Chapter 5
“You busy?”
I glanced up from my spot on the floor where I was folding laundry. Stella stood in the doorway, a carry-on suitcase at her side. She must have redyed the aqua strip in her bangs this morning, because it looked more vibrant than usual.
“You going somewhere?” I asked. She wasn’t supposed to return to New York for spring semester for another two weeks.
“Yeah, actually, I am,” she said, walking over to my computer chair and sitting down. “I didn’t realize how much I missed being backstage with the guys until last night, so I’ve decided to tag along on their tour until school starts.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” I replied, tucking a sock into its twin and tossing the resulting lump in the finished pile. “When are you leaving?”
“Mom’s taking me to the airport in”—Stella glanced at her phone—“fifteen minutes, but I wanted to talk to you before I left.”
“Okay?” I said, suddenly apprehensive. Something about the smile on her face felt off. An image of JJ flashed in my mind, and I wondered if she’d found out that I kissed him.
“I’m glad you came to the party yesterday. It was fun, right?”
“Yeah, sure.” I could already tell that wherever this conversation was going, it wouldn’t be good. “What’s your point?”
She shrugged, though it was obvious she was trying to look casual. “I just thought getting a small taste of college life might inspire you to start applying for school?”
I scowled. “No, it didn’t.” The opposite, in fact. Until JJ arrived, the only thing I’d felt was overwhelming bitterness.
Stella’s expression fell, but she recovered quickly. “Well, in case you change your mind, I emailed you some links to multiple scholarships you’d be a good fit for.”
Because if I decided to go to college, I’d need all the financial help I could get.
Mom and Dad didn’t have the money. Drew won an academic scholarship and worked a part-time job, but that wasn’t enough to cover his tuition, so he had to take out a student loan.
Stella was luckier; she’d earned more than enough working for the Heartbreakers to pay for her education, even at a fancy art school.
“I’m. Not. Interested,” I said through gritted teeth. If I had a penny for every time Stella nagged me about applying to college or finding a new hobby or hanging out with Trixy, I’d be able to afford an Ivy League school. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“As many as it takes for you to realize you’re missing out,” Stella snapped, finally dropping her laid-back pretense.
A heavy sigh hissed from my lips. “Do you ever get sick of judging me?”
“I’m not judging you, Cara!” she exclaimed. “I know how hard you’ve had it. I’m trying to help you.”
“Well, don’t,” I told her. “I don’t need it.
” Whether she liked it or not, pretending I could have a normal life wouldn’t fix things.
It was more than likely my cancer would come back, and if I started acting like I was cured in the meantime, like I had a real future ahead of me, then the blow would be so much more devastating.
She shook her head. “God, I was stupid to think something as simple as a party could change things.”
“Stella, I love you,” I said, trying to keep the frustration from my voice, “but… College isn’t the right fit for everyone.”
“So what then? Are you planning on hiding in this room forever?”
“That’s not what I said.” I opened my mouth to tell her about my list, then stopped. With how worked up she was, she’d probably dismiss it.
“Yeah, but it’s what you meant.” Stella shot to her feet, her fingers curling into fists. “Whatever. I give up.”
“Have a safe flight,” I said softly, but Stella ignored me. She stormed out of the room and slammed my door so hard it rattled the framed photo of the two of us that I had on my wall.
Once her angry footsteps faded away, I went over to my desk. I understood why Stella thought I was wasting my time—I had been—but just because I wasn’t doing what she wanted didn’t mean I planned on waiting around to die.
I had a quest to complete.
Looking at my bulletin board, I scanned the faded piece of paper I’d pinned on it two days ago.
I spent a minute trying to decipher number sixteen.
Was it “Go scuba diving”? Or maybe “Go spelunking”?
Neither guess felt right, so I moved on to the options I could actually read, and number thirteen caught my eye.
If I didn’t complete it soon, I’d have to wait until next winter.
Polar bear plunge it was then.
After booting up my laptop, I googled the event.
As per their website, the Polar Plunge was a fundraiser where winter warriors jumped to frozen glory!
All funds raised went to supporting Special Olympics Minnesota.
There were plunges hosted across the state, even Rochester, but unfortunately, I’d already missed that one.
