The Infinite Moment of Us (6 page)

times, but if she’d gotten caught drinking in public, at a

restaurant, her parents would have killed her.

Wren wondered if Tessa was keeping her “kiss for a

margarita” trick in her pocket since P.G. was with them.

Wren was pretty sure Tessa would be kissing P.G. before

the end of the day. It was clear Tessa liked him, and Wren

realized that she liked him, too. Liked him
and
trusted him, despite her initial reservations.

She tried to pinpoint when her opinion of him had

flipped. She’d been impressed with his gun-safety training,

but the real turning point had been at the shooting range,

when he put his hand on Tessa’s back to steady her. There’d

been protectiveness in that gesture that went beyond his

everyday slickness.

Now, at the restaurant, P.G. slipped back into his macho,

stud-boy persona, but it didn’t bother Wren the way it

used to. The day was warm. Her Coke, when it arrived,

was cold. Tessa and P.G. were both amusing in different

ways, and it was easy to relax and talk and laugh.

First, they discussed their shooting range experience.

Wren said “no thanks” to the idea of going back—not

because she hadn’t had a good time, but because she

had. She didn’t feel like explaining—she suspected P.G.

wouldn’t understand—but her solution to gun violence

would be to make all guns everywhere disappear.

Tessa, on the other hand, said she was definitely up for

another trip to the shooting range, adding, “And I really do

want that cute pink Glock. Was that what it was called? A

Glock?”

“You don’t want a Glock,” Wren argued.

“I do want a Glock,” Tessa said. “I really, really do.” But

she flitted to the next topic before Wren could decide if

she was kidding, proclaiming with the same level of inten-

sity that she could not wait for their graduation ceremony

the next morning.

They talked about whether they were supposed to

show up in their robes or put their robes on at the school.

They talked about P.G.’s graduation party the next eve-

ning, which P.G. assured them would indeed be epic. They

gossiped about different kids in their graduating class,

wondering who would become movie stars, who would

be drug addicts, who would live in Atlanta forever, and

who would move away as soon as they could.

Wren wondered about Charlie. She was curious about

what his far-off future held, but she was more curious

about his nearer future. Would he be at P.G.’s party?

She hoped so . . . unless he showed up with a girl, and

the girl turned out to be his girlfriend. Did Charlie have a

girlfriend? Might P.G. know?

“Hey, P.G.,” she said. “Do you know a guy in our class

named Charlie? Charlie Parker?”

Tessa’s eyebrows shot up. She’d just grabbed a chip, and

in her shock, she snapped it in half.

“Sure,” P.G. said. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m kind of wondering if he’s dat-

ing someone,” Wren said.

“Oh my God,” Tessa said. “Oh my
God
. This morning

you told me you were up for new things. Is Charlie Parker

one of those new things? Wren, this is huge!”

Wren tried to ignore her. “He hangs out a lot with this

one girl, but maybe they’re just friends. Her name’s Des-

tiny or Star or something like that. She’s got long blond

hair, and she, um, dresses kind of—”

“Skanky?” Tessa supplied. She clapped a hand over her

mouth, then moved it to say, “Sorry, sorry. That was mean.”

“Starrla Pettit,” P.G. said, nodding. “Hangs out with the

black kids.”

Tessa whacked him. “Racist.”

“What? She’s talks black, too.”

“Dude,” Tessa said. “
Owen
, who happens to be our vale-

dictorian, is black.”

“And?” P.G. said.

“And
he
doesn’t ‘talk black,’ does he?”

“Fine, Starrla talks ghetto,” P.G. said. “Is that better?”

Tessa spoke loftily. “I don’t know. And, plus, I would like

to take this opportunity to point out that Starrla also hangs

out with Charlie, who is
Caucasian
.”

P.G. stretched out in his plastic patio chair, taking up

space the way guys like P.G. did. “Starrla does hang out

with Charlie. Yes. And I will take this opportunity to sug-

gest, given her propensity to sit on Charlie’s lap, that

they’re together, yeah.”

“Oh,” Wren said, disappointment plunging through her.

