June
The Uber driver eyed me nervously in the mirror one more time before finally stepping on the gas and leaving me alone on the side of the road. He'd talked to me on the whole way here, with a loud, exaggerated voice, for some reason assuming I was near deaf. It'd happened to me so many times I didn't even ask myself anymore how people came to that conclusion again and again. I was a fool for thinking it'd be different now. I only had to casually slip into the conversation that I'd be attending Berkeley, right? Then they had to realize I didn't have the cognitive abilities of a three-year-old, right?
Wrong, apparently.
The man had only scratched his beard, looking at me a little dazed, like the word 'university' was automatically canceled out by 'disabled'. It was the first time since I'd accepted the offer that someone had managed to dim the glow of it a bit. Asshole.
Deciding I didn't need to put up with it, I'd told him to stop right there. Rather walk the rest of the way in full bliss than get worked up by someone I'd probably never see again. I knew it wasn't a good reason, but part of why I applied to the greater colleges was simply because I could tell people I went there. All my life, I'd believed that would be the remedy to the thing that I despised most about my cerebral palsy: being treated like I possessed no intelligence whatsoever. It seemed like I'd heavily overestimated the ability of fellow humans to let go of their preconceived ideas.
But you were going, June. Who cared if one cab driver didn't understand? You were going, and you were going to love it.
I breathed in deeply, taking in the taste of freedom, of independence. The sun felt kinder here, full of promise, and I wondered if it was just California, or if it was the money. The money that let me take a cab. The money that let me into Berkeley. The money that made sure the house was dustless, the kitchen clean and stocked, and my energy completely intact.
Look at me, mom. Your spoiled daughter. I was tempted to take a selfie and send it to her, just so she could rant about me again, shameless beggar that I was. I snickered at the memory of the texts she sent me a few days ago. June, what do you think you're doing? Where is your pride? We don't need those people. They're one of the reasons everything went to hell, don't you remember? I want you to come home this instant. Sorry, mom. You lost the right to tell me what to do a long time ago. Pride. See where that had gotten her. Pride was the only thing that woman had left, cradling it to her chest like a newborn.
I had no shame in doing this, not anymore. And when I'd be at Berkeley, working towards becoming successful, she'd realize. She'd realize, and she would finally have to apologize, admitting that sometimes, I was right, and she was wrong. That I could take care of my own happiness.
Behind a white wooden fence, a dog barked, and I flinched, muscles tensing painfully tight. Dogs didn't like me. They never had. Dad used to say they reacted aggressively to me because I was afraid of them, that I should show them I'd love to play with them, but he was one of those people who believed all animals were harmless. I moved differently. I had a voice that wasn't like others. And most dogs didn't trust me for it. I couldn't blame them, though I thought it was fair I didn't trust them in return.
Still, at that moment, somehow jumping into the garden and meeting with whatever small wolf would be waiting for me there seemed tempting compared to what I was to face here on the sidewalk.
A flash of shock rushed through my throat. Two girls, coming in my direction, chattering loudly, the one pushing a stroller before her. Of course. Out of all people in this town, of course it had to be her.
They hadn't seen me yet, immersed as they were in their conversation. Amy Wang hadn't changed at all: still short, with square shoulders, and shiny black hair that just about reached her ears. If I didn't know any better, I'd think she'd been frozen in time, always sixteen, with her pink diamond-studded phone case in the one hand, and the other on the handles of the stroller. Her son, however, was living proof that time had gone by. The little boy was stretching his feet, trying to touch his toes in utter concentration, his tongue slipping from his mouth. Hell, I couldn't imagine having a child this big, already leaning towards kindergarten, and yet, when I thought of Luis, our lives couldn't have been that different.
Jennifer, on the other hand, was nowhere near close to the bitchy popular girl she had been, ruling the classroom with her chin in the air. No. The sight of her like this actually shook me. Her flip-flops clacked cheaply every time she lifted her swollen feet, dragging herself forward, following the beach ball-sized lump attached to her once so flat stomach, accentuated by a grey sweater dress that barely reached her knees. Dark circles had replaced her carefully applied eye make-up, and her chestnut hair was put up in a tangled bun, obviously to hide the fact that she was due for a shower. Only her lips were coated in gloss, as if she'd at least wanted to do something about her appearance, but no amount of coral red was able to draw away the attention from her being a complete mess.
For ten seconds, I could watch them without them knowing, ten measly seconds, a strange realization coming over me: this was a girl who'd hurt me when I was fourteen, forbidding me to play a childish game. And now, she was very pregnant, waggling around in clothes that definitely weren't bought in the maternity section. My gaze flickered to her fingers, expecting a ring — Hayley had told me enough stories about her Christian parents and the trouble she got into because of that. There wasn't one. Maybe she'd taken it off because it didn't fit anymore.
