Infinite in Between

  On Halloween night Mia passed out candy to princesses and superheroes. Her mom had left a bag of Snickers on the counter with a Post-it saying Please distribute. She and her dad were at dinner with customers.

  Once the doorbell stopped ringing, Mia busted out the Manic Panic and touched up her pink streaks. She’d gotten compliments on her hair this fall. Some kids told her she looked Goth. Mia had started wearing all black and lots of eyeliner. This drove her mom crazy too. She’d already decided to ask her uncle George for Doc Martens for her fifteenth birthday in December.

  By nine thirty, Mia was listening to Sonic Youth and eating mini Snickers. The house was pulsing with emptiness. Mia stared at the home phone. She pictured Whitney Montaine in English class this morning. She’d been wearing a headband with cat ears, and she had a charcoal smudge on her nose and whiskers across her cheeks. There was a white rose on her desk. Whitney had been telling Autumn Cortez that her boyfriend, Zach, put a rose in her locker every Friday.

  Mia grabbed the iPad and typed Montaine and Hankinson into the search engine. There it was! Whitney lived at 236 Abbey Drive, and it even showed her parents’ phone number. Abbey Drive was one of the nicest streets in Hankinson, with its Victorian houses and broad shady trees. On New Year’s Eve last year there’d been a car accident on Abbey Drive, and a guy from school had died. He was a junior and his name was James. Mia didn’t know him, but she went to his memorial anyway. When they played “Tears in Heaven,” she’d started crying.

  After a few rings Mia heard Whitney’s voice. “Hello?”

  Mia realized, way too late, that she’d forgotten to dial *67.

  “Hello?” Whitney asked again. She sounded groggy, like she’d just woken up. “Is someone there?”

  “Oh, hi,” Mia finally said. “I’m calling . . . I’m taking a poll . . . about how people celebrate Halloween.”

  “Who’s this again?” Whitney asked.

  Mia slammed down the phone. She pressed her cheek against the granite counter, attempting to breathe. The home phone rang. Mia glanced at the caller ID.

  Lydia Montaine.

  It was Whitney. Mia frowned at the screen as the phone rang and rang and finally fell silent.

  NOVEMBER

  JAKE

  “WE SHOULD PAINT a mural together,” Allegra said in art class one morning.

  Allegra Nichols was Jake’s new best friend, at least according to her. Jake actually didn’t like her, yet he couldn’t get rid of her. She moved from Maine at the beginning of sophomore year and had latched on to Jake in the art room. She didn’t care that Jake was gay. In fact, she considered it an accessory to have a gay BFF. That alone annoyed Jake.

  “What kind of mural?” he asked. He’d been excited about taking advanced drawing until Allegra dropped out of her photography class to join him in his elective.

  “You know that gray wall at the bottom of the stairwell in the basement?” she asked. “We should get permission to paint it.”

  Jake was working on his charcoal self-portrait. It counted for 20 percent of this quarter’s grade. He glanced into the small mirror on the table and then added shading under his left eye.

  “You know where I’m talking about?” Allegra asked.

  Jake nodded. It was that stairwell where he and his freshman group had hidden the letters at orientation before ninth grade. Just yesterday he’d seen that quiet girl, Mia, walking into school. She’d gotten pretty in an exotic way, tall and skinny with large gray eyes and pink hair.

  “We could design the mural and sketch it out,” Allegra said, knotting her curly hair on top of her head. “I was thinking we could paint people holding hands and stars and inspirational quotes. Not cheesy, though. I did one at my school in Bangor. Want to see a picture?”

  “Sure,” Jake said. If he said no, she’d just show him anyway.

  Here was another annoying thing about Allegra. She was hooking up with a guy who had a girlfriend. She wouldn’t tell Jake his name, but other than that, she wouldn’t shut up about him.

  “Did you know we met at church?” Allegra asked on the phone. She called almost every night, which was also annoying. No one called. It was all text.

  “The first you know what happened in the church bathroom,” Allegra said. That was how she referred to blow jobs. “Is that gross? It didn’t feel gross at the time.”

