Cupcake Girl (5 page)

9

Empty

I checked our mailbox religiously for the next few weeks, but the only letters addressed to Max Rogers came from about seven different colleges. I was slightly tempted to open the two from some university in Houston, but they all just reminded me of Lexie and brought back that dull ache in my chest, so I threw them in the ever-growing heap in the shoebox under my desk.

I also started checking my email daily, which is a little unusual for me. But still nothing. Every few days I sent a short message to Lexie, hoping someday she would see them and respond. They went something like this:

I have no idea how Lexie could possibly ignore such engaging conversation starters—poetry, even—but she did. Just completely ignored them, without a single phone call, text, or email. Nothing.

And that’s basically how the summer felt from the moment she left—empty, blank, boring. It was especially lonely since Jake wasn’t around to liven things up. But at least I could text or call him every once in a while to make sure he was alive.

My mom wore this perpetually worried look on her face all summer, even when she was smiling. She and Jake had always spent a lot of time talking, but since I had Lexie, I guess Mom and I never connected much. But now that it was just Mom and Dad and me, I was under a magnifying glass every time we were in the same room. All their attention was focused right on me—especially Mom’s. She kept asking me about Lexie, probably hoping we would have some heart-to- heart conversation about how much I missed her and how I’d been in love with her since forever. I didn’t want to hurt Mom’s feelings or anything, but that was just not going to happen.

She kept trying, though. Her expectant look and not-so- subtle prompts made it pretty obvious that my silence hurt her feelings. But hey, it was hard enough for me not to think about Lexie every second of the day without having someone else rub in the fact that she was gone. So I tried to keep as busy as possible, which wasn’t hard since we were one man short at the marina and it was summertime. After about two weeks of total craziness and a few sixteen-hour work days, my dad finally hired an older guy named Edgar to come help out, which shaved my work days down to only nine or ten hours.

Then I used just about every minute of my free time (or at least every minute I wasn’t hopelessly checking email) to train to become the next Elephant Man. I know it sounds weird, but don’t worry—I wasn’t on some twisted quest to acquire elephantitis or to gain a lot of weight. Rather, I was training for the Elephant Man Triathlon held every September in Truth or Consequences. It’s a sprint triathlon, so it’s a 1-mile swim, 26.2 mile bike race, and 3-mile run. Lexie and I always did the Elephant Kidz race (lovely title, huh?) until we turned sixteen and were too old for it. This would be the first time I would compete in the adult race.

That is, of course,
if
I manage to buy a racing bike before September. At the moment I just had a mountain bike, and even if I totally rocked the swimming and running part of the race, I wouldn’t have a chance to win riding my heavy mountain bike.

So for now I trained as if I was on a Cervelo, and hoped I would fly when I lost the heavy tire treads and extra nine pounds worth of bike. Assuming I saved enough money for a racing bike, that is.

I’d been pretty good about sticking to my training schedule, even when I had to run in the dark or was so tired or heat-exhausted I didn’t want to do it at all. I told myself someone with the home-court advantage of training on the actual racecourse was bound to win, and I was determined that someone would be me.

Besides, pushing myself till I felt like puking or till my heart was in my throat also helped me push out thoughts of Lexie. Kind of.

10

Wildfire

After three and a half long weeks of hearing nothing from Lexie, I was riding my bike in the July heat and remembered something from a few years before, probably when we were twelve or thirteen. We’d gone into Jay’s Diner to check in with Lexie’s mom, and as we were leaving we overheard another waitress say, “You better watch out, Renae, because those two are a wildfire waiting to happen.”

At the time I had no idea what she meant, but Lexie and I both thought wildfire would be an awesome superpower. Even though we knew we were a bit old, it was the last time we spent a whole day pretending to be X-Class superheroes. It was actually even more fun than when we were little, since we invented a more intricate plot and cooler powers. I chose to be Blaze so I could throw around fire and conjure up raging infernos. Lexie decided to be Splash instead of Cupcake Girl so she could keep me in check. Later we used those characters to write one of my favorite comic books:
Blaze and Splash: Defenders of Elephantropolis.

