Infinite in Between

  The only person from the orientation group who Mia couldn’t find was Jake. She wondered if he’d ever gotten that Captain Underpants book she’d secretly given him last month. She’d held on to it since Christmas, waited until she spotted Jake at his locker, and then carefully taken note of his locker number. She’d returned the next afternoon and slid the book through the vents.

  Mia chucked her cup in a trash bag and texted Sophie that she was ready to go. Sophie’s dad was picking her up from school and bringing her back to their place. They were going to dye pink streaks in their hair. They’d already bought the Manic Panic. It was Sophie’s idea. She said that girls like them had to find ways to stand out from the pack. Mia just hoped she wouldn’t chicken out.

  SUMMER AFTER FRESHMAN YEAR

  JULY

  JAKE

  Jake: When are you flying up from Atlanta? You’re coming to visit your grandparents at the lake, right?

  Mona Lisa: Of course! Just like every summer. I get there July 13. We can celebrate your birthday late.

  ake: Cool. Truth or dare?

  Mona Lisa: I’ve got a truth . . . I almost went all the way this year.

  Jake: Whoa!!!!

  Mona Lisa: What about you? Truth or dare?

  Jake: Truth . . . I ran for student council.

  Mona Lisa: And?

  Jake: I lost by a little.

  Mona Lisa: Real truth. I actually went all the way.

  Jake: Real truth. I actually got slaughtered. Hardly anyone voted for me.

  WHITNEY

  FOR A SECOND Whitney couldn’t remember anything. Her brain felt like mush. There was sunlight streaming through her gauzy bedroom curtains. She could hear her dad puttering in the kitchen, listening to jazz.

  But then Whitney saw the hearts on her hand, scribbled in pen, and it all came back to her.

  Last night had been the end of drama camp. She’d done the camp with Laurel and a new friend, Autumn Cortez. They had their cast party after the show at this guy’s house. Someone brought lime Jell-O shots. Whitney did a few shots and ended up making out with two different guys. One was this guy Adam who’d been flirting with her all spring. The other was Zach Ryder. The kiss was slurpy and he tasted like nachos. He rambled on about how he loved her and then drew those hearts on her hand.

  Whitney yawned and checked her phone.

  Whaddup? Zack had texted. Wanna hang out today?

  There was also a text from Kyra. I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve decided we’re over.

  Whitney read it again. It sounded like Kyra was breaking up with her. The crazy part was, they’d been becoming best friends again! Just yesterday Kyra sent her a photo of Jake Rodriguez mowing her lawn, his blond hair damp with sweat. They’d agreed he was total eye candy.

  Whitney could hear her dad in the other room, on the phone with the moving company. Kyra knew Whitney’s dad was leaving for Chicago today. Kyra also knew that her mom’s boyfriend, Michael, was helping her mom move back home later. Michael drank Red Bull and wore leather shoes with tassels. Whitney felt icky whenever she saw him touching her mom.

  What do you mean OVER? Whitney wrote. But then, before she hit send, she backspaced and deleted the text. If Kyra wanted to dump her, let her do it. She’d be fine without Kyra. Better than fine. Instead she wrote to Zach.

  Sure, let’s chill this afternoon.

  Maybe he wouldn’t taste like nachos this time. At the very least, it would get her mind off everything else happening today.

  AUGUST

  GREGOR

  GREGOR DIPPED THE net into the pool and fished out some pine needles. His parents were out for the morning, and his dad had made a deal with him to clean the pool in exchange for driving lessons. Not that Gregor had his permit yet, but they went to the parking lot behind the high school and worked on three-point turns.

  Suddenly Gregor felt an intense pain on his ankle. He yelped and slapped at his leg. He’d just gotten stung by a bee! Seconds later his ankle, his foot, and his entire leg were throbbing. Then his lips started tingling, and his tongue was swelling in his mouth.

  Gregor looked around for his phone. Nowhere. No one was home, either. He couldn’t remember where his parents were—maybe grocery shopping? His leg was hurting worse, and his throat felt tight.

  Somehow Gregor made it across the deck, through the glass door, and into the kitchen. As soon as he walked inside, he puked all over the floor. Then he slumped down, leaned his head against the fridge, and closed his eyes.

