Letting Go of Gravity Page 2

  No Charlie.

  Mom waves, Dad beams, and when I reach them, they pull me into a group hug, nearly smashing the bouquet of yellow daisies Mom’s holding against my chest in the process.

  “Whoa,” she calls out, holding them aside, but Dad scoops me in harder and Mom just laughs.

  “We’re so proud,” Dad says when we finally part, and I realize he’s tearing up a little bit.

  “And your speech was phenomenal,” Mom says.

  “I loved that quote at the end,” Dad says. “Brilliant. What was it again, ‘Not to give up’?”

  “ ‘And not to yield.’ ”

  “You must be so excited,” he says. “This is it. Your whole life is in front of you.” And he’s right. I should be excited, but right then I wish I had given a totally different speech. I wish I were a totally different person.

  “Have you seen your brother?” Mom asks.

  “I was going to ask you the same thing,” I say, scanning the crowd.

  “Our reservation is at eight, so we should really leave soon,” Dad says, checking his watch and frowning. “The traffic getting out of here is going to be a mess. And we might as well have parked on the moon for how close we are.”

  Mom sends me a quick eye roll at Dad’s exaggeration, then pats him reassuringly on the arm. “Honey, why don’t you and I go get the car while Parker finds Charlie? We’ll pick them up on our way out.”

  “Okay, but if we’re late . . .”

  “Dad, don’t worry. I’m on it,” I say. “I’ll text you guys when I find him.”

  I give them both another hug before they leave, then commence the search for my brother.

  The lobby is packed. I duck out of the way as two guys from the football team tackle each other in what seems like a drunken hug.

  “I’m going to miss you next year, bro,” one bellows, while the other one gives him a dude clap on the back.

  Across the way, I see Christine Miller of the split ends with her older sister, Molly, arms wrapped around each other as they pose for a picture for their parents, a row of lockers behind them.

  I pass Jenna Lambert, our class salutatorian, embracing some guy with heavy-metal hair wearing leather pants, her hands hanging around his neck, his hands firmly clamped on her butt, clearly not caring who sees. She’s a total badass.

  There’s Brian and Brad Vascek, the other set of twins in our grade, both in honors classes with me, both going to Miami University next year. Brad catches my eye and gives a wave, and I wave back, envying them their closeness.

  Everyone around me seems completely at ease in their own skin. In obvious contrast, my eyelid keeps twitching impatiently, and I squeeze both eyes shut, trying to will it into stillness, my face scrunching with the effort.

  When I open them, I realize I’m standing right in front of the picked-over Help Wanted bulletin board outside of the guidance counselor’s office. Out of curiosity more than anything else, I scan the remaining listings: telemarketer (“Make $20,000 a month from home!”), dishwasher at a local diner, an assistant at a pottery studio, a full-time nanny position, a Kings Island hiring fair that happened last weekend.

  Right then, arms circle me from behind in a hug.

  “Park!” Em sings in my ear, and when I turn around, my face immediately moves into a real smile, one that mirrors hers.

  “We did it,” she says, then says it again, this time in a yell that makes several people turn around: “We did it! We graduated!”

  She’s practically bouncing in place, and I remember how my dad used to call her Tigger when we were little.

  “Nice speech, lady,” she adds.

  I cringe. “I totally messed up at the end.”

  “I didn’t notice. Besides, if you did? Who cares. You’re the valedictorian, Parker McCullough. Not anyone else. You. That’s a big freaking deal.”

  I shrug, embarrassed.

  She leans closer, her voice lowering. “I know it must feel weird, Charlie not graduating tonight. But you can still be happy and proud of yourself, Park. I am.”

  I look away before she can see my expression, my eyes suddenly stinging. “Speaking of, have you seen him?”

  “Not yet,” Em says, standing on her tiptoes next to me. “Oh crap,” she mutters, nudging my side and pointing across the room.

  Em’s ex-girlfriend, May Kim, is talking to Matty. Whether it’s because May has chopped off her waist-length hair and is now sporting a chic pixie cut, or the fact that Em hasn’t seen her ex-girlfriend since a teary breakup up last Thanksgiving, when May was home from Oberlin, Em sharply sucks in her breath.

