Little Do We Know

  “Thanks,” he said. He tilted his head to one side, considering me. “What happened with you and Emory anyway?”

  His question surprised me. “She didn’t tell you?”

  “Nope. She refuses to.”

  If he didn’t know why we were fighting, that meant she hadn’t told him everything that had happened before the fight. And if she hadn’t told him, I certainly wasn’t about to.

  “You should ask Emory.” I slid forward onto the edge of the couch cushion and turned to face him. “You should make her tell you. It’s really important that she does.”

  He looked completely confused. “Why?”

  “Ask her,” I said, and I left it at that.

  “Sorry. What’s my line again?”

  Charlotte lifted her copy of Our Town and read, “I can’t go on—”

  “Got it.” I waved my hand in her direction, cutting her off. And then I straightened my spine, took a deep breath, and let my eyes fall shut, slowly easing myself back into the character of Emily Webb and her town, Grover’s Corners.

  I visualized the town. Main Street. The drugstore. The stable and the white fence that surrounded my house. The graveyard.

  I opened my eyes and locked them on Tyler. “I can’t go on!” I yelled. “It goes so fast. We don’t have time to look at one another!” I covered my face and made a sobbing sound, but I knew I didn’t sound authentic. Forgetting that line had pulled me out of the moment.

  I ran over to Charlotte with panic in my voice and delivered my lines. “I didn’t realize. So all that was going on and we never noticed. Take me back—up the hill—to my grave.” I stepped forward to the mark. “But first: Wait. One more look.”

  Everything was silent. I glanced to my left, and then my right. I settled my gaze on the audience and said Emily Webb’s words with all the passion I could muster.

  “Good-bye. Good-bye, world. Good-bye, Grover’s Corners…Mama and Papa.” I gazed around the theater again. “Good-bye to clocks ticking. And Mama’s sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new-ironed dresses and hot baths. And sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you.”

  Then I walked to my next stage mark. I looked up at Charlotte. “Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it, every, every minute?”

  “No,” she said matter-of-factly. “The saints and poets, maybe. They do some.”

  It was silent again as I took one final look around, pressing my lips together as I slowly scanned the stage and the auditorium. “I’m…” The line was gone. “I’m…”

  “Ready to go back,” Charlotte whispered.

  “I’m ready to go back,” I said.

  “Okay, stop there,” Ms. Martin called out from the front row. The cast let out a collective sigh, and I felt my shoulders relax. Everyone shuffled around as she walked up the steps onto the stage. “Emory, you’ve got to get those lines down.”

  “I know,” I said. “Sorry. I’m close. I’ll get it down.”

  “This final scene is so important.” She was looking at me, but speaking loud enough for everyone to hear. “This is Emily Webb’s famous good-bye monologue. It’s a big deal. Every word needs to ring true. Every pause needs to make your audience lean in with open ears and wide eyes, waiting for you to speak again. The entire play hinges on Emily’s final words.”

  “No pressure,” Charlotte said as she elbowed me.

  Ms. Martin looked at Charlotte. “It is a lot of pressure. Listen, Our Town is about the incredible miracle and beauty of life, even the worst moments of it. Emily gets a second chance to see the world, and she appreciates it with fresh eyes and a new perspective. In this scene, she’s trying to pass information along to you, to the audience, telling you to wake up every day and take in the world around you as if you’ll never see it again.”

  Ms. Martin snapped her fingers. “I have an idea.” She turned to address the cast again. “In this scene, Emily Webb says good-bye to clocks and sunflowers and hot baths. What do you think? Would those be the things you’d choose?”

  Tyler shrugged. Charlotte shook her head. Melanie said, “The coffee part was pretty good,” and everyone laughed.

  “This play is ours. Our town. Seniors, raise your hands.”

  Nine of us put our hands in the air.

  “Emory might have these lines, but she’s saying them for all of you. This is your good-bye to this stage. To this school. To this huge chapter in your lives.” She paced back and forth across the stage. “Let’s make the things Emily Webb says good-bye to uniquely ours, too.”