  “Oh my god,” Gregor’s dad said.

  Gregor blinked. The kitchen reeked of vomit. His leg was killing him, and his head felt fuzzy. Hang on . . . Where was his dad now?

  A second later his dad was kneeling next to him. “Here goes,” he said.

  Gregor felt a pinch in his left thigh. His heart started pounding, and then his dad was lifting him, carrying him out of the house.

  “Stay with me,” his dad said as he lowered him into the front seat.

  His dad didn’t even buckle him in as he blew through every light in Hankinson on the way to the emergency room.

  Life-threatening anaphylactic bee sting allergy, Gregor wrote in his journal that night. For the rest of his life he’d have to carry around an EpiPen and never truly relax when he was outside.

  They kept him at the emergency room for nine hours to make sure things were okay. Now it was midnight, and he couldn’t sleep. Gregor touched the bandage on his ankle. His leg was still swollen, but the pain was better. Mostly, he was freaked out about how something random could happen on a perfectly fine day and suddenly you were practically dying.

  The doctor said it was a miracle that his dad had skipped the post office and come home and found that EpiPen they’d gotten after Erica had had an allergic reaction to cherries.

  In Gregor’s mind, there were now three miracles in his life. One was surviving today. Another was music. And the third was Whitney Montaine. Forget the fact that they’d never talked. She was still a miracle to him.

  MIA

  “I WAS IN the ER yesterday observing sales reps,” Mia’s mom said. “I saw a boy from your school. Allergic reaction. Anaphylactic.”

  Mia looked up from her Honey Nut Cheerios. She’d been reading The Catcher in the Rye. She and her mom never talked during breakfast. Mostly, her mom was on her phone.

  “Who was it?” Mia asked. “Did you find out his name? Is he okay?”

  “He’s okay. His dad gave him the EpiPen. Strange name. Gregor? Red hair.”

  “Gregor Lombard?” Mia asked, shocked. “I know him! He was in my freshman orientation group.”

  Her mom shook her head. “He could have died. His airways constricted. Lucky, they had an Epi at home. That’s what we’re working on.”

  Mia’s mom’s big account was selling epinephrine kits to schools and restaurants. Mia’s mom said there was money in allergies. Mia thought that sounded cold, but also not atypical for her mom.

  “By the way,” Mia’s mom said, “your new piano teacher is coming at four. Will you tell the cleaning lady to dust around the piano?”

  The microwave beeped. Mia’s mom picked up her coffee and disappeared into the bathroom. Mia got back to The Catcher in the Rye. She wondered what Holden Caulfield would say about her mom. He’d probably call her a phony.

  ZOE

  THE PARIS TRIP was very last minute. Aunt Jane had to rush order a passport so she could come. They hadn’t made a decision yet about where Zoe was going to live sophomore year, even though school was starting next Wednesday. Sierra was on location in France, so Max arranged for Zoe and Aunt Jane to meet her there and figure it out.

  “Paris!” Aunt Jane said on the ride to the airport. Max had sent an SUV with tinted windows to pick them up. “How many times have you been?”

  “I’m not sure,” Zoe said. She didn’t want to sound like a spoiled brat, like going to Paris wasn’t a big deal. “Three, I think. Maybe four.”

  Aunt Jane shook her head
. “First-class seats to Paris. I can’t get over this.”

  Zoe reached for a San Pellegrino water. Aunt Jane had no idea what Zoe’s life had been like before she’d moved to Hankinson. Nobody did.

  Max put them at the same hotel as Sierra. It was on Champs Elysee, a block from the Arc de Triomphe. The man at the front desk told them, “Mille huit cent neuf.” And then, in a heavy French accent, he said, “That’s 1809.”

  “What about my mom?” Zoe asked him. “Sierra Laybourne? Is she in 1809 too?”

  The man stared at her with dull black eyes. He reminded Zoe of a weasel.

  “I’m her daughter,” Zoe said. “It’s not like I’m coming to stalk her.”

  The man pressed his thin lips together.

  “She’s in 2010,” Aunt Jane said, swiping her finger across her phone. “Max texted it to me.”

