A/N: This story has been on hiatus for an unspeakably long amount of time, and I'm sorry for that. But I couldn't really let it go, and finally, I came up with this. I hope you enjoy it, especially those of you who favorited it and probably forgot about it. Thanks for the support! And thanks to Faerish for getting me off my butt, and to e-wilson for inspiring me to continue.
Just like always, the last few weeks of school flew by more quickly than anyone would have thought possible, and before I knew it, middle school was over. The Grad Committee really went all out for the ceremony. It was held at a fancy convention center in the city, followed by a reception at an equally fancy restaurant. Luckily, our graduating class was only 125 students, or I don't know how they would have been able to raise enough money. I guess the Basket Boys lunch auction really did have a purpose beyond humiliating teenage boys.
It was nice to see everyone all dressed up and genuinely being nice to each other, putting aside feuds and cliques for just a few hours while celebrating the end of our childhood. Miranda even wrote "HAGS" (have a great summer, I later learned) in my yearbook. And Shelly…
Well, maybe not everyone.
We could all sense that a lot of things were going to change in high school: friendships would be interrupted, new social lines would be drawn, and perhaps most daunting of all, we'd have to make decisions that would affect the rest of our lives. The question was, would we be ready for it? I, for one, wasn't so sure of the answer.
I think that summer was a summer of exploration more than anything else. I had begun volunteering at Uncle David's group home as a sort of professional companion—I went into the rooms of some of the residents that had little to no family visits and spent time reading to them, watching television, or just talking. On a whim, I started bringing my camera with me and taking pictures of the people I was meeting, people who the average person would think had only slightly more brain function than a vegetable. This, I found, was the opposite of the truth. They were all bright, vibrant personalities, with as much of a soul as any of us "normal" people. Of course, they all had good days and bad days, also just like the rest of us. With my camera, I could capture this depth, giving anyone who cared to look a much different perspective on "retards." The caregivers who ran the home liked some of them so much that they had them blown up and displayed on the walls of the entry hallway. The residents liked them so much that having one of my pictures of them put on the wall became an incentive for good behavior.
"Juli, these have completely changed the atmosphere around here. Are you sure you don't want us to compensate you at all?" asked Sandra, a tall, motherly Black woman who was the head nurse and treated me like an actual employee rather than just a teenaged volunteer, as she moved to hang up a new one which was, incidentally, of Uncle David, smiling as he placed the last piece on one of his jigsaw puzzles.
"I'm sure, Sandra. I have an egg business at home that gives me more than enough money. I just…appreciate being able to help." I fidgeted a little, glancing at the faded carpet. I felt a bit awkward about always turning her down.
She smiled warmly at me, her dark eyes glinting with a knowing look. "Just stay that way, Juli. The world needs more people like you."
I wanted to tell her that it wasn't really anything special about me; it was just that I saw myself, the weirdo, the outcast, in all of those people. Really, in everything that was supposed to be bad or ugly. And I knew how shallow those descriptions were, just like the shallowness of people who had made fun of me for years just because I acted a little bit differently from them. I wanted to tell her all that, but instead I just smiled. I needed to learn how to take a compliment, anyway.
I wasn't the only one doing the exploring, either. Matt and Mike successfully recorded their demo CD (yes, the one that caused that memorable standoff between my brothers and Mr. Loski when we had dinner at the Loskis' all those months ago). They sent it off to dozens of record labels, both major and indie, and it was difficult seeing their faces when the mail came with week after week of disappointment. But one night at dinner, they said they had an announcement.
"Ah-he-hem," said Mike exaggeratedly, tapping his fork on his plate. "Silence, please." My parents and I exchanged confused glances as they proceeded to pull out their chairs and stand on them. We were used to their odd behavior but this was completely out-there.
"Ladies and gentlemen, baby sisters of all ages—"
"We have an important announcement. News so colossal, you'll wonder why it hasn't been featured in the New York Times!"
"The band known to fans far and wide as Mystery Pisser has officially been offered a RECORD DEAL!"
Mom broke out grinning. "Boys, that's wonderful!"
"Thanks Mom!"
"We'll be sure you're number one in our Grammy acceptance speech!" They high fived at that, and even though they were half-joking, I could see the excitement on their faces.
