“I figured. Just had to check. So . . . Chewbarka is with a lady who fosters medical rescue dogs. I think we’re going to visit her this weekend. Do you want to come if we do?”
Her whole face brightens. “Are you serious?”
“Serious as a penguin in a tutu. I mean yes, actually. I’m serious.”
“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” It’s like beams of light are shooting out her eyes. “Gimme your phone. I’ll put in my number. Which day are you going? What time?”
“I don’t know yet.” I hand over my phone and she types it in. “My mom said she’ll drive us.”
“Who’s us?”
“You know Daniel Sanders?”
“Mitch’s twin? The moody photographer kid?”
“Yeah.” I think of Mitch as Daniel’s twin, not the other way around. “Daniel’s . . . well, he saved her life. It’s a long story. He should be the one to tell you.”
“Then I owe him big-time!”
Bella sits with us for a while. She and Griffey talk about how Bella has trouble in band because she’s more focused on showing feeling when she plays than on the sheet music and hitting the exact right notes. Griff says he gets that, but that you can show feeling better if you understand the mechanics of the song. We talk about music and dogs and music again and the school dance and music again, and it’s . . . surprisingly nice.
She might even turn out to be a friend.
When Bella gets up to go back to the kids she was sitting with before, I give her a smile and a wave. I love how my life has gotten remixed in the last few weeks. This new song is hella good.
32
Both Can Be True
Daniel
Ash messages me after school Thursday while I’m taking down the tent. They ask if I want to come over for dinner tomorrow.
Heck yes, I write. But I might be grounded. I’ll let you know.
Before I collapse the ceiling of the tent, I place the lock of Chewbarka’s fur and the lock for Vlad the Rapid on its floor. I arrange them diagonally and snap a photo using the grid. I’m sure Braden will make fun of me tomorrow when I present my picture of a dog’s butt hair, but who gives a dang? I know what matters to me. And Ash will get it.
That’s really all I care about.
That night, I ask Mom if I can go to Ash’s for dinner. I expect a no, since she hasn’t yet told me my consequence. But she surprises me by saying yes.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because restricting your social life isn’t good for you.”
“In that case . . . can I meet Cole on Sunday afternoon? He said he was available and I need to tell him I’m sorry.”
Mom tilts her head. “I never understood what happened with you two.”
“Chalk it up to me being too focused on myself. Plus, well . . . girls.”
Her smile is warm. “You’ve got a busy mind in that head of yours. I’m glad you’re making new friends. I’d like to meet Ash sometime. Your dad seemed impressed.” Then she tells me that she doesn’t want to punish me; she just wants to know she can trust me not to lie to her. My “consequence” is that I have to go to volunteering with her for the next month, and we’re going to go to lunch afterward each time. Just us. She says she feels bad that she’s been working so much, that she wants to connect better with Mitchell as well and they’ll do something together too. She says spending time with the less fortunate helps you know what’s important in life.
It’s not the worst consequence. In fact . . . I’m kind of looking forward to it. The same way I’m looking forward to meeting with Cole and offering him a real apology.
It won’t be easy. I’ll probably cry.
But I cry because I care. And I think he understands that.
Before I go to bed, I text Dad my rule-of-thirds assignment with the two locks. I like how “lock” can mean different things, I write. Like you’re hiding something away, or like you’re keeping it safe and close to your heart.
Good photo, Dad answers. Thought-provoking and nice. Nice composition too. He asks if I’d like to go to a park on Saturday morning and take photos together.
How about we go to Mitch’s swim meet? Sitting on metal bleachers for two hours smelling chlorine doesn’t thrill me, but this could go a long way toward patching things up. Then maybe we can go to IHOP. He’s always starving after a meet.
Dad’s response is immediate: I’d like that.
I get to photography class a few minutes early on Friday, and I’m surprised to see Ash is already there too. I keep sneaking glances at them while I unzip my bag and get my folder out. I’m pretty sure they’re wearing mascara and maybe eyeliner, but they still look boyish in their sleeveless Tony Hawk T-shirt and black pants with cargo pockets. I’m not sure what it means that I can’t stop looking at them, if it means anything other than . . . well, than Ash is really nice to look at when they smile. And like . . . every other time. Nice to look at in general, no matter where they might be hanging out on the gender spectrum. They look up from writing something in their study planner and meet my eyes.
I never knew a smile could make me feel so seen. So appreciated and understood.
I hope Ash feels that way too when I smile at them.
The second the bell rings, Ms. Bernstein flips on the projector. “Thank you to everyone who submitted their photo via Google Classroom as instructed,” she says. “I’m still waiting on a few of you, so please submit it now so we can get rolling. We’ll start with table one. I’ll display your photo and you’ll come up and tell us why you picked your subject and why