  “I guess it’s more ironic,” Jake said. He wasn’t really paying attention. He was digging in his desk for his bank account number. With the money from mowing lawns, he might have enough for sailing camp next summer. He’d never sailed before, but he wanted to learn. His parents said if he came up with half the tuition, they’d pay the other half.

  “Ironic, why?”

  “I don’t know . . . because of church?” Jake opened another drawer. He could hear his sister crying downstairs. She was nine and still had meltdowns.

  “You totally want to know who he is, don’t you?” Allegra asked.

  “Whatever.”

  “I can’t tell you. I wish I could, but I feel this moral obligation to, uh . . .”

  Violet was shrieking, her feet pounding up the stairs.

  “I want to protect his girlfriend,” Allegra finally said. “He loves her, but she doesn’t put out. Crude but true. Hey, did you think about that mural? I dropped off a proposal with the principal, and I wrote both of our names on it.”

  By the time Jake had hung up, his neck was tight. He turned off his light and lay on the carpet, his arms folded behind his head. What Jake didn’t tell Allegra was that he knew the guy’s name. It was Zach Ryder. He was the one who beat Jake for student council last year. He constantly saw Zach’s texts on Allegra’s phone.

  As Jake lay in the dark, he thought about Zach’s girlfriend, whoever she was, and how much it must be sucking for her right now.

  After school on Thursday, Jake had an hour before his mom picked him up for his painting class. He zipped up his hoodie and was just heading past the track when Allegra caught up with him.

  “Are you going to Bean?” she asked, fishing her sunglasses out of her messenger bag.

  Jake shrugged. There were rusty leaves piled in heaps on both sides of the path. When he and Teddy were in seventh grade, they made a massive leaf pile in his backyard and cannonballed into it from his roof. It was nuts they didn’t break any bones.

  Jake and Allegra walked past the field where the JV football team was practicing.

  “Idiots,” Allegra said.

  “Not all of them.” He was thinking about Teddy, but also his other football friends from middle school who’d stopped talking to him. Actually, maybe they were idiots. Or maybe he was the idiot because he let it happen.

  When they got to Bean, Allegra wouldn’t shut up about the brick wall in the café and how they should paint bricks on their mural.

  “If you look closely,” Allegra said, “all the bricks aren’t red. Every so often, there’s a black brick. That’s what we are, Jake.”

  Jake sipped his hot apple cider. It was too hot, and it scalded his tongue. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked sharply.

  “We’re different.” Allegra doodled a shooting star on the edge of Jake’s math homework. “The wall wouldn’t look right with all black bricks, but the red bricks wouldn’t be as beautiful without an occasional black brick.”

  Jake had never considered himself a freak, and he wasn’t about to start now. “I’m not a black brick,” he said, erasing her star from his homework.

  “Yes, you are. I was thinking, in the mural—”

  “Forget the mural.” Jake stuffed his notebook into his backpack. “Take my name off that. I don’t want to do it.”

  “Will you chill out? I’m just saying—”

  “Don’t.”

  Jake reached for his cider, but Allegra snatched it first, holding the cup out of his reach.

  “You know what sucks?” Allegra said. “I had something big to tell you.”

  Jake tried to get his d
rink, but Allegra stretched it over her head.

  “Were you going to tell me it’s Zach Ryder?” he said, his voice cracking. “The guy you’re cheating with? Because I already know.”

  “Shut up!”

  Screw the apple cider. Jake turned to leave, but then Allegra called after him.

  “I was going to tell you that I’m moving back to Maine over Christmas break. I’m going to live with my dad again.”

  Jake froze. If only he’d put up with Allegra for another month, he could have avoided this dumb fight. He wished she’d told him she was moving before they’d gotten to Bean. He wished he’d never met her. He wished a lot of things, but so far nothing had come true.

  GREGOR

  GREGOR SWITCHED ON his bedside light. It was past midnight, and he couldn’t sleep. He was thinking about Whitney again. It was so frustrating. He saw the guys she talked to in school. Guys like Zach Ryder and Brock Sawyer. Personally, Gregor thought Zach was a sleaze and that Brock’s square teeth made him look like a horse.

