Page 8

Chapter 8

Isa

“Did you shut him down?” Grace asked, glancing back at me. After swinging into the nearby Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot so she could quickly shed James’s one-hundred-pound Phanatic costume, we were now speeding down I-95 South, and for the last several minutes, James had been texting me. Well, texting his sister. First, he unexpectedly messaged Everett, who’d sent him the vaguest of responses, so then he’d moved on to Grace.

But since she was driving, Grace had tossed her iPhone back to me and dictated her replies. My hands shook a little while I typed, the way they always did when I texted with James. It was like I was too excited to function. “Oh my god,” I said when Grace mentioned her mom’s home makeover. “That is exactly what’s happening to your house!”

For the last couple months, Grace and James’s house had been slowly shifting from a classic Ralph Lauren warm color palette to trendy neutrals. “No idea,” James had said when I’d asked him about the redesign. We’d both been peering into the fridge, almost hiding together behind the open door. James was always hungry, and I’d volunteered to grab snacks for Grace and me. “Maybe she’s been watching too much HGTV before bed.” He shrugged, shoulder brushing against mine. I felt myself flush. “Or maybe this is her manifestation of a midlife crisis. She does have the big five-oh coming up, after all.”

My fingers moved barely three inches to touch his. He didn’t pull his hand away. “But aren’t you bummed?” I asked in a small voice.

By way of an answer, James had slowly threaded his fingers through mine. Warmth swirled between our palms. “It’s a house,” I barely heard him murmur. “It’s just a house….”

“Tell me about it,” Grace said now, flipping her blinker and switching lanes. “My room’s going to be painted something called ‘snowfall white.’?”

In the front seat, Everett fake-shivered. “You better zip up your parka.”

“And sip an après-ski hot toddy,” Grace quipped, but neither of them laughed. My best friend straightened up in her seat and refocused on the road while Everett’s eyes followed her. He watched her for a few moments before furrowing his brow and shifting his gaze to the dashboard. He looked almost irritated.

I didn’t get it. Was he upset that Grace had sprung him from school? That he was stuck with us for the day?

“I wonder if James ruined the cookies,” he said after “Grace” texted her brother that she was taking a nap. If James wasn’t careful, his phone was going to get snatched by a teacher. “That was our assignment in FCS today.”

I sighed from the backseat. (Why was I even in the backseat? This was my car!). “I can’t believe you chose that as your elective.”

Everett shrugged. “Why not?”

“Because—”

“Are you sure there’s no parenting exam?” Grace interrupted in case I had the nerve to mimic Mamá and call FCS a joke. Not that it was an outright joke, but for James and Everett? James loved barbequing with his dad while wearing goofy aprons and listening to music. And Everett was practically a gourmet chef. “My son made everything!” was how his mom had greeted us for game night. “Even the hot fudge skillet cake…”

Once upon a time, I was a regular at the Adlers’ kitchen table. I would have dinner there a few times a week when Everett and I’d dated. But I never was the greatest guest; I would do homework in Mrs.Adler’s quiet art studio while Everett’s family laughed all the air out of their lungs in the kitchen. “Isa,” I remembered Mr.Adler appearing in the doorway one night. “I’m about to put the steaks on.”

“Okay,” I said, taking it as a dinner-will-be-ready-soon warning. “I only have a couple problem sets left.”

Everett’s dad smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “How about you forget the problem sets?” He nodded toward the back deck. “I’ll teach you how to grill.”

I’d hesitated, worried that I wouldn’t be allowed to eat at the Adlers’ if I came home without my homework completed.

“Or at least keep me company,” Mr.Adler said. “Tell me about your day.”

My eyes smarted. I’d overheard my math teacher call me one of her best students, but also an exhausting know-it-all. “It was terrible,” I whispered. “My day was terrible.”

And then I’d followed Everett’s dad outside and learned how to grill the perfect New York strip steak while my fourteen-year-old-self cried. I never broke down in front of my own parents, not even Papá. He called me his superstar and always supported me when I went to him with my problems, but we spoke like adults in the Cruz household. There was no crying.

