Chapter 4. Tessa
Tessa
“Smells delicious.” Dad pops into the kitchen to lean over the bubbling lasagna I’ve pulled from the oven.
He gives me a peck on the cheek before heading down the hall to remove his tool belt.
Maybe cooking his favorite meal was over the top, but at least it gave me something to do besides doomscroll in my room over the punching memes on my classmates’ social media.
Somehow, someone recorded the whole thing.
When Principal Evans returned to his office, he blasted Reed and me for our behavior and insisted I was lucky Ms. Fieldman only took her money and ran, instead of pressing charges.
And she would have had every right. I feel terrible about what I did. If Reed hadn’t gloated over my dad losing his job, I wouldn’t be in this situation. It still makes my blood boil. He should be the one with the black eye.
I can’t wait until this party is over and I never see his entitled face again.
“It’s not as good as yours, but I’m getting better every time I make it.
I didn’t even need to use the recipe tonight.
” I carry the lasagna to the kitchen table, breathing in a steam cloud of garlic and oregano, before hanging up my oven mitts.
I thought cooking would help, but I’m still just as unsure how to proceed.
How do I tell him? How, after his long struggle with unemployment, do I drop the bomb that we now need to scrape together my entire college tuition and expenses?
Unless I can patch things up with Ms. Fieldman.
Maybe if I get down on my knees and beg?
“That’s the thing about those old family recipes,” he calls from down the hall. “After a while, you sense them. It’s like you carry the knowledge in your bones.”
I pull out a bottle of Kraft Zesty Italian from the fridge to dress the salad. “How was the new gig?” I’ll start slow and work my way to the bad news, that’s probably best.
He grabs a beer, then plops down at the table with a heavy sigh. “You know me, I’d rather be building turbines than hired to deconstruct old ones, but it pays, can’t complain.”
“Not even about the commute?”
“Fine. I’ll complain about the commute. Two hours both ways is killer.”
“Or that it’s temporary? You’re allowed to say things are shitty, Dad.” I place the salad bowl on the kitchen table. Just confess already, Tessa.
“Nah, not going to complain like that. I’m thankful for the work. When’s Jillian getting here? I’m starving.”
“She texted she’s on her way. They kept her at the hospital to finish up some paperwork.
” As I’m saying this, my sister’s car pulls up out front.
Jillian’s older than me at twenty-seven, but she lives nearby, and since my parents’ divorce we’ve made Friday night dinners a habit.
We both know Dad gets lonely, though he’d never admit it.
Jillian knocks but then lets herself in.
We have the same pale complexion and jet-black hair, but where I look like Billie Eilish before her glow-up, she manages to pull off Snow White, even in her nurse’s scrubs.
If they were allowed in the NICU, she’d probably be surrounded by singing chipmunks and bluebirds.
“I could smell that lasagna out on the lawn. Serve it up!”
I’m already plating our meals as she washes her hands and finds a seat. “What’s that?” I ask.
“Oh.” She flips over the box she’s carrying to reveal a thousand-piece puzzle of a wizard battling several dragons. “Someone left this up for grabs in the staff room. I thought we could try it tonight.”
Everyone digs into their dinner. It tastes amazing—gooey, cheesy comfort-food deliciousness. “I can’t,” I say through mouthfuls. “I’m going to a school party.” That I lied and told Reed I was throwing. Oops. And for what? To save face? Who cares what he thinks?
“Really?” Jillian’s eyebrow quirks in shock. “Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”
“I think it’s great.” Dad reaches for a second helping. “You deserve to live a little.”
Oh God, he sounds like Reed. “Why does everyone keep saying that to me?” I’m fun. Do I not seem fun? Even to my own family?
“You work too hard, kid—looking after me, focusing on your studies, you should go have a good time. YOMO and all that. Or is it FOLO?”
Jillian and I both burst out laughing.
“It’s YOLO, Dad. YOLO. You only live once,” Jillian corrects.
“And FOMO stands for fear of missing out,” I add. “I think you told me, ‘You only miss out,’ which is kind of depressing.”
“Well, don’t miss out. Go have a good time. It’s a student government thing, right?” Dad asks.
“Mm-hmm … yes … student government.” I wonder how he’d feel about my breaking into an abandoned mansion for a graduation rager. Jillian catches my eye with a sideways glance, not buying my cover story, but not ratting me out, either. She’s good like that.
The doorbell rings and I leap up to let Brandon and Tilly inside.
Mostly, I’m happy for the excuse to avoid discussing the luncheon disaster.