Anyhow, with my lungs on fire from the bike ride it was easy to remember the comment about being a “wildfire waiting to happen, since I felt like I might spontaneously combust on the spot. The last time a serious wildfire had burned near T or C, it had swept up the mountainside with a vengeance, leaving ashes and ugly black streaks across the usually brown face of the hill.

Wildfire suddenly felt like a good metaphor for my relationship with Lexie, especially after that stupid kiss. Don’t get me wrong—it was probably the best moment of my life. I tried not to dwell on it, but it captured my attention with the same fascination I felt when staring into the flames of a campfire. The flickering reds and oranges always mesmerized me, and I couldn’t look away until the last coals went completely dark.

Having Lexie abruptly leave town after that kiss set my world on fire, sweeping up everything in its path and leaving me with black scars and ashes. I tried not to be mopey and depressed, but I felt like all the fun and happiness had been sucked out of my life and burned into nothing. Even when I got together with friends from school or cross-country, I couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness that pervaded the whole summer.

Because seriously, where was she? Why hadn’t she called or written or texted or emailed? I couldn’t help but think it was because of that dumb kiss. She’d told me she wasn’t in love with Jake, but was she just saying that? As good as the kiss was, I would take it back if that meant Lexie would just come home.

Even though I was all sweaty and unfit to be seen in public, I stopped by Jay’s Diner and asked Donna, one of Mrs. Duncan’s long-time friends, if she had heard from her.

“Sorry, hon. Renae cancelled her cell-phone service before they left, and I haven’t heard a word. She did say it would probably be a while before she and Lexie came home.”

“What do you mean ‘a while?’ Did she give you a time frame at all?”

“Well, she thought they’d be gone between six and twelve weeks, depending on how the treatment went. I know she really wanted to be back by the end of August so Lexie can be here for her senior year.”

As we were talking, two cars pulled into the practically empty parking lot, and the grill chef called, “Table three is up!”

I had so many more questions, but Donna cut me off before I began. “Try not to worry, hon—it’ll be okay. You just keep those prayers coming and everything will be okay.”

I thought about her words on my bike ride home. I hadn’t prayed at all, and I started to wonder, why not? I only said grace at mealtime, but my grandparents said real prayers when they came to visit. My grandma knew prayers were answered, just as sure as she knew she breathed. My grandpa wasn’t as vocal about his beliefs, but when he prayed, he talked like someone really listened. Would God really listen to me?

By the time I got out of the shower, I decided to give it a try. I slipped off my bed and knelt down. I wasn’t sure what to do with my hands, since we usually held hands when we prayed at dinner time, so I clasped them together like I’d seen in some movie and closed my eyes. “Dear God, please help Lexie to come home soon, or at least that I’ll hear from her soon. Please help her grandma to feel better.”

I wasn’t exactly sure how to end the prayer, but it felt rude to ask for such a huge favor without thanking God for what I already had. I remembered the obvious things—my home, my parents, Melissa, and Jake.

Then I broadened my perspective and gave thanks for all kinds of things I usually take for granted—from the calmness of the lake in the morning, to how good it felt to work out really hard and push myself beyond what I thought I could do. I guess all of that came from God, too.

I considered saying thank you for the chance to go to school, but that’s where I had to draw the line. I wasn’t sure how well God knew me in the first place, but if I started thanking Him for school He’d definitely get me mixed up with someone else. But I did thank Him again and again for my friendship with Lexie, and how happy I always felt around her. I was me because of her.

Saying that first prayer felt so good I decided to turn off my music for the first few minutes of every run to think of things to thank God for. I hope it wasn’t too disrespectful to pray while tromping through the sand, but it helped to fill up some of the scorched places inside that were touched by wildfire.