  Ms. Martin walked over to a table off to the side of the stage and grabbed a stack of papers. “Think about three things that are important to you. Be specific, like Emily is. Of course, you’d miss your families and friends, but I’m looking for more than that. What would you miss about them? Picture your bedrooms, this campus, your house, your world—think about the little things you would miss here. If you knew you were leaving this earth forever, what would you want to say good-bye to?”

  She started ripping up pieces of paper and passing them out to all of us. “Find a spot of your own on the stage and sit down. Write.”

  Charlotte, Tyler, and I clustered into a circle and everyone else did the same, gathering in various spots, dotting the black-painted stage.

  I pictured my room, my books, my laptop, my clothes, but I couldn’t think of anything I’d want to say good-bye to. And then I pictured my mom. And Luke. And for some reason I couldn’t explain, the view from my bedroom window.

  As angry as I was at Hannah, if I were leaving this earth forever, I’d want to say good-bye to her. To the thirty-six steps that separated her window from mine. To seventeen years of memories. I felt the tears prick my eyes, but I bit down hard on my lip to keep them where they belonged as I wrote, Our patch of grass.

  No one would know what it meant or why it was important, but I did.

  The theater was silent for a good ten minutes as we thought and wrote, until a few people started giggling. Ms. Martin took that as her cue and started collecting our paper scraps.

  She called me back to the front of the stage.

  “Okay, Emory,” she said. “Let’s do that again.”

  I stepped to the edge, looking out at the rows and rows of empty seats, preparing to close my eyes and bring myself back to Grover’s Corners. But before I could, she pivoted me around by the shoulders, turning my back to the auditorium.

  “Do it again, Emory, but stand here this time. Face your fellow cast members. Right now, this is your audience.”

  I took a long, slow inhale as my eyes fell shut. I blew out a breath. I shook out my hands. And then I opened my eyes.

  “Good-bye.”

  I looked at Tyler. Then at Charlotte.

  “Good-bye, world. Good-bye, Foothill High. Good-bye to…” Ms. Martin handed me a piece of paper and I read it in place of the actual line. “Songs that make me cry.” She handed me the next paper scrap. “And whipped cream. Good-bye to…my mom’s voice.” That one made my breath catch in my throat. I glanced around at my castmates, still seated on the stage and smiling up at me.

  “Good-bye to dancing. And the smell after a rainstorm. And chocolate chip cheesecake.” I looked at Tyler, knowing that one was his, and he blew me a kiss. “Good-bye to pepperoni pizza. And my favorite books. Good-bye to making out.” I laughed as I said it, and so did everyone else. “Good-bye to our Christmas ornaments.” I kept going, feeling the weight of all the things my friends and I loved.

  When Ms. Martin handed me the last one, I read it to myself first. I had no problem writing it down, but I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to get it out without choking up. “Good-bye to this stage and to all the people it let me be.”

  I glanced around the group, raised my arms to my sides, and delivered Emily Webb’s line: “Oh, earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you.”

  As I walked home from school, I thought about those three things I??
?d written down on those little slips of paper. The things I’d want to say good-bye to.

  I pulled out my phone and typed the word Grass?

  My finger hovered over the SEND button. But I couldn’t bring myself to press it.

  I went straight to my room, changed into my running clothes, pulled my hair into a ponytail, and sat on the edge of my bed, lacing up my shoes. I rushed through my stretches, eager to get on the path. I had far too much to think about.

  On the porch, I started my playlist, stuck in my earbuds, and turned the music up loud. I was just about to run down the stairs when something caught my eye. I looked to my left and saw Emory turning the key in her dead bolt. I moved back toward the door and hid behind a potted plant. I peeked my head out.

  She was about to walk inside when she stopped. She turned to look at my house. She stared at my bedroom window for a second. And then she glanced over to where I was hiding.

