The Pages Between Us (7 page)

No, my dad does not hoard first-aid supplies. Let me explain:

I decided to go check out Badminton Club, even though you ended up not being able to go. Aren't you proud of me? By myself! It required LOTS of deep, cleansing breaths.

But truthfully, I wish your mom could find a babysitter for the twins from an outside source. They can't play every role in your DRAMATIC party, no matter how cute they are. We need guests! (Thanks for giving me the part of someone with an embarrassment of boyfriends!)

So, club time. There was a poster on the gym wall that said: “Badminton is more than just a birdie and a racket! It's a place to build friendships!”

“Building friendships” is fairly close to “getting charming conversational skills to use on a guy.”

Perfection, right?

Let me start off by saying that I'm writing this in bed with my knee elevated while I'm balancing an ice pack on it. I'm on my third ice pack, so don't hold me accountable for
the words I'm about to say.

The Badminton Club's idea of “building friendships” is to pair us off and hit the birdie back and forth with a partner. The pair next to us talked and giggled the whole way through. But MY partner happened to be this girl from my history class, Jessica Belfort. She talks incessantly during class. She talks to her friends. To strangers. To her textbook. The girl is A TALKER, is what I'm saying. So I was feeling good that she was my partner—someone to talk to!

However.

It just so happened that Jessica had two teeth pulled earlier that day and her mouth was full of cotton balls. She couldn't say a word. All she did was moan.

Jessica moaned out all the lyrics to a sad Taylor Swift song

It wasn't all that bad, since we communicated through eyebrow raises. I now have specific eyebrow positions for “it's
my serve,” “good hit,” and “I like your boots.” Pretty cool, actually. Hopefully Jackson will fall for my eyebrow gestures?

But truthfully, I was hoping we'd rotate partners so I could attempt to hold a conversation with someone—a person with a voice—but that's when the exercise portion of the club kicked in. . . .

Mrs. Rodriguez blew her whistle. “Four laps. No stopping. You can't play competitive badminton if you're out of shape.”

As you know, lap running is not something I do—or have ever done, actually. I'm certain that if I started doing it I would instantly get woozy and possibly die. I know this because the simple act of jogging up my street to catch the school bus has caused me to see a white light on more than one occasion. So running laps—four of them—was bound to be the death of me. But I couldn't let this be the end because of the following reasons:

1. I didn't have time to clean up my room this morning and I'm fairly certain there are undies on my floor. Totally embarrassing if an FBI agent had to come search my room due to my suspicious death. Very soap opera-y, right? (Wait. Does