It was during that yearlong gap when I realized my true feelings for Brady. We’d always been close, best friends and confidants. I guess there was always a part of me that had assumed we’d eventually end up together. We used to joke about getting married and having kids, but we were also seven at the time. It didn’t mean anything.
It was on those lonely walks to school that I felt a part of me was missing. Anytime I saw him, I’d get this nervous, jittery feeling that was new to me. I didn’t know what it all meant. When he told me about a girl he liked, I became jealous and instantly didn’t like her. Then a voice popped into my head: Why doesn’t he like me that way? I didn’t want Brady to date anybody, because I liked him. But it was more than that. We were more than that.
At one point in that summer before my freshman year, I was coming from Madelyn’s and Brady was outside his house mowing the front lawn. He looked up at me and smiled. It felt like my heart ripped itself out of my chest and went running straight to him. It was at that moment when I knew it wasn’t some silly crush that was going to go away.
I loved Brady. Truly and deeply loved him. It wasn’t some silly schoolgirl crush. It was real.
All I needed was for him to realize that all those other girls didn’t matter. I was it. Maybe now, I told myself for the first time.
It made sense for us to officially become us now that we’d both be in high school together. Wasn’t that the perfect time to start a relationship? We weren’t kids anymore.
First, I needed Brady back in my life. We’d be starting school soon, where we could build our bond back. I knew it was only a matter of time.
Then Mom decided to throw a party.
Mom loves any excuse for a party. If she can make a theme out of it, we celebrate it. She also doesn’t stick to the traditional holidays like Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, and New Year’s. That’s mere playtime for my mom. She throws bashes for Lincoln’s birthday, Arbor Day, Earth Day, and, of course, Special Hope Days for when I lost my first tooth, aced a test, and, yes, even when I got my period for the first time. There’s no occasion too small, private, or cringe-inducing to put her domestic skills to the test.
But when she said she was going to do an end-of-summer pool party to celebrate her “baby girl’s entrance into high school,” I loved the idea. Brady would come. We could start getting back to where we once were. And hopefully go beyond.
Mom had everything set. The only thing I had to worry about was whether or not Brady would show up.
But he did.
He made an automatic beeline for me as soon as he walked through the door. He had on a baggy T-shirt with his blue swimming trunks. Even though it was the end of summer, he was as pale as ever, courtesy of his summer job bagging groceries. While I’d spent most afternoons by our pool, so my skin soaked up the sun and I was darker. I also got a new black swimsuit with a push-up bra and “slimming technology” that I paired with a multicolored sarong to hide my more generous assets.
“Look who’s a big bad freshman!” Brady said with a wink.
“Don’t you forget it,” I replied as I touched his forearm, keeping eye contact. (I had read a bunch of articles online on “How to Let Him Know You Like Him.”)
His eyes scanned the room. “I don’t know why I’m so shocked your mom has gone all-out.”
The living room and outside pool area were decorated in colorful streamers and white fairy lights. Mom had decided on the theme of “fresh-Mex” since I was going to be a freshman, so the massive table in the dining room had a spread of guacamole, salsa, queso, tamales, pozole, mole, and enchiladas. Plus, a station where my dad was making virgin strawberry frozen margaritas.
“We know how to throw a party,” I stated proudly. If there’s a good reputation to have in our small town, being the kid whose parents host the best parties has to be up there. Pretty much every kid in my class and a few in Brady’s were there. It wasn’t that I was super popular, but I was liked enough.
“Can I show you something?” Brady asked, his eyes wide with excitement.
“Of course,” I replied as I batted my eyelashes at him.
He pulled out his phone. “My buddy sent me this video and I’ve become obsessed. Obsessed all summer. I swear all I do is watch this stuff online.”
I glanced at his screen as I started to watch this massive homemade contraption come to life. I tried to wrap my brain around it as a lever was pulled, then a crazy series of events unfolded, involving a mailbox, rotating gears, a bowling ball, a saw, a pool ball, a Coke can, oranges, helium canisters, and a ton of other items I couldn’t keep track of, until something flew up and eventually cracked an egg. It took less than a minute.
It was insane.
“What is that?” I asked, trying to understand how it all worked.
“It’s called a Rube Goldberg machine.”
“Can we watch it again?”
“Of course!” Brady happily replayed it. “Can you imagine doing something like that?”
“I’m sure you could. It’s all about proper placement or creating momentum.” At least I assumed it was.
“I don’t know. I’d probably trip and break something.”
He had a valid point. Brady has many positive attributes, but being graceful and coordinated are not among them.
My mind went back to the machine. How one simple motion could cause a chain reaction.
I decided to test it out on us.
I stuck my hip out and nudged Brady. “I guess I should congratulate you.”
“For what? Did I set some sort of geek record for amount of YouTube videos watched over the course of a summer?”
“No.” I smiled at him, not only happy he was there, but that he wanted to share something so important with me. “That you get to resume spending each morning with me.”
Brady laughed. “I know. Let me tell you something, it was a lonely freshman year.”
“Well, I guess we have a lot to make up for.” I took a step closer to him and noticed his eyes quickly glancing down to my chest, which had grown in the past year. It looked like momentum was going in my favor.