Duluth was next weekend, but it was highly unlikely either one of my parents would be willing to drive seven hours round trip for me to jump into Lake Superior.
After some more digging, I found a smaller local plunge called the Frozen Dip taking place the first weekend of February at Foster Arend, a local park.
Even better? Proceeds from the event would be donated to the Children’s Cancer Alliance.
It felt like a gentle nudge from fate. When I pulled up the registration form, however, everything suddenly made sense.
Beatrice Moore was listed as one of the organizers, and my heart instantly sank.
The lake would be, as JJ so eloquently put it, freeze-your-balls-off cold. But that would pale in comparison to the frigid response I knew I’d receive from Trixy if I dared show my face at the Frozen Dip.
* * *
“Are you sure you’ll be okay taking the bus home?” Mom asked as I unbuckled my seat belt. “You could catch a cold with wet hair.”
“Stop worrying,” I told her. “I promise I won’t get my hair wet. I’ll be fine.”
“If you say so,” she replied with a sigh, still looking doubtful, but we both knew the bus was my only option. Dad had gone ice fishing with some of his buddies, and Mom’s shift at work was about to start.
Mom was a cashier at the local Craft Corner.
Before I got sick and she decided to homeschool me, Mom used to be an administrative assistant for a high-end law firm.
Once Stella, Drew, and I earned our diplomas, she tried to find a similar position, but after being out of the workforce for four years, nobody wanted to hire her.
She couldn’t not work though. Dad’s insurance didn’t cover all my medical bills, and he didn’t make enough money to pay for the expensive chemo treatments, so Mom was forced to take whatever job she could get.
Whenever I saw her sporting the ugly lime-green Craft Corner vest and employee name tag, I had to swallow down pangs of guilt.
“Have fun!” she said as I opened the door, but that was highly unlikely. Ever since my alarm went off this morning, my stomach had been a fluttering mess. If I wanted to complete my bucket list, however, I had to do this regardless of the uncomfortable conversation lurking in my near future.
“Thanks.” I slid out of her minivan, a duffel slung over my shoulder.
It was packed with everything I needed for the plunge—multiple towels, an old pair of tennis shoes to wear in the water, a change of clothes for afterward, and a plastic bag to put my wet stuff in.
Lots of participants liked to dress up in fun costumes for the event, but I’d opted for an old one-piece and athletic shorts, which I was wearing under my street clothes.
As Mom drove away, I turned toward the park and squared my shoulders.
It was still early, so not many people had arrived yet, but that was exactly what I wanted.
There was a group down by the beach putting together what looked like changing tents, and under the picnic shelter, a woman with a clipboard was directing the assembly of a makeshift concessions stand.
Two seconds later, I spotted Trixy.
How I’d missed her to begin with was a mystery.
In the months since we last saw each other, she’d dyed her pixie cut a bubble-gum pink.
It was in sharp contrast to her usual biker chick ensemble of black on black on black.
She was sitting at a folding table set up at the entrance to the pavilion with a sign hanging off the front that read REGISTRATION.
Taking a deep breath, I adjusted my bag and started down the path in her direction.
I was a few yards away when she looked up from the magazine she was paging through—probably Motocross Action—and saw me.
For a split second, unfiltered surprise flickered in her eyes.
Then her expression went blank. She didn’t look mad, per se, but I almost wished she did.
Anger was something I could work with. Anger meant she still cared.
Seeing the indifference on her face though?
That hurt beyond words, even though I knew I deserved it.
“Hi,” I said, offering her a hesitant smile.
Her face remained a mask. “Are you here for the plunge?” No hello, just straight to business.
“Yeah, but I was also hoping we could talk?”
“I’m working,” Trixy replied, flipping through a list of names. She found mine and crossed it off.
“Oookay,” I muttered, glancing around at the plethora of fellow plungers clamoring to check in. “How about this? You keep working, and I’ll do the talking.”
Trixy said nothing to this, just bent over and grabbed a baby-blue unisex T-shirt from a cardboard box.
“Right, so I know you hate me—”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” she interrupted. “I don’t hate you, Cara. You’re the one who decided we weren’t friends anymore, not me, remember?”
“I’ve always considered you my friend, Trixy.”