  He had to come up with a plan to get Whitney to notice him.

  He uncapped a pen and started writing in his journal.

  November 19, 12:33 a.m.

  1. I should start working out. Lift weights?

  2. Become a drummer in a garage band. Talk to Dinky about this.

  3. Switch from tighty-whities to boxer briefs.

  4. Study for my learner’s permit.

  5. Read The Book Thief. Erica said girls love it when guys read this.

  6. Talk to my orthodontist about hurrying things up.

  7. Come up with a grand gesture.

  In the morning Gregor opened his journal and reread the list. He decided to start with boxer briefs and a grand gesture.

  All day at school Gregor kept thinking about grand gestures. Guys in movies ran through New York City gridlock or decorated girls’ rooms with rose petals, but neither of those seemed possible to pull off. Finally, at band practice after school, it came to him.

  Gregor was playing cadence on the snare drum, keeping an eye on Dinky for time. Shockingly, Dinky had been voted drum major, the first time a sophomore landed that position in Hankinson history.

  After practice Gregor wriggled out of the harness that affixed the drum over his shoulders. “Hey, Dink,” he said. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  They were out at the stadium. Dinky set his clipboard on the bleachers. A few people were hovering around, waiting to ask him questions. “Sure, what’s up?”

  “Alone,” Gregor said.

  Dinky lifted his eyebrows and walked with Gregor a few paces across the playing field. The wind was picking up and the sky was gray. Hopefully, the game wouldn’t be rained out tomorrow.

  “Is there any chance . . .” Gregor glanced around to make sure no one was in earshot, and then he leaned in close. “Is there any way you can get the band to spell I heart WM at half time tomorrow night? Like, during the Notre Dame ‘Victory March’?”

  Dinky’s lips spread into a slow smile. “Yo, Gregor, who’s the girl?”

  Gregor shook his head. Dinky was his closest friend, but he still couldn’t tell him about Whitney.

  Dinky twirled his long metal baton in his fingers. “Let me think about this. We’d need to schedule some extra time to practice that formation.”

  “It’s really important.”

  Dinky nodded. “Got it. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Best-case scenario: Whitney would be swept up by the grand gesture and come to the band room after the game, and Gregor would be there waiting for her.

  Worst-case scenario: Things would remain exactly the way they were.

  WHITNEY

  “DUH, TWIT,” ALICIA said to Whitney. They were eating Chex at the breakfast table. “Why else would the band say they love WM? Clue in. I thought you were smarter than the rest of the idiots here.”

  Whitney rubbed her eyes. She wished her mom were home, but she was sleeping over at Michael’s. Whenever she thought about them having sex, it made her stomach clench tight.

  “I just don’t see why the marching band would spell my initials,” Whitney said. She sipped some orange juice. “That’s freaky. Some people said they were trying to spell ‘Wildcats.’”

  The Wildcats were the school mascot, after all. Either way, Whitney didn’t want to be analyzing this. Last night’s football game was awful. She’d gone with Zach, but he ditched early. Then, when the marching band did I heart WM in their formation, all these people whistled at Whitney. To make it worse, she hadn’t been able to find Autumn after the game, so she had to ride home with Alicia and her senior friends. They were smoking weed in the car, which made Whitney feel like gagging. She was definitely not into weed. After some queasy hangovers in ninth grade, she didn’t even drink anymore.

  “You seriously think they were trying to spell Wildcats in their formation and they wrote WM?” Alicia clipped her hair in a barrette. Her sister was going natural these days, but it was brittle. Whitney wasn’t about to suggest she go in for a deep condition. She’d jump down her throat about that, too. “You know someone in the marching band is in love with you.”

  “Whatever,” Whitney said.

  Alicia shook more Chex into her bowl. “What, you have a problem with that?”

  “They’re sort of . . .” Whitney scrunched her nose. She pictured those shabby Q-tip hats the marching band wore on their heads. “Band geeks. Not my type.”

  “You’re so shallow,” Alicia said. “Why not go out with a band geek? They’re smarter than the average asshole, and they’ll be grateful you’re with them. Unlike Zach.”

