“Oh…yes,” she says after a moment.
“Will you be there?” I ask.
She’s distracted by her phone, murmurs something about if she can fit it into her schedule. This kind of community event would normally warrant the mayor at least showing up. There’s no official policy or anything, but Mom likes to stay involved in local events. And in this case, it’s her daughter’s class fundraiser.
“It’s kind of a big deal.”
“Mmm,” she says.
I try to push back the dam of resentment building inside me at how low on her list of priorities I seem to fall. As she’s been getting busier these past few weeks, she’s spared me less and less of a thought. Sometimes I get the sense that I’m an imposition, being here constantly. I bet half the reason she can’t wait for me to leave for college is to get some space.
The thought makes my chest hurt.
Mom has never really dated since the divorce, and I don’t know what kind of things she’ll do when I’m gone. I don’t know if she will remember to eat meals and make her own coffee and get enough sleep. It’s hard to imagine our lives not being intertwined, but at least she’s still here, alive.
Mom doesn’t notice me fighting tears. She leaves to have a conference call, despite it being the weekend, and I finish getting ready and rush out. I feel a little embarrassed when I turn up at Stanley Lake Park fifteen minutes past our scheduled meeting time and with store-bought ginger molasses cookies. We’re doing a joint car wash and bake sale, but thankfully, it’s mostly still us seniors here at this point. By some miracle, Tyler is actually doing his job and setting up for the car wash. In my stead, Amber already has people laying out tables of food for the bake sale, checking off the list of baked goods that each person was supposed to bring.
“Thank you so much,” I whisper in her ear, tugging at my headband to hide both my rough edges and my mortification. It’s black, so at least it fits with my retro Mary Janes and black socks, today’s open secret. “I slept in.”
Amber grins. “I got you,” she whispers.
“Where’s Mo?” I ask.
“Late, as per. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was hiding more than that stupid app,” Amber says, blowing on her hands to warm them.
The thought has occurred to me, but I quickly dismiss it. Mo is honest to a fault. “She’s just out of it,” I say, my words forming clouds in the morning chill. Every day the ground accumulates more yellow, pink, brown, and gold leaves. It’s like the universe is bargaining with us—more beauty if we tolerate more cold.
If Tyler had any instinct for planning, we would have gotten this fundraiser off the ground first week of school instead of having a car wash when we’re halfway to Halloween. But my role is to support him, I remind myself. I take over from Amber, divvying ourclassmates between the bake sale and the car wash, which Tyler and I agreed beforehand would be one of my duties.
“Nah, I’ll take Zeke,” Tyler says, after I’ve claimed his best friend for the bake sale. “Josh too.”
“Okay,” I say, trying to stay upbeat. After all, I’m the one who’s dropped the ball this morning. But then Tyler steals Vance and Austin to work with him when I’ve already assigned them to bake sale duties.
Hands on hips, I turn to Tyler. “You can’t just claim all the guys for the car wash.”
“Why not?” Tyler says, popping a Rice Krispies bar in his mouth. “It’s not like you’re bench-pressing oatmeal raisin cookies over here.”
A couple of people snicker, and my cheeks burn.
I pull my jacket tighter over my chest and jut my chin forward.
Our classmates are meandering around, presumably waiting for instructions for where to go, but really, they’re probably enjoying the drama. Despite having many reasons to be annoyed by Tyler so far this year, I’ve tried to respect thatheis president and keep the antagonism to a minimum. But this is ridiculous.
He wouldn’t treat me this way if I had Jason by my side, staring him down. Most likely, Tyler would be asking what he could do for me.
“Last I checked, you weren’t bench-pressing cars over there either,” I spit back, taking a step toward him to show that I’m not intimidated. There’s a flurry of excitement behind Tyler’s head, and I notice that at the back of the crowd, Marcus Riddick is arriving.
Great.
Another antagonist to deal with.
Marcus settles next to Holden in the group of kids waiting for direction from me and Tyler. Marcus looks so profoundly sleepy that I bet if someone asked, he wouldn’t be able to say where he is.
I return to the situation at hand, straighten my posture. “We’re not splitting by gender,” I say. “Are we in 1955? The boys run the car wash, and the girls run the bake sale?”
“Well, is it fair if people don’t get to decide where they want to work for the day either? That’s also discrimination.”
I take a deep breath and pray for strength. “Tyler, I’m not about to teach you the definition of discrimination.”
