Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
People lightly bump my shoulders as I try to navigate the busy hallway and message Analiese at the same time. The speakers blare with an announcement, something about not using inappropriate words on Connection Services.
With the beginning of the spring semester the swim class is officially over, and we are no longer in the same period lit class.
Our paths won’t cross until swim team practice begins next week.
I need to fix things with Analiese before then—Coach Kim will not be happy if her co-captains can’t even hold a basic conversation.
Jenna has also pestered me a few times since our chat in December to see if Analiese and I were ‘besties’ yet. She’s like a dog with a bone and she can’t let it go. Maybe that’s for the best. We may never be best friends, but I’m not happy with how things have been left between us.
But as I stare at the unresponsive Connection Services conversation on my tablet, it’s sinking in how deep a hole I’ve dug myself with Analiese. The entire thread is only my CS handle, message after message, all left on read.
I pause at my locker and sort through my backpack to make sure I only have the books I need before lunch, then slam it shut. I nearly jump out of my skin as Analiese appears, looming behind my locker door. Her dark eyes burn with intensity.
“Analiese! Hi! Good. You must have gotten my message. I wanted to—”
“Oh yeah. I got your messages.”
She brings her tablet to my eye level with one hand, screen pointed towards me. My contact is pulled up on Connection Services. With a theatrically slow tap, she hits ‘Block Connection.’ Though no one in the hallway could even hear it, it hits me like a gavel. I flinch.
“And now I won’t get any more.”
She pauses—like she’s waiting for me to explode. Instead, I gape like a fish.
Unbelievable! What does she think she’s doing?! This won’t fix anything. Analiese is as goal-oriented as me and wants to crush being swim captain as much as I do. She’s sabotaging us just to get back at me. It’s the science fair all over again, but this time without fire. So far, at least.
But she’s already gone. Her glossy, dark hair swings with every punctuated, determined step she takes through the crowds.
Since she’s so tall, my eyes can track her over the other students until she rounds a corner.
When she’s finally out of sight, I clamp my mouth closed and attempt to process what just happened.
“That was brutal,” a deep voice says behind me. I twirl around, feeling unstable. The past two minutes have been emotional whiplash. Jake leans against the lockers, opposite from where Analiese was standing earlier. What is it with people lurking around my locker this morning?
“You know it’s generally considered rude to eavesdrop on other people’s private conversations,” I snap.
Jake’s hands fly up in surrender. “Sorry, I didn’t realize the main hallway in a large high school counted as ‘private.’”
“Yeah, well, it’s better to be safe than sorry and all that.”
I heave my backpack over both shoulders and prepare to leave, but he speaks again.
“Look, it’s none of my business,” he says. His eyes catch mine for a beat too long. “But maybe she needs the Avery TLC special.”
A jagged sigh—half amused, but mostly exasperated—releases. “The what?”
He smirks. “Ya know, bake something delicious and show up on her doorstep?”
My lips purse as I imagine myself standing on Analiese’s porch, holding a homemade cake with ‘I’m sorry’ in looped frosted letters on top. It feels utterly ridiculous. Although… not entirely off brand for me, apparently.
“Not sure that will fix anything this time, Jake.”
He shrugs as the bell echoes through the hallway, signaling we have sixty seconds to get to class. “Didn’t think you were a quitter, but ok. Just an idea.”
He walks backwards for a couple steps, keeping eye contact with me, then turns and walks away. I watch his confident gait for a moment, then turn in the opposite direction to hustle to class.
Maybe his suggestion has merit. It worked with Mrs. Patel.
This seems like a whole new level of humiliation; it’s a very real possibility that Analiese will dump the cake over my head and slam the door in my face.
By deleting my contact in CS, she’s really hamstrung my options, so maybe I have no choice.
Am I really going to do something that ridiculous?
Turns out that—yes—I was going to do something that ridiculous.
A shiver runs through my shoulders as I wait on Analiese’s concrete front steps.