  “Zach is fine.”

  As Alicia carried her bowl to the sink, she sang, “Don’t stop believin’. . . .”

  Whitney wanted to chuck a spoon at her. Instead she reached for her phone. Where was Zach anyway? For the past few weeks he’d been a flaky boyfriend. Sometimes he got frustrated that Whitney didn’t want to go that far. The thing was, ever since prom night with Tripp freshman year, Whitney promised herself she wouldn’t go inside the pants until it was love. Whitney guessed Zach was being flaky because he was on the varsity soccer team this fall, and practices were intense. Then again, she was on varsity soccer too, and she always found time for him.

  Hey, sexy lady! Autumn wrote her a few minutes later. Everyone’s saying that WM was you. NOW is the time to dump Zach. You’re gonna be the IT girl.

  Ha, Whitney texted her back. I’ll let Zach stick around.

  ZOE

  ON THE AFTERNOON of Thanksgiving, the rain was beating so hard against the windows that Zoe could barely see out. She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for as she watched the fuzzy outlines of cars with their headlights on. Aunt Jane’s son, David, had driven up from college with his girlfriend, Tamara. They got so wet sprinting from the driveway that they threw their clothes in the dryer and changed into sweats and T-shirts. During a lull in the storm, David’s dad, Rich, arrived with his wife, Glenda, and their five-year-old daughter, Mariah. Rich’s father, Harris, came a minute later, propping his umbrella inside the door. Zoe pretended to watch the game with her cousin and Tamara. Not that she cared about football. But maybe no one did. Maybe they had a game on Thanksgiving for the sole purpose of people not having to talk.

  Zoe’s mom was still shooting in France. The movie was supposed to wrap by November, but now they were saying middle of December. That was why Zoe was doing Thanksgiving in Hankinson again this year.

  After a while Aunt Jane shooed people away from the TV and into the dining room for appetizers. As Zoe watched everyone hovering around the veggies and dip, she thought about families. This family tree, with the stepmom and half-siblings and ex-spouses, would have branches crossing over branches and twigs like Zoe’s—the estranged famous sister’s daughter—sprouting completely out of nowhere.

  Aunt Jane handed Zoe a lime seltzer to give to her cousin’s grandfather. As she did, he extended a thick freckled hand to her.

&
nbsp; “Call me Grandpa Harris,” he said. His freckles were so round and orange, they looked like chewable vitamin Cs. “I met your mom a few times when Rich was married to Jane. I’m a big fan.”

  “Thanks,” Zoe said. This was her first time meeting Harris. She looked from Harris to Rich, Jane’s ex-husband. They were both bald with rosy cheeks and big bellies.

  “Is Sierra working on something now?” Harris asked.

  “A romantic comedy,” Zoe said. “She’s filming in France.” She hoped he wouldn’t ask her anything else. It made her uncomfortable talking about her mom’s career. The whole room would get instantly quiet as people hung on to every word.

  Thankfully, no one mentioned her mom again until dinner when David’s girlfriend quoted One Precious, a movie Sierra starred in nearly twenty years ago.

  “Oh my god,” Tamara said, flushing. “I didn’t even think about how she’s your mom. That’s so embarrassing.”

  David touched her arm. “No big deal.”

  “Happens all the time,” Aunt Jane said, passing around the cranberry mold.

  “Wasn’t One Precious made around here?” Glenda asked. Rich’s wife was African American and glamorous, with a long velvet skirt and dark red nails. She was a hair stylist in Hankinson. Zoe had met her one other time, at Thanksgiving last year. She’d said that Zoe had great natural highlights.

  “It was filmed two hours away,” Harris said. “Up by Lake Ontario.”

  Zoe saw Aunt Jane look quickly at Rich, and he cleared his throat. Something about seeing David’s dad, Rich, and Rich’s dad, Harris, made her wonder about her own father. More and more recently, she’d been thinking about him. When she was younger and asked her mom about her father, her mom always shut her down. After a while Zoe stopped asking. It was almost like he didn’t exist. But he did exist. And if life had turned out differently, Zoe would have been sitting around some other table, another branch on another tree.