“Well last year you werejuniors,” she says, like that makes it obvious.
“And this year we’reseniors, and next year we’ll befreshmen,” I say, mocking her tone and rolling my wrist to mimic herhello, duhgesture.
“Clarity,” Kristen jumps in, swatting my arm. Then to my mom, she says, “I have a boyfriend, so I’m bringing him this year, and Clarity’s date is a work in progress.”
Mom reels back, her whole body seeming to light up. “Oh my gosh!” she gushes. “That’s so exciting.”
Kristen starts giving her a download of her relationship with Vincent—minus the backstory. As Mom leans in closer and closer, she looks more and more like a high schooler hanging on the end of a thread of juicy gossip. It’s weird, but also funny. A surgeon acting like a high school girl. I wish she could be like this more, that we could talk, even gossip, more…
“But, like I said, Clarity’s date is in the works right now,” Kristen says, pulling me back in with a slick grin.
“Wow,” Mom sighs with a faraway look, the one that she started doing at the beginning of summer when finishing junior year meant I was officially a senior and the ensuing year would be a time of lasts. “So instead of chucking pumpkins together, you’ll be chucking them side by side with your guys.”
The little bit of rhyme mixed with the heavy-handed sentiment nearly makes me vomit on the countertop. Instead, I stifle my discomfort with a cringe, making Kristen laugh.
“You know, when I was in high school, we had our own fall festival. It was usually around Halloween too. There was something about senior year, and my last festival in town before moving away from home, that made me want to make it memorable,” Mom says.
“Didyouhave a date?” I ask, genuinely curious but also turning the spotlight back on her.
“I went with a boy from Bible study. Don’t tell your dad, but he wascute. Like,whew.”
Kristen leans in closer, begging for more details.
“I always figured Bible-thumpers were a little too conservative forteen dating,” she confesses, glancing at me.
“Bible-thumpersare people too,” Mom says, amused. “And ‘Bible-thumping’ teens are still teens.”
“Touché,” Kristen relents.
“If anything, finding a like-minded soul at that age made it easier to be in a relationship without being tempted against my faith. And, beliefs aside, having similar views can help make any relationship stronger. Creates a consistent path,” Mom adds.
Her words start to sink in, but they stop, suspended just beneath the surface. Sharing beliefs is one thing, but with my old beliefs conflicting with who I am now, I’m not sure what my current beliefs really are… or who—Kristen, Mom, Dad, Hannah, Jameson—shares them with me.
“I know your date is a work in progress, Clarity, but let the record show I’m rooting for Jameson to be your date,” Mom says, pulling an orange out of the fridge and beginning to peel it. She starts chewing the first wedge but doesn’t stop talking. “You guys have known each otherforever. I always thought it would be cute if you got together.”
I feel my face get hot, and all I can do is smile awkwardly. I catch Kristen watching me, and she raises her eyebrows; she feels the same. She knows Jameson and I didn’t happen over the summer like we’d hoped, but she doesn’t know why. And she doesn’t know that Jameson and I aren’t friends anymore.
Oh, how things have changed.
Chapter Seventeen
At the committee meeting on Tuesday, we go over the layout of Highland Park and start brainstorming how we’ll coordinate vendors and decorations for the festival. We decide to keep fundraising simple this year with a series of bake sales. One of the benefits of working with the field hockey team is that we can sell food at their games in addition to setting up a table in the cafeteria.
One of the players, Olivia, suggests we keep all the baked goods festival themed. Sugar cookies decorated to look like pumpkins, scarecrows, and fall leaves. Pumpkin spice cupcakes and pumpkin chocolate chip muffins instead of traditional flavors. Kaytee, one of the veteran members, suggests we use a Bundt pan for the pumpkin cupcakes so that they come out pumpkin shaped.
By the time the field hockey team needs to leave for practice, Hannah and I are happy with the way the fundraising plans have come together.
“Baking party at my house this weekend,” Rowena offers.
“I’ll definitely be there,” Hannah says, along with a few otherteammates. She turns to me, widening her eyes and glancing back at Rowena.
“Count me in,” I tell Rowena, glad for the chance to spend time with Hannah but genuinely excited to spend time with the team again.
I make sure the non–field hockey members have Rowena’s address before I start packing up my stuff. I pretend to keep busy, shuffling and stacking my notes while I wait for Hannah to finish up her conversation with Mrs. Rubio. We texted earlier about chatting after the meeting. I could walk Hannah to practice and anyone who saw us would just assume we were discussing the festival.
“Hannah, you coming?” Shelby, one of the other senior teammates, asks.
I keep my eyes down, fidgeting with my festival folder and my backpack while I hold my breath. I wouldn’t be mad if Hannah left with her teammates, but I silently pray that she picks me.