Hot lava threatened to spill out of my heart. Suddenly I was so angry—it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. Mr.Adler hadn’t been my father, and I didn’t know how to make amends with his son, but I missed him. All right, Isa, he would say whenever I was stressed. Level with me…

I blinked a few times and forced myself to tune back into Grace and Everett’s conversation. They hadn’t moved on from FCS. “I mean, just imagine you and James with a baby!” Grace was saying, her voice upbeat. “Ev, you’d be the ever-present, nurturing father, while James would be the always-out-of-town, emotionally unavailable one.”

I couldn’t help it; I gasped.

“Are you serious, G?” I asked before Everett could comment. “James is not emotionally unavailable. Remember when—” I dropped off, not wanting Everett to know about my full-blown panic attack about my Harvard application essay back in November—or my panic attacks in general. No one told him when they’d started last year and no one needed to tell him now.

We weren’t friends anymore, and deep down, I didn’t want to burden him. Everett Adler had always been an anchor; taking care of people was what he did best. For years, he’d known that taking care of me meant engaging my parents so I could have a break from the spotlight.

Grace glanced in the rearview mirror and our eyes met. Hers were swimming with an apology, still stuck on James. Something else, though, too.

It looked like hurt.

Yes, James is great with you, Isa, I could hear her voice in my head. But with me?

The Barbour siblings weren’t exactly close. Neither of them seemed openly bothered by it, but sometimes I caught James’s jaw tighten when Grace and I made late-night runs to Wawa without inviting him. Or I saw Grace roll her eyes when James returned from a party we hadn’t heard about through the grapevine. “Eh.” He’d once shrugged. “Not your scene.”

“No, relax, I’m totally kidding,” Grace said, trying to Band-Aid the joke. “Just not about the traveling thing. Who knows how long your world tour will be!”

I laughed an I-forgive-you laugh. Grace loved when James and I teamed up for family talent shows, covering various songs. Stripping them down and turning them into duets came so easily, so effortlessly (but choosing a band name—not so much). Everyone thought we were a wonder together, and Grace called our stage presence dreamy and romantic.

But I didn’t know how she’d feel if she found out things were getting romantic between her brother and me offstage. Our families were close, maybe too close at times. I spent so much time at the Barbours’ house that I felt like Grace considered me an honorary sibling. It would be bizarre if I told her about my crush on James. You’re like his sister! I imagined her saying, even though it wasn’t biologically true. It’s twisted, isn’t it?

“Just tell her!” James had said over the past several months, lightheartedly at first, and then growing more frustrated over time. He didn’t get that falling for your best friend’s brother was a big deal in Girl World. “She might be shocked, Izzy, but she’ll snap back once she sees how amazing we are together.”

Of course, James no longer found my procrastination charming, and I couldn’t bring myself to share why else I was worried about officially dating him.

Tesla speeding along, I shifted in the backseat and suggested we listen to some music.

“Ooh, yes!” Grace exclaimed. She sounded relieved. Here was something to fill the void of silence! I knew she had things to talk about with me, and stuff to talk about with Everett, but a Venn diagram we did not make. She waved her hand at the Tesla’s full-on computer screen mounted on the dashboard. “Ev, would you mind figuring out this situation?”

Everett glanced back at me.

I smiled politely. “I don’t know. I’m not allowed to drive this car.”

A flash of amusement crossed his still-agitated face. Something was bothering him. “Actually, I was going to ask if you had any requests.”

“The Les Mis soundtrack,” I said, straight-faced.

Everett and Grace groaned. Show tunes were not their favorite.

But after connecting his phone to the Tesla’s fickle Bluetooth, Fantine’s tragic “I Dreamed a Dream” filled the car. I began to sing along, knowing the lyrics by heart. A couple songs later, I noticed Grace lower the volume so she could hear me over the music.

“You have the best voice, Isa,” she said after another ballad ended. “Seriously, it’s mesmerizing.”

“Thanks, G,” I replied, then thought: I’m even better with James.