Everything That Makes You(12)

Fi shook her head. "We're not twins. Well, Irish twins, but that doesn't count."

"What's an Irish twin?" Marcus asked, his head tilted cutely to the side.

"We're ten months apart."

"Ah." He laughed. Jackson sighed noticeably.

Marcus shoulder-nudged his brother, but kept his eyes on Fi. "Y'all go to West?"

"No, union    . You?"

"Homeschool."

She'd never known anyone who was homeschooled. "That's cool," she lied.

Another awkward silence threatened as Fi noticed that, in addition to  being nice, Marcus was a creep-up-on-you-slowly kind of cute. Soft  hazel-brown eyes and smooth, fair skin, offset by that jet-black hair.  She stopped caring what Jackson was doing. "So, what happens at open mic  night?" she asked.

It only took half a minute to explain, but it was the perfect opening  for everything else. He asked about her cast, which led to a  surprisingly heartache-free discussion of lacrosse. He didn't know much  about it, a refreshing break from Trent.

"It was created by Native Americans," she said. "They used it to train their men as warriors."

"I just finished a book about that. Kind of," he said, giving a quick  summary about how different tribes reacted to early settlers.

His hazel eyes lit up when he spoke, and his whole face smiled. She'd  never been so captivated by the struggle of native peoples.

She talked about getting her grades up in time for college applications. She told him about Northwestern.

"Hey! Jackson's applying there, too." He poked his brother in the ribs.

Jackson acknowledged this with a brief nod. Fi nodded, too-then turned back to Marcus.

"What's the book?" she asked, pointing to the dog-eared paperback on the table.

"Selected Essays of Jean-Paul Sartre." He held it up, showing her the  cover. "If no one went onstage, I was going to read from it."

"You're kidding," she said.

"Seriously. Look." Flopping it open, he read, "One is still what one is  going to cease to be and already what one is going to become. One lives  one's death, one dies one's life." He laughed and put the book back on  the table. "It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Probably better for  everyone I didn't follow through."                       
       
           



       

"You like to read?"

"Love it." He'd just reread the Lord of the Rings trilogy and told her  some jokes she didn't get. Even though he was homeschooled, they  followed the local school curriculum, so they talked about some of the  books they'd read for English this year-the Faulkner short stories, The  Sun Also Rises, The Grapes of Wrath.

An hour later, ten people had taken the microphone and left it, but  neither of them noticed. Fi had no idea whether Jackson had paid  attention-she'd tuned him out.

She turned when Ryan nudged her shoulder. "Mom just called. She's freaking that you're out."

Crap. "It was your idea," she said.

"We gotta go. Let me say bye to Gwen." Then he walked away, completely forgetting she couldn't walk on her own.

Fi pushed herself up. "Sorry." She gestured to her leg. "Usually he's a little nicer, but could you, uh . . ."

"Sure." Marcus got up, offering his arm.

Jackson stood up so suddenly that the table and mugs shook. He came to  her other side, his arm similarly outstretched. "Here, take mine," he  said.

The boys shared a look before Marcus sighed and stepped away. Having no  other choice, Fi took Jackson's arm. With Marcus a step behind, the  three walked across the coffee shop.

When Fi got to her brother, she grabbed him and muttered an awkward  thanks to Jackson. He shrugged and walked back to their table.

Marcus watched as he walked away. "My brother's usually a little nicer, too."

Ryan was still with the blue-haired girl, so Fi wasn't sure what to do  next. In a matter of seconds, Ryan would remember their mother and drag  Fi home. But she liked this boy, with his brainy book references and  offbeat sense of humor. "Well, it was nice meeting you."

"Wait," Marcus said. "Can I have your number?"

She rattled off her number so quickly, she hoped she didn't look  desperate. He typed it in his phone and pushed send. Her phone buzzed in  her pocket.

"So you'll have mine, too," he said, smiling everywhere.

