Chapter 28 - I'll Be a Home for You

Chapter 28

aang begs a girl not to call security on him

JJ

I don’t tell Aang about the email the next day when I pick him up for school. I don’t tell him the next week when I’m stretching in the math classroom and he pulls me up to kiss me. I don’t tell him the week after that, when we’re sitting at our lunch table and he has his arm around me the whole time, while Remy, Monique, and even Bryn gag.

And I don’t tell him in Philadelphia, when we’re walking around the shopping mall attached to the venue where the Mathletes Nationals are being held.

We’ve just finished the individual round, and we have two hours before the team round. Drew went to hang out with friends he hasn’t seen since last year’s competition. Georgie went to dinner with her parents, who came to cheer her on. Aang and I ended up in the shopping mall.

We don’t discuss the individual round. There’s no point in stressing about different answers we might have gotten. And when he traces circles on my hand with his thumb, I don’t remember what answers I wrote down. I almost don’t remember sending the email. And he hasn’t brought it up, so maybe it didn’t send? Maybe they never got it? Or they didn’t care? I don’t say anything and manage to forget about it.

We walk into a bookstore, where we spend thirty minutes arguing over what we should buy Remy for his birthday. I point out that Brad’s buying him something embroidery-related, so it’d be better to get something else. Aang points out that he isn’t making present decisions for his best friend based on Brad. He finally concedes when I bat my eyelashes at him. I make a note to use that strategy more frequently going forward.

At the cash register, I point out a new version of his favorite calculator. He gets distracted, and I take out my phone and pay.

He groans. “You know that isn’t going to work ever again, right?” He tugs on my curls as we leave the store.

“I’m very creative. I’ll think of something else, Peach Pie.”

“You remember when you called me Captain during the first Mathletes meeting? I’d prefer that to Peach Pie.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so, Peach Pie. But … I guess I can call you Captain somewhere else. If you want.”

He trips over his feet and falls in the middle of the mall.

I burst out laughing. “You’re pretty uncoordinated for a cheerleader.” I watch him gather himself up frantically.

“Why do you derive such pleasure from my pain?” He tries to poke my shoulder, but I ditch him, laughing even harder. I try to skip away.

He grabs my arm. “What you were saying …” He swallows hard. “… about somewhere …”

My cheeks heat up. “I didn’t mean anytime soon …”

He nods quickly.

“Butinthefuture!” It comes out like a singular squeak, and I wonder if he understood me.

“Yeah, in the future sounds good …” He puts an arm around me. “And you’ll call me Captain then?”

I shrug. “If you ask nicely.”

His lips brush the back of my ear. “What’s your definition of nicely?”

My blood turns into steam, scorching my arteries, veins, and capillaries, awakening a response that has no business stirring in the middle of a Philly mall.

His shoulders shake. “Who’s laughing at whom now, huh?”

I look around to calm my racing heart. Sports. Jewelry. Tech … I zero in on the next shop. I wiggle out of Aang’s arm and sprint to the window display.

Prom dresses.

And not only prom dresses.

A black single-breasted suit with a crisp white shirt and a dark-pink tie. I look at Aang, who’s striding toward me. I drag him into the shop and find the suit from the display. “What’s your size?”

“I’m already wearing a suit.” He points to his navy blazer. Perfect for the competition, according to him. Personally, I would have worn a hoodie, but I felt bad after he showed me his outfit. So I’m wearing a black miniskirt, a white Oxford shirt, and a navy tie I stole from my dad.

I flutter my eyelashes. “Please?”

He groans. “It’s 40L.”

I hand him the correct suit and go find the pink tie. When I come back, he’s out of the changing room and checking himself out in the mirror.

My breath hitches. I take him in slowly, with the pleasure of knowing I don’t have to pretend I’m looking somewhere else. I walk up to him and put the tie around his neck. I don’t actually know how to tie it, so it’s left hanging from him like a scarf. I can’t help the grin on my face. “Perfect for junior prom.”

Monique’s mom will rent us a limousine, and Bryn’s mom will do our hair and makeup. I’ll go dress shopping with my mom, without her bringing up flights to Poland. I’ll never go to studniówka or bal maturalny. Even if I were in Poland, I wouldn’t go. What would be the point of not being invited by anyone and leaning against the wall, watching everyone else have fun? But here? A good campaign, and Aang will win prom king, and I’ll be prom queen, and we’ll slow dance …

“Junior prom?” He frowns. “I don’t think I want to go to junior prom.”

My smile drops. “Why not?”

He shrugs. “It’s a stupid American tradition, and I’m already a cheerleader. Prom sounds a bit much.”

Oh my god.

The USA didn’t invent the concept of a dress-up party at the end of a school year. But he knows nothing but America, and he sees the most generic things as theirs. He’s so American and doesn’t even know it. I grit my teeth. “You know where you’re from, right?”