“Yes, we do.” I could see his face begin to heat up.
I had a feeling this was it. The flirting had started, as it often did with us. But this time I was going to take it beyond flirting. I was going to be a girl of action.
“Thank goodness, we can be together again.” I took another step, wanting to keep the forward motion going until I got my desired result. I placed my hand on his shoulder. “Like, really together.”
Brady stammered a bit. He probably wasn’t nearly as shocked at my boldness as I was. But this was my party. My time. I’d waited around long enough. It was going to happen. I could tell. The butterflies that took up residence anytime Brady was around me were now swirling so severely in my stomach, it was a miracle I could even stand.
He cleared his throat. “I, ah, could definitely get used to that idea.”
I took that as the biggest green light in the history of teen flirting. I brushed myself against him. “Me too.”
“Hope!” Mom came barreling toward us. “And, Brady, so good to see you, hon. I wanted to introduce you two to a new student joining you this year.”
I hadn’t even looked at the girl next to her because I was too busy scowling at Mom. I was so close to a real kiss with Brady. I could almost feel him on my lips.
I recalled Mom mentioning she’d met the new branch manager at the bank, who had a daughter who was going to be in my grade. She’d invited her to my party. I hadn’t thought it was a big deal. Mom was also a one-woman welcome wagon.
When I finally stopped glaring at Mom, I looked at the new student: a cute girl with long, blond hair that nearly fell to her elbows. She had on a white tank, which showed a blue bikini underneath, paired with cut-off jean shorts. She had these pale blue eyes and freckles around her nose. She seemed harmless enough.
“This is Parker.” Mom made introductions. “And this is my dau
ghter, Hope, and her friend Brady.”
“Hi, Parker!” Brady held out his hand. It was then I noticed the look on his face when he saw her. If I thought his face was red when I was flirting with him, it was practically crimson as he took in Parker for the first time.
“Hi,” I said, my voice barely registering.
“Hope, your aunt is leaving—you need to come say good-bye.” Mom practically dragged me out of the living room to the kitchen. I quickly stole a glance over my shoulder and saw Brady run his fingers through his hair as he talked to Parker. It was a nervous tic of his I’d only seen once before, when he asked Cynthia Madden out.
He stole a glance at me, too. Ran his fingers through his hair again.
I was so confused.
We had started something. It wasn’t in my mind. He wanted it, too.
He gave me a sheepish smile before he turned his attention back to Parker. But there was a look in his eyes I couldn’t quite place. It looked like regret.
Regret for what?
That we’d started?
That we’d stopped?
That he was talking to her instead of me?
These are questions I may never know the answers to.
I had no idea how long I was saying good-bye to my aunt or making small talk with my parents’ friends. All I wanted to do was find Brady again. To pick up where we’d been before we were rudely interrupted.
Luckily, Madelyn came into the kitchen as my salvation.
“Hey, Gabriela!” Madelyn called out to my mom, who insists my friends call her by her first name. “Mind if I steal Hope so she can enjoy the pool portion of the pool party?”
Mom dismissed me as Madelyn, still clad head to toe in black even though it was sweltering outside, guided me to the backyard. “Who’s the new girl?”
My eyes went to the pool, where Parker was sitting on the steps in her bikini while Brady waded next to her. When he saw me, he waved me over. But I shook my head. He gave me a strange look, then gave up and dove underwater. When he emerged, Parker splashed him. They both laughed as if they were the ones who were lifelong friends.
“Her name is Parker,” I replied, while what I wanted to say was that she was apparently going to be a problem.
Madelyn could sense me tense as I studied them, feeling helpless as I watched Brady start to slip further away from me. He had been so close. We had been so close. Then that girl had to show up and take him away from me.
But I wasn’t going to go down without a fight.
“What are you going to do?”
I don’t know why the thought popped immediately into my head, but it seemed so clear to me.
“Have you ever heard of a Rube Goldberg machine?”
36 DAYS AWAY
Brady makes it to our next meeting.
“Sorry for the other day, everybody,” he says sheepishly as he enters the room. “Girl drama.”
“Is there any other kind?” Dan jabs me in the ribs, while I push him away. Although it’s nice for him to recognize I’m not just one of the guys. This one time.
“Everything okay?” I ask Brady as he puts his stuff down. As much as it would thrill me to hear that he and Parker are having problems, I don’t like seeing him down.
Or maybe this is it. They’ve broken up and Brady is going to confess his true feelings for me.
Hey, crazier things have happened. My mom once went an entire day without sticking her nose into my business. Granted, she was bedridden with a horrible flu, but still, crazy.
“Yeah, Parker needed me to do something.” He clenches his jaw.
“Oh, okay, it’s just that we have a lot to do,” I remind him. Then maybe he can remind Parker that we have a regional competition coming up. What could be so important that she couldn’t find someone else to order around? Why can’t Brady ever say no to her?
“I know, I know,” he replies with a scowl, before heading to the table that houses our machine, leaving me behind.