Then, Amy noticed me.
Her mouth fell open, eyes sizing me up the way I'd just done to her, and she nudged Jennifer. "Hey!" she said. "O my god, June! I haven't seen you in ages. Jenny, look — it's June. You remember her, right?"
Of course she remembered me. Everyone always remembered me. I expected her to stick her nose in the air, call me a thrift shop slut or whatever, but instead, her hand reached out for the stroller, apparently needing to steady herself. "Hello, Amy," I said, looking at her friend. "Hello, Jennifer."
That was when she straightened up, pursing her lips. Her sharp eyes roamed over me, judging my second-hand yellow dress without needing to speak. "Hello, June. Never thought I'd see you again."
Her tone told me it'd been more of a hope than a thought, and I had the urge to laugh — I hadn't spent one single moment thinking about her since I left California, while it seemed like she hadn't forgotten about me yet. "Likewise," I said. "To be honest, I couldn't remember your name until Amy said it."
It was petty, and I knew it, but oh, did it feel good... Her lips smacked, the mean hardness I knew so well taking over her features. "I thought you moved back to New York after your dad died."
Oh, Jenny... This wasn't high school anymore. I didn't helplessly fall victim to your games then, and I wasn't going to now. She couldn't hurt me. "True. I'm touched that you remember that."
She was chewing her tongue, but Amy gasped loudly, covering her mouth. "Oh, yes. That was so awful! How are you doing now?"
I smiled at her. Poor girl to be putting up with that sad piece of human. I never understood how a genuinely nice person ended up in the company of Matt Grantons and now Jennifers, though now I realized she was just too gullible for her own good. "I'm doing great. It was tough when it happened, but right now, I am just perfect. Actually," I said, a wicked grin tickling the corner of my mouth, pleading me to be freed, "I'm going to be starting at Berkeley in the fall."
I paid close attention to Jennifer's expression, but she'd always been a master at hiding her emotions — all I could detect were baby-round cheeks and slight panting. "Berkeley?" Amy said. "That's one of those universities, right? Awesome. You always were really smart." Nodding ferociously, she glanced at Jenny, as if expecting her to agree with something positive about me.
"I'm pregnant," she said instead, placing her hand on her belly, as if anyone could've missed it. She kept moving her head like she wasn't sure which position would give her the most authority. It made her look like a cat chasing a fly.
"I can see that." Quickly, I bit down on my lip, hard, almost bursting out into laughter — it wasn't even a funny situation, and yet, I could hardly keep it together.
"Seven months."
"Congratulations."
She narrowed her eyes at me, putting a hand in her side. "Me and my baby are getting married in a week. The ring is still at the jeweler, you know. Those morons made a mistake with the size."
If her defiant look hadn't given it away, supposedly blinking innocently, Amy's confused head shake would have: "But I thought you said—"
"Amy, shut up." There was clear panic in her high voice, and hastily, she turned to the boy, who was currently kicking the foot stand of the stroller. "Stop that, you! Sit still for a second." The boy grinned, sticking out his tongue, and attempted to strike her. "Amy, come on, he's your son, do something about it!"
This time, the sight of her being angry at a toddler was so tragically hilarious I had to turn away to hide my laugh. Long ago, Nathan had told me something to comfort me, and now, it had come true. Those Jennifers, they got so much to pick from, that they won't know what is good for them, and often pick the wrong ones. If only she'd learned to keep her lips sealed, I might've believed she was happy with some handsome guy, living the dream.
A strange feeling swam around low in my stomach, something heavy, and with a jolt, I realized what it was —
I felt sorry for her.
Really, June? What the hell was wrong with me?
Why would I ever pity Jennifer?
I frowned, watching Amy push her son back in the stroller as he screamed things in a Chinese language, while Jennifer straightened up, attempting to catch her breath. "Well," I said, "at least you're getting some practice."
Oof — that wasn't appreciated, thunder clouding her light eyes. Finally, she lifted her chin in the air. "Yeah, I'm doing amazing. I'm so sorry you can't say the same, June. I honestly thought it would've gone away by now, you know, your spazzy moves and all."
Her sugary-sweet tone was like a waft of ice-cold wind blowing in my face, and I stiffened, my hands curling into fists, nails digging in my palm. It seemed like she still had it in her to drive me up the wall.
Cerebral palsy didn't go away. Most disabilities didn't go away. You either had it or you didn't — this was what it was. My cerebral palsy wouldn't improve, it wouldn't deteriorate, it was just there, a steady part of who I was.
