Change of Plans

Chapter One

It was always awkward when we all got together. But this? This was excruciating.

“Okay, everyone, try to pretend you like each other!” said Colin’s dad, who was holding his phone, one finger squarely over the camera lens. Unaware, he continued to shout directions. “Finley, squeeze in with your mom a bit more. And Marisol? Come in the other side.”

Next to me, I felt my mother, always on edge, grow even sharper.

It was always a lot for her to be with the rest of my family—my dad; stepmom; the twins, Will and Piper; and baby Leo—because, well, we were a lot.

And she was used to being alone, except when she was at work or with me.

The rest of the time, I had no idea what she did.

For someone who birthed me, it was weird she was so much of a mystery.

Marisol, my stepmom, did as requested, pressing in on my right. She had Leo fussing in one arm—it was way past his naptime—as she tried to keep my brother Will from frog-punching Piper by reaching around my dad. Who looked exhausted. As always.

“Joel,” Colin’s mom said as her husband told my mom to get in even more. “Just take the picture.”

“Please.” Heather, Colin’s sister, shielded her eyes with one hand. “So hot out here.”

“It’s graduation! It has to be perfect. And I’ve almost got it.”

“Do you, though?” Colin said, coming up behind him.

He took the phone, freeing the lens, and then stepped back and bent down, instantly getting everyone in frame.

My hero. Even if he had been making the rounds giving hugs and high-fiving basically our entire class while I was dealing with all this.

Once StuCo president, always StuCo president.

“Okay, everyone: Say, ‘Finley’s awesome!’ ”

“Finley’s awesome!” everyone said, although I only heard Will, who yelled everything.

Click. Click. I watched Colin’s goofy stance as he shot the pictures, so grateful for him once again for making this easier.

His family was a tight unit—parents married twenty-plus years, older sister already at Defriese, running for student office herself.

Colin, the most ambitious person I’d ever met, was considered the family slacker.

Meanwhile, at our messy house, money was usually short, diapers and rogue LEGO pieces ruled, and someone was always leaving the fridge door open.

My stepmom was sweet but always exhausted, a matched set with my dad, who I’d discovered napping in his car in front of our house the day before, having dozed off between cutting the engine and taking groceries out of the trunk.

And then there was my mom, Catherine Finley Hope, who was now standing beside me, her posture straight, sunglasses on as she regarded Colin and the camera.

In her black dress and suit jacket, hair pulled back, she looked as out of place on the lawn of Jackson High as she did anywhere that was not a boardroom or office.

A dark blotch, eerily quiet as Colin started another round of “Finley’s awesome!

” and my brother and sister increased their volume.

Even with all the noise, I was very aware that my mom did not chime in.

Like I said. Awkward.

“Let’s get one all together!” Colin’s dad said, just as we finally began reclaiming our personal space.

I looked at Mrs. Frisbee, but she was already on it, gently reminding him we’d be late for our lunch reservation, where we could get plenty of pictures, inside.

Then Colin was handing Marisol her phone back, or trying to, as Leo dove for her boob (his favorite) while she scrambled to cover up.

“I’ll call the restaurant to let them know we’re on the way,” my mother said, her low, even voice always finding my ears no matter what other chaos was around.

“Mom, Will hit me again,” Piper reported.

“Shhh,” my dad told her, taking Leo. Marisol grabbed a twin’s hand in each of hers and began pulling them out of earshot. She always hated when they acted up, but with my mom as an audience, it was worse.

“All right, everyone!” Mrs. Frisbee clapped her hands. “To Luna Blu. We’re in the back private room, thanks to Catherine. I still can’t figure out how you got that reservation. They swore they were fully booked!”

At this, my mom just flashed her work smile, or really, her only smile: just enough teeth, measured warmth, quick. “Just a connection I had.”

“Well, I can’t wait,” Mr. Frisbee said, rubbing his hands together. “I was thinking about those famous fried pickles the entire ceremony.”

“Nice, Dad,” Colin said. “Glad you enjoyed my speech.”

“I can think food and pay attention,” his dad assured him, as Mrs. Frisbee laughed. “I especially liked the line about your father being your inspiration. And the Churchill quote. Nice touch.”

At this, Colin smiled. He played a big game, always, but I knew how much his dad’s approval meant to him. “Gotta know when to use the right words.”