11

Mail

About two weeks later I opened the mailbox and it happened. There, right under the glossy ad for Ohio State, was a yellow envelope with Lexie’s handwriting on the front. I didn’t even wait to get in the house before opening the letter and reading it.

Hey Max,

Emilie's mom brought me this stationery set, complete with matching envelopes and stamps—I feel rich! I'm so happy to have actual stationery and not just random pieces of hospital paper.

There have been lots of ups and downs with Grandma lately, but first I need to tell you about Emilie. It's weird to me that you've never met her, because in some ways it feels like I've always known her, even though it's only been a couple of weeks.

Emilie is seven and three-quarters (she always has to squeeze that part in), with big blue eyes and a darling little dimple on her right cheek. We talk about everything, so of course I've told her all about you and what it's like to spend a hot summer day at the lake. We've even drawn out an air-view map so I could show her the jumping rock, the fishing cove, the marina, our houses, and of course, our island. I'm hoping beyond hope that she'll get to come to the lake herself someday, but she's a long way from being well enough to leave the hospital, much less go on a water vacation. But miracles can happen, right?

Emilie comes from a huge family. There are six kids, and she's right in the middle. Her parents live in Galveston, which is close enough that they don't stay overnight but far enough that they can't be here all the time. Her mom is super nice but she's really busy with their family. They have a baby boy who is not quite a year old, plus two more kids who aren't in school yet. The kids can't come with Emilie's mom when she visits because the hospital doesn't want the patients to catch any illness the kids might have. Her parents try to come as much as they can, but they just can't be here 24/7.

So I promised Mrs. Johnson I would officially serve as Emilie's big sister. On one of Emilie's first days here, a nurse said we looked so much alike that we could be sisters, so ever since then we've been telling everyone we really are sisters. Emilie just has older brothers, and you know how much I've always wanted a sister, so it's been perfect.

It's weird what a huge difference one person can make in your life. I don't think I realized how terribly lonely it was here until Emilie came. She is like sunshine breaking into a dark room. I feel like I've finally got the family I always wanted so desperately. Maybe now I can stop trying so hard to squeeze my way into your family (though I do miss them, too—tell them all hi for me). And the cool thing is that Emilie seems to need me as much as I need her.

And right now she wants me to read a book with her. In the last three weeks we have read almost every Daisy Meadows fairy book ever written, and it looks like today we get to read "Anna the Moonbeam Fairy," so I guess I better run.

Hope you're doing well!

Lexie

I was so glad to hear from her that I read the letter three times, trying to read between the lines for anything I missed. It was weird how she just jumped right in like nothing had happened— like it hadn’t been five long weeks of absolute silence.

It was also odd that the whole letter was about someone else. All I really knew about Lexie was that she and some kid were best friends and reading lots of fairy books. Oh, plus that little detail about how she didn’t need my family anymore.

It probably wasn’t very fair, but the more I thought about the letter, the more I felt like I’d been replaced. Is it bad to be jealous of a seven-year-old? Putting that ugly thought into words helped me answer my own question. Yes, it’s definitely bad to be jealous of a child, especially one who is super sick and stuck in a hospital.

Over the next few days I caught myself thinking about Emilie, and wondering what life was like for her. I felt very mature and generous when I decided if Lexie couldn’t be here, I was glad she could help someone else. I definitely knew what she meant about the difference one person can make in your life, and I tried to stop being so selfish.

There wasn’t a return address on the envelope, so I went to the computer and typed out yet another short email:

Hi Lexie,

You’re alive! It’s been so long since I’ve heard from you that I was starting to wonder. Your new “sister” Emilie sounds like a great kid. She’s lucky to have you.

How is your grandma doing? Any chance you’ll come home soon?

I’ve been pretty busy working at the marina and training for the Elephant Man. Plus cross-country practices have started for school, so I’m doing double duty. I’ve been saving my money all summer for a racing bike, and my dad said I can have the weekend off to go to Albuquerque and get one. I’m going to stay with Jake so it should be pretty fun.

Don’t be a stranger.

Max