Page 22 of The Life and (Medieval) Times of Kit Sweetly

“What’s happening here?” I point to the kites and the crowds of people beneath them.

“Spring Kite Festival.” Jett grins. He grabs a blanket and his ratty green backpack from the van. “My grandparents used to live in Milwaukee, and we’d come to this festival every year.”

“It’s magnificent.” My mood lifts as we move through the crowd, rising higher with each gust of wind and dance of the kites.

There’s a group from Chicago doing competitive, synchronized kite flying (who knew such a thing was possible?!) to Aerosmith; vendors selling everything from snow cones to vacation packages; and packs of children holding kite strings and gaping at the anarchy of geometry above them. Jett and I find a spot near some trees where a group of teenagers have strung a rainbow of hammocks.

Jett spreads the blanket out and we sit down to eat warm PB&J sandwiches.

“My younger brothers helped me pack these,” he says apologetically through a mouthful. “Oh! And my mom told me to tell you that she’s excited you’re challenging the dominant patriarchal hegemony of the Castle.”

Since she teaches Feminist and Gender Studies in addition to anthropology, sentences like this from Jett’s mom are like my mom saying, “Kit, mow the grass.”

Which I’m clearly not doing, but so it goes.

“Your mom is awesome.” I put my sandwich down and lean back on my elbows.

“She is,” Jett agrees. “And so are you.”

I smile to myself. Jett, like Layla, is the best kind of best friend. Positive, affirming, fierce, and not afraid to push me when I need it. I just hope I’m as good a friend to him as he is to me.

He finishes his sandwich and lies beside me. Our shoulders barely touch as we stare up at the sky. The kites flutter, dip, sway, and soar, a mesmerizing display of canvas and caprice. The wind picks up my hair and wraps me in the smell of Jett’s coconut lavender lotion. His mom also insists on all organic, natural products for her kids, so Jett always smells vaguely like a garden and a cookie at the same time.

“This is perfect.” I rest my hands on my stomach and close my eyes as the sun warms my face.

“It is,” says Jett, shifting around so his head nuzzles between the curve of my neck and shoulder.

Which of course sends my stupid heart racing. But also is a perfectly friendly thing for best friends to do. Right? As far as I can tell he’s feeling nothing out of the ordinary from our proximity.

“You should open the letter,” says Jett after a few moments of kite watching.

I exhale sharply. “I don’t know. After the disappointment of the Joan of Arc chapel being a fake, maybe I don’t even want to go there.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You have other reasons. C’mon. Open it. I want to see.”

He pokes me in the shoulder repeatedly. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!”

“So. Annoying!” I say with a laugh. “Okay, fine.”

Pulling the letter out of my bag, I take a deep breath. I don’t want to spoil our perfect afternoon, but it’s better to open it here. With Jett. Because—even if it’s a no—I can look at the lake, the city, the kites, and remember that life is full of beauty.

I slide my finger along the envelope and slip out the paper.

“Be brave,” says Jett, poking me in the shoulder again.

Please let it be a yes. Please let it be a yes. Please let it be a—

“YES!!!” I shout, startling the family on a blanket beside ours. I sit up quickly, brandishing my letter. “It’s a yes!”

“Ahhhhh!” says Jett. He pulls me to my feet in one fluid motion. “It’s a yes!”

We jump up and down together for a moment. A few people cheer with us, raising beers. They probably think we just got engaged.

“I’m so happy,” I say to Jett as we settle back onto the blanket.

“I’m so happy for you.” He bites into an apple. “Does it say anything about financial aid?”

I skim the letter again. “Nope. Just that they’re still considering my scholarship application and they’ll let me know soon.”