Saving Red

He just looks kind of regular!

  “My cousin has a service dog,”

  he says with a shrug.

  “It changed his life.”

  I suck in a breath and brace myself.

  But he doesn’t ask me

  why I have one.

  And I’m so grateful to him for this—

  for just accepting that I need Pixel

  and not pressing me to tell him why . . .

  I’m so grateful

  that I could kiss him.

  But then, I could kiss him anyway . . .

  Pixel hops up next to him

  and pats his palm with his paw.

  “What’s up, dog?” Cristo says with a grin.

  Then he looks over at me and says,

  “Check it out: Pixel’s high-fiving me!

  You teach him how to do that?”

  “It’s . . . it’s kind of a long story.”

  “Well, then maybe you can tell me someday.

  When we have more time.”

  And when I hear him say “someday,”

  my heart does this weird little flip-flop.

  Because that must mean he thinks . . .

  Well, that he thinks

  this is just the beginning

  of something . . .

  Of a something

  that’s gonna have

  a someday!

  Whoa . . .

  I am sitting here

  in my new favorite restaurant

  eating a slice of salted caramel pie

  while sitting

  right across from

  my new favorite person

  and we’re talking about

  how much better both our lives would be

  if we were old enough to drive

  and how weird it would be

  to be the star of our own

  reality show

  and about how

  Cristo once broke

  his thumb playing T-ball

  and I once broke my nose

  walking into a sliding glass door

  that was so clean I didn’t see it.

  We even talk a little bit

  about how hard it must be

  to be homeless like Red

  and about how much

  I want to help her get back

  to her family.

  And the whole time,

  his soulful brown eyes

  are gazing into mine . . .

  And I have no idea why,

  but I can’t even taste

  the pie.

  When a Boy Walks You Home

  After you’ve been on a date

  that turned into something else

  for a while and then sort of turned back

  into a date again at the end,

  you feel like each step you take

  is happening in a dream.

  Or maybe in a memory—a memory

  that’s somehow being made right now . . .

  When a boy walks you home

  after you’ve been on a sort-of first date,

  the back of his hand seems to keep

  bumping into the back of your hand

  and you can’t tell

  if it’s by mistake or on purpose,

  but either way, every time it happens

  it sort of makes you dizzy . . .

  When a boy walks you home

  after the weirdest but quite possibly

  the best first date that any two people

  on earth have ever been on,

  and you get to your house way too soon

  and pause together in the shadow

  of the sycamore tree at the edge of your yard,

  you suddenly get this feeling—

  this feeling like you might faint or something,

  because what would you do if he took hold

  of your hands, looked into your eyes,

  and then . . . then he leaned down

  and he kissed you?

  But

  You

  don’t get

  to find out.

  Because

  he doesn’t

  kiss you.

  Whew . . .

  Darn!

  Argh . . .

  So Now

  We’re just sort of standing here instead.

  Not kissing.

  And all of a sudden Cristo blurts out

  that his family’s going on vacation.

  That they’re leaving tonight,

  taking the red-eye to New York City.

  And that until he met me,

  he was sort of excited about it.

  But now that he has met me

  he wishes he didn’t have to go.

  He wishes he could stay right here

  and help me get Red back to her family.

  But he does have to go.

  And we both agree that this totally sucks.

  Then he smiles at me,

  with the saddest, most warmest eyes,

  and I just about

  keel over.

  He shrugs another gorgeous little shrug

  and says good-bye.

  And I say good-bye back.

  And then he starts walking away from me.

  Only he’s walking backwards—

  so he can keep on looking at me.

  And we lock eyes till he disappears

  behind my neighbor’s cypress hedge,

  like a full moon that’s been

  swallowed up by the clouds.

  And I’m Staring at That Hedge

  Feeling kind of thrilled

  but kind of miserable at the same time

  because I just realized that Cristo

  doesn’t even know my number.

  But then—

  he pops back into view

  and calls out,

  “I don’t even know your number.”

  And my heart

  practically explodes.

  I shout it out to him

  and he puts it into his phone.

  Then he waves good-bye

  and I wave back

  and then he does

  that walking-backwards thing again

  until he disappears

  behind the hedge a second time.

  And I stare at that hedge.

  And I wait. And I wait.

  Only this time,

  he doesn’t reappear.

  But Then—My Phone Rings!