  The hotel guy frowned. As he handed them two room cards, Zoe blinked hard. She assumed she was staying in her mom’s room. They spent all of July together, and Sierra told her she’d been sober for six months. Zoe only returned to Hankinson when her mom came to France to shoot this movie.

  “I’m sure she’s just tired,” Aunt Jane said. “I wouldn’t take it the wrong way.”

  An hour later Zoe met her mom in the lobby. They were going to take a walk along the Seine. Aunt Jane said she needed to catch up on sleep, but Zoe had a feeling she wanted to give them time alone.

  “It’s good to see you and Janie,” Sierra said, sliding on her sunglasses and taking Zoe’s hand as they ducked into the backseat of a waiting car.

  Zoe had never heard Janie before. She hoped that meant her mom and Jane were patching things up. Zoe knew they’d been talking on the phone this summer.

  As their car weaved in and out of traffic, Zoe studied her mom’s new bodyguard. He was sitting in the front seat. His name was Kwame, and he was African. He and Sierra kept glancing at each other. Zoe wondered if they were sleeping together. It was gross to think about her mom having sex, but it wasn’t like Zoe was an idiot. Celebs generally kept things in their inner circle, even if it meant doing it with people who worked for them.

  “Where’s Max?” she asked, suddenly surprised that he wasn’t in the car with them, pushing Zoe to live wherever made the most strategic sense for Sierra.

  “Two days off,” Sierra said. “He went to the Loire Valley.”

  “Oh,” she said, relieved. Then again, sometimes it was easier for Max to call the shots. If he didn’t, then Zoe would have to think about what she actually wanted.

  “Should we take a boat tour?” Sierra pointed to the riverboats docked along the Seine. “People say it’s lovely.”

  Zoe shook her head. She was still queasy from the long flight. “I think walking is fine.”

  “Okay . . . sure. Walking is good.” Sierra jiggled her knee. “I know I’ve told you that yellow isn’t your color, but I like your shirt.”

  Zoe touched her yellow shirt from the Hankinson mall. It was nothing special, just a cotton scoop neck. Mostly, her mom seemed nervous, which was making her nervous too.

  “You can get out of the car here,” the driver said to them. He and Kwame made a security plan, something about Kwame walking behind to give them privacy.

  The illusion of privacy, Zoe thought. She was never truly alone with her mom. Except, ironically, that night on New Year’s Eve.

  It was cooler down by the river. They passed a gaggle of Japanese tourists. Sierra adjusted her sunglasses and tucked her blond hair into a floppy hat. No one seemed to recognize her. Zoe glanced back at Kwame, but he was staring straight ahead.

  “Want to go shopping after this?” her mom asked. “I’d love to get you some new clothes for school.”

  Zoe shivered. The last thing she wanted was to go shopping with her mom, especially after last summer in London. Also, she was stressed about the school thing. Aunt Jane said she could live in Hankinson for sophomore year. Her mom said she could go back to Topanga Day and have a live-in nanny until Sierra returned from France. Or staying here in Paris was an option, but then Zoe would need a tutor.

  “I’m much better, you know,” Sierra said. “Things will be different than before.”

  Zoe hugged her arms over her chest. She’d gotten into the choir in Hankinson. Also, she’d miss Anna if she left.

  “Do you know what you want to do?” her mom asked.

  She sort of did, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud.

  SOPHOMORE YEAR

  SEPTEMBER

  JAKE

  ON THE FIRST day of school, Jake saw Teddy and Marin in the cafeteria line. He hadn’t seen either of them all summer. He cleared his throat and reached for a plate of chicken nuggets. He wasn’t going to look. He wasn’t going to care.

  Okay, he looked.

  They were holding hands and clutching their trays like they couldn’t let go of each other for two minutes. Mona Lisa said that couples who were massively PDA were actually insecure about their relationship status, but from the looks of Teddy and Marin, they seemed massively in love.

  Jake was behind them, waiting for his squirt of honey mustard sauce. If it were any other two people, he’d be like, Hey, what’s up? How was your summer?

  But with Teddy and Marin, no way.

  Even hello got trapped in his throat.

