100 Days (23 page)

 

66

BOONE

DAY 35: MAY 21

I wonder if she's thinking about me at all, maybe even just a little, like I'm thinking about her.

Which is totally brain-dead of me. Moira has probably been out on the town this entire past week, meeting college guys who have their shit together and are almost as smart as she is, things I could never in a million years claim to have and be. At night, she's probably sitting in cafés with those same guys, drinking fancy coffee and discussing art and politics and philosophy while they lie drooling at her feet.

I force myself to think of something else. Like sitting down and studying for finals, which I haven't done nearly enough of. The thing is, I feel more prepared than I probably should, considering the fact that I don't get as much extra help in school as I used to. I don't want to be full of myself or anything, but it's nice to feel confident about even one small part of my life for a change.

 

67

MOIRA

DAY 34: MAY 22

The three of us are hanging out at Grant's apartment on my last morning in Berkeley. “So what do you think?” Fern asks. “Is Cal at least going on your college maybe list?”

I've finished packing my carry-on for this afternoon's flight, and Grant's in the kitchenette getting some cheese and crackers for us to munch on.

I just smile and nod. The Bay Area is obscenely expensive, and I don't know how I'd ever manage to afford it. My parents would no doubt figure out a way to help me like they've helped Grant, but I wouldn't want to bleed their bank account dry. Still, I almost feel like I have no choice but to do whatever it takes to move here someday. There's so much to see and do. From the food and the architecture to the people and the fashion, this entire place is amazing. It's like nothing I've ever seen or dared to imagine for myself.
I am Paradise,
it seems to say.
And I will be here when you're ready for me.

Fern lowers her voice and glances toward the kitchenette. “So, I know Grant asked you this when we were at your house, but it was probably hard to answer with everyone there. What's the boy situation like back home? Any special guys in your life?”

Blushing, I look down. “Not really. I mean, there's this one. Kind of.”

“Aw,” Fern says. “What's his name?”

“Boone Craddock.” My voice is so small that I half wonder if I said his name at all. Maybe I just thought it, like I'm always doing lately.

It's no surprise when perfect Grant, with his gift of perfect hearing, chooses that moment to return with the cheese and crackers. “Boone Craddock? I remember that kid. What about him? He was kind of messed up, wasn't he?”

I stare at him. “What? No. Nothing about him. Fern was just asking if—”

“I was asking if she knew any guys with kind of … unusual names. You know, like we have?”

Grant frowns. “My name's not unusual. It was a president's name.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Fern smiles and rolls her eyes. “‘Who was buried in Grant's tomb' and all that. But you have to admit, it's not a
common
name. Just like Moira and Fern aren't common.”

And with that, the brilliant woman who I dearly hope will be my sister-in-law someday effortlessly changes the subject.

 

68

AGNES

DAY 33: MAY 23

“Do you mind if we wait in the commons?”

“Go right ahead,” the front desk receptionist tells me.

Mom and I head toward the main area of the senior center with its floor-to-ceiling picture windows looking out over the town. Today was the first day back to school after finals break, I think I might be in love, and I have another appointment with Dr. Caslow. I guess when it rains, it pours.

Kitty is there, as always. She looks up from her mah-jongg game and waves us over to the big circular table where she's sitting with five other elderly female residents.

“My girlfriends and I all had debutante balls,” one of them is saying.

“Oh, we used to get sozzled at those,” another chimes in. “Afterward, we'd go out to the lake. I'm not saying there was skinny-dipping involved, but I'm not saying there wasn't, either.”

The others throw back their heads and cackle.

“Young women think the saddest thing about old ladies is that we just haven't experienced Johnny or Jimmy or whoever the magic man du jour is,” the old woman continues. “But they're wrong. We have experienced them.”

“Mine was Walter Anderson,” Kitty pipes up. “Oh, but he knew how to woo a girl.”

“We thought the same thing about the old women of our day,” the one who brought up the debutante balls says, looking at me now. “How sad it was that they'd missed out. Let me tell you something, honey. Just in case you're wondering, old people haven't missed out on anything. In fact, they've likely experienced more than most young people ever will, the way the world's going. Everyone hiding behind their electronic screens.”

Her friends murmur their agreement and get back to the game.

“So, who's yours?” Kitty asks me.

“My what?”

“Your Johnny or your Jimmy, or whoever.”

I look away, my face hot. “I don't have one.”

“Pah!” Kitty waves her hand in the air. “Sure you do.”

A few minutes later, when Mom's in the bathroom, I whisper, “Well … maybe there's one.”

“Out with it.”

“His name's Boone. And he's … he's just so … He's perfect. But you can't tell anyone, Kitty. Promise?”

The old woman pinches her thumb and forefinger together and zips them across her lips. “I know a thing or two about keeping secrets from parents,” she whispers. “Is he kind to you?”

I'm unable to stop the corners of my mouth from curling upward in a goofy grin. “Oh man, Kitty. You have no idea.”

“No idea about what?” Mom asks, coming back to the table.

Thankfully, a nurse comes over right then to tell us the exam room is ready.

*   *   *

“Feeling good?” Dr. Caslow asks me when he comes in. He and Mom shake hands.

I nod. “We're going to Disneyland.”

The doctor raises his eyebrows at Mom, who says, “It was a gift from some local businesses.”

“I wasn't that into it at first, but I finally decided to go,” I add. “I can go on the rides, right?”

“Not the awful ones,” he tells me. “Like the roller coasters and such. The milder ones should be fine.”

This makes me happy. Once I decided to accept the trip to Disneyland, I actually started to get excited about it. Knowing now that I'll be able to go on at least some of the rides makes it even better.

 

69

MOIRA

DAY 32: MAY 24

I've been back at school for two days, but I still don't feel like I've come back down to earth.