I’ll tell Dad tomorrow. Maybe there’s a way we can write a letter together pleading my case to Ms. Fieldman or bring her flowers.
This is still salvageable. I will not allow my college dreams to slip through my fingers.
Dad beams as we enter the kitchen. “Hey, the whole crew’s here.” When Brandon peeks at the puzzle he adds, “You can start that if you like, we were going to tackle it after dinner.”
“Sweet.” Brandon joins him at the table. “I’m the puzzle master. The trick is to find the corners first.” He pours the pieces out and starts sifting through them.
As Tilly’s swigging from her water bottle her phone pings wildly. She pulls it out of her bag and almost chokes when she sees who’s texting.
“Uh-oh. Another cousin crisis?” I ask.
She’s frozen in place, hand shaking as she scrolls.
Something’s wrong.
“Wait. It’s not your mom’s health again, is it?”
My dad and Jillian look up, eyes full of concern. But it’s almost like Tilly doesn’t hear me.
“Tills?” I try again.
“What? Oh, no. Cousin drama, like you said.” She waves me off. I’m surprised I haven’t heard who this particular crisis is about. Unless it really is her mom. I’m tempted to ask, but she’ll tell me when she’s ready. Like always.
“If you’re upset, you don’t have to go to the student government thing tonight. You can hang out here. Watch a movie or something,” my dad offers.
“What student gov—” Brandon begins.
“Oh wow, would you look at the time.” Tilly cuts him off, glancing back at her phone.
“Thanks, Dad, but we should really get going.” I feel guilty lying to him, but I guess once you punch a sweet old lady, it’s a slippery slope off the moral high ground. And the fact is, I can use the distraction.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay in and do the puzzle instead? We could listen to some Coltrane.” Brandon’s already opening his Spotify playlist, Jazz Greats.
I cringe inwardly, imagining the field day Reed would have with this information—which only hardens my resolve. I will prove to him and everyone that just because I work hard doesn’t mean I’m not all kinds of fun deep down.
“We don’t want to be late.” Tilly playfully shakes Brandon’s shoulders.
As he scoops the unused puzzle pieces into the box, Tilly shoots me a meaningful look. Did you talk to him yet? I shake my head.
“Well, have fun, kids. It’s the last week of school, after all.” Dad leans back in his chair.
“That’s right. Time to finish senior year with a bang.” With a wave at my family, Tilly breezes out the front door, hoping the magnetic pull of her convictions drags us along.
After a quick goodbye kiss to Dad and Jillian, I grab Brandon’s hand and follow her out, mind whirling. I could end things, or let our relationship fizzle out naturally before college starts in the fall. It doesn’t need to be complicated.
We still have to graduate and there’s an entire summer before us.
I have loads of time to figure it all out.
Besides, right now I need to focus on finding the van der Born mansion.
It takes over an hour scouring backcountry roads, so by the time we arrive, the party is in full swing. A towering stone wall surrounds the property, save an ornate wrought iron entrance gate that’s flung open. We step over bolt cutters and a thick metal chain on our way in. Someone came prepared.
A deep pounding bass beckons from the dark turreted mansion up ahead, rattling the windows and drowning out the frogs from a nearby pond.
People are everywhere. A group of guys have packed into a crumbling gazebo to create a pyramid out of beer cans, while across the weed-infested lawn someone hangs upside down to chug from a keg as the crowd chants.
People lean out windows, spill down the front porch, or chase each other through the expansive grounds.
“Was that Kennedy Conway, first chair violinist, skipping in her bra through the bushes holding a candelabra?” Tilly asks, stunned.
“You saw that, too? For a second, I thought I’d dreamt it.” I shake my head in disbelief.
“I think we just solved Clue. This party is wild. Is this what we’ve been missing for all of high school?”
I turn to find Brandon lingering at the gate, hunched over a commemorative plaque about the old van der Born mansion. On every field trip we’ve gone on, he’d stop to read each historical sign and the description for every work of art. It drives me crazy.
“Brandon, the party.” I wave my hand in frustration at the three-story house up ahead.
“That was really interesting,” he says, walking up.
“Our town founders lived here for over a century until they fell on hard times and abandoned the place in the 1940s. The historical society began doing repairs but then ran out of cash and the project stalled. Now they’re raising funds to convert it into a museum.
Whoa.” He stops in his tracks, as if he’s noticed for the first time how many people are here.
Or maybe he’s caught sight of Kennedy in her bra.