Starrla sat on Charlie’s lap? When? How often?
Why?

“That doesn’t mean they’re a couple!” Tessa said.

“I’ve heard she’s good in bed,” P.G. said. He popped a

chip into his mouth. “Just sayin’.”

“Well, don’t. Inappropriate and off topic,” Tessa said.

“P.G., are you positive Charlie and Starrla are together, or

do you just think they are?”

P.G. shrugged.
I’ve given you all I’ve got
, the gesture said.

“Well, did
Charlie
say she was good in bed?” Tessa

pressed.

“Please,” Wren said, and her voice came from some-

where far away. She felt sorry for herself in the most

ridiculous of ways. She didn’t even know Charlie, not

really, and yet picturing him with Starrla, with Starrla on

his lap . . .

P.G. considered. “I’m going to say no on that one. It’s

more just general knowledge.”

“See?” Tessa exclaimed. “That means it’s all stupid gos-

sip, which I’m equally guilty of, I know. But, Wren. That

means—maybe—that she’s had multiple boyfriends, if
boy-

friend
is even the right word, which means Starrla probably isn’t with Charlie, at least not exclusively. Or maybe she

was once, but they’re not together anymore.” She grabbed

Wren’s forearm. “Wren, this is so exciting!”

Wren pried Tessa off and said, “Let’s drop it. I was just

curious.”

“No, because you don’t do ‘curious,’” Tessa said. “Not

when it comes to guys.” Tessa turned to P.G. “Wren’s

never had a boyfriend. Her parents didn’t let her. Well,

there was this one guy in middle school, but that lasted

all of—what, a month? So believe me, her asking about

Charlie is exciting.”

“Whoa, back up,” P.G. said. He looked at Wren. “Your

parents don’t let you date?”

Wren quietly died.

Tessa winced and mouthed “sorry” and then launched

into an explanation that only made things worse.

“No, it’s not that,” Tessa told P.G. “Well, it is, kind of,

but also Wren decided when she was a freshman that she

didn’t want to get distracted by all that. Right, Wren?”

Wren pressed her fingers to her temples. Phrases from

Tessa’s monologue made their way into her consciousness:

“. . . because she’s brilliant . . . actually studies, unlike the rest of us . . . and her parents said that if she stayed single, basically, and didn’t have sex during all of high school, then they’d—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Wren said, cutting her off. Yes,

Wren’s parents had made a deal with her when she was a

freshman, but it wasn’t as dramatic as Tessa liked to make

it seem. Or maybe it was. Wren had a hard time seeing

things clearly when it came to her parents. But she hated

to imagine what P.G. was thinking about all of this.

At any rate, she’d promised her parents she wouldn’t

get hung up on guys when she should be focusing on her

grades, but the decision had been about showing good

sense. It wasn’t a virginity pledge.

P.G. popped a chip into his mouth. He didn’t seem too

concerned about Wren’s love life one way or another. “So

you haven’t found the right guy,” he said to Wren. “No big.”

“That’s what I say!” Tessa exclaimed. “But when she

does, it’ll be great.
He’ll
be great—the guy—and she’ll be great with him.” She turned to Wren. “You are awesome,

Wren. And when you finally fall for someone, it will
mean

something. Right?”

Tessa had a dab of guacamole in her hair. Just a dab at the

bottom of one long strand. Wren frowned.

“Wren?” Tessa said, a note of alarm creeping in.

“I hope so,” Wren replied. She made herself change

expressions. “I mean, sure. Yes. Whatever you say.”

Their waiter swung by and refilled P.G.’s Coke.

“Thanks, man,” P.G. said.

Tessa immediately claimed his big plastic cup, found the

straw with her mouth, and took a long sip, even though her

own cup was still nearly full.

“Hey,” P.G. protested.

Tessa kept sucking. She smiled from around the straw

and batted her eyelashes, and P.G. raked a hand through

his hair.

Wren knew the feeling. Tessa could be annoying and

lovable at the same time. She was kind of like a Muppet.

“Don’t worry,” Wren told P.G. “You’ll get used to it.”

The tips of P.G.’s ears turned red. He tried, visibly, to

reclaim his slick veneer, then gave up and laughed.

Wren laughed, too.

“What?” Tessa said. She glanced from Wren to P.G.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, Tessa, I’m going to miss you,” Wren said.

“I’m going to miss you, too, you big dummy.” She flicked

Wren’s arm. “But we have the whole summer ahead of us.”

“You’re right,” Wren said.

“Anyway, sure, we’re going our separate ways”—she

didn’t mention Guatemala in front of P.G.—“but none of

us will be gone
forever
,” she said. She put her hands on the table. “
This
is our home.”

“El Elegante?” Wren said.

“Ha-ha. Atlanta’s our home, because we grew up here,

and that will never change.”

“Do you really think that?” Wren said. She wasn’t trying

to mess with Tessa. She was honestly trying to figure out

what she thought. What did
home
really mean, especially if a person chose, on purpose, to leave it? “You think that

wherever you grow up, that’s your home, by default?”

“Of course I think that,” Tessa said. “Don’t you?”

“I don’t know.”

Tessa stuck out her tongue, and Wren had a small epiph-

any. Tessa, who had always been there for Wren, needed

Wren to be there for her, too. Maybe all that confidence

Wren assumed Tessa had was a little bit of an act. Maybe,

with graduation a day away, Tessa wanted the world to be

big enough to move around in but not big enough to get

lost in. Wren, on the other hand, secretly
wanted
to get lost, or was already lost, or something.

“Home is where the heart is,” P.G. said expansively.

“Damn straight,” Tessa replied. “Go big or go home.”

“Home is where you can pee with the door open,” P.G.

added. He lifted a finger. “Wait, wait . . . die like a hero

going home.”

“Home wasn’t built in a day,” Tessa countered, and P.G.

high-fived her.

Wren racked her brain for a
home
quote. “Oh!” she said.

“There’s no place like home?”

“Exactly!” Tessa said. She clapped. “Oh my God, I love

that movie, and, yes, that’s ex
act
ly what I’m trying to say.

So let’s click our ruby slippers and say it together.” She

held out her hands. Wren took one and P.G. took the other,

but only P.G., looking amused, chanted along: “There’s no

place like home. There’s no place like home. There’s no

place like home.”

c h a p t e r f o u r

Getting Dev’s wheelchair into Chris and Pamela’s

converted Dodge Caravan wasn’t easy. Dev bore the pro-

cess without complaining, but Charlie knew Dev hated it.

Hated that it had to be done with the garage door open, so

that the neighbors and anyone walking by could see. Hated

Chris’s grim determination as he muscled the wheelchair

up the ramp and through the not-quite-wide-enough side

door. Most of all, Charlie knew how much Dev hated

Pamela’s concern.

No. What Dev hated was being the cause of Pamela’s

concern, even if it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t chosen to be

paralyzed.

Charlie understood completely.

“Careful!” she exclaimed. “Honey, don’t—” She craned

and fluttered. “Honey, you’re going to scrape his arm!”

“Mom, chill,” Dev said. Unlike Charlie, he did call

their foster parents Mom and Dad. Maybe because he was

younger? Chris and Pamela wanted both boys to call them

Mom and Dad. Charlie just couldn’t.

With Charlie’s help, Chris got the wheelchair into the

van and oriented it so that Dev was facing forward.

“Safe and sound,” Dev told Pamela. “See?”

Charlie secured the straps that kept Dev’s wheelchair in

place. His hand hurt where his stitches were, but he pushed

past the pain and worked quickly, knowing Dev hated this

part, too. He straightened up, one knee on the floor of the

van and his other foot planted by Dev’s chair.

“Give me some skin,” he said to make Dev laugh.

Dev skimmed his hand over Charlie’s, a smooth-as-silk

slide.

“Nice, my brother,” Charlie said.

“Nice,
my
brother,” Dev replied. He grinned. “Hey. What do you call a brownie with nuts?”

Charlie knew the answer, but he played along. “I guess

I’d call it . . . a brownie with nuts.”

“A Boy Scout!” Dev crowed. He slapped his knee. “I’m