Inevitable and Only(15)
Raven and I slept until noon on Sunday, and then her grandmother Ruby made us raspberry waffles and coffee. Neither of us really liked coffee, but Raven said that was a sisterhood thing, too, so we stirred in lots of sugar and cream and sipped it to be polite. Afterward we felt super energetic and zoomed around the house in our pajamas like little kids, cracking ourselves up about nothing in particular. When we crashed, we curled up in her room, listening to music and procrastinating on our weekend homework. The whole day was exactly what I needed.
But the weekend finally came to an end, and I spent Sunday night tossing and turning in the middle of that big bed in the master bedroom, thinking about what the next day would bring. Trying to picture Elizabeth here in our house. Realizing that I had no idea what she even looked like. Would she look like Dad? The thought made my stomach churn. I’d always been Dad’s girl—we just fundamentally got each other, on this very basic level. But we don’t look alike at all. I mean, Dad’s white, so technically I’m half white too, but I don’t look it. I’ve spent my whole life with strangers not believing me and Josh are siblings, asking me “So where are you from, sweetie?” when they see me and Josh and Dad together, as if they assume I’m adopted. A registrar at Peabody even asked Mom once where Josh’s mother was. When Mom realized the registrar thought she was Josh’s nanny, because her skin is darker than his, I could almost see the steam billowing out of her ears.
What if Elizabeth was a music prodigy too, like Josh? Or really good at something else? I was used to being less talented than Josh, but what if I was truly the only untalented Greenfield kid out of, like, the bunch? Did three count as a “bunch”? And then, what would it be like to have another girl my age around all the time—a sister? What if she was skinnier, prettier, smarter, cooler than me? I’d always been the oldest, the only daughter. Even when I felt weird or out of place at school, at home I was the big sister, the only girl—Dad’s girl, his Cadiest. That’s who I was.
Except now maybe I wasn’t, because my family wasn’t the same family anymore.
I yanked a pillow over my face and breathed in the starched scent of the fabric, pressed it against my closed eyelids until I saw stars. But there was no way to stifle that voice on repeat inside my head.
Not the same family anymore. Not at all.
Monday morning, my alarm rang what felt like two seconds after I’d pulled that pillow over my face. I woke up sweaty, parched, nauseated. Then I remembered what bed I was in, and why, and felt even worse. Focus, Cadie, I told myself. Get up. Get dressed. One thing at a time. Bleary-eyed, I yanked a sweatshirt over my head.
At least Mondays mean drama class. The weight in my stomach lightened a little. I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, which helped too. Then I brushed my hair and changed into a short purple-and-white striped skirt, a stretchy burgundy sweater, yellow tights, and brown boots. Putting together a cute outfit always made me feel a little better about life. We’d been practicing Meisner repetitions and other partner exercises all last week, and although I hadn’t been paired with Sam Shotwell after that first day, there was always hope.
But of course, Farhan was still my one true love—which Raven reminded me as we plunked down our lunch trays at our usual corner table, where we had the best vantage point for people watching.
“Tickets are on sale today,” she said, adding pickles to her burger.
“Tickets?” I repeated groggily. All the hours I hadn’t slept over the weekend were weighing down my eyelids like little sandbags. I picked at my PB&J.
“So have you asked Afar-han yet? Please don’t tell me he’s still unaware of your existence.”
“Of course he’s aware of my existence,” I snapped. “We’ve been friends since we were, like, eight years old.”
“A friend is different from a Fall Ball date. And don’t grouch at me, you’re the one who insisted on watching Pulp Fiction twice.”
“Did we? I must’ve slept through the second time.”
“You didn’t. You were repeating all of Uma Thurman’s lines along with her. I swear, your memory is freakish. If I could memorize stuff that quickly, my GPA would be through the roof.”
I grinned. “‘Why do we feel it’s necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable?’”
Raven narrowed her eyes at me for a moment before she realized I was quoting one of Uma Thurman’s lines from the movie. “Case in point. Now, I refuse to speak to you again until you have marched up to Farhan Mazandarani and asked him to the Fall Ball. Ready, set, go.” She took a giant bite of her burger and gave me a no-nonsense glare while she chewed.
Well, she was right. What did I have to lose? At least I could take one little piece of my life into my own hands. And maybe approaching Farhan would distract me from thinking about what was happening—who was arriving—tonight. Smother one anxiety with another. Or, maybe I’d wind up in the hospital with heart palpitations. At this rate, I’d have ulcers before I even graduated.
I skulked by Farhan’s locker before the bell, trying to look nonchalant. Luckily, he was alone when he turned the corner.
“Hey, Cadie.” He started spinning the knob on his locker.
I looked down at my boots. “Hey, do you want to go to the Fall Ball? With me, I mean. If you don’t, it’s okay, or if you already have plans or something, I mean, I don’t really go to dances anyway—”