Counting to Perfect Read online

Then they both kind of stiffened, and took quiet bites of their sandwiches. I stopped eating mine.

  “Why would she know?” I asked. “What happened last night?”

  They looked at each other. Then Piper said, as if trying to get it over with, “We went to the movies.”

  I looked from one to the other.

  “You said you had plans,” Liana said. “We would have invited you. Of course.”

  Piper was nodding.

  “Of course,” I echoed. A minute ago, I’d been starving from swimming all morning. But my sandwich seemed dry and I slowed down.

  I wanted to take my cookies back from the sharing pile.

  I looked at our ankles, at our matching embroidery-floss friendship bands that Liana had made for us on the pool deck last summer. The colors were bleached by a year of chlorine, the threads growing thinner.

  * * *

  —

  When it was time for swim practice, we gathered behind lane three with Bea, Sam, and Jordan. Our lane from last summer.

  But then Coach came by and said, “Cassie, lane four.”

  Everyone in lane four was older than me. And really good.

  You didn’t argue with Coach, but I stood there for a minute, staring at Liana and Piper.

  “Well,” Piper said, putting on her goggles and meeting my eyes with her buggy ones. “I guess you’re just too fast for us.”

  * * *

  —

  Piper’s mom dropped me off at the end of the day.

  When I got to my room, a huge pile of books was on my desk.

  Brand-new, shiny, bright-colored science books, on a variety of subjects.

  Barf.

  I slid them all off the desk.

  They made a terrific crash as they hit the floor.

  * * *

  —

  I climbed the stairs to the attic.

  The attic has a funny smell….It’s hot and stale, not air-conditioned, not lived-in. But Mom likes things neat. So almost everything is in labeled plastic bins, and she runs a dehumidifier to keep things from getting too damp.

  The floorboards creaked as I crossed to where most of Julia’s stuff was clustered together. Masking-tape-and-Sharpie labels said: J Freshman Year; J Sophomore Year; J Junior Year. No J Senior Year yet, but there would be.

  * * *

  —

  Dad had insisted that Julia finish high school.

  First he’d asked the guidance counselor if she could keep up with her homework and then sit her exams at the end of the year.

  The guidance counselor said no. That, unfortunately, there was an attendance requirement. Julia wouldn’t make it if she stayed home from Thanksgiving onward. Not to mention there was a physical education requirement and obviously that had to be done in person, too.

  We all thought it was dumb. Even I knew that you don’t learn anything during the school day, that you just sit there and get talked at and all the learning happens at home, when you do your homework. Julia was almost done with high school already. But if she was “homebound” for a while, a licensed teacher could visit her; that could happen for a few weeks after the baby came, and buy her some extra time. A doctor’s note could get her three months of visits.

  So Dad arranged that. He asked what the minimum number of days was and for a printout of her attendance so far that year. He figured out how many days were left for her to do after the home visits and when the PE classes would be. He built her this huge schedule on a calendar in the kitchen, with a few extra days here and there in case she got sick. And then he and Mom took turns using up their own sick days to be with Addie.

  “I’ll stay home with Addie,” I’d offered one night at dinner, when everyone was discussing who would take a turn that week.

  Dad looked livid.

  Then he covered his eyes with one hand.

  At first, I’d thought he didn’t think I could take care of Addie.

  But it wasn’t that, not at all.

  It was more like he’d never imagined that it would become so hard to get us through school. It had never been a question before Addie. His girls would go to high school and college. And then suddenly we were all struggling to get Julia a high school diploma like it was getting her to the moon.

  So me missing school wasn’t going to help anybody.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Forget it.”

  “That’s right, forget it.” Dad stared me down real good and hard and I swallowed and looked away.

  “Thank you, Cass.” Julia bounced Addie on her knee. “It’s super sweet of you, but I would stay home with her before I ever asked you to. Ever.”

  I nodded. I cleared my plate and went upstairs to put in my earbuds and block them all out and do my homework.

  * * *

  —

  I found J Middle School. I popped the cover off and sat on another bin.

  Tons of projects. Photos. Study guides. Valentines. Notes. Pom-poms from pep rallies, ribbons from science fairs, itineraries from field trips.

  Then a large, square, plastic-coated scrapbook: “A Photographic Journal by Julia Applegate.” I pulled it into my lap and slowly turned the pages.

  Not a word in the entire thing.

  She started with her birth: her photo from the hospital.

  I stared at the picture for a few minutes. She and Addie, as newborns, had the same nose. But Addie had more hair, a different chin.

  Mom and Dad, looking so young, both with longer hair, bringing Julia home.

  Feeding her baby food.

  I flipped the pages. Preschool…Julia’s friend Maya at three, then staying in the photos as Julia progressed through school.

  Another baby.

  Me.

  I touched the photo of Julia holding me. She was kind of little, too, just six. Beaming at the camera with no front teeth. Then looking not at the camera, but at my face. Loving me already.

