Page 14

Glitch

Twelve Years Old, Colorado

The baby we lost had been a boy.

My mom had gone for genetic testing shortly before the pregnancy ended.

I still can’t imagine—a little brother.

That winter, we left JBLM. I was bummed. Aside from the miscarriage, I’d loved our time in the Pacific Northwest. I’d thrived in school and delighted in being down the street from Beck. All that made the move bearable was knowing that the Byrnes would have to PCS that same month. Dad had orders to Fort Carson, Colorado, and Connor had been assigned to Fort Jackson, South Carolina. Mom and Bernie hugged on the sidewalk between our houses. Beck and I didn’t hug—too weird—but driving away from him felt wrong, like I’d become a puzzle with a missing piece.

My first few months in Colorado sucked. Beck and I texted a lot and sometimes FaceTimed, but I missed our movie nights. I missed swimming at Long Lake Park. I missed the way he’d gloat when he beat me at pickleball, and sulk when I beat him down ski runs. For three years, he’d been my world.

As time went on, Colorado Springs shaped a different version of me. I made new friends. Andi, a pianist with an infectious laugh. Anika, who longed to become a screenwriter and was always happy to watch shows and movies with me. There was even a boy, Hayden, a soccer hotshot who tutored me through dividing fractions—my first real crush.

In seventh grade, I landed in Ms. Bonny’s Earth Science class. She was born and raised in Australia and had the most enchanting Aussie accent. She decorated her lab with posters of koalas perched in eucalyptus trees, the teal-blue waters surrounding the Great Barrier Reef, and the rusty red rocks of Kings Canyon, and she brought Tim Tams for the class to sample. I became enamored with her and obsessed with the idea of visiting Australia. I daydreamed about being in college and spending a semester abroad in Melbourne or Sydney. Though it was years off, I pitched the idea to my parents, who thought it was fantastic—so long as I promised they could come for a long visit. With the enthusiastic approval of Andi, Anika, and Hayden, I vowed to one day make Australia a reality.

We saw the Byrnes a couple of times during those Colorado Springs years—spring break in Hawaii, a vacation during which I turned eleven, and a winter ski weekend in Park City. Mom and Bernie went to Cabo San Lucas, a getaway orchestrated by Dad and Connor intended to pull Mom from her lingering melancholy, and to celebrate the recent news that Bernie and Connor were expecting twins. The spring of my twelfth birthday, Dad deployed to Afghanistan and, right after eighth grade started, Mom let me play hooky so she and I could fly to South Carolina to help the Byrnes with their baby girls, who were born at the tail end of August.

On the flight, I voiced the question that had nagged me since Bernie called to share that she was pregnant. “Does it make you sad knowing that Bernie has two healthy babies after what happened with our baby?”

“Sometimes,” Mom said. “But my sadness never overshadows how happy I am for Bernie, Connor, and Beck. I’m so thankful their outcome was different. Does it make you sad?”

I swirled my Ginger Ale in its plastic cup. Tiny bubbles floated to the surface. “More like jealous. Two baby sisters? Beck is so lucky.”

Mom laughed. “He might not feel that way when Bernie asks him to do diaper duty.”

“Gross,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “But he’ll help. He’s good that way.”

She tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “You’re excited to see him, aren’t you?”

I nodded. “And a little nervous. What if things aren’t the same?”

“They might not be, lovey. But Beck is Beck and you’re you, and what’s between you is special. It always will be.”

I swallowed another sip of Ginger Ale, hoping it would ease my apprehension.

The thing was, I’d always believed in the prediction of Mom’s youth; I’d never had reason to doubt. But lately I’d found myself really wishing for the part about Beck and me to come true. I was smitten with Hayden—he was cute and clever and fun—but forever with a Colorado Springs soccer boy wasn’t in the cards. The last couple of years spent mostly apart had cemented what I’d always known: Beck was my future. The idea of him with someone else—even hypothetically—twisted my stomach into knots. What if he’d snagged himself a South Carolina girlfriend? What if, in a decade, Bernie called to share that he was engaged? What if, one day, I had to sit through a wedding and watch Beck, wearing a suit and a rapturous grin, promise evermore to a girl who wasn’t me?

After we landed, Mom rented a sedan and we made the drive to Fort Jackson, where the Byrnes had quarters. We lived on-post at Fort Carson, and seeing the neatly maintained residences with billowing American flags and baskets of geraniums, I felt at home. Connor greeted us at the door, cradling a tiny newborn. He gave me a one-armed hug, then kissed Mom’s cheek as she fawned over the baby. “Mae,” her daddy told us proudly.