His jaw twitches.

My nostrils flare.

“What a cute couple you two make!” We startle as a middle-aged White woman strolls up to us. “Your children will have such unique features!”

Aang’s face goes ashy. My fist closes on his tie.

Here as well? Different languages, same “compliments.” I spit out what my mom always used to say when strangers commented on me to her. “Za to pani dzieci pewnie urodą nie grzeszą.”

She gets the spirit of the sentence and hurries away.

Aang looks at me. “What did you tell her?”

“The rough translation? That her children’s sin is probably not being too beautiful.” I shrug. “It sounds better in Polish.”

He snorts. “No, I think it sounds great in English.”

My hand relaxes on his tie, and his eyes soften at my hand on his chest. “I don’t want to fight with you. Not now. Not ever again.”

“Me neither,” I say quietly. “We … we don’t have to talk about it.”

“Yeah.” He checks his watch. “Let’s go back. The team round will start soon.”

I let him go into the changing room.

This will get solved on its own. Like the email did.

Clearly.

We sit down for the team round against Jefferson High from Texas. I lay down a piece of paper, a pencil, and a pen. Aang bumps my knee. It’s the last time he’ll get to do that. You can only have one senior on a team, so next year, only one of us will be on the A-team. I bump his knee back. Let’s end this on a win.

Drew drums on the table with his hands. Georgie squeals quietly. I’m buzzing, waiting for the emcee to introduce herself and start the round. She opens her mouth …

And I freeze.

An accent. It’s nasal. Harsh. Clipped. And I understand one of the five words spoken. Blood pounds against my skull. My knee starts to bounce. Nie, nie, nie, nie.

Aang puts a hand on my knee, but it doesn’t stop the bouncing.

“You okay?” he whispers as the emcee does her final check of the question sheet. His hand tightens on my knee, and when even that doesn’t stop the bouncing, I sense he’s at the beginning of a freak-out as well.

If he gets nervous, we’re done here.

I force my knee to still and give him my biggest cheerleading smile. “Sorry about that. I’m just excited to win!”

He doesn’t have time not to be convinced by the lie, because the emcee starts the round with the first question. Which I don’t understand.

Drew writes some numbers down. I guess it’s his question. He hits the button before I finish reading his scribbles. “Seventy-four.”

“That’s correct! One point for Blackstock High!”

I imagine that is what she said, based on my team’s cheers.

Aang solves a geometry question. Jefferson High beats us to the answer on question three. Georgie starts working on question four, and I help her out once I can read it. We get a point. Drew gets the next one right. It’s 4–1 for us, but there are plenty more questions left. What is the likelihood that there won’t be a single logic question? Zero.

Aang’s fingers brush mine as the emcee turns the next page. “We’re doing so well!” He grins at me. I show him my teeth, but I can’t call it a smile.

The emcee says something. Apples? I think she said apples. All eyes at the table turn to me. Georgie’s forehead furrows when I don’t start writing. Aang raises his eyebrows at my unmoving pen. He grabs his pencil.

“All three boxes are labeled, but each label is wrong …” Aang mutters as he draws out three boxes. One with apples. One with oranges. One with a mix of apples and oranges. “You’re only allowed to pick one fruit …”

Wait. I know this puzzle. I bet the question is about the minimum number of fruits you need to pick to label all the boxes correctly. That’s easy. You start …

“Is that correct?” Aang shows me his piece of paper. It says two. I look at the other team. They’re nodding, close to reaching an agreement.

Two. Is it two? No, I don’t think so. It should be one. But he had more time to think about the question than I did. And I don’t know what the actual question is. In the corner of my eye, the opposition player moves his hand. I hit the button a millisecond before he does.

“Is it two?” I ask.

“No, that’s incorrect. Jefferson High?”

“It’s one.”

“That’s the correct answer! Two points for Jefferson High. The score is 4–2 for Blackstock High!”

Fuck.

Aang leans sideways toward me. “JJ, what’s going on?”

I clutch my pen, my eyes darting to the emcee. Aang’s eyes follow mine. The emcee reads out the next question, and Aang’s face changes. Like he’s hearing the presenter speak for the first time. He grabs an additional sheet of paper and writes out the question as the emcee talks. When she finishes, he slides the paper my way. “I’ve got you.”

A wave of relief, shame, hope, and inferiority overwhelms me so hard I could cry.

For the rest of the round, Aang writes down every question for me, while at the same time solving his own questions, helping Georgie out with the ones she struggles with, and checking Drew’s answers if necessary. His entire hand is stained with ink, and it has to be cramping, but with every correct answer, he bites his lip harder and pushes through until we reach the last question. A logic question. When I answer correctly and the round ends, he drops the pen and slumps down in his chair.