  And then she stepped inside and disappeared.

  I missed her more in that moment than I had since the day we fought. Without giving myself time to think about it, I reached for my phone and opened a new message. I typed the word Grass? I was about to press the SEND button, but I stopped.

  I pictured Luke, sitting in my living room the day before, asking me not to tell Emory he’d been there or that he was coming to church with me on Sunday. I told him his secret was safe with me. But if I saw her, I wouldn’t know how to keep it to myself.

  I slipped my phone back in my pocket and took off running in the opposite direction.

  I left my room on Sunday morning, eager to get to the coffeepot. Tyler, Charlotte, and I had rehearsed all night, and then stayed out late at the diner.

  I’d barely seen Luke all week. Every time I asked to come over, he said he was in too much pain. When I asked if I could stop by and bring him more books or magazines or Mentos, he said he just needed to sleep. Addison said she’d barely seen him either. She could count on one hand the number of times he’d left his room, and every time she went to check on him, he was in bed with the covers pulled over his chest, his laptop open in front of him, and a pair of big squishy headphones over his ears.

  “He’s acting super weird,” she’d told me on Thursday.

  “He’ll be okay.” I tried to sound reassuring, as if I had a clue what I was talking about. “He’ll be back to school on Monday and then everything will be back to normal. You’ll see.”

  And I hoped it was true. I hated how much I missed him. Even worse, I hated how little he seemed to miss me.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Mom said as I tipped the coffee into my mug. She and D-bag were sitting at the dining room table with her fat wedding notebook splayed open in front of them.

  “Hey,” I mumbled. “What’s up?”

  I didn’t really want to know. The question just slipped out, and I immediately scolded myself for it. Why couldn’t I go to the kitchen, pour my coffee, and go back to my room?

  “It’s the big cake-tasting day,” Mom said. She sounded way too cheery.

  “Apparently, it’s necessary to go to six different bakeries in a thirty-mile radius so you can find the very best cake,” D-bag added. I glared at him while he smiled at my mom and said, “I have no idea how one cake could be that different from another.”

  She giggled in an octave above her normal speaking voice. “Oh, stop it!” She swatted him with the back of her hand. “It’ll be fun. Besides, it’s not like I’m taking you to get a root canal. We’re eating a bunch of cake.”

  “Fine. Then six bakeries it is.” He ran his fingertip down her nose, and then tapped the end of it twice. “My bride can have anything she wants. If she can’t decide, she’ll get one cake from each bakery.”

  It was all I could do to not barf at the way he was referring to her in the third person, when he twisted in his seat and looked at me. “Do you want to come with us, Emory?”

  “Oh, that’s a great idea!” Mom actually fast-clapped. “We’ll make it a family thing.”

  A what thing? Oh dear god.

  “Sorry, I can’t….” I forced a smile and made something up. “I’m hanging out with Luke today. In fact, I was just coming out to see if I could borrow the van. He’s not allowed to drive yet, not until his internal stitches have healed completely.”

  Mom and D-bag exchanged a look.

  I’d overheard them talking about me a few nights earlier. He was pissed that she didn’t ground me for lying about Luke spending the night, and she’d laughed and said she hadn’t grounded me since I was thirteen. He told her I might be better behaved if she had. I’d listened closely after that, waiting for Mom to defend me, but she never did.

  “What are you two up to today?” she asked.

  “Luke’s doctor said he needed to get up and start walking around, so I thought I’d take him on an easy hike.” I was making it up as I went along, but it wasn’t a bad idea. “We’ll get some sandwiches, have a picnic.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  D-bag didn’t say anything. He was studying one of the cake menus like he was committing it to memory.

  “The car keys are in my purse,” she said. “On the table, next to the front door.” As I walked away, I heard them whispering to each other.

  I was over in the foyer, reaching for her keys, when I spotted a pile of mail sitting on the table. I froze. It was Sunday. Mail didn’t come on Sundays. It must have arrived yesterday. I could see the edge of a white packet sticking out.

