Page 5

Chapter 5

James

Everett and I were the only ones from the Adler-Barbour-Cruz triumvirate that emerged from homeroom. “You didn’t mention Isa earlier,” Everett said. “Is she sick, too?”

I glanced over to see him walking with his hands in his pockets and looking at the floor every two seconds, like he didn’t want to risk making eye contact with anyone for too long. It’s a good thing you’re good at sports, bud, I thought. Being the soccer team’s star striker…and the swim team’s medley relay ringer…and the baseball team’s prime pitcher really did wonders for Everett’s popularity. Together he and Grace were the life of the party at family gatherings, but while my sister brought that energy to school, Everett was painfully shy unless he was surrounded by teammates.

Not that I was judging. Just observing.

“Maybe.” I shrugged. “I haven’t heard from her.”

Isa still hadn’t responded to my text, and while part of me wanted to see her name pop up on my phone—to know that she was all right—the other didn’t. The last thing I wanted to read was an apology telling me that it was never going to actually happen between us. And yeah, that was rich coming from the guy who’d issued the ultimatum.

In any case, it’d be tough to send her another message. Principal Unger and her eagle-eyed staff had cracked down on phones this year; if you were caught using yours, it was confiscated and received a one-way ticket to Unger’s office, where it stayed until you picked it up after the sweet freedom bell rang. The line of students waiting to reclaim theirs usually stretched into the front lobby. Our teachers didn’t miss a beat.

“Gotcha,” Everett said before we diverged into different hallways. The four of us had the same homeroom, but our academic tracks didn’t overlap much. Isa, god love her, was the genius. With an AP-everything schedule, she never failed to top the high honors list that was posted every quarter. And Brown, of course. Isa had gotten into Brown. She’d been trained like an Olympic athlete, preparing her entire life with authoritarian coaches—sorry, I mean “Mr. and Mrs.Cruz”—and tutors for each test. The Ivy League was her gold medal. I was proud of her but wished she could’ve won it without all the added stress and anxiety. “Go outside and open that new meditation app,” I remembered saying the night before the SATs when she was on the verge of having a panic attack. “Izzy, do a two-minute deep breathing exercise and then listen to me….”

I could gas her up like no one else. Complimenting Isa wasn’t hard.

Meanwhile, Grace was the grinder; she wanted to do well and she demanded a lot of herself, but unlike Isa, she didn’t make it seem like academic success was a life-or-death decision. She never wavered or showed distress. Honestly, sometimes I wished she would; maybe it’d make me look better in the world’s eyes. Our parents always praised her before asking me why I wasn’t more like my sister, why I didn’t clock as many study hours as her. How do you know I haven’t? I resisted rolling my eyes. I’ve never timed myself.

The truth? The only person pushing Grace was Grace herself, and she and I were different people. I didn’t have that same horsepower when it came to school. I didn’t need to see my name on some list; I didn’t have my sights set on a killer school. College, to be real with you, didn’t interest me much. “What do you want to major in?” the seniors had started asking one another, and what the fuck, why? How were you supposed to know already?

Ultimately, I was lucky my parents didn’t complain when report card season came. I was one of those people who could get by without much cramming, so even with my humble attendance record, I had an adequate GPA. (It also helped that girls in my classes offered to let me borrow their notes.)

Everett tried to keep quiet about his grades, but again, the honor roll revealed all. He and Grace were continually on it. “Yes, their work ethic is incredible,” I’d once heard Mrs.Adler saying to my mom. “Everett spends hours in his room each night, so it’s always nice when Grace comes over to study, too. They set up camp in the dining room and laugh like when they were little….”

That had been an eyebrow-raising revelation. “I’m going to Isa’s,” I’d soon noticed my sister saying some nights before zipping off in the Subaru. “I need help with calculus!”

Grace had rightfully sided with Isa in the Freshman Year Fracture, but stuff like that made me wonder if only half of her had truly chosen that side—that the other half couldn’t give up Everett, no matter how badly he’d hurt Isa. “Grace and I are still friends,” I remembered him saying in the car this morning…and me being a total asshole about it.

I’d just been preoccupied. I was always a little torqued before my morning tête-à-têtes with Principal Unger. I knew Grace and Everett were still friends.

But because of Isa and the Fracture, they couldn’t publicly show it.

Anyway, baking cookies was today’s task in family and consumer science. “What even is this recipe?” Everett muttered as he scanned it. FCS was the one class we had together (taking care of a fake baby was not part of the curriculum). Being partners with Everett meant not a lot of conversation, but always an A on the assignment, even if he altered them. Because forget about our teacher, Mrs.Rogerson; for Everett, it was his mom’s way or the highway. “We’re melting the butter instead of thawing it,” he said now. “That way the cookies will be crispy instead of cakey.”

I shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

But once we’d unwrapped the two sticks of butter and nuked them in the microwave, the room’s intercom crackled to life. “Everett Adler,” we heard Mrs.Flamporis say, “please report to the main office. Everett Adler, please report to the main office.”

“What’s that about?” I asked.

Everett’s eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t know,” he answered, spilling sugar into our mixer’s bowl. “I guess I’ll find out.”

While he gathered up his stuff, my stomach spun. Thanks to my dad, I was a decent cook, but baking? Totally different playing field. “Wait, dude, no,” I quickly said. “What am I supposed to do with all this?” I motioned to the cookie ingredients.

“Follow the recipe, James,” he said before Mrs.Rogerson handed him a hall pass. “Just follow the recipe.”