On Saturday, the day before I came home, Fern took me to get my hair hennaed. Afterward, we took a yoga class where we pressed our palms together at our foreheads and then brought them down to our hearts. We did poses like Downward-Facing Dog and Happy Baby. Five minutes in and I was exhausted. I didn't care, though. Strangely, my body seemed to crave that kind of silent, flowing movement.

It was during Warrior Two that something inside me shifted. I can't say what it was exactly. But standing there in front of the mirrored wall of the yoga studio, with sweat running down my face and my entire body centered and poised as if ready for battle, I understood for the first time how much better it feels to appreciate my body for what it can do rather than constantly despising it for how it looks.

At the end of class we all lay there in the dark. Final relaxation, the instructor called it. “Take a deep breath,” he told us in his soft, reassuring voice. “Now let … go.”

And so I did. For the first time in maybe forever, I let go.

 

70

BOONE

DAY 31: MAY 25

I noticed the change in Moira right away when I first saw her Monday morning. Of course I noticed it. I'd have to be blind not to. But it's taken me a couple days to get up the nerve to say anything. I'm not even sure I
should
say anything. Or, if I do, how I should say it. I should probably just keep my mouth shut. But, “You look … different,” I tell her on Wednesday during lunch, my mouth racing ahead of my brain. As usual.

Moira smiles down at the ground when I say it, but then she lifts her eyes to mine.

Different's not quite it, though. What she looks is transformed. Morphed. There's hardly any makeup on her face, for starters. No more black lips, no black eyeliner. She looks more vulnerable, like she's starting from scratch. Her hair is different, too. It's still black, but there are some reddish-brown strands mixed in now.

Since the weather's been so nice and the girls are done with their home ec dresses, the three of us have been hanging out on the grass in front of the library most days to eat.

“What I mean is,” I say, trying not to stumble too much over my own tongue, “you look … really pretty.” Agnes is looking down at her lunch and not saying anything. She's probably embarrassed for me.

There's a long pause before Moira takes a deep breath. “Thanks,” she says.

 

71

MOIRA

DAY 30: MAY 26

Agnes wants both of us to come over before she leaves for Disneyland tomorrow.

Boone and I pull up in front of her house at the same time, and we go in together. Deb is busy with last-minute packing, so the three of us hang out in the kitchen.

“I'm going to miss you guys,” Agnes says.

“You're going to have an incredible time,” I tell her. I hope it's true. Even though I know Deb had to work, part of me wishes they could have made this trip during finals break; Agnes's coloring looks a little … off somehow this week. Lately, she's had more colds and other annoying stuff going on with her health than I can count. I hope the two of them don't overdo it in Anaheim. But what am I thinking? Deb's even more protective of her daughter than I am. Plus, they'll have tomorrow and then the long Memorial Day weekend to take their time in the park and not feel like they need to rush.

“Please tell Ariel the mermaid that I'm her biggest fan,” Boone says, distracting me, as usual, from worry. I elbow him in the ribs, but lightly, as Agnes beams up at him.

She and Deb have an early-morning flight, so we don't hang out for too long. When it's time to go, Boone gathers his coat and gets ready to head out the door behind me.

“See you when you get back from the House of Mouse,” I say, bending down to give my best friend a hug.

Outside, Boone and I say good-bye, get into our vehicles, and pull away from Agnes's house at the same time, just like we arrived.

It's when we're both waiting at the stoplight near the first major intersection that Boone taps his horn. When I look over, he's gesturing for me to roll down my window, so I do.

“Hey,” he calls out over the rumble of the truck's engine.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” I call back. Not my most original line, but Boone laughs anyway.

“Do you want to maybe, I don't know, go get something to eat?”

I force myself to act like I'm thinking about it for a second, but I can feel the corners of my lips tugging themselves upward. Finally, I nod and just let my smile do its thing. “I'll follow you to the diner,” I tell him.

 

72

AGNES

DAY 29: MAY 27

Our hotel has a candy theme. Faux candy canes that are taller than I am frame the entrance doors, fabric lollipops serve as couch cushions, and there are dishes full of real candy everywhere. Other guests in the lobby rubberneck in my direction like I'm a Disney cast member—one of the Seven Dwarfs, maybe—who wandered away from Fantasyland.

That first afternoon, Mom and I ride the air-conditioned hotel shuttle to the park and meet our VIP escort. His name is Carl, and he's a sociology major at a nearby university. I didn't think an escort was necessary, but it was part of the package the businesses in our town paid for when they set up this trip. Carl gives us a tour of Main Street, which smells like flowers and waffle cones. Afterward, we ride in a horse-drawn carriage and take the train all the way around the park.

The only real ride we have time to go on that evening lifts us up and makes it seem like we're flying above orange groves, snowy mountains, and the ocean, like angel-bird hybrids. When it's over and our feet have touched back down on the concrete floor, I look over and see tears in the corners of Mom's eyes. “That was…” she starts to say. “Well, it was just amazing, wasn't it?”

 

73

BOONE

DAY 28: MAY 28

I'm leaning against the mucking fork on Saturday, hardly noticing as Diablo grips the wheelbarrow handle with his teeth. It's part of his oral fixation. Only if he starts chewing on the wood will I shoo him away. We can't afford a new wheelbarrow.

Looking at Moira across the table of the diner after leaving Agnes's house, I'd barely been able to eat. It was ridiculous.

“You're looking at me the way Agnes looks at you,” she said.

“What does that mean?”

“Just … you know.”

I didn't know, but it didn't matter. Other than that, neither of us said much.

When we did speak, it was always at the exact same time.

“I think Agnes is going to love…”

“I'm so jealous of Agnes getting to go to…”

“You go first.”

“No, you go first.”

It was an awkward sort of torture, but I didn't care. I could stare at Moira all night.