We win, thirteen to seven.

“We won by so many points!” Georgie claps while we’re walking back to our bags.

“That’s the best result in my four years on the team,” Drew agrees. “We’re definitely in the top eight.”

The eight teams with the highest combined scores from the individual and team rounds advance to the quarterfinals. Last year, our high school was nineteenth. This year, the aim is not only to reach the quarterfinals but also to win the whole thing. But what if we have this emcee for the finals? There’s no way I can be helpful in that scenario.

Aang grabs my hand and pulls me away from Georgie and Drew. “Why didn’t you tell me what was happening at the beginning of the round?” His eyes are bloodshot, and he looks like he’s fighting to stay upright.

Because I shouldn’t have to. Because that would bring attention to—

A commotion at the end of the hallway turns our heads. Results. Already? Yes, we were the last ones in the team round, but that was so quick …

Aang’s exhaustion disappears in the blink of an eye. He tugs on my hand, and we’re running through the hallway.

Initial groans and cheers are already audible. My heart speeds up.

Aang pushes through the crowd to get to the board. He runs a finger down the sheet, starting from the top, searching for our school’s name. We destroyed Jefferson High. We didn’t discuss the individual round, but everyone was positive they did well. We should get to the quarterfinals.

Aang’s finger stops, and his hand drops to his side while the other squeezes my wrist a bit too hard.

Oh no. I push past him and find our school’s name. Blackstock High. Ninth place. One point behind the eighth.

If only I’d answered the apple question correctly …

I swallow my scream, but it still comes out like a choked cry. I do a 180 and run to the bathroom. It’s quite impressive that I don’t collide with anyone, because I can’t see through the tears. I knew the answer was one. I knew it. I enter a cubicle and shut the door behind me. I should have told Aang about the emcee earlier. But I didn’t want to admit that this isn’t my language. I didn’t want to bring attention to the fact that I’m not from here. And now the foreigner has made them lose. I rock back and forth on the closed toilet.

The bathroom door opens, and a girl screeches, “You’re in the girls’ bathroom!”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry!” Aang’s voice makes me stop crying. “It’s just my girl—I mean, my teammate, she’s in here, and she’s upset—wait—no, actually, she is my girl.” He … giggles? “Sorry, I’ve never said it out loud before, it sounds—oh, yeah, you don’t care. Makes sense. Please don’t call security on me!”

The door closes. The screeching girl must have left the bathroom.

He knocks on my door. “I know you’re in there. It’s the only closed stall. Are you going to let me in?”

“No.”

“I’ve got a Bounty …”

I sigh and unlock the door. Aang comes in and drops the chocolate bar on my already-extended palm. He looks around the cubicle. “This is as disgusting as the guys’ toilets. Who knew?”

I sniff.

“Okay, attempts at humor were not effective.” He crouches in front of me. “What’s up?”

“We lost, and it’s my fault.”

He frowns. “How, exactly?”

“The emcee … their accent?” I focus on the chocolate bar in my hand. “I couldn’t understand most of what they were saying. And you had to help me out. And it’s my fault, because I can’t speak English. And I know you’re regretting—”

“Don’t.”

My head jerks up at him. I’ve never heard him sound this mad.

“Absolutely not. You’re on this team because you deserve it. You’ve worked hard, and you’re smart. So smart, it’s really, really hot and makes it hard to concentrate on anything else. It’s daily torture for me, by the way.” He runs a hand through his hair. “We could have lost a point anywhere. And I’m the one who said two fruits, not you! I’m going to beat myself up for that later. But for now … you are exactly what this team needed.”

My eyes get misty again. “But we’ll never get to win this competition together. And what about Stanford?”

“Yeah, that sucks, but we have other competitions to win together. Cheerleading Nationals are literally a week away.” He squeezes my knees. “And I’ll find something else to get into Stanford. I’ve already joined cheerleading—clearly, the depths of my desperation are not known to man.”

I eye him. “I thought you joined cheerleading for me.”

“That I did. Clearly, the depths of my desperation to get with you are not known to man.”

My mouth quirks up. “And I guess if the next year doesn’t work out, you can always take a gap year and try again.”

He rests his chin on my thighs. “That might be the least attractive thing that ever came out of your mouth.”

Aang has very strong opinions on gap years. They’re for White people who don’t understand the joys of a rigidly structured educational pathway and want to get high in Thailand. I laugh at the thought of him actually doing a gap year. He smiles at the sound.

I exhale and dry my cheeks with my dad’s tie. “I’ve never told you before, but I think you’re an exceptional leader. Thank you … Captain.”

His lips twitch. “I must say, when you promised you’d call me Captain someday, I was imagining a different place than a public toilet. But I like it.”

He kisses me slowly as the Bounty melts in the wrapper.