Bernie came down the stairs, holding Mae’s sister, Norah. The baby was asleep, but Bernie was crying before her feet hit the landing, then apologizing for crying because, “Ugh, my hormones are so out of whack!”

We gathered in the living room so Connor and Bernie could present Mom and me each with a bundled baby. I held Norah, who was warm and smelled of lilacs. Her features were miniature and perfect. Just a few weeks old, and she already resembled her big brother.

Her big brother, who was MIA.

“Where’s Beck?” Mom asked.

Connor and Bernie traded an uncomfortable glance.

“He went out with some friends,” Connor said.

“He’ll be home soon,” Bernie added. “We told him no later than five.”

I looked at the clock that hung over the fireplace mantel.

It was five thirty.

***

Beck came home at ten after six, obnoxiously blasé. Connor and Bernie were pissed, all gritted teeth and white knuckles, but they didn’t yell—I think to spare me the embarrassment. Late that night, though, I went into the kitchen for a glass of water and, on my way back to the guest room, overheard Connor getting after his eldest.

“Lia was disappointed. You should’ve been here.”

How humiliating. Was it so obvious that I’d expected a warmer reception? I pressed my back to the wall, unable to step away.

“She didn’t care,” Beck said. “She didn’t say a word to me during dinner.”

“Probably because she thinks you’re a chump. Look, I know it’s been a rough few weeks. You’re frustrated with me and that’s fine, but don’t take it out on Lia. Tomorrow you ought to invite her out with your friends.”

“Jeez, Dad. I’m not gonna do that. She’s twelve —a kid.”

My face burned with indignation; I was twelve -and-a-half . Eighteen measly months separated Beck and me. Two grades. He hadn’t given a rip about our age difference in the three years we spent in Washington, or when we snorkeled in Hawaii, or when I kicked his butt down the mountain, run after run, in Utah.

“Lia is family,” Connor said in the no-nonsense voice he uses judiciously. “Your mother and I expect you to treat her as such. Got it?”

Beck grumbled an assent. I hightailed it down the hall before he could catch me eavesdropping, and ducked into the guest room where Mom was already racked out on her half of the bed.

I lay awake most of the night. A few times, I heard the twins fussing. Twice, I heard Connor pacing, quietly shushing one of the babies. Once, I heard Bernie singing “Beautiful Dreamer,” the lullaby she used to sing to Beck and me when we were little and I’d spend the night on his bedroom floor, tucked into a unicorn sleeping bag.

Back then, things were easy.

I tossed and turned, examining the bones of my oldest friendship. Was it possible Beck had only treated me well because that’s what his mom and dad expected? Had he been indulging me, a pseudo little sister who was really just a pain in the neck?

Maybe he had found a girlfriend.

The next morning at breakfast, he had the nerve to mumble, “Hey, Lia, you want to play Ultimate Frisbee with me and my friends later?”

“No,” I said with zero inflection.

Connor raised his eyebrows. Bernie lowered her coffee mug, pursing her lips. In their nearby bassinet, the twins whimpered a duet.

“Lia,” Mom said in her don’t-embarrass-me tone. “Ultimate Frisbee sounds fun.”

“I think it sounds boring.”

Connor gave Beck a very obvious, very pointed look.

Beck sighed, rolling his eyes. “We could really use another player.”

I spent a long moment staring him down. His gaze had once been warm, his invitations irresistible, but that morning he was as emotionless as I’d ever seen. And so, it was without guilt that I launched into a blistering shutdown. “Beckett, I can’t think of anything I want to do less than play Ultimate Frisbee with you and your friends. Besides, I’d probably mess the game up, since I’m just a kid .”

Connor dropped his forehead into his palm.

Bernie winced.

Mom gaped.

I flashed Beck a caustic smile before getting up and walking out of the kitchen, leaving my Cinnamon Toast Crunch to go soggy.

***

The day before Mom and I were due to leave South Carolina, Connor insisted on taking Beck and me to the Riverbanks Zoo and Garden. “The babies will sleep most of the day. Let’s give Bernie and Hannah some time together.”

Time together? They’d had plenty. The zoo outing was meant to force Beck and me into interacting. We hadn’t spoken in more than twenty-four hours—since I left the breakfast table in a huff—and I’d spent most of that time texting Andi and Anika diatribes about what a jerk my supposed best friend had turned out to be.