  “Mom,” I said. “Mom! Packet!”

  “What?”

  I slid it out. I stared at UCLA drama department’s return address. I went back to the dining room with the envelope pressed to my chest. “Packet. From UCLA.”

  She took one look at me and jumped to her feet. “Rejections don’t come in packets. Open it!”

  “I can’t. My hands are shaking too much.”

  “Want me to open it?”

  “No.” I laughed. “Okay, here goes.”

  “It’s good news, I can tell.” D-bag sounded like he was trying to be excited but he couldn’t quite get there.

  I ran my finger under the flap, breaking the seal, and pulled out a brightly colored brochure with a letter paper-clipped to the top. I read it to myself.

  Dear Emory Kern. It is our pleasure to inform you that you have been accepted…

  I stopped reading and looked up at Mom. “I’m in.”

  “You’re in.” Her whole face came to life.

  “I’m in.”

  Mom pulled me into her arms and squeezed hard, wringing me out like a sponge. “Oh, Emory! I am so proud of you. I knew you’d get in.” She pulled away, took my face in her hands, kissed my cheeks, and went right back to hugging me. Then she let go. “Let me see it!” She took the letter from my hands and read it her herself.

  “Congratulations.” D-bag stepped in close, as if he were going to hug me, but I stepped back, shot him a glare, and shook my head at him. Mom was so busy reading the letter, she didn’t notice.

  She hugged me again and handed the packet back to me. “Go! Take the van. Get out of here. I bet you can’t wait to show this to Luke.”

  After the week we’d had, I wondered if he’d even care.

  I pulled up at the deli and jumped out of the car. It was a perfect day to be outside. There was a crisp, early spring bite in the air, but it was sunny, with no wind.

  Inside, I ordered giant sandwiches, a bag of chips to share, and two bottled waters. I stuffed everything in my backpack along with the picnic blanket I grabbed from the hall closet. I could see the UCLA Drama packet smashed it next to it, and I smiled to myself.

  I drove down the streets of Luke’s tree-lined neighborhood and turned into his long, narrow driveway. I pulled in next to his mom’s BMW, left the engine running, and ran up the steps. I was still trying to catch my breath as I knocked on the front door.

  Addison opened it.

  “Hi,” she said. She looked surprised to see me. “What are
you doing here?”

  “I’m kidnapping your brother,” I said, gesturing toward the van. “I packed a big picnic lunch, and I thought we’d go on an easy hike in the foothills. He seems like he needs cheering up.”

  “Luke isn’t here.” Addison had a weird look on her face. “He left early this morning.”

  “I thought he wasn’t supposed to drive?”

  “He’s not. He talked Mom into it. He said he had to get out of here for a few hours, that he was going stir-crazy, and Mom caved.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “He didn’t say. But I’m pretty sure the only reason my mom let him go was because he said he was spending the day with you.”

  The sanctuary was packed. Alyssa, Logan, Jack, and I were sitting in the front row. When the pastor introduced SonRise, the four of us stepped up onstage and took our spots behind our microphones.

  I looked down and saw Aaron at the bottom of the steps, wearing chinos and a gray V-neck sweater. His hair was brushed to one side and he looked all clean-cut and boy-next-door, but I missed the cap. I wondered where it was. Probably up in the sound booth.

  The sound booth.

  Everything was silent for a moment, until Alyssa counted us down. “Four, three, two, one.”

  I could barely stand to look at Alyssa. I’d kissed Aaron. Her future husband. I’d kissed him and he’d kissed me. Now he was standing in front of us, moving his hands in time with the music, and all I could think about was how those fingers felt on my back, on my skin. I glanced over at her, smiling out at the crowd, and guilt flooded over me.

  The four of us swayed in unison, two times to the right, two to the left, and then back to the right as we sang,

  “Bom…bom…bom…bom.”

  Logan had the first lines.

  “How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes.

  I struggle to find any truth in your lies.”