“Did you have your first midterm yet?”
He nods. “Sixty-eight.”
“Jesus, Jared. Why didn’t you tell me?” I hiss. “I could have helped you.”
Jared lolls his head back and half closes his eyes. “Come on. You’re like perfect at this stuff.”
I shake my head. I want him to know the truth, therealtruth. I was always deemed the smart one by Newman children standards. We had both been at Cartwright Elementary through fifth grade. The classes were big and the expectations were low. But I was labeledgiftedback in kindergarten with Miss Becky, when I had moved up a reading level before anyone else. Sowhen Jared announced that he, too, had Miss Becky for kindergarten, I clasped my hands together at the dinner table. “You are so lucky,” I had whispered to him. “Miss Becky is the best.”
But Jared had a harder time with letters and numbers, at first. It would be another few years before he was actually diagnosed with dyslexia. He got into Gold Coast as part of their learning disability outreach program. No reduced tuition for him. Just the promise of being taken care of with small classes and specially trained teachers and tutors. My parents jumped at the chance. They never talked about how they found a way to pay for it. My guess was a second mortgage and a shit ton of debt. But back then in Miss Becky’s class, he just couldn’t keep up at the rate I had.
“Miss Becky doesn’t like me,” he said one day after school. His huge eyes filled with tears and spilled down his cheeks in big wet plunks.
“Of course she does!” I said to him, holding his hand and petting his hair.
“She doesn’t,” he said. “I’m not like you.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just hugged his warm little body to mine, trying not to cry, too. We were not the same, I learned. That was the first time I realized there was actually a possibility that we could grow up to not have the same favorite foods or the same taste in books or the same grades. It was a horrifying thought, that our little lives could diverge at any point without warning.Was this only the beginning?I wondered.
But we were so similar with our saucer-size green-brown eyes and our shared hatred of mayo. We both loved the stars, thanks to Dad. As we grew, we began to look more and more alike, too. The only thing keeping us from being considered twins was our age. Our dark wavy hair curled in the same places. Even ourarms sported the same freckles we turned into constellations every summer.Cut from the same cloth, Mom would say.Two sides of the same coin.
I look at him across the booth at Diane’s now and I see all those years he spent trying to catch up to me, jumping over hurdles that seemed too high for him to reach in order to impress teachers like Miss Becky, to get into Gold Coast, to be friends with kids like Bryce at school. It’s then I realize it must be exhausting trying to keep up with Jill Newman. Just like it was exhausting trying to keep up with Shaila Arnold.
“You’ll bring it up,” I say. “You’re not going to fail. Maybe a C, sure, but that’ll straighten itself out by the time you graduate.” My brain starts calculating, trying to figure out what his average will be if he aces this semester’s final with a little help. There’s gotta be a bio answer key, or at least a study guide, in the Files. The C won’t affect his overall GPA too badly by the time he’s a second-semester junior. That’s when it really counts.
“Easy for you to say,” he mumbles as Diane drops giant plates in front of us. Jared lifts the sticky glass bottle of syrup and drenches his stack of pancakes in a thick, sweet stream.
“Not easy for me to say. I had so much help, you don’t even know.”
“Oh yeah? From who?”
Suddenly, I’m not hungry anymore and the eggs in front of me start to look like barf. “The Players...” I start, trying to figure out how to explain this to him. “It’s just...”
I pause. I swear I feel a vibration in my pocket.Rachel. I whip my phone out under the table to check, but there’s nothing. Phantom sirens.Where is she?I wonder.Why hasn’t she responded?I slide my phone back into my pocket and look up at Jared, remembering what we were discussing, why we’re here.
“C’mon, Jill. What?” He looks at me with one brow raised.
Something turns inside me and I feel the need to tell him everything, to fill him in on what’s to come even though it’s totally against the rules. But fuck the rules. Rachel broke them and it worked for me—at least for a little while. The fact that she hasn’t answered my text, even though it was an arrow of pity lobbed her way, makes no difference right now. My brother needs to know what’s coming. Maybe not everything, but at least the beginning. “Next week,” I say. “You’re gonna get invited to join the Players. It’ll all make sense soon. But... it’s more than parties and the best lunch table. It’s a lifeline. A... group. I’m in it. So is Nikki. Shaila was, too. It’s been around Gold Coast for decades and every year we bring in new freshmen. It’s your turn now. You got in.”
He crosses his arms and leans back, trying to hide his excitement, but not connecting the dots. “How’s that gonna help me with bio?”
I sigh, exasperated. I’ll have to show him. I pull my phone from my pocket and swipe until I find the app I’m looking for, the encrypted one that’s only knowable by its green-and-gray icon. Within a few taps, I’m in. I set my phone down on the vinyl table and spin it around so the screen faces Jared. I drag my forefinger up. The titles are endless. Bio. Chem. AP US History. Calculus. French. Past SATs. Admissions officer database. African History. Nutrition 1. Nutrition 2. East Asian Studies. College-level Russian Literature. The list goes on forever.
Jared’s eyes grow wide and his mouth drops open. I can see a piece of half-chewed pancake flop against his cheek. “This is the Players?” he asks, his voice a whisper.
I nod. “This is the Players.”
—
By the time Nikki, Marla, and I get to the beach, the boys have the fire going a few feet in the air. A massive pile of wood sits next to the pit and they’re passing around a bottle of Jameson.
“Jill!” Henry runs to meet us as we tread down the sand. It’s damp and cold, squishing between my bare toes. We’re all bundled up in our finest gorpcore attire. For some weird reason, expensive fleece half-zips and comfy beanies are the ultimate status symbol at Gold Coast. “You guys excited?” Henry asks.
“Yes,” I say. “Gonna be the best intro night ever.” And I mean it. I am ready to start fresh with a new class. With my brother.Things are going to be different this year.The bonfire burns higher as the rest of the Players file in and soon it’s time. More bottles appear and our voices grow louder. My phone buzzes and my heart stops.Of course Rachel would respond now.I sneak a peek at the screen. It’s Adam. A slow smile spreads across my face.
Have so much fun tonight. Take care of B.
Wish you were here, I type but then delete.Always, I say instead.
