I Was Told It Would Get Easier(77)

“Yawn,” said Amanda, finally stepping away from her cooking and coming over to give me a hug. “Rob will be home soon.”

“Where is he?” Robert usually worked from home; he was a freelance journalist. He had been a less freelance journalist earlier in his career, back when the internet hadn’t disrupted the media landscape. He’d had an actual wooden desk, complete with piles of papers and coffee cups, at the New York Times, when they decided to cut their workforce and modernize. He said that meant anyone with a journalism degree and a reasonable salary was fired, and anyone younger than thirty with more than a passing familiarity with grammar was hired.

“Is he . . . feeling better?” I trod carefully. Every time I’d seen Robert in the last ten years he was a little more bitter than the time before.

“Much better,” Amanda said, pulling a bottle of wine from the fridge. She poured herself a glass and offered one to me. I shook my head. “He’s working on a new thing, but I’ll let him tell you all about it.”





EMILY


It was so incredibly good to see Chloe. It’s not like we grew up together, but we saw each other quite a bit, and emailed and stuff. She’s like my older sister, or cousin or something. Somehow the kids you’ve known all your life are less anxiety provoking. They’ve already seen you cry, even if only over broken Legos.

We headed up to her room, which had changed a lot since the last time I saw it. Then the walls had been covered with photos of her friends, printouts from Pinterest, postcards from everywhere . . . Now the walls were clear, freshly painted in a pale creamy yellow, and featured actual framed pictures.

“Wow,” I said. “This looks like a regular grown-up’s room.” I was making fun of her, and she got it right away.

“Oh please,” she said, throwing herself on the bed. “My mom did it while I was away. She said she thought it would be nicer for me to bring friends home to, but I think she was dying to get all the Justin Bieber shit off the walls.”

“Who can blame her?” I said. “I think it looks great.”

“Really?” She wrinkled her nose. “I feel like I got erased.”

“That’s heavy,” I said, laughing at her.

She tipped her head to one side. “What’s up with you? Boy trouble?” She paused. “Girl trouble? Nonbinary trouble?”

I shook my head. “Not really. Well, yes, a bit, but mostly the trouble is all mine.” I lay on my tummy on her rug, as I had done so many times before, bending my legs at the knee and putting my head on my folded arms.

“Nice high-tops,” she said. “Spill it.”

I told her about everything. The cheating. The snitching. Mom quitting. The tour. Alice and her mom. Will. Even the aerodrome part.

“Huh,” she said. “For what it’s worth, you totally did the right thing.”

“You think?”

She nodded. “Totally. Trust me, if they’d gotten caught actually cheating, you would have felt like crap you didn’t say something. Nothing lamer than regret.”

“How about social suicide? How lame is that?”

Chloe laughed. “Not super lame. The boy will come around, he’s being a jerk. If he doesn’t get over it, you’re better off without him.” She looked at me. “Why didn’t you agree to help the FBI?”

I shrugged. “It seemed one step too far.”

“Do you think there’s someone on the tour who’s involved?”

“Maybe. Alice’s mom was offering bribes. At least, it seems that way.” I told her what Casper and Will had relayed to me about dinner the night before.

Chloe was thoughtful. “It’s weird, right, how parents get about college? I thought my mom and dad were pretty laid-back, but they turned into complete monsters when college apps rolled around. And I was the third kid, they’d had two before me and they were even worse with them. Poor Jake, I thought he was going to have a nervous breakdown checking college websites.”

“Where did he end up?”

“He got into Brown, went for a semester, then transferred to NYU because he missed his mommy.” She laughed. “I’m only semi-joking.”

“And now? Is he here?” I’d always had kind of a crush on her older brother, not that I’d ever let on.

“Please don’t tell me you still have a crush on him, he’s such a loser.” Chloe slapped the bed. “You do!” She rolled back, laughing.

I felt myself blushing.

She stopped laughing. “He’s still here, he’s working at the same start-up as Dad.”

“Your dad works at a start-up?” I wrinkled my nose. “I thought he was a journalist.”

She nodded. “He is, it’s kind of a journalism start-up. I think. He does tell me about it, he’s actually adorably excited about it, but I kind of tune out.” She smiled at me. “So, apart from turning government informant, what else have you been up to?”





26





JESSICA


“Wait, so it’s a start-up? But there are old people like us there?”

Rob laughed, and passed the salad. “Yes, a few of us. It’s a start-up because it’s new, but it’s also kind of a nonprofit. We’re funded by the state, the city, grants from philanthropists and such. We generate some income, by running and teaching courses, but largely we’re there to help young people.” He took the salad back from Chloe and piled it onto his plate.