Is he seriously mad at me now? I’m not the one taking him away from his commitments. I’m the one who had to work extra since he bailed on us because of her. But, of course, Parker can do no wrong in his eyes, while he has no trouble dismissing me.
What upsets me most is that all I want is to have an actual conversation with him. Sure, there’s the flirting and bantering, but suddenly I feel like we haven’t had an actual conversation about real things in a long time. It’s either a trip down memory lane (which I always enjoy) or about the machine. Now when I ask him if there’s anything wrong, he gives me the cold shoulder.
It used to be I could never get Brady to shut up about Parker. Those first few rides to high school were torture. First, he wanted to know everything I knew about Parker, which wasn’t much. I knew she’d moved here from some Cincinnati suburb with her parents. I knew she had a sister in college. I’d overheard my mom tell my dad that Parker’s dad worked at the bank and her mom was looking for a job. Oh yeah, and I also knew that her arrival had signified the utter destruction of my dreams. No big deal.
Every time he brought up Parker, I hoped he would at least acknowledge what had almost happened between the two of us. I was sick of being stuck in the friend zone with him. I had taken that step toward something more, but since then I’d been stuck in relationship purgatory. Waiting for Brady to finally realize that our time had come.
What was worse was that the way he was acting made me feel like it was a moment I had forced and he was too decent to embarrass me with the cold hard fact that we were permanently going to remain residents of Friendshipville, population: two.
Instead of focusing on us, all he wanted to talk about was her. How should he ask her out? Did I think she would say yes? I tried to keep his enthusiasm in check, saying I doubted anybody who recently moved to a new town would want a boyfriend right away. But my attempts at dissuading him only made him want her more.
Honestly, I didn’t get it. She seemed pretty boring. Yeah, she was cute, but cute should only go so far. Plus, she wasn’t even remotely friendly to me. It was because of me and my party that she even knew anybody at school.
With each conversation we had about Parker, I could feel him slipping away.
By the time they started dating, I learned to tune him out. It hurt too much to hear about how much he liked her—all I could hear was that he didn’t like me. That he didn’t see me the way he saw her. Sometimes after one of his Parker Is So Amazing monologues he’d look at me, realizing I was there, and I’d be forced to make some noise that could’ve been interpreted in myriad ways: approval, disapproval, annoyance, heartbreak.
I’d thought being in high school together was going to get us back to that place where the day didn’t really start until we saw each other, where something didn’t happen until we told each other about it. But he wasn’t really there. Eventually, he got his driver’s license and started taking Parker to school. He invited me to join them. My guess was that it was more out of obligation than desire. I turned him down. The human heart (and my self-esteem) could only take so much.
So I decided to start the Rube Goldberg Club. I doubt I’d ever see him if it weren’t for our machines. It fuels my drive to make this one the best we can. I want us to win that competition in Cleveland. Then move on to nationals. I’m desperate to have something to show for our relationship. For there to be some public record of us. When I walk to and from class, I always glance at the glass cabinets that line the hallway, which are filled with pictures and trophies of championship teams. I want to be in one of those cases with Brady. To show that we did something while we were here. That we mattered, not simply because we won some award, but that we mattered to each other.
“Hope?” Dan calls out to me. “Do you plan on joining us or are you simply going to stare at the floor?”
I clear my throat. “Okay, let’s see where we are.”
We each go through and check every setting on our contraption. We finally got the mousetrap working yesterday. Now all we
need is for the next twenty-two steps to fall into place.
I take the ball and place it on the ramp. It knocks over the dominos, which sets off the mousetrap. A surge of excitement takes over as we watch the pulley lever snap up a spoon, which holds a ball that goes flying and … misses the funnel by a hair.
“GAH!” I scream out.
Conor breaks his pencil in two, while Brady stomps on the floor, causing the table to rattle.
We’re always so close, but never there.
“It’s okay,” Dan assures us. He pulls out a measuring tape and starts making calculations in his notebook. I always leave the heavy math-lifting to him. “I think we simply need to move the funnel an eighth of an inch over. We want the ball to hit the side so it rolls down for a while. It’ll create a more dramatic effect than simply landing in the funnel.”
It’s always something.
I place my hands on my head, wondering if we’re ever going to get this right. This is the one thing in my life I should have control over, but it’s starting to feel like a hopeless cause. The first contraption we made my freshman year, an egg cracker, took us two weeks. It was a lot simpler, with only five steps. But each semester, we made a more complicated machine. This was the first year we decided to try for the regional competition, where we need at least twenty steps.
“Who would’ve thought this would be such a hard balloon to burst,” Dan says with a snort.
“It’s not like we haven’t seen this done a million times online.” I pout, because I’m frustrated. Not only at the machine, but at everything in my life. “It’s a funnel. It’s supposed to function like a funnel. All these items aren’t doing what they’re supposed to be doing.”
Then it hits me: Maybe that’s the problem. It isn’t solely that we’re using things we’ve seen in other contraptions online, but we’re too focused on getting the balloon to inflate and then pop. We aren’t having fun doing it. The whole purpose of a Rube Goldberg contraption is for it to have humor and whimsy. This machine is simply meh.