"I knew you boys had it in you," Dad added with a proud smile of his own. "I guess this means we raised you right!"
Mom playfully rolled her eyes. "Well, honey, I wouldn't go that far…"
I was so happy for them. My zany, obnoxious, yet wonderful brothers who most people thought were stoners had proven all the doubters wrong by following their dream and being successful. I was so overwhelmed with emotion that I suddenly started to bawl.
"Jules, what's wrong?" asked Matt, his excitement giving way to a concerned frown.
"I just—hiccup—I—hiccup—you're the most amazing brothers anyone could ever have!" Immediately I regretted it. It sounded so corny and mushy that I knew they'd laugh. But life is full of surprises. Instead of laughing, they both bounded off their chairs and engulfed me in a huge, bone-crushing hug.
"Don't we know it!"
"It's about time you showed us some respect around here!"
"Aww, I love you too," I muttered sarcastically and a little breathlessly, since I was still squeezed between the two of them.
Mike snickered. "Oh yeah, that too."
I know by now you're wondering about Bryce. The truth is, I wasn't exactly sure how I felt about him. I had tried to sort out my thoughts by spending some time away from him for a little while, and he had patiently acquiesced to my request. But I could feel his eyes on me all the time, and caught him staring on several occasions. The look on his face was always mournful, and even slightly frustrated. He'd turn beet red whenever I happened to catch him, but he didn't look away. I had always been a sucker for those eyes, and seeing them fixed on mine so plainly sent waves of long-held feelings rolling over me. I missed him. Even when he hadn't wanted to be near me, I felt inexplicably attracted to him, as if he'd caught me on a hook and was slowly reeling in the fishing line. Now that I had experienced his friendship, even if it was only for a day, I found it even harder to stay away from him. So, against my better judgment, I let him back in, asking him to take pictures of me standing next to the cherry tree across the street from our school one morning. He seemed to really enjoy it, and seeing his eagerness and slight awkwardness made me sad for ever having cut him off, even if I knew it was for the better. After that, we became tentative friends. I wanted to be so much more, and I could tell that he did too, which in itself was still hard to fathom. Yet something inside of me held back. Part of it was because I had been burned so many times by him before, but another part of it was something deeper, something unresolved. Something in the cynical things he sometimes said, the strange unhappiness that appeared in his eyes at times. I wanted to fix it, to comfort him somehow, but I was afraid of that side of him. Afraid that one day the old Bryce would return if I said the wrong thing. Afraid that the armor he put up against the world would one day bar me out again just as it had for seven long years.
It all came to a head one Sunday morning in July. I was bustling around the kitchen helping my mom make blueberry pancakes and sausage for breakfast (I'd received two pounds of blueberries from the teacher who'd provided me with the eggs for my seventh grade science project, and I begged my mom to make one of her delicious jams, but we settled on pancakes). While I was mixing the batter, the phone rang.
"Sweetie, can you get that? I can't get away from the stove," Mom said while maneuvering some sausage around a pan with a fork. I wiped the flour and batter from my hands and picked up the hall phone.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Mrs. Baker, this is Bryce. Is Julianna at home?" Bryce? He had never called my house before, to my knowledge.
"Bryce, I'm Juli."
"Oh! Sorry…you sound just like your mom on the phone." I wondered how he would know that, then realized that he must have called that one day when he was running around our house like a wild man. I had to giggle at that.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing, nothing…so what's going on? Is something wrong?"
"No, everything's fine. I was just wondering—didn't you say that you visited your Uncle David's nursing home on Sundays?"
I stiffened. Memories of that horrible day in the library when I'd heard Bryce laughing it up with Garrett about my retarded uncle rushed to the forefront of my mind.
"Why do you want to know?"
There was a short pause. "I want to go with you, if that's alright."
Something inside of me broke. Just broke. Years of pent up resentment bubbled to the surface, and I lashed out at him.
"Why do you want to do that? To have some funny story to tell your family? I won't let you do that, not again!"
Bryce was silent. Tears began to flow down my cheeks, stinging my eyes and making me even angrier because they would make me sound weak. I was determined not let him hear me cry; I couldn't let him know how much he had hurt me.
