Dealing With Trouble

CHAPTER 5 ?

That's something I didn't expect to find in Los Angeles. Everyone told me about the pool everyone has one, palm trees, and sun, but no one told me about the near-perfect view of the Mountains.

"How are things going with the Applegates?" he asks.

"It's fine," I say, "but I miss you. It's odd that I won't be able to see you today."

There was rarely a day when we didn't see each other back home. Everything about him is familiar to me—his touch, his warmth, even the thrum of his heartbeat from hours spent leaning against his chest.

"I miss you as well," he says softly as he takes a seat on the bench in front of the door. I can hear the familiar chatter of students changing classes in the distance, but he doesn't look away. "It's as if I'm trying to function without a limb, as if I'm missing an arm or something."

We laugh together, perfectly in Time, which makes me feel at ease. "Don't laugh, but I'm vulnerable right now."

Who is going to drive me to class?

“Who will drive me to study for finals?"

"Are you only interested in my brains, Mr. Parkinson?"

"Not just your head." He says that, but Jamie and I have only ever reached second base, so he's not using me for that anymore. Tyler, his friend, walks up behind him, and he points to him as if to say, One moment, before turning to face me. "All I ask is that you promise to talk to me every day, okay? Regardless of what happens."

"I swear." I slightly raised my hand.

"Good." He looks into the camera with an unusually serious expression. "All we have to do now is get through the next few months. You'll be back here in the fall, and we'll be getting ready to go to college together. We just need to get by until then."

"I understand," I say. "I love you."

“I LIKE you as well."

“Double-check my schedule as soon as I get off the phone. The first class is AP English, and if I can just get through that, everything else will be fine.

I make my way downstairs, past the rows of pictures that line the walls. Many photos of the twins holding various trophies, holiday photos with Grandma and Grandpa, and family photos. Despite the fact that Layla never wanted children, it is clear that she loves Dane and Olly as if they were her own.

Our apartment at home is the polar opposite. Dad prefers things to be neat and orderly, so there are no trinkets or photos to show that we were there, that we lived. It's the type of place where you take care not to scratch the polished floors or the perfectly plump pillows on the couch.

My bedroom had a similar vibe, but tacked to the inside of my closet door, hidden from view, was my life: recital ribbons, honor roll, and photos of me and Jamie ice skating at the Rockefeller Center. There were also a few family photos. One was from last Christmas, when the three of us were dressed in matching pajama sets, and it was the picture-perfect moment. Mom gave it to Layla as a holiday card—a "look how perfect we are" gesture—and it's now pinned to their refrigerator. Perfection, or the appearance of it, was the only way she'd found to survive.

Taky and Layla have already entered the kitchen, my favorite room in the house. It has these massive French patio doors that let in light and open up to the pool, where I've spent almost every day this week.

"All right, you're up," Taky says. He's hunched over the stove, holding a spatula and wearing one of those World's Best Cook novelty aprons. Taky has the bone structure of a model despite being in his forties. Big dark eyes, warm brown skin, and cheekbones that I've always admired.

Layla is at the table, and she is the polar opposite of Taky in every way. She's dressed in an oversized black hoodie, with her dark curls pointing in various directions, and she's holding a Baby Yoda mug.

The wonderful thing about Jamie is how similar we are. We enjoy the same foods, books, and movies, and we even enjoy the same television shows. Taky and Layla, on the other hand, appear to share nothing in common.

Layla, who has had to work just as hard as my mother to make ends meet, is every bit the self-assured, independent New Yorker I've always wished I was, whereas Taky is goofy and laid-back. Every Time I look at them, I wonder what strange coincidence allowed someone so composed to meet someone so disorganized.

"Good morning, Mushroom," Layla greets. "Please eat some breakfast."

I sigh at my unfortunate nickname, which I'd earned three Christmases before. Tradition looks a little different in our family because Mom's family lives in different states. Instead of getting together for birthdays and holidays, Layla would gather her family, Mom's, and we'd all hop on Facetime to catch up. Even my grandparents would tune in from their new Florida Keys bungalow, though the camera was usually upside down as they fought over who got to hold it.

Everyone else thought it was a casual occasion, but Dad saw it as an opportunity to brag about how perfect we were.

He didn't have a family—his parents abandoned him when he was seven, leaving him in the care of his grandmother—so while his pride in our nuclear family bordered on unbearable, a part of me understood why; he was terrified of being alone.

Still, it was last Christmas that I finally put my foot down. He made us wear these ridiculous Santa hats that itched my head, so I threw it off mid-call, despite his smile twitching, not realizing my hair had flattened like a mushroom. Layla thought it was hilarious and has been calling me Mushroom ever since.