Amy nodded, her lips drawn into a sad smile. Did she legit think I could've gotten rid of it? How? No medicine could heal brain damage. It wasn't like the flu: you couldn't just take antibiotics and be cured.
"Oh, yeah," I said, "imagine. I could've been like you now if it wasn't for that."
Neither of them seemed to pick up on the blatant sarcasm, and again, laughter bubbled up in my throat, impossible to keep contained. It tumbled out, loud and almost pig-like, and the last thing I saw before slipping past them were two profusely confused faces — they'd forever wonder what was wrong with me, something so funny my whole body joined in, shaking with amusement. Behind me, soft whispers and high-pitched remarks were exchanged, only adding to the humor of the situation. When I looked back, they were hurrying away from me fast, like they were scared I would pull a gun on them.
To girls like them, it didn't matter what I did. I could become the first female Latina president, and still, to them, I was the spaz, the one who spilled her drinks and flung her tomatoes through the cafeteria.
And that was okay. Because at least, in that scenario, I was the president, and they were the ones eternally stuck in high school-mode, even when their own kids would have their own kids. I could've been jealous of them, like I was of Valentina's friend Alba, who lived in a small house with her husband and two-month-old daughter, quaintly happy, but they'd made that impossible. How could I be jealous of Jennifer? How could she think I'd be impressed?
Never, not for a million dollars, would I want to be her.
And never, not in a million years, would she understand how I could love myself, the weird-moving, Mexican, wannabe-slut, thrift shop princess that I was.
"June?"
I knew it was bad that my heart jumped at the sound of his voice. It wasn't supposed to, but here I was, starting to fall down a steep slope, with no idea of when I'd reach level ground. Maybe I should've left. Maybe it was too late already. Maybe I shouldn't have said 'yes' when he suggested visiting the Berkeley campus together. Maybe I shouldn't have laughed all those times in the car. Maybe I shouldn't have told him all my fears about college life, about having to live in a dorm and being afraid of complicated bathroom locks and long walks to class and times I'd get stuck in my clothes without there being someone to help me.
But I already did all of that.
"Guess who I just bumped into?"
I couldn't contain my excitement, still watching the corner where they'd disappeared, leaning against a low brick wall surrounding a neat front lawn. My blood was racing fast because he'd either be interested or annoyed, and both options would have enormous consequences. I took a deep breath, barely able to wait, my hand squeezing my phone tighter, my arm so stiff with tension I almost couldn't control it.
"Err... I have no idea. Give me a hint. Or wait, was it Mr. Pyke?"
A giggle escaped me, and I realized I hadn't giggled in so long. "Mr. Pyke? That's the first person you think of?"
The gold-encircled memory of us sprinting away from Lena's mural, him pulling me with him, fleeing away in the car. Sharing that secret. Being so alive.
"Yeah, I always manage to run into him, and then he looks at me like he knows."
Another laugh, this time luckily less pig-like, and I closed my eyes, suddenly aware of the sun warming my face, and how good it felt. "Nathan, I think you did the right thing by not choosing to become a criminal defense lawyer."
He chuckled. The sound was a bit muffled. He must've been hiding it, not wanting anyone at the office to notice he wasn't working. "Yeah, I think you're right. I'm much better off here."
Are you?
It was on the tip of my tongue, ready to leap off, roll a few yards down the hill. No. I couldn't. If I did, it'd be like before, and I'd embarrass myself again, reading more into it than there was. Shit. I should've gone back home already. Don't make the same mistake again, June. Don't. "But guess again. She was a girl from our year, and there was a time all Sam could do was... what would you call it... eat her face?"
"Oh damn... Jennifer?"
There was such a deep sigh blowing in my ear I had to laugh, envisioning his tortured face. "Yup. And guess what? You were right about her."
"Right about what?"
"She's pregnant and miserable."
A pause. "You sound like you just found the cure for some horrible disease."
"Can you blame me?"
"Absolutely not."
Oh, the smile on my face, stretching almost impossibly long. "It's not like I had anything to do with it. She did it to herself. And yeah, I admit, sometimes, I can be as petty as her."
"So petty that you're calling me to tell me about it."
It wasn't a reproach, no — I could hear he was smiling too, and there I went, another few feet down the slope. "Yes. Sorry."
"Don't be sorry. I like this petty side of you."
Oh no... No, no, no, no... Where was the top of the hill again? He couldn't just say these things without warning. I'd think it meant something, and I didn't want to think that. "Well, then I'll be petty some more at dinner tonight, okay?"
"Can't wait."
Yes. That was the problem. I couldn't wait either, and that was dangerous.