  Jake wanted sophomore year to be different. Not just with Teddy, but in general. He didn’t want to hide in the art room all the time. He didn’t want to run for student council but then be too scared to campaign. This year he wanted to be himself. He just didn’t understand when that got so hard.

  Screw the honey mustard. Jake paid for his lunch and carried his tray back to the art room.

  WHITNEY

  WHITNEY KISSED ZACH outside first-period English, and then skipped after Laurel down the hall. They hadn’t seen each other yet this morning, but she spotted Laurel’s long golden hair pulled into two loose pigtails.

  “Do you have gym second period too?” Whitney asked as she tugged on Laurel’s hair.

  Laurel wrinkled her nose. “Unfortunately. Then we’ll be gross and sweaty for the rest of the day.”

  “At least we’ll be gross and sweaty together,” Whitney said, smiling.

  Laurel shrugged. She seemed sulky, but Whitney wasn’t going to let it bring her down. She was wearing short linen shorts and these great wedges that she bought in Chicago when she and her sister flew out to see their dad. He wanted to take them camping at the Indiana Dunes, but Whitney and Alicia begged for a few days of shopping instead. Also, she and Zach had been together for seven weeks. It was her longest relationship yet. So much for everyone saying she couldn’t make a commitment!

  “At least it’s the first day of school,” Whitney said as she and Laurel turned into the gym, “so we don’t have to go to the locker room and—”

  Kyra was standing right inside the double doors. As soon as she saw Laurel, she clapped her hands and jumped up and down.

  “Laurel!” Kyra squealed. “I’m so glad you’re in my gym! I asked my dad to make it happen, but you never know.”

  Whitney froze. She hadn’t seen Kyra since that breakup text back in July. Whitney had never written her back. It was a total freeze-out.

  “I love your shirt!” Kyra said, hugging Laurel.

  Laurel smiled at Kyra. “Thanks! It’s like the one you got last week at the Darien Shoppes.”

  “I’m so flattered,” Kyra said, giggling.

  Whitney tried to catch Laurel’s eye. Laurel knew that Kyra had ditched her—they’d even talked about it at soccer yesterday. So why didn’t Laurel tell Whitney that she and Kyra had gone shopping together and seemed to be becoming best friends?

  “Hey, Whit,” Kyra said coldly.

  “Hey,” Whitney said in an equally icy tone. Then she walked across the gym to Autumn Cortez. Autumn had done drama camp with her and Zach. She was totally cool the way she always wore tights and short dresses and dark lipstick.

  “He
y, girl!” Autumn called out. “How’s it going?”

  Whitney gave her a hug. Forget Kyra. Maybe even forget Laurel, too. Autumn was going to become her new best friend this year.

  OCTOBER

  MIA

  MIA DIALED *67 to block her dad’s name from appearing on someone’s phone. This was her standard routine. She made her prank calls from the landline, in the abyss of time between the end of school and bed. That’s when she was always alone. Sophie’s mom wouldn’t let her come over on weeknights, and Mia’s parents were usually working late or at the gym.

  Tonight she was trying to reach Mott’s applesauce. She dialed the toll-free number on the label and pressed about seven zeroes before she got a real person.

  “Motts, I’m Justine,” the woman answered. “How may I help you?”

  Mia cleared her throat. “I have a question.”

  “That’s what we’re here for!”

  “I’d like to feed your applesauce to my baby,” Mia lied. “I’m wondering if she’s ready.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Six months.” Mia twisted some hair around her finger. Her hair was down to her shoulders with faded pink streaks that her mom hated. In Mia’s mom’s opinion, hair should be only one color and that was sun-streaked blond.

  “That’s when I gave my kids solid food,” the Mott’s woman said. “You may want to talk with your pediatrician about it.”

  “Good idea,” Mia said. “I’ll call the pediatrician in the morning. Thanks!”

  Mia hung up and rubbed her hands against her upper arms. Prank-calling left her with a dizzying rush of excitement and nervousness.

  Mia’s prank-call record was fifty-three minutes. That was with a travel agent. They’d debated whether Mia and her fiancé—Mia called him Brock, of course—should honeymoon in Hawaii or the Caribbean. Sometimes Mia called neighbors and invented random polls like who they were voting for in the upcoming election. She had to be especially careful to *67 these calls.