  I flipped the page to find that I took over the album for a little while. My first Christmas; my first teeth; my fists wrapped around Julia’s fingers as I walked with her.

  Then I dropped back out of the journal.

  Julia and her friends at Halloween. School assemblies. Birthday parties.

  Our whole family at Grandma’s at Easter. A smattering of the cousins we haven’t talked to in a while.

  It didn’t feel like Julia had just stuck a bunch of random photos from her life in the scrapbook. She had chosen carefully; she told a story with characters in it.

  I was there like a blip, a significant event at first, but then falling in with all the other characters. Or…falling off the radar.

  I put the journal back into the bin and snapped the lid on.

  I didn’t know how to put together a project that good.

  Before I could pull the cord to turn off the extra light, I saw another bin, a new one, labeled A.

  Addie.

  Had Mom made it? Or Julia?

  I opened it.

  Clothes Addie had outgrown. A few cards of congratulations Julia’d received, though there really weren’t a lot of those. Addie’s ID anklet from the hospital. The booties, blanket, and hat she’d worn there.

  I picked up pink newborn pajamas. I couldn’t believe how much she’d grown already. The pj’s looked tiny.

  I held them to my nose, breathed in deep.

  They still smelled like her.

  There were a couple duplicates of her newborn photo.

  I took one of them and walked back over and opened the J Middle School box again. I opened the photo album and placed the picture of Addie under the clear plastic on the inside of the back cover.

  I shut the box, brought the journal down to my room, and put it on my desk in the space where the science books had been.

  * * *<
br />
  —

  When I got downstairs, Maya was over. She took Addie from Julia like she was her own kid. She’d always been good with babies. They liked her.

  Maya sat Addie on her knees and Addie stared up into her eyes, mesmerized. Then she saw Maya’s frizzy hair and reached up to try to grab the wisps along her forehead.

  “Did you have a good day?” Maya asked her. Not in baby talk. The way she would talk to anybody.

  Addie studied her face.

  “That doesn’t sound too bad,” Maya said, as if Addie had answered.

  “What are you up to tonight?” Julia asked Maya.

  “Remy and I are going to pick out our bedding,” Maya said. “You should come.”

  Julia’s smile faded. She didn’t need dorm bedding. She was going to take night classes at the local community college in the fall. Going to college, but not going to college.

  The last bedding she’d picked out had been for Addie’s crib. She’d picked zoo animals over pink owls. She hadn’t known that Addie was going to be a girl.

  “No thanks,” Julia said. “Carter’s coming back later.”

  That didn’t seem like a good-enough reason. They could be back in time for that, or leave Addie with him. Or maybe Mom and Dad and I could watch her so Julia could have some time with her friends.

  Maya made a face like she was sad but understood, like she was trying to think of what to say, how to get Julia to say what she needed to say. Maya looked at me. I shrugged.

  Julia stood and took Addie back. “I’d better give her her bath.”

  Maya smiled and stood up, too. “See you soon, pumpkin.” She kissed Addie on the cheek. She paused and planted a careful kiss on Julia’s cheek, too. “Tomorrow? We’ll talk?”

  Julia went upstairs.

  * * *

  —

  Dinner was quiet, all the things it wasn’t standing out. Not a celebration for a good report card. Not me with my friends, or Julia with hers.

  Though Carter was over.

  Carter held Addie in his lap and fed her a jar of peas. He kept her neat and tidy, and Mom had nothing to say about it.

  “You guys should all come over this weekend,” Carter said. “My uncles and cousins and everyone are coming for a cookout. They’d love to see Addie.”

  “Maybe,” Julia said. “We’ll have to see what we’re doing.”

  We weren’t doing anything. We never did.

  “I think that sounds nice, Carter,” Mom said. “Let us know when it is and we’ll be there.”

  Julia glared at her.

  I was doing the dishes after Carter left, when Julia and Mom started fighting about whether we should go to the cookout.

  “His family should get to spend more time with Addie. He’s her father.”

  “I understand he’s her father. But I should get to be the one to say yes to things, not you. Maybe I don’t want to go to a cookout this weekend.”

  “Why is this a big deal? It’s a couple hours.”

  Was I included in the mandatory cookout attendance? Probably yes. They would say I had to go, to support Julia and participate in the family activity, and then not pay any attention to me once we were there. Maybe Carter would let me play on the Wii and stay inside.

  * * *

  —

  Julia visited my room later, a sweet-smelling, pajamaed Addie on her hip. She handed me Addie and I played with her, but Julia walked in circles on my polka-dot rug.

  “Cass?” she asked finally.

  I looked up.

  She stopped pacing and sat down on my bed. “Do you have any money?”

  “Money?”

  “You know, like real money.”

  “Do I have any money, like real money? What do you need money for?”

  “Just, could you tell me?”

  I bit my lip.

  I was a saver. Everyone knew it. I’d pet-sat for every house in the neighborhood when people had gone on vacation last summer and at the holidays. And I hadn’t spent my birthday money in three years.