  “Of course she looks good,” she murmurs.

  “Why is she here?” I ask, immediately protective.

  “Probably for Christine and Dolores and Jean and Clement. They were all on newspaper together last year.”

  Right then Matty sees us, his goofy grin growing, and he beckons Em over.

  Em shoots me a confused look. “I should at least say hi, right?”

  “It’s up to you. But I’ve got your back no matter what.”

  She chews on her bottom lip. “Do I look okay?”

  My best friend looks radiant—red flushing her cheeks, her blond hair beachy and perfectly tousled even though it’s only the beginning of summer and we’re nowhere near the ocean.

  I reach in my gown pocket and hand her my tub of sparkly lip balm. “It’s got magic powers.”

  She dabs her finger in, gives her lips a quick swipe, then straightens.

  “Perfect,” I say.

  She starts to leave, then turns back, pointing to the corner. “By the way, your brother’s over there. But be forewarned: He’s engaging in some major PDA with Erin right now.”

  I look in that direction and sigh.

  Charlie and Erin are leaning against a wall of lockers, pressed together in a lip-locked embrace that’s pushing the boundaries of PG-13. I make my way toward them, clearing my throat and tapping Charlie on the shoulder when I get there.

  When he turns around, his cheeks are flushed, and the expression on his face falls a bit when he sees it’s me.

  “Hey,” he says, pulling me into an obligatory hug, his arm angled awkwardly against me, like he’s just fallen out of a tree and broken his arm, and the whole thing is super weird because I can’t think of the last time we hugged, if ever. Not to mention he reeks of beer.

  “Are you drunk?” I ask.

  “Nice to see you too, Mom,” he says, stepping back, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  “Charlie,” I say in warning.

  “God, just trust me, okay?”

  I look over at Erin for confirmation, but she’s put on her special smile, the bright hard sunshiny one just like the one our mom uses when she wants to change the subject. “Parker! Happy graduation!”

  “You too,” I say.

  “Congrats on your speech. It was really good,” she says, looping her arm through Charlie’s and looking up at him adoringly. “I wonder who’ll be valedictorian next year for your class, babe? I bet half the people in this room will come back to see you graduate. You know I’ll be there.”

  Right then, like they’ve practiced it, two of Charlie’s baseball teammates, Steven Reiss and Jake Nolan, call out “McCullough!” in tandem.

  A shadow flits across Charlie’s face before he puts on a grin, clasping each of their hands and pulling them into one-armed guy hugs, complete with claps on the back.

  They each hug Erin and me too, before turning back to Charlie.

  “It’s good to see you on your two feet, man,” Jake says.

  “Yeah, we’ve been worried,” Steven adds, brow furrowing, voice serious. “How’re you feeling?”

  Charlie frowns at them before shooting Erin and me an exaggerated look of disbelief. “Jesus, you leave a baseball team for one season and everyone turns into total puss—”

  Erin elbows him sharply.

  Jake flinches at Charlie’s tone, and Steven shifts uncomfortably. />
  “They’re just being nice,” Erin mutters under her breath.

  Charlie shakes his head, dismissing her. “They know I’m just effing with them, right, guys?”

  “Yeah,” Steven says, nodding, like he’s willing himself to agree. Jake offers a weak smile Erin’s way.

  “Congrats on Florida State, man,” Charlie says to Steven. “And LSU?” he asks Jake.

  “Yeah,” Jake says. “Listen, we should probably . . . ,” he starts, hiking his thumb over his shoulder toward the crowd.

  “Maybe we’ll see you at Chris’s house later?” Erin says.

  “Sure, yeah,” Steven says. “Good to see you guys. And nice speech, Parker.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  I watch them leave as Erin turns to Charlie. “Babe, you feeling okay?”