“Smart kid.” As Mr. Frisbee pulled him in for a hug, his wife and Heather looked on, smiling. Yet again, I was reminded how, as a family, they were like this warm light, calling me closer. I just wanted to sit in it forever.

“Finley. Congratulations.”

I turned to see Ms. Fallon, my English teacher.

She’d been my favorite of the faculty at Jackson even before agreeing to advise my senior honors project, an oral history at a local retirement home.

“Thanks,” I said, glancing over at Colin, who was still talking to Heather and his parents.

Suddenly aware of my mom beside me, I said, “Um, this is my mom, Catherine. Mom, this is Ms. Fallon. I told you about her.”

“Of course.” My mom extended a hand. In her sleek suit, she was a studied opposite of Ms. Fallon, who was in a dress I recognized from Cork, the discount place where I shopped as well. “From what Finley says, you’ve been a real influence and mentor.”

I flushed. Of course she’d sum up something I couldn’t even explain, with a few words of corporate speak. Ms. Fallon smiled. “It was my pleasure. You’ve got a really cool kid here. I can’t wait to see what she does next year.”

Hearing this, I felt a bolt of panic. Only two people knew that I’d actually gotten into my dream school, Pacchiana College, and turned it down to go to the U with Colin: me and Ms. Fallon.

It would have been just me, but she had a friend in admissions.

Now I had a flash of when I’d told her my plans, how her face fell before she carefully rearranged it.

She’d felt so many things for me over the years, but disappointment had never been one of them. Until then.

“The university will provide lots of opportunity,” my mom said now. “I’m an alum myself.”

Of course she’d need to point this out. Ms. Fallon was smart, educated, and someone I admired. It would only take half of that to bring out the competitor in my mom. “It is,” Ms. Fallon agreed. “Although I’m sure we can all agree that Finley would thrive anywhere.”

My mom took a beat, hearing this. With her sunglasses on, I couldn’t make out her eyes.

The crowds from graduation were dispersing to the parking lot, and for the first time, I felt that now, really, it was over.

High school. My time at Jackson. So much lead-up, the farewell tour that was senior year, and only now did it hit me.

“Finley!” Colin called out. I looked over to see him standing with his parents and my dad, Marisol just beyond with all three kids, trying to herd them toward the car. “You ready to go?”

Looking at him, I felt that warmth again. It didn’t matter who knew the other paths I might have taken. This was what I had chosen.

I met Colin Frisbee on the first day of junior year at Jackson.

It was like entering a new world: Until then, I’d spent my entire life at the Fountain School, the crunchy private school where my dad and stepmom both taught.

But after a lifetime with the same kids, I was determined to make a change.

So I left my friends behind to keep exploring their feelings in sharing circles while I tried public school.

It seemed like a great idea until I had to walk in alone that muggy August morning.

My first class was US History, and I arrived to find the room already packed, with only a handful of desks left.

I scanned them, considering my options. I could be adjacent to a stocky guy in a muscle tee who was drawing video game logos on his notebook.

Or at a table with two girls who had their laptops already open and books out, ready to begin.

The last spot was next to a guy with short brown hair wearing a green T-shirt and beat-up flip-flops who was drumming a pencil against his temple. Door number three, it was.

Just as I slid into the desk, Ms. Hernandez, standing at the front of the room, clapped her hands. “Hello, everyone! This is US History. If you’re not supposed to be here, this would be a good time to gracefully exit.”

Silence. No one left. She continued.

“Great! This semester, we’ll be learning about this great country of ours. Although I bet you think you know it pretty well already; am I right?”

No one seemed to be sure whether this was a rhetorical question. One of the laptop girls started to raise her hand, just in case it wasn’t.

“Well, let’s find out. Grab a partner.”

This got a response, and not an altogether positive one. Clearly, everyone had been expecting an easing of sorts into the new semester. But partners?

“People,” Ms. Hernandez said with a sigh. “This isn’t prom. Just turn to the person beside you or behind you and introduce yourself.”

A groan from the back, and then people started shifting around and talking. I was on the end of a row, so I turned to face the guy in the green T-shirt, hoping he hadn’t already turned to his left. He had not. In fact, he was sitting there, his face expectant.

“Colin Frisbee,” he said, sticking out his hand. He had a very clean-cut look to him, even features, perfect teeth. “And you are?”