  Addie’s eyelids had gone purple and puffy. She was getting sleepy. I turned her sideways in my arms to lay her down, and I rocked her.

  “Don’t you have some?” I asked.

  “Grandma sent me a check for graduating from high school. Two thousand dollars—that’s a lot, isn’t it?”

  “She must have been proud of you for finishing.”

  “Shut up. Nobody’s proud of me.”

  “Everyone’s proud of you.”

  “And I have some money, from before. It’s like, maybe five hundred.”

  “I have…” I thought, but tried to keep my eyes from darting around the room to all the places I stashed my cash. “I don’t know. I have something.”

  “Could I have it? Like…like a loan?”

  I cringed, but cuddled Addie a bit closer.

  “Is it for Addie?”

  “Sort of. I mean, of course it has to do with Addie, but it’s mainly for me.”

  I looked over at the journal on my desk. The science books all over the floor, open, pages getting creased.

  “Please.”

  I looked into her eyes. She was begging. I couldn’t tell what she was actually, silently, trying to tell me, but she really meant it, whatever it was.

  “I’ll pay you back. You know, when I can.”

  I sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

  Julia nodded. Sat still for a minute. “Please?”

  “I said I’d think about it. I don’t know how much it is.”

  “Please.”

  I didn’t like the way she just said please, over and over again like that.

  But when I closed my eyes, I saw Mom’s favorite vase, smashed at my feet.

  Please, Julia? You won’t tell, right? You won’t say it was me?

  Addie had fallen asleep, warm and heavy in my arms.

  I looked at my sister, who was still looking down into her lap. “Why don’t you just tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” She stood up suddenly, but was gentle as she took Addie. “Look, I better go put her down.”

  I wanted to hug her.

  But Addie was in between us.

  Whenever Liana and I slept over at Piper’s, Piper slept in her big queen bed by herself, claiming she kicked, and Liana and I always slept on the floor in sleeping bags. I didn’t know about Liana, but I never felt all that sleepy on the floor—eventually, I’d pass out from exhaustion, but I was always achy and tired in the morning. And cranky. Dad always said how cranky I was for days after sleeping at Piper’s.

  Piper never seemed to notice.

  Once, when Addie was a newborn, I was at Piper’s, lying awake. I didn’t want to lie there anymore. I got up and went downstairs to the kitchen, got a cup of water, and sat on a barstool at the kitchen island. The clock on the stove said 3:11.

  A little while later, the stairs creaked, and Liana came into the kitchen.

  “You okay? I thought you’d just gone to the bathroom, but you never came back.”

  “Yeah…I’m just…not sleeping.”

  “Me neither.”

  Liana pulled out another stool and sat down.

  We both stared at the box on the island.

  Donut holes.

  At my house, when we had sleepovers, Mom or Dad spent the morning making piles and piles of pancakes, with berries or M&M’s or chocolate chips. Or if they were going to be busy, they bought a dozen all-different bagels with at least three kinds of cream cheese.

  At Piper’s, someone always left us a box of donut holes.

  “Hungry?” Liana asked.

  “Yes,” I said slowly. I reached for the box, dragged it toward us. I opened it, finding that the donut holes were all
the same: the squishy, glazed ones.

  “My favorite,” Liana said.

  “Mine too.”

  Liana reached in, took one. So did I.

  “Cheers.”

  We knocked donuts, stuffed them in our mouths, giggled.

  Liana looked in the box again. “Let’s eat them all.”

  “What will Piper have for breakfast?”

  Liana looked around the kitchen, then pointed.

  A box of Raisin Bran.

  I giggled, took another donut. Liana did, too.

  “We can pretend the box was never even here,” I said. “We can hide it way down in the trash. So then Piper gives her parents a hard time about forgetting to get them.”

  We were both laughing. Liana grabbed my arm. “Shh! We’ll wake everyone up.”

  We quieted down, reached for our third donuts.

  “I kinda wish I were at home,” Liana said. “At least then I’d be sleeping.”

  “I wouldn’t be.”

  “The baby?”

  “Yeah. She’s up like two or three times a night. Screaming her brains out.”

  “Do you like her?”

  I shrugged.

  Liana licked her fingers thoughtfully. “You probably will.”

  “Maybe.” I looked into the donut box. Took another. “You should come meet her. In the daytime.”

  Liana made a face. “You know my mom’s not going to let me.”

  I kicked my feet on the rung of the stool.

  “It’s not my fault,” she said.

  “It’s not my fault, either.”

  A couple donuts later, Liana said, “I think you must like Addie. If you want me to meet her.”

  When Julia came into my room in the morning, she set Addie on me. I rolled onto my stomach and pulled the pillow over my head, to show I didn’t want to see them, that sleeping was way more important. Julia silently scooped up Addie and shut the door quietly as she left.

  * * *

  —

  I fell asleep for so long it was after eleven when I got to the kitchen for breakfast.