  And Cristo says,

  “I just called to say hi.”

  I laugh

  and say hi back.

  And for

  a few seconds,

  we just sort of listen to the sound

  of each other not saying anything.

  Then he says, “So . . . okay. Bye.”

  And I say bye back.

  And when he hangs up,

  I clutch the phone to my chest.

  I Sigh

  Then I head up the front walk,

  and push open the door.

  Pixel sniffs the air and darts inside.

  I float in behind him

  like a starry-eyed girl

  from a sappy movie.

  But what happens next

  makes me feel as if I’ve drifted

  into an alternate universe.

  Because I could swear I smell latkes—

  those perfectly golden,

  perfectly crispy potato pancakes

  that Mom only makes

  once a year . . . during Hanukkah!

  She remembered after all!

  A second later,

  she bursts from the kitchen

  with a platter full of them.

  And Dad pokes his head out of his den

  with a bright smile on his face and says,

  “Ready to light the first candle, Mozzarella?”

  I nod and swallow hard.

  He hasn’t called me Mozzarella for almost a year.

  It’s . . . it’s a freaking Hanukkah miracle!

  For a split
second, I almost expect to see my

  big brother Noah come bounding down the stairs

  to wrap me up into one of his famous bear hugs.

  But,

  of course,

  he doesn’t.

  My Throat Closes Up

  And a wave of guilt and grief

  slams into me so hard

  it almost knocks me off my feet.

  But then Pixel’s here,

  working his nose

  into my palm.

  And the wave passes over me

  like the shadow of a cloud

  that blows across the lawn

  and is gone.

  Then I’m Lighting the First Candle

  And we’re saying the blessing

  and singing,

  “I’m spending Hanukkah in Santa Monica,

  wearing sandals, lighting candles by the sea . . .”

  And all of us are feasting

  on Hanukkah treats—

  Dad sneaking Pixel

  bits of latke,

  Mom letting him lick

  the applesauce spoon.

  And we’re tearing open

  little mesh bags of chocolate coins

  and spinning dreidels

  and laughing together

  and everything seems

  right with the world.

  Until

  it doesn’t.

  Because All of a Sudden

  Mom starts weeping—

  like it’s finally dawned on her

  that my brother Noah is still missing . . .

  Noah—whose Hanukkah puppet shows

  were so funny that Mom and Dad and I

  always ended up in hysterics . . .

  I watch Mom sobbing, and though she’s not

  touching me, it feels like her hands are gripping

  my neck, squeezing the life right out of me.

  Dad reaches out

  to stroke her hair.

  But she pulls away from him.

  He starts rubbing his temples,

  asking her why the hell she couldn’t have tried

  a little harder to keep it together just this once.

  I cross my arms over my chest

  and ask both of them why they always

  have to ruin everything.

  Dad tells me he’s sorry,

  scratches Pixel’s sweet spot,

  and heads down the hall to his den.

  Mom tells me

  she’s sorry too,

  swiping uselessly at her tears.

  Then she kisses Pixel on his head

  and shuffles into the family room

  to light up a joint and shop till she drops.

  Even Pixel

  looks like he can’t quite believe

  just how awful things are around here.

  But I guess if God

  hadn’t wanted my life to suck,

  He wouldn’t have created my parents.

  I Trudge Upstairs to My Room

  Feeling so weighed down

  it’s as if my pockets are filled with bricks,

  so heavy that when I hurl myself onto my bed

  I half expect it to collapse beneath me.

  But then Pixel

  scrambles up next to me.

  And I bury my face in his neck,

  inhale his sweet dog smell,

  and cry until I’m as empty

  as an overturned glass.

  And when I finally look up,

  my eyes land on the duffel bag—

  full of all the things

  that Red refused to take from me . . .

  Maybe I can’t

  bring my brother home.

  Maybe I can’t

  undo what I did.

  Maybe I can’t glue my messed-up family

  back together again.

  But if it’s the last thing I do,

  I’ll figure out a way

  to reunite Red

  with hers.

  A Second Later, My Phone Buzzes

  I dig it out of my pocket

  and find a text

  from Cristo!

  It’s a selfie,

  exaggeratedly sad-faced,

  with these words:

  I wish I could pack you in my suitcase.

  But then there’d be no room

  for my footie pajamas.

  What a guy!

  So ridiculously cute

  and hilarious and . . .