"Juli…you have every right to be mad at me," he said cautiously. I snorted loudly enough for him to hear, but he continued. "I don't think I've ever screwed up worse than I did then. But I promise you that's not why I want to come."
"Why should I believe you, Bryce? How do I know you don't still think that my whole family is weird and retarded? One bad apple spoils the whole barrel, right?" I said viciously. This time I knew I'd gone too far. Bryce didn't deserve this. I didn't even know where it was coming from, this pure, unadulterated rage. I wanted him to hurt, even as I felt sickeningly guilty for doing it.
He was angry now, angrier than I'd ever heard him get. "Honestly, Juli? Are you for real right now? You're the only real friend I've ever had! You're the only person I know who cares about what I think and who I really am! Or at least, I thought you did," he added bitterly. "You really think I would throw all that away just for some stupid joke? If you do, then you don't know me at all."
"I don't know who I know, Bryce."
There was a long, tense silence. I could practically see his lip curling in disgust.
"Fine, Julianna. Forget I ever asked." The dial tone blasted through my eardrum. I felt sick.
"Julianna, what was that all about?" my mother questioned. She looked alarmed, but I couldn't look her in the eyes. I was too ashamed.
"I'm going to my room." Without any further explanation, I tore up the stairs, flung open the door, and threw myself onto my bed, sobbing.
"I'm so sorry, Bryce," I whimpered into my pillow. What was wrong with me? What had possessed me to be so mean to him? He had never been that mean to me. Indifferent, yes. Avoidant, yes. Dishonest, yes. But cruel? Never. Now I was the heartless one, and he was the one trying to be generous, trying to be nice. Except it was worse, because for all those years that Bryce had given me the cold shoulder, he'd at least been consistent. He'd never given me false hope. But Bryce trusted me, and I'd thrown it out the window. I felt like the worst person in the world.
They say that love and hate are two sides of the same coin, and now, I realized the truth of that statement more than ever before. I thought I'd forgiven Bryce simply because I still loved him, and I found it hard to stay angry at him for very long. But apparently I still hated him for making a fool out of me for seven years. I had thought that the reason I couldn't fully open up to him was because of something about him, but now I realized that it was all me.
I still had my face buried in my pillow when my mom came up with a plate stacked with blueberry pancakes, sausage, and a small dish of maple syrup.
"Julie, honey, I know you're upset, but why don't you go ahead and eat? I know you've been looking forward to these pancakes."
I turned over and sat up in bed, my shoulders slumped miserably. Mom sat down next to me and rubbed my back sympathetically in that way that mothers have that makes everything just a little bit better.
"Wanna tell me about what happened?"
I hung my head. "Mom, I'm a terrible friend."
She shook her head. "Juli, look at me. I know you. You're kind, sweet, and caring. If you said something mean, I know there had to be some truth in it because I know you. That doesn't make it alright, but it also doesn't make you a terrible friend. And if Bryce is truly your friend, a sincere apology is bound to help."
I wiped away the last of my tears. She sounded so sure. I didn't know if she was right, but it made me feel better. "Thanks, Mom."
She kissed my forehead. "That's what I'm here for. Now come down and eat your breakfast so you can get ready. Dad's going with you today, so you'll have to leave earlier than usual."
At the dining table, I chewed my food listlessly. The long-awaited blueberries had lost a lot of their flavor. What was the real reason Bryce had wanted to come, I wondered. Later, as I got dressed, that was all I could think about. What could he possibly want to do there?
When my dad called me from downstairs, it was still on my mind. "Ready to go, squirt?" my dad said, using my age old nickname.
"Dad, I'm definitely not a squirt anymore." I winced as soon as the words came out. I sounded so irritable and mean. But my dad didn't notice—instead, a far-off look came into his eyes.
"You're right. You're a young woman now. I guess I just don't want to admit it yet." He smiled a lopsided smile, and despite my miserable state, I managed to return it.
"Dad—um…earlier, Bryce Loski asked if he could come visit Uncle David with us today. I—I said that I had to ask you, to see if it was okay, and if you said yes, he could come if he still felt like it." I felt horrible lying to my Dad, but I was so ashamed of myself that I couldn't bear to bring the truth to my lips. "Can he?"
"Of course he can, Julianna. I'm glad he's interested. He really seems to have turned over a new leaf."
