The Best Possible Answer(51)

“But that’s none of your business!”

“Why won’t any of you tell me anything?”

“Because,” I say, “you’re too young to understand.”

“I am NOT too young! I’m not stupid. I see everything. I know that Mama and Daddy are having problems. And I know that you’re having problems and they’re so bad that you have to move out, and now Daddy’s gone and Mama’s busy with school and—and—” She starts to cry. “No one cares about me anymore and no one will tell me anything!”

She collapses into the couch and screams into the cushions.

“Oh, Mila, no. That’s not true. That’s the opposite of true. I care about you. I care about you so much.”

“Then why won’t you come home?” Her voice is muffled from the pillows. I sit down next to her and put my hand on her back.

“Don’t rub my back. Answer my question. Why aren’t you home?”

“I just— I can’t be here right now.”

“Are you going to come home soon?”

“If you take your face out from the couch, then yes, maybe, soon.”

She lifts her head. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” I’m not sure I mean it, but I want her to calm down. “I love you, Mila.”

“Okay,” she says, crossing her arms across her chest. “I’m glad you love me.”

“We all do.” More than anything, I think.

She doesn’t say anything to that. Instead, she makes me sit down next to her, and then she puts her pinkie in her mouth and rests her head on my shoulder. We sit like that, watching TV in silence, my fingers gripping the keys in my pocket, not knowing what to do next.





Mistakes to Avoid Your Senior Year of High School #2

Senior year is actually too late to start thinking about college, especially for the top schools. Start preparing for the process of applying to colleges in your junior year, making sure to be involved and engaged in all aspects of your educational career.


The storms return the next day. The forecasters are predicting an “Extreme Summer Storm,” complete with more hail, high humidity, and damaging winds. The suburbs may even see tornadoes. It’s a “supercell” of a storm that’s certain to damage property. Mr. Bautista orders Virgo to close the pool and we all get text messages not to report for work until Thursday.

Sammie and I get the text while we’re getting ready.

“Hallelujah,” Sammie says, throwing her brush in the drawer.

“No work for two days. I mean, it sucks we’re stuck here and can’t go to the beach or something, but at least we get a few days off.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I’m not so good at doing nothing,” I say. “I thought I wanted inertia, but I’m not so good at it. Plus, being at work—even when the helicopter moms are complaining about the no-floatie rule—it distracts me, you know?”

“Yeah. I get it,” she says. “Well, we have the whole day. What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. Nothing?”

We both laugh at first, but then she gets quiet. “Vivi, you’ve seemed more upset these past few days. Did you hear from your dad? Did something else happen?”

“What? No.” I haven’t told Sammie about finding the keys or seeing Mila or the fact that she knows about the photo. Just thinking about it makes my heart race. The last thing I need is to talk about it, too. “I’m just tired, I guess.”

Our phones buzz. Extreme Summer Storm calls for game of Extreme Summer Ping-Pong Championship, wouldn’t you say? It’s a text from Virgo to Evan, Sammie, and me.

“Awesome,” Sammie says. “Want to?”

I nod.

She looks up at me. “They’ll be here in about forty minutes. Want me to give you a crown braid?”

I shrug. “Sure. Thanks. I can do whatever you want, too.”

“Okay, turn around.” She starts combing my hair into strands. “We’ve got to make you look good for Evan.”

“Sammie, come on. Stop. That’s not happening. I will not destroy my friendship with you over a guy.”

“He’s not. Anyway, I’m not into guys who are totally into my BFF.”

I smile. “Okay. Fine. Stop, though, please. After that whole thing with Dean, I doubt anything’s going to happen as it is.”

“Fine.” She tugs my hair into a braid. “I will. Whatever you say.”

*

I have to admit: Playing Extreme Ping-Pong during an Extreme Summer Storm on the thirty-eighth floor of a building is a much better distraction than sitting at work all day. Evan’s also brought his guitar, and Virgo’s brought a violin, and in between matches, they play songs for us while the building shudders from the wind and thunder.

We spend the morning going back and forth between Ping-Pong, songs, and sitting on the floor and watching the passing storms. Then, around twelve-thirty, we go back down to Sammie’s to gather leftovers for lunch.

“My mom made dinner last night. Do you guys like Filipino food?”

“I’ll eat anything,” Evan says.

“Even chicken innards and pork bits?”