At the zoo’s entrance, Connor paid our admission, then staked out a bench. Pulling his laptop from the backpack he’d brought along, he said, “I’ve got some work to catch up on. You two go explore. I’ll meet you here for lunch.”

I grimaced. The last thing I wanted to do was cruise the zoo with Beck. But Connor had hitched an ankle onto his knee and was tapping away on his keyboard, too busy, apparently, to deal with his son and me for another second.

“Let’s go,” Beck muttered, ambling off toward the grizzly bears.

We followed the property’s perimeter, checking out the gorillas and the Galapagos tortoises, and then the African animals: elephants, giraffes, ostriches, and zebras. We saw my favorites, wallabies and koalas, before gazing in on lions, tigers, and baboons.

“Birds or reptiles?” Beck asked, consulting the map he’d picked up when we’d set off.

“Reptiles, I guess.”

“I thought you’d choose birds.”

“Do you want to see the birds?”

“No,” he said. “But I don’t want to see reptiles, either.”

“Then don’t,” I snapped.

I left him standing on the path with his mouth hanging open and made my way to the Aquarium and Reptile Complex alone.

By the time he tracked me down, I’d seen more snakes, lizards, and turtles than I’d ever cared to. I was in front of the fifty-five-thousand-gallon tank, watching eels, sharks, and a rainbow of fish swim in circles when he sidled up next to me and said, quietly, “I’m sorry, Lia.”

“Don’t be. I don’t care about the reptiles either.”

“No, I’m sorry about the other day—about not being at the house when you got there. I’m sorry I didn’t come after you when you bailed on breakfast.”

I didn’t take my eyes off the blue-and-yellow fish I’d been tracking. “Well, I’m sorry you’ve had to put up with me. I wish I wouldn’t have come.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Please. You’ve treated me like a pest.”

“You’re not a pest.”

“I know I’m not!”

Everyone in earshot turned to look.

Beck led me to a nearby bench. After we sat down, he said, “I really am sorry.”

“Fine. Forgiven.”

He gave a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “If you only knew…”

And with that enigmatic half sentence, I got to thinking. It’s been a rough few weeks, Connor had said to him the other night. You’re frustrated with me…

“Beck, I don’t know. You won’t talk to me—you’ve barely even looked at me.”

With a deep sigh, he dragged a hand over his face. “I was pissed—I am pissed. At my dad, though. Not you.”

“But why?”

“Because he’s deploying in a couple weeks.”

My heart dropped; it was the worst possible news. “Where?”

“Afghanistan. Only six months, but still.”

Military kids are the rare breed who’d qualify a six-month parental absence with the word only . Six months is better than nine months is better than twelve months—we know this firsthand.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugged in this defeated way that made the space behind my ribs feel hollow. “Your dad’s there now. I didn’t feel good about complaining. But my parents have these babies who’ve turned our house upside down, and he’s just gonna peace out and leave Mom and me to deal.”

It wasn’t like that—Connor, I’m certain, was distraught about leaving his family. But I didn’t contradict Beck because I’d had similar, irrationally unfair thoughts surrounding my dad’s deployments: How dare he go adventuring on the other side of the world, abandoning Mom and me, expecting us to fend for ourselves?

“Is your mom upset?”

“Yeah, but she pretends everything’s fine. It’s gonna be hard on her though, you know? Two babies? Keeping the house together? Worrying about Dad? It’s all on her.”

“And you. You’ll be there for her.”

“It won’t be the same.”

That word— deploying— had blown my anger to bits. Beck had been distant. Beck had been irritable. Now that I knew why, all I wanted was to be there for him, the way he’d been there for me through my dad’s deployments, my first days of school, my mom’s lost pregnancy, and a million other instances that barely mattered until I added them all up.

I sent a prayer to the heavens: Please, keep Connor safe.

And then I slid closer to Beck, until my arm aligned with his. Letting my head rest against his shoulder, I said the only words that made sense. “I’m so sorry this is happening.”

He moved like he might take my hand, and my pulse stumbled. Hayden and I had held hands a few times while walking home from school, and he’d kissed my cheek before I left for South Carolina. But the prospect of physical contact with Beck scrambled my brain in a way that made the fish in the giant tank seem to glitch.

He changed courses, slipping his fingers around my forearm, giving a tender squeeze before pulling away. Quietly, we sat together, watching schools of fish glide in graceful, synchronized circles through the tank’s clear water.

They, too, had spent their lives swimming together.