"O-okay then. I'll just go across the street and ask if he still wants to come. He might have changed his mind," I added quickly, in case Bryce didn't react well to my apology.
So that's how I ended up on the Loskis' front porch again; only now, I was the guilty party. I rang the doorbell and rocked anxiously back and forth on the top step. This time, it was Mrs. Loski who opened the door.
"Oh, hello there, Julianna. Can I help you?"
"Hi, Mrs. Loski. I'd like to speak to Bryce, if he's available."
"Of course, I'll tell him you're here. Come inside, come inside," she urged, hustling me into the house. I remembered to take my shoes off without her prompting me, and I could hear her breathe a sigh of relief. "Are you two supposed to be going somewhere today? I seem to remember Bryce mentioning something like that."
"Well…I was going to ask him about that."
"That's nice. He loves spending time with you." I blushed deeply as she led me to a plush white sofa and handed me a glass of water before disappearing into the house. In spite of my shame, I found myself in awe of Mrs. Loski's absolute perfection as a hostess. No hair was out of place with her. How she managed to keep her life so organized was a mystery to me.
"Juli." I turned around and there was Bryce, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. His eyes looked hollow, and his whole body seemed to radiate sadness. Taking a deep breath, I marched over to him. His stare bore into me, and I wriggled uncomfortably, but found the courage to place a hand on his shoulder. He winced, but didn't move away.
"Please forgive me, Bryce. I didn't mean any of those things I said."
He scoffed dejectedly. "It sure sounded like you did. And maybe I deserved that, anyway—"
"No, Bryce. Nobody deserves for their friends to treat them cruelly, and that's what I did, just because I felt spiteful. I guess I never really forgave you, but that's my fault. Not yours." All of a sudden I wanted to touch his cheek, to stroke his hair and tell him how much I really did care about him, if only to make him smile again. But I was too afraid to do that.
"Please come, Bryce. I want you there. My dad's waiting outside in his truck."
He nodded without saying a word and followed me outside.
The visit ended all too soon. I had been apprehensive, but it turned out to be the most fun I'd ever had at the nursing home. We checked up on Uncle David first, and Bryce started out a little nervous, but he soon warmed up to David and later to the other residents we visited. All of them were absolutely ecstatic to see someone new, and I realized with a pang that Bryce might have been one of the only non-family and non-employee visitors that they'd had in their entire time at the home. Possibly in their whole lives. I felt even more horrible for the fact that I hadn't wanted him to come at first—his being there meant so much to all those people. I wondered if he realized that.
"I didn't know the whole Baker family was so creative," Bryce said on the way home, his blue eyes sparkling.
"What do you mean, Bryce?" Dad questioned genially. I could tell that he was really proud of the way Bryce had handled himself, and touched by the fact that he'd been motivated to come in the first place.
"Well, Juli tells me you're a painter, right? And my mom said that Mrs. Baker does pottery as a hobby. Then we've got Juli, the professional photographer," he nudged me with a grin, making me blush. "And Matt and Mike with their band. And now I know that Uncle David puts together those jigsaw puzzles with fantastic landscapes. It's like being an artist runs in the family."
My dad looked at Bryce for a long time, a hint of something I couldn't identify in his eyes.
"You know what? I think it does."
We dropped Bryce off at his house, then returned home. All through dinner, Dad exclaimed over how great everything had gone over, and Mom gave me a knowing smile. I felt a warm, happy feeling bubble up from the center of my stomach. For the first time in forever, I felt completely safe, satisfied, and contented. I didn't have to hide anything anymore. If Bryce accepted my family for what it was, then who cared what anyone else thought?
When I went up to my room, I intended to get ready for bed, but I had too much energy bounding up inside me. I didn't want to surrender to dreamland just yet. Instead, I opened the window and sat on the sill, letting the muggy night air wash over me. As I leaned my head against the frame, I imagined the rest of the summer stretching ahead of me, full of possibilities. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that when I heard a heavy doorslam from across the street, I very nearly fell off the ledge.
That came from the Loskis' house. I turned toward it and was shocked to see a shadowy figure stalking angrily down the street. Was that…Bryce?