  I slap a super wistful look onto my face,

  snap a selfie of my own,

  and send it off.

  A second later, he texts me back:

  OK. Never mind my footie pajamas.

  Come with me to New York?

  And I text back:

  I sure wish I could

  take you up on that!

  And he replies: I wish you could too!

  Are you okay though? Your eyes look a little

  red in that pic you sent . . .

  Oh geez. Now what do I do?

  I can’t tell him how messed up

  my family is . . .

  Or how messed up I am . . .

  So I Write:

  Thanks for asking! I’m fine!

  Just got some sunscreen in

  my eyes.

  But who puts on sunscreen

  at ten thirty at night?

  So I delete that and write:

  Thanks for asking!

  I’m OK!

  Just the usual teen angst.

  But that

  makes me sound

  like a total loser.

  So I delete that too.

  And suddenly

  I find myself writing:

  Have you ever done something

  so stupid, so selfish,

  so just plain wrong,

  that you wish you could turn back the clock,

  return to the scene of the crime, and

  somehow keep yourself from committing it?

  And then, before I have a chance

  to change my mind—

  I click send.

  And I instantly wish I could

  turn back the clock and keep myself

  from sending that message!

  But a Few Seconds Later

  My phone rings.

  And it’s Cristo. And he says

  yes, he has done things like that.

  Lots of times.

  And though I can’t bring myself

  to tell him about my family

  or about the actual thing I did

  that I wish I could undo,

  we end up having the best talk—

  all about making mistakes and

  about second chances and about

  how hard life can be sometimes . . .

  In fact,

  it’s the best talk

  I’ve had with anyone

  since Noah disappeared.

  The Moonlight

  Is filtering through the fronds

  of the palms outside my window when

  Cristo says he has to head to the airport.

  So we say good night and click off.

  Then I wrap my arms around Pixel.

  Because . . .

  Well, because

  I have to hold

  someone . . .

  My fingers are itching to text Rosa

  and Jasmine and tell them all about Cristo.

  But those days are long gone . . .

  So I hang on to Pixel until the urge passes.

  And when I finally let go of him,

  he hops off the bed and trots across the room.

  He picks up an envelope

  that’s lying on the rug by the door,

  then trots back over with it.

  But before

  I even have a chance to open it,

  a second envelope slides under my door!

  Pixel Fetches That One Too

  I tear open the first one—

  and find two hundred-dollar bills!

&n
bsp; Along with a note.

  I read it aloud so Pixel can hear:

  Sorry things got so out of control tonight.

  Your mother and I thought you’d rather have

  this Hanukkah gelt than presents.

  Love,

  Dad

  Pixel wags his tail and looks at me

  like, “How about a trip to Petco?”

  “Consider it done,” I say.

  Then I tear open the second envelope

  and find two more hundred-dollar bills!

  Plus another note:

  Sorry I fell apart tonight and ruined

  everything. Your father and I figured

  you’d rather have cash than gifts.

  Happy(ish) Hanukkah.

  xx,

  Mom

  So Basically

  Having parents

  who hate each other so much

  that they barely even

  speak to each other

  does have certain . . .

  shall we say . . .

  perks.

  It Takes Me Hours to Fall Asleep

  And when I finally do

  manage to nod off,

  I’m suddenly back

  in our synagogue’s chapel,

  standing next to that same

  awful coffin.

  Only this time it’s Noah

  who’s trapped inside of it.

  And I’m looking down at it,

  listening to him screaming in there,

  these bone-chilling

  horror-movie screams,

  and now I’m screaming too

  and beating on the lid,

  clawing at it, tearing at it

  with broken, bloodied nails,

  but I can’t pry it open . . .

  I can’t . . .

  I can’t!

  Then—It’s Morning

  And I’m drenched

  in the usual puddle

  of cold sweat.

  I drag myself into the bathroom

  to splash some water

  on my face.

  And just as I reach for a towel,

  I hear my phone vibrate

  in the other room!

  I dash back in and find a text from Cristo—

  a photo of an enormous snowdrift,

  with these words underneath it:

  Wish you were here.

  No, not in this snowdrift.

  In New York City. With me. Right now.

  My heart dances a little jig as I dash downstairs,

  snap a picture of an ice cube,

  and text it to Cristo with these words:

  Wish you were here.

  No, not in this ice cube.