There’s one potted plant slumped to the side and a crooked little birdhouse, dusty and clearly kid-made, near the step.
The whole entryway looks like someone set things down a long time ago and never had the time or energy to check on them again.
I shift the heavy plate to one hand and tug my beanie down over my ears with the other.
Although southern California doesn’t get very cold during the winter, it’s a particularly chilly January day.
I shuffle from foot to foot, worrying that Analiese is going to insist on further humiliating me by not answering the door at all.
She’s clearly home—there are multiple lights visible through the windows, and the sound of music playing filters through the walls. I push the doorbell again and sigh.
Finally, frustrated stomps echo inside before the door is wrenched open, revealing Analiese’s very annoyed face.
“What do you want, Avery James? It’s generally accepted that if someone doesn’t answer the door, it’s because they don’t want to see you.”
Wow. First of all, ouch. Secondly, that’s almost the exact phrasing I used with Jake earlier today in the hallway. Maybe Jenna has a point about how similar we are.
“You’re totally right,” I say without missing a beat, “but what if there’s a double chocolate cake with thick frosting and crushed Oreo crumbs on top out here? Surely that changes things.”
Her eyes immediately flick down to the plate in my hands, and I can practically see her brain weighing the pros and cons of the situation.
“Made fresh today?”
“Of course.”
“Is there a layer of frosting and cookie crumbs inside too?”
I scoff. “I don’t even know how to do something halfway.”
She stares at it a moment longer, then stands aside, gesturing me in with a wave of her arm.
I step inside and follow her to the dining room table where she has books and binders scattered about, clearly in the middle of schoolwork.
She must have stopped the music because the house is silent.
Along one wall, some white blinds are pulled up, letting the late afternoon sun illuminate her workspace.
The walls are undecorated, save for one clock, whose ticks sound particularly loud in the awkward stillness.
There’s also a pile of mail. On the top of the pile is a conspicuously large envelope from MIT. There’s only one reason you get the big envelope: acceptance.
My stomach drops like the floor just shifted. I take a deep breath to steady myself and set the cake down on the one open spot between the clutter.
“So you got into MIT?” I ask casually.
Her black eyebrows crush together, then her gaze follows mine to the table.
She quickly gathers the stack of mail and moves it to a nearby side table out of the way.
As she moves, I take a second to glance around, noticing how everything feels the same as the front porch—like the people who live here don’t have the time and energy for upkeep.
“Not that it’s any of your business. But, yes. I did.”
I nod slowly, trying not to spiral over the lack of large envelopes landing in my mailbox from MIT. Or any college.
“Avery, if you’re here about the swim team, give it a rest. We don’t have to be friends to make this work—”
“I’m not here because of that.”
She pauses and waits, though impatience lines her features. Her almond-shaped eyes crease with annoyance. Or maybe defensiveness. It’s hard to tell.
College acceptance issues can wait for another time. This visit has another purpose.
My expression stays carefully pleasant as I sit. Analiese, who is still standing with her arms crossed, gives me an impassive look. When I take too long to continue, she rolls one hand at me.
I clear my throat. “I was hoping we could, um, clear the air. And start over with a blank slate. Stuff like that.”
Analiese rolls her eyes but doesn’t comment, so I continue. Hopefully with more coherence than what just came out of my mouth.
“When you came over to watch Wuthering Heights it’s true that I blew Jenna off—I was supposed to go to her volleyball game and hang out with her afterwards. But…”
My voice trails off for a second, panic gripping my middle.
Despite all the bridges I’ve tried to rebuild lately, and every awkward conversation I’ve forced between Braden and my dad in the name of honesty, I still can’t believe I’m choosing to open up to my lifelong nemesis.
My eyes drop to the tabletop and study the grain lines of the wood visible between stacks of notebooks.
“But,” I repeat, lifting my eyes, “I wasn’t ashamed of you. I was ashamed of me. You were right. I am a coward.”
Analiese’s face softens slightly.
