Where I Belong (25 page)

The Plaza puts on an extremely elaborate buffet, and there’s even a kid’s table in honor of the Plaza’s most famous resident, little Eloise from the children’s books. Of course, Tripp beelines for that table and decides that he’ll have a Thanksgiving dinner of chicken fingers and fries. Mom and Dad don’t care, they just seem happy to be a foursome again.

Once we all sit down, Dad says, “I want to give a toast before I tell you the big news.”

We all hold up our glasses (Tripp has a Shirley Temple, and I have a Diet Coke).

“To getting through a really tough time,” Dad says.
“And to remembering that family’s stronger than any recession.”

The family clinks glasses, and Tripp manages to spill most of his drink on the white tablecloth. Typical but charming in a cute-little-brother way.

But I honestly am impressed that we made it to Thanksgiving. One hundred and some days without Barneys, Starbucks, my dad, and all the other elements of my old life, and I somehow survived.

“The big news is,” Dad says, “I am opening the New York office for my company. While the company’s not recession-proof, this is still a big job that pays well. Corrinne, I worked it out with the headmaster and you can start Kent in January. And Tripp will re-enroll at Mann.”

“What?” I say, looking at Mom to confirm that this is happening.

“Your father, being resourceful as ever, somehow made this fall into an opportunity. We’re certainly not back where we were, but frankly no one is. Y’all were a big part in making this happen by being willing to go to Texas for a while,” my mom says.

“For a while?” I say, still confused by this news. I guess I figured that I’d go back to New York eventually, but now that it’s happening I feel strange—like I am almost unsure which place I’d rather be.

Dad gives a thumbs-up. “Go ahead,” Dad says. “Text
Waverly. It’s totally okay. You can break with good manners for this.”

“But what about Grandma and Grandpa?” Tripp says, mashing one of his fries into the plate.

“I haven’t told them yet,” Mom says. “We’ll visit a lot more, though. I should’ve taken you guys to see the Spoke long before this all happened. But of course, Grandma and Grandpa will stay in Texas; that’s their home.”

Their home?
Although I never got used to the Barbie-size closets, Grandma and Grandpa’s did feel like my home too—at least recently.

My dad makes eyes at my mom.

“Aren’t you guys excited about this?” Dad says. “Isn’t this what we all want?” Tugging on his ear with one hand, he quickly finishes his champagne.

“Of course,” I say. “It’s just sudden.” Looking down at my stuffing and cranberry sauce, I start to feel a bit queasy.

My dad stares into his empty champagne glass.

“I just don’t get it, J.J.” my dad says. “Didn’t you guys miss me, miss New York? Corrinne made it sound like Texas was a penitentiary. You should have seen some of the texts she sent me. Sometimes she even attached photos of bizarre barbecues in parking lots.”

“Tailgates, Dad,” Tripp says.

My mom looks at both Tripp and me. “Of course
they’re excited, Cole. They’ve just had a lot of changes recently.”

Over dinner, my mom and dad go over the details about getting a new (smaller) apartment and how they were able to re-enroll us in our schools. And how the new Nantucket place might even sell, which will free up a lot of cash.

None of us goes up to the buffet for seconds, and Tripp and I stay pretty much mute for the rest of dinner.

When I turn my phone back on, I have four texts from Kitsy.

Kitsy: I am thankful for you.

Kitsy: Come back! I am getting nervous for the BIG game.

Kitsy: How’s New York? I looked for you at the Macy Parade.

Kitsy: Call ME!!!

Oh, Kitsy, I think. How I am going to tell Kitsy that I am going to Kent? She’s going to be totally depressed. To be honest, I am randomly depressed too. I don’t even call Waverly to tell her the news. Without saying much to each other, Tripp and I both go to bed early. We don’t even order any movies off of the hotel TV.

The next day my mom asks if I want to go shopping. Now that we sort of have money again, my mom’s evidently
begun to loosen up the purse. While it’s totally like going home again when I step into Barneys, I have sticker shock, nearly fainting when I see all the prices. Dividing everything by $7.50 to figure out how many hours it would take me to earn it makes me not want to buy anything, even with Black Friday prices.

After some browsing, my mom can tell that I am not into the crowds or the sales.

“Want to go on a walk in the park?” my mom says. This is something that we haven’t done together in a long time.