  “Never been better,” Charlie says, wincing out a smile, and even I can tell it’s a stretch. But before she notices his expression, Erin’s attention is caught by someone behind us, and she stands on her toes, waving enthusiastically, then grinning as Mr. Franklin, the school’s baseball coach, lopes over, grabs my brother in a big bear hug, and lands two hearty claps on his back. “Charlie McCullough, it is really dang good to see you out in the world again.”

  Mr. Franklin has been Charlie’s baseball coach since seventh grade, moving over to coach high school the same year we started as freshmen, and taking the team, with Charlie as the star pitcher, to first place in the state championship last year.

  Last September, I’m pretty sure Charlie’s cancer returning was as much of a blow to Mr. Franklin as to my parents. After Charlie went back in the hospital and the decision was made to hold him back a year, my parents went to tell Mr. Franklin in person. When they got home that night, I could tell they’d both been crying again.

  “How are you feeling, son? Any word on whether we’ll see you back on the team next year?”

  “So far, so good,” Charlie says, which isn’t an answer, but Mr. Franklin visibly relaxes, patting Charlie on the back again.

  “Good to hear. Good to hear. Looking forward to state championship number two with you on our team.”

  Erin flips her hair. “Coach Franklin, I was just telling Charlie and Parker that I bet most of these people will be back to see Charlie graduate next year.”

  “You bet,” Mr. Franklin says.

  So quickly I almost miss it, Charlie’s mouth twists in a brief grimace before he projects a reassuring smile at Erin and his coach. “Thanks.”

  “Well, looking forward to talking more, Charlie,” Mr. Franklin says. “Give me a call when you’re ready to talk.”

  “Sure thing, sir.”

  As Mr. Franklin leaves, I turn back to my brother. “Dad’s angsting about missing our dinner reservation because of parking lot traffic. You about ready?”

  Charlie shakes his head, making that regretful clicking noise with his tongue on his teeth. “No can do. We’re headed to a party at Chris Wilder’s house.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “I told you. We’re going to a party.”

  “You’re not going to dinner with us?” I ask, my words slower to catch up to the disappointment making its way through me.

  “Nope.”

  “But I thought you were coming out with us.”

  “Jesus, Parker. No already!”

  I stare at him. I know Charlie and I aren’t exactly close, and I’m sure it wasn’t easy to watch everyone graduate without him, but still, I never thought he wouldn’t be part of this night.

  I never imagined he wouldn’t spend it with our family.

  (I never imagined he wouldn’t spend it with me.)

  I straighten, try to push my heart back on the inside. “Did you tell Mom you’re not coming?”

  “No, but she didn’t tell me about dinner, soooo . . .” He shrugs, looking to Erin for backup, but she shifts uncomfortably and focuses on rummaging through her purse.

  “She probably just assumed you’d know we’re having family dinner because it’s graduation? A major night for us?” I search his face for some inkling he understands.

  “You know what they say about assuming. Besides, it’s not exactly a major night for me.”

  “Listen, Mom really wanted us to all be together. I think she’s going to be bummed you’re not coming. Will you please just come? You can go to the party after.”

  Charlie’s face tightens, and I’m struck again by how much he looks like a stranger. “Parker, listen: I. Don’t. Want. To. Go. To. Dinner. Okay?” He deliberately enunciates each word.

  I cringe at the sharpness in his voice, blinking hard and trying not to cry, because I cry too much and I don’t want Charlie to see me like that. But inside, the pressure is coming at me from everywhere, tightening my ribs, flattening my breath, squeezing my heart.

  I can tell by the irritation that crosses Charlie’s face that he knows I’m upset, but he doesn’t care.

  “Come on, Erin. Let’s go.”

  Erin shoots me a regretful smile, but Charlie leaves without looking back.

  I stand there, wishing I could tell him that it’s not just Mom who will miss him tonight. That even though I see him every day, I’ve been missing my brother for years.

  Four

  THE MORNING AFTER GRADUATION, I wake up with a knot knitted behind my ribs like a clenched fist.

  My clock says I still have another fifteen minutes to sleep, but my whole body is already awake, alert—my mind clear like a trumpet call: Today is the day today is the day today is the day.