Ryan finally noticed his crippled sister and the boy with her phone number. "Thanks for bringing her over, man."

"My pleasure," Marcus said.

"Right," Ryan said, brow furrowed. "We need to go."

Fi pointed to her arm linked around his. "I've been waiting."

She said good-bye to Marcus, who told her he'd call, and she didn't even  mind that Ryan grunted under the awkward bulk of her weight as they  walked outside. All the way down the ramp, to the car, and on the drive  home, she barely noticed the cast or the pain or her brother's curious  glances.

His name-Marcus. Marcus King-swirled through her brain on endless repeat.

As she cradled the hand Marcus had shaken, Fi asked Ryan, "Do we have Lord of the Rings?"

"In the attic, I think."

"How long is it?"

"Three books, like, four hundred pages each. Why?"

"I've got all this time now," she said. "I think I'll read it."

She hoped she wouldn't finish it before he called.





TWELFTH GRADE





JANUARY


FIONA


When Fiona got home from school, her dad was sitting at the kitchen table. He held up a thick envelope.

"Is that-" she asked.

His grin was huge. "From Northwestern. Mailman just dropped it off."

She took the envelope like it might explode, turning it back and forth in her hand.

"Open it," he said. "I'm dying here."

She slid a finger under the seal and pulled out the five or so papers  folded tightly inside. Her dad read over her shoulder. Two seconds  later, he whooped, spun her around, and hugged her like she was little  again.

"You got in!" He called upstairs. "Caroline! She got in!"

Fiona sank in the chair and reread the letter twice. Early decision.  Classes available in both the creative writing program and the music  school. Requirements to maintain the scholarship.

She held up the letter. "I got a partial scholarship."

Her father whooped even louder. "Caroline, get the hell down here!"

Her mother came down the stairs, dripping wet in her robe, her hair  wrapped in a towel. At the same time, Ryan walked through the back door,  his soccer uniform clinging to every part of his body it touched.  Grass, sweat, and dirt smeared the rest.

"What's going on?" they asked in unison.

When her dad told them, Fiona was swamped in hugs of varying degrees of  moisture. Her mom started to cry. Her dad commanded Ryan to shower and  made reservations at Folk's Folly. Fiona sat back and reread her letter  five more times.                       
       
           



       

"Can Lucy come to dinner?" she asked.

"Of course. David, too?"

Oops. "Yeah. David, too."

What was with her, lately? What kind of person forgets her boyfriend? A  few weeks ago, she'd gotten sidetracked by a song she was working on and  forgotten all about their date. She kept zoning out during his  exhaustive Monday morning football analytics. She even might have  blanked out on his birthday, if her calendar alert hadn't saved her.

A few hours later, the Doyles, along with Lucy, David, and Gwen-Fiona  had forgotten about her, too-sat around a table loaded with steaks,  enormous baked potatoes, and spinach so drenched in cheese and butter  Mrs. Doyle said it couldn't possibly have any nutritional value.

After five toasts, her dad looked across the table at Lucy. "Heard from anywhere yet, Luce?"

Lucy shook her head. "Keeping my fingers crossed for NYU. Boston College as a backup."

"We never could get the Yankee out of you."

"Not that you didn't try."

"Not that we didn't try." Her dad turned to David. "What about you?"

"Oh, I'm from here," he said.

"No, son. Schools."

Ryan choked down his steak, and David's whole face bloomed pink. "Um,  Dad's pushing Ole Miss, but I think I like UT Knoxville better."

"Those are both a long way from Chicago," Gwen said, looking between Fiona and David. "What are y'all going to do?"

David's eyes darted over to her dad before giving Fiona a smile. "We'll work it out."

Fiona smiled back-then refocused on her steak. It wasn't like a line of  boys would be waiting for her at Northwestern, anyway. To her  mother's-and, inexplicably, Ryan's-growing frustration, she still hadn't  committed to the surgery. Yes, getting fixed excited her, but wearing  someone else's skin freaked her out more.