I wasted no time in climbing out of my window and down the tree that stood beside it, without a thought to the fact that I was wearing slippers and pajamas. Where was he going? What could possibly have happened?
"BRYCE," I called down the street, running to keep up with his long strides. "BRYCE, WAIT UP!"
He didn't stop, didn't even turn around, just kept walking. I wondered if he even heard me—he didn't look like he noticed the world around him, let alone someone's voice. Finally I began to catch up with him as he slowed down.
"Bryce…what…what are you doing…out here," I panted, grabbing his arm. We were standing underneath a street lamp, and when he turned—I'll never forget what he looked like. His face was red and crumpled and covered with tears in the worst combination of anger and sadness I had ever seen. I must have gasped, because he immediately turned to face the ground. I felt his arm tremble in my hand.
"Go home, Juli. I don't need you here."
The words stung, but I didn't leave. I stayed there, holding on to him, and he didn't say anything else for several minutes. But he wouldn't look at me. He continued crying as if I wasn't there. An angry scream ripped from his throat, and the pain that tore inside me was too much to bear.
"Bryce," I pleaded, a sob starting to form in my own throat, "please tell me what's going on!" Finally, he looked up at me in despair.
"My father is a fucking asshole."
I drew in a breath, waiting for him to continue.
"I—I never told you this, but the real reason I wanted to go and see your uncle is because he's living the life I'm supposed to be living. That was supposed to be me."
"Bryce—what are you talking about?"
A grim smile slit his face. "I was born just like Uncle David. With the cord wrapped around my neck." Seeing the shocked look on my face, he laughed bitterly. "Yeah, that was how I felt when I found out. It came out at dinner when I first told my family about David. I was trying to stand up for you. I wanted to show my dad that there was a reason why you all weren't so concerned about whether the yard was neat or not. But it blew up in my face, and I found out that I was almost born retarded. The only reason I'm not just like David is because I was lucky enough to have a quick doctor." He paused. "That sure changed how I felt about myself."
It was too much to take in at once. I imagined Bryce in a wheelchair, eating ice cream alone in a sparsely furnished room. I might never have even known he existed.
I wasn't sure if I should push him, but that didn't explain why he'd stormed out of his house so late at night. "What…what happened tonight?"
He sighed. "When I came home for dinner tonight, my dad asked me where I'd gone with you, so I had to tell him even though I knew he wasn't going to like it. But it was worse than I thought it would be. He was like, 'Why would you want to spend time with all of those retards?' And I was like, 'Dad, don't you remember that I was almost one of those retards?' And then he said—God, I still can't even believe he said it. He said, 'It's a good thing you weren't, because I can't imagine what we would have done with you.'"
I closed my eyes, disbelieving. I had never liked Bryce's dad. But I had always assumed that, despite his shortcomings, he loved his family. Especially Bryce. I couldn't even imagine that the same man who was always showing Bryce off, obviously proud of him, could have said something so cruel. But he had, and it was tearing Bryce apart.
"After that, everything happened the way it always happens. Lynetta stormed off to her room, Mom and Grandpa Chet started chewing Dad out, Dad was defending himself. I couldn't take it anymore, so I just bolted." His tears had dried, and now, his face looked strangely dead. Without speaking, I pulled him into my arms and held him there. It was the first time I'd ever hugged Bryce, but it didn't feel awkward or unnatural. He slipped his arms around my waist easily, and we stood there for several minutes in silence, listening to nothing but each other breathing steadily in and out.
"Juli," he whispered, his lips just barely touching my ear. I shivered at the touch. "What am I supposed to do?"
"I don't know, Bryce. I don't know."
He pulled away from me slightly, but before I could be hit fully by the emptiness he left behind, his cool, soft lips were on mine.
I didn't run this time. I didn't pull away. I kissed him back with everything I had in me. That night, that terrible, wonderful night was the night I laid claim to the kiss I'd been running after ever since I'd laid eyes on him.
When we finally let go of each other, I didn't want him to go back, and he didn't either, but there was no choice. He trudged back up the sidewalk and disappeared into his house while I watched his back worriedly all the while. When I looked at the house, a cold, clammy feeling crept up inside me. It was so pristine, so beautiful on the outside. But what had just happened inside was a nuclear meltdown.
I just wondered how long it would be before the explosion.