  I suck in my breath sharply, and for a second I wish I were sleeping in or going to babysit like I did last summer or getting ready to leave the country with Em.

  But enough of that: I need to decide what to wear for my internship orientation.

  Thirty minutes later, I’m headed downstairs, freshly showered and wearing navy capris, a crisp white short-sleeved shirt, and my navy-blue ballet flats, with a red striped cardigan slung over my arm. It feels like the right outfit—not too frivolous, not too flashy.

  I’m ready.

  When I reach the kitchen, Charlie’s resting his forehead in his hands, a giant bowl of Cheerios sitting untouched in front of him.

  I grab a bowl, a spoon, and the cereal box, which feels suspiciously light. My suspicions are confirmed when about eight Cheerios plink sadly into my bowl.

  “Ugh.”

  Charlie raises his head, wincing.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You don’t have to be so loud.”

  When I go to the pantry to find something else, all that’s left is a box of HealthWheat, the disgusting health food cereal Mom wants Charlie to eat because she read about it in a cancer-free book.

  “Charlie,” I say, holding the box up and shaking it at him.

  “I’m not eating that stuff today,” he replies, slowly straightening, then jamming a spoonful of dry cereal in his mouth, talking as he does. “I’ve had it with garden-mulch cereal. No thanks.”

  I sigh, sitting down and shaking the HealthWheat into my bowl, the clumps landing with depressing thuds.

  Charlie scans my outfit.

  “What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

  He shakes his head, chewing.

  “Charlie.”

  He swallows and slowly wipes the corner of his mouth. “You look like the American flag, that’s all.”

  “Nice. Thanks for your support.”

  “You know I’m right.” He shoves his barely touched bowl of cereal away and slouches back in his seat, closing his eyes.

  “You’re not even going to eat that?” I ask.

  “Why do you care? You worried Mom’s going to be disappointed again?” he asks, eyes still closed.

  Dad strolls into the kitchen then, straightening his tie, and heads to the coffeemaker. “Good morning, guys. You ready for today, Dr. McCullough?” he asks.

  Not for the first time, I wish I could tell him I miss the days when he called me by my first name. But ev
er since I got into Harvard, he’s been downright giddy about my future plans, and I can tell he enjoys the nickname way more than I hate it.

  “As ready as I can be,” I reply.

  “Do you think you’ll see any patients today?” Dad asks.

  “She’s just doing an internship,” Charlie answers.

  “It’s not just any internship. You know that, Charlie. And I bet you can still see patients in an internship,” Dad starts, but Mom comes in before any of us can respond, giving Charlie and me cheek kisses before dropping her bag on the table and making a beeline for a mug and the pot of coffee.

  She leans against the counter, sipping slowly. “Charlie, you’re not eating your HealthWheat?”

  “God, can’t I eat what I want for once?” he snaps.

  Mom flinches, a look of hurt crossing her face, and Charlie immediately slumps back in his chair.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

  “No, you’re right,” Mom says carefully. “Besides, one little day without HealthWheat can’t hurt, right?” She forces a smile and turns to me, and I can tell she really thinks one little day without HealthWheat could indeed hurt, but she’s trying very hard to pretend otherwise. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to see Em and Matty last night. When do they leave for Europe? I bet they’re getting excited.”

  “Sunday,” I say, realizing I only have a couple of days left with my best friend before she leaves for the summer.

  “They’re going to have such a good time,” Mom says. “Phil, remember the first time we went to England?”

  “Yeah, that was pretty amazing. But Europe is nothing compared to your summer, Dr. McCullough. This is pretty much the first day of the rest of your life.”

  “No pressure or anything,” Charlie mutters.

  “I guess—” I start before Charlie interrupts me.

  “Don’t forget my summer, Dad. Tutoring and support group every day. Now, that’s amazing,” Charlie says.

  “Charlie, we all have responsibilities we don’t want. You know I don’t love my job. But I go,” Dad begins.

  I brace myself for the speech, the one about how he hates his job copywriting but does it for all of us.