“I was hiding so much from Jenna and didn’t know what to say. So I hid.”
“Like the stuff with Braden?” she asks. Her tone is not exactly friendly, but it’s not hostile either.
“Yeah, that. And stuff with my parents.”
Her arms drop from their crossed position, and she sits down across from me.
“What about your parents?”
I shrug and let out a stilted laugh. Not because it’s funny, but because I can’t help it.
“They’re separated. I mean, it wasn’t official then, but I knew enough to see it coming. My dad had been living in Australia for months and things were strained. They only told us a couple weeks ago though.”
Analiese watches me, and although there’s no pity in her gaze, there’s understanding. She also doesn’t offer verbal platitudes to try to make things okay or comfort me.
The silence of our mutual understanding hangs in the air, but it’s not uncomfortable. Then she speaks.
“How about I get us a couple of forks and we attack this cake?”
Our eyes lock and a genuine smile overtakes me. “Deal.”
Jake Taylor’s advice worked. Again.
Analiese springs from her chair with renewed energy, and I hear the clang of a drawer opening and closing in the next room before she reemerges brandishing two forks. We dig in from opposite sides of the plate, not even bothering to cut pieces.
She groans and rolls her eyes. “Oh my gosh, Avery. I kinda hate you for how good you are at baking. I’m terrible at it.”
I swallow a deliciously chocolatey bite and stab the cake for another, angling for a large chunk of Oreo. “How can you be bad at baking? It’s literally just following directions.”
“I don’t know. Too impatient maybe? Plus my mom doesn’t eat anything unhealthy so there’s no point in baking for myself.”
Even though things in my life haven’t gone according to plan this year, I still have the love and support of my family and friends.
I’m almost never alone, unless by choice.
But just as Analiese didn’t offer me sympathy for what I told her, I know instinctively she would hate for me to give her pity too.
“So you and Braden are over, right?”
My eyes narrow suspiciously. “How do you know that?”
“I saw him with his mom at the grocery store. I overheard his mom telling him she wouldn’t buy her ‘delinquent, backpacking son expensive breakfast cereal’ until he agreed to go to college.”
A laugh bubbles. Braden loves his sugary cereals, and Mrs. Patel probably isn’t over his current life choices.
Analiese smirks. “Yeah, then they saw me and stopped to say hi. Braden asked me if I’d seen you, which kinda told me all I needed to know. If he was in town you two would normally be inseparable.”
My smile drops, and I take another bite of the cake. We’ve already demolished a huge chunk. Over half of it is gone.
“Yeah, we’re over.”
Analiese lets that reveal hang for a moment. “Well, his loss.”
I don’t respond, but I feel it. Analiese doesn’t waste words. She means what she says.
80085 [Me]: Does chocolate fix everything?
31415: Most things, I think.
80085 [Me]: I think you’re right. I know it does for me. Have a bad day: chocolate. Lose a game: chocolate. Need to celebrate a win: chocolate.
31415: So, basically… everything: chocolate.
80085 [Me]: Exactly. I can’t even think of a time when chocolate wouldn’t be perfect.
31415: When you have the stomach bug? Then if you puked it up, you’d associate the beautiful taste of chocolate with something nasty and terrible. That’s a big risk.
80085 [Me]: Gross. But point taken.
80085 [Me]: Anyway, I gave someone a chocolate cake today, and now I think they like me. Or at least no longer hate me.
31415: That’s my girl. See? This is why you inspire me.
Warmth fills me. Mr. Pi was totally right when he encouraged me to own my confessions, even if he was working with sparse details given our anonymous connection.
Without his push, I might still be living with fractured relationships.
Between that and all the funny conversations we’ve had since…
I can’t help but want to meet him. Even if he’s not who I expect, there’s no doubt in my mind we could be great friends.
It would be a waste to not meet in person before the beta test is over.
One of us has to ask first. It might as well be me.
80085 [Me]: Do you think we should… meet irl?
31415: Definitely. But first… I have a project that needs a little tweaking.