“Okay,” I say, happy to leave the chaos of the shoe sale.

In the park, a light snow starts to fall.

“I forgot about seasons,” I say.

“I know,” my mom says. “It seemed like winter would never come. And here it is.”

“And back in Texas,” I say, “it’s probably seventy-five degrees and sunny.” Pulling out my iPhone, I say, “I have to take a picture for Kitsy. She’s never seen snow, she’ll totally freak out. I would bring her back some if it wouldn’t melt.”

My mom holds out her glove to catch a snowflake. “Kitsy’s become a really good friend,” she says.

“Yeah,” I say. “She’s actually nice, which is more than I can say about most of my friends.”

Waverly’s got her pluses, but no one would ever check
the “nice” box when describing her.

“Kitsy must be excited about the big game,” my mom says, examining her snowflake.

“Excited?” I ask. “Having a heart attack is more like it. I think the only person more excited is Grandpa. He asked me to get him Bubby’s autograph. Thinking about the game makes me almost sad to miss it.”

“Corrinne,” my mom says and stops walking. “Do you want to go?”

I halt dead in my tracks. “Go where?” I ask, even though I know she means Texas.

Watching the snow melt as it hits the pavement, I get a rush. “You know, Mom, now that we’re leaving Texas, I’ll get to see Dad all the time. I do want to go. Can I, though? It’s, like, tomorrow.”

My mom claps her gloves together. “It’s settled, then,” she says, and reaches into her purse for her phone. “Let’s get your flight changed to Houston for tonight. If you want a chance of making it, you have to beat the real snow. We’re supposed to get three inches tomorrow.”

For the first time since I heard Dad’s big news, I smile. Ripping off my glove, I furiously text both Kitsy and Bubby.

Corrinne: Good luck charm heading to Houston. See you at the game.

My mom looks at me and asks, “Would you care if
I came too? I kind of want to see Broken Spoke history made.”

“Grandpa would love that,” I say. “But promise me we can get hot chocolate after this walk. New York is freezing!”

Chapter 17

The Best Day of Our Lives

S
INCE THE GAME’S IN
H
OUSTON
, we get a hotel right by the stadium. Grandma and Grandpa drive down and get a room too. No one wants to take a chance of missing the game.

My mom tells my grandparents our news over continental breakfast.

“I am not surprised,” Grandma says. “Your husband has always been resourceful. And your family should be together. Corrinne, you must be happy about Kent.”

Grandpa wipes his eyes a bit. As always, he’s a bit more emotional. “Y’all promise that y’all will visit more often.”

“For sure,” I say. “And you guys have to come see me at Kent. I must admit, though, equestrian competitions aren’t as fun as the rodeo. And Grandpa, maybe we can
even drive Billie Jean the Second cross-country. She is mine, right?”

“Of course,” Grandpa says. “A promise is a promise.”

I picture myself driving onto the grassy knolls of Kent in the pickup truck as soon as I’m old enough to get my license; everyone will at least know for sure who I am: the Manhattanite-Texan hybrid that drives stick. That’s hot. Or so my grandpa says.

“Corrinne,” my mom says, and snaps me out my daydream, “let’s talk about this after you actually get a license.”

“Have you told Kitsy?” my grandma asks, her voice full of concern. “She’s the one who’s going to be really devastated. That Kitsy grew on me, and so did you, Corrinne, especially after I convinced you to eat carbs.”

“I am waiting until after the game to mention it,” I say. “And I am only telling Kitsy if Broken Spoke wins.”

“We’re definitely going to win,” Grandpa says. “Your friend Bubby is no small part of that because he really took this team to another level. And he’s only a sophomore. Broken Spoke will finally have a good few years.”

“Dad,” my mom says, and shakes her head, “how many times does Corrinne have to tell you that Bubby isn’t her friend?”

“Actually,” I say, spreading cream cheese on my bagel, “Bubby’s okay if you are into that star-of-the-football-team-good-guy thing.”

“And are you?” Grandma says with her eyebrows raised.

“Depends on if they win,” I say.

The Houston stadium is huge and it’s packed. I have never been to a Super Bowl, but I doubt that they are any more exciting than this.

My mom insists that we get hot dogs at the stadium even though it’s an eleven a.m. game.

“You have to eat hot dogs at a football game,” she says. “It’s tradition.”

Before the game starts, I make my way down to where Kitsy and the girls are stretching.

“Good luck,” I yell from the stands.

“Thanks, Corrinne,” Kitsy yells back. “The field tonight—no matter what!”

“For sure,” I say, and nod enthusiastically in case she can’t hear me.

And for the next three hours of my life, I feel every heartbeat, not just mine, but Mom’s, Grandpa’s, and Grandma’s.

At the half, Broken Spoke is down by seven.

“Okay, okay, no worrying yet,” Grandpa says, squeezing Grandma’s hands. “This is how it was when I won. You remember that, honey. “

After the third quarter, the game is tied. Bubby has
yet to score as the Bluebonnets have three guys defending just him. And then as if right out of a sports movie, Bubby manages to get away and score a touchdown with forty-two seconds left. In the end zone, he breaks out into his own rendition of the Mockingbirdette’s dance. All of us are laughing so hard that we are crying, and crying so hard that we are laughing.

Then we get the extra point. And I throw my arms around my grandpa.

“I can’t believe it,” Grandpa says, hugging me tightly. “My city granddaughter’s become quite the Texan after all.”

And for the next thirty-nine seconds, no one breathes, eats their peanuts, or looks away from the field. With the Bluebonnets unable to get a first down, Broken Spoke wins the State Championship, the first since Grandpa’s senior year.

All the students from Broken Spoke rush the field. It looks like a gray cloud. Staying back with my grandparents and Mom, we collapse into our seats for the first time since we got there.

“What a game!” my mom says as she takes off one of her heels and rubs her foot.

“What a fall!” I say, and link arms with my grandma and mom.

“What a fifty-two years!” Grandpa adds. “Never
would I have thought I’d get to watch Broken Spoke win State again with three generations of Houston women. Don’t know how I got so lucky. Someone up there must like me.”

We huddle together for a while and watch the excitement on the field before we head back to Broken Spoke in Billie Jean the Second.

Hands pulls his truck up to the field, just as the orange sun sets into the November sky. Kitsy, in true form, is still in her Mockingbirdette uniform. Hands, Kitsy, and I jump out, and I look around for Bubby. To be a Truthful Tabitha, I was a tidbit disappointed when Hands told me that Bubby got a ride with someone else. And not just because he got named Most Valuable Player of the game, although titles are totally sexy.

“Tell me all about New York,” Kitsy says when we approach one of the dozen kegs.

“Oh,” I say, “it was fun. But listen, Kitsy—can we talk?”

“Sure,” Kitsy says. “Something wrong? Is it Waverly?” She grabs two cups of beer for us.

“No, she’s fine. Still Waverly,” I say, walking toward the woods where Kitsy first taught me to pee cowgirl style. “It’s actually about me.”

We sit down cross-legged in the grass. I am still in a
Broken Spoke High T-shirt, jeans, and my mom’s boots, something I would’ve never worn three months ago. And I am sitting with a girl who has turned out to be my best friend, something I would’ve never believed three months ago.

“Well, what is it?” Kitsy says. “This is not a sit-and-talk night, this is a party night. I mean,
hello
, we just won State. In football. In Texas.”

Before Kitsy can break into a song and dance, I interrupt her with the news.

“I am leaving Broken Spoke after the semester ends,” I confess. “Stuff changed with my dad’s job and I can go to Kent after all. Mom, Tripp, and me—we are all going back.”

“Oh,” Kitsy says, and sips her beer. “Guess the day was going too well. I don’t know what to say. Congratulations?” she sputters before her words get caught in her throat.

After a moment, Kitsy finds her voice again. “I am happy for you because I know how much you love New York.” Playing with the strings of her pom-poms, she stares down at the grass.

“Kitsy,” I say, fighting my own tears, “you’re the best. You’re responsible for making Broken Spoke okay for me. No, you made it actually great because you made me realize that the company you keep is the most important part
of life. And yes, I know that my grandma has a teacup that says that, but it’s actually true. You were there for all the stupid Friday Night After the Lights concerts and Hurricane Waverly. You taught me how to be a recessionista. I even wore my discount dress to a party in New York and got tons of compliments.”

“That’s the thing,” Kitsy says, and wipes her tears. “I am not a recessionista. I know that’s the it-word right now. But that’s me. I live like this all the time. This has been my life, this is my life, and this will always be my life.”