but she never put in more effort than was absolutely necessary. I’d overheard people in our grade call Tessa intense, but she was just calm and thoughtful, detached from the standard drama.

Loud laughter echoed against the hallway, and we all looked in its direction. A group of girls surrounded Ryan Chase, who had his head thrown back.

I’d been looking at him the same way since sixth grade—smitten but glancing over casually, embarrassed that my crush would shine right through. That was the year his older sister went through chemotherapy, and I saw them in the grocery store together. I was there with my mom, half reading a book while I followed her around the store. In the cereal aisle, I spotted Ryan, who had recently shaved his head. His sister sat in a wheelchair, with a hat on and blankets wrapped around her.

The grocery store radio started playing “Dancing Queen” overhead, and Ryan spun her wheelchair around. I could tell she was smiling, even with her mouth hidden by
a surgical mask. He danced in front of her wheelchair, unselfconscious and silly, and his sister shimmied a little under the blankets. When their dad noticed, I could tell he was scolding Ryan. But his sister reached up to hold his hand as their dad pushed her forward.

His sister went into remission soon after, but I thought of that day often—especially since I’d fully realized how much bravery it takes to create happy moments even when you don’t feel happy.

“Ryan Chase,” Morgan said. “Cuter than ever.”

My mom called her “boy crazy” because Morgan developed a crush on every guy who was reasonably clean and polite. Morgan preferred to think of herself as a romantic, always ready for the possibility of true love.

Tessa tilted her head, examining him. “He looks like a golden retriever.”

“What does
that
mean?” Morgan asked.

“You know. Cute but generic. Like you’d see him, or a golden retriever, in a J.Crew catalog, wearing a nice-but-forgettable sweater. Doesn’t he have a girlfriend anyway? Leah something?”

“Leanne Woods. And no—not anymore. You didn’t hear?” Morgan asked.

“Wait, what?” My head snapped toward her.

“They broke up,” Morgan said, her voice hushed. “On the Fourth of July, at the fireworks downtown. Apparently, it was … quite an explosive fight.”

She took a beat, waiting for us to appreciate her wordplay, but Tessa just rolled her eyes. My pulse beat in my ears.

“Leanne dumped him for a college guy,” Morgan said. “After two
years
, she just … dropped him like a knockoff purse.”

“I’m surprised you kept that to yourself for a month,” Tessa said, snorting.

Morgan shrugged. “I figured you heard—I mean, everyone did.”

I so had not. I would have remembered, though Tessa wouldn’t have. Gossip turned to white noise before entering her ears. Her brain wasn’t even programmed to acknowledge it. Morgan, on the other hand, had moral limitations that kicked in right after Shameless Gossip, which she was always thrilled to share.

“It’s too bad,” Morgan said. “Ryan is so cute and seems nice. I heard he’s been, like … really depressed about it. Apparently he’s barely hung out with anyone but his cousin since it happened.”

I couldn’t find it in my heart to consider this situation “too bad.” Ryan Chase was finally single, and we’d bonded yesterday, with the promise of more time together in fourth period Honors English. The dating part of my begin-again plan suddenly seemed a lot more appealing.

“Well, I’m sorry that happened to him,” Tessa said, “but I still think he seems conceited and annoying.”

This was easy for her to say. Tessa’s default mode was unimpressed. She had been so many places and met so many people that nothing particularly fazed her, for better or worse.

Morgan shut her locker. “You think everyone is annoying.”

“Not everyone. Not you guys.”

“Oh,
please
.” Morgan laughed. “It totally annoys you when I share information—”

“
Gossip
,” Tessa said.

“—and when Paige corrects our grammar.”

I glared at Morgan, but Tessa smiled, peeling off toward her own locker.

“That,” she said, “I am used to.”

Morgan linked her arm through mine, not noticing my annoyance. She waited until Tessa was out of earshot. “We gotta talk birthday plans for her soon.”

“Her parents are taking us to Barrett House for dinner,” I said, still grumpy.

“Oh my God. That’s like,
fancy
fancy.” As we made our way down the hall, Morgan glanced over. She bumped her hip into mine. “Oh, don’t be mad at me, Grammar Girl. You know we secretly love it.”

I’d earned the super-creative nickname Grammar Girl from my evil ex-neighbor, Chrissie Cohen, and the rest of Bus 84. It was the kind of mortifying middle-school
story that didn’t become funny as you grew up. Those two words made me want to sink inside myself.

After three periods of syllabi explanation, I met up with Morgan to walk to Honors English. Our teacher was new to the district, so she wouldn’t know me as the girl who was dating Aaron Rosenthal when he died. I found such relief in that fact—and such guilt in my relief.

We arrived in time to claim the perfect seats: far enough away from the teacher that we could pass notes, but not so far that it looked like we tried to sit far away. Ms. Pepper stood out in a sophisticated dress, with dark hair falling to her shoulders. Rectangular glasses perched smartly on her nose, like a superhero’s cerebral alter ego.

But Ms. Pepper lost my attention as Ryan Chase sauntered in the door, so cute that it felt like slow motion. He passed by me, his red T-shirt drawing my eye to the V-shape of his back, from broad shoulders to slim waist.

He sat down next to a tall, dark-haired guy who looked familiar. It took me a moment to place him: Max Watson, Ryan’s cousin. So he was back. He went to Oakhurst public with the rest of us until middle school, when he transferred to the Coventry School. I always figured he switched to private school because he got bullied. He was ganglier then, with the same dark-rimmed glasses and a hand that shot up to answer every question in class. Ryan leaned in to whisper something to Max, who laughed in response.

As the bell rang, everyone adjusted forward—diligent little students on the first day.

“As you all should know, I’m Ms. Pepper, and I’m responsible for your Honors English education this year. I like to think that I’m a pretty fun teacher, but my idea of fun includes learning, so take that as you will,” she said, picking up a piece of chalk.

“Comedy that will not be well received is as follows: Sergeant Pepper, anything regarding sneezes, and telling me your name is Mr. Salt.” She wrote each word on the board.

The whole class chuckled nervously. It was always hard to gauge the teacher’s personality on the first day of school. Fortunately, although she kept a straight face, Ms. Pepper seemed to realize she was being funny.

“For those of you who are curious: yes, I did stop after my master’s degree because the idea of being Dr. Pepper was unacceptable.”

She swiped thick lines of chalk through the words she’d written on the board: SGT, SNEEZES, SALT, DR.

“Is there any other humor you’d like to get out of your systems?”

The class fell silent. She seemed to be holding back a smirk. “I know it’s the first day and no one wants to talk, but speak now or forever hold your peace …”

Ryan Chase raised his hand from the front of the classroom.

“Excellent. Yes. What’s your name?” she asked.

“Ryan Chase,” he said. His voice—steady and deep—sent a shiver down my spine.

“And what would you like to contribute?” she asked gamely, poised to add more to the list.

“Do you ever make red-hot chili?” he asked. I could hear his grin. Laughter twittered across the room.

“Absolutely not,” Ms. Pepper said, smiling before she added RED-HOT CHILI to the list and crossed it out. “Very nice, Mr. Chase. Anyone else?”

Everyone looked around the room, searching the couch cushions of their brains for any possible joke. I almost raised my hand and said,
You must hate the daily grind
, but I doubted that a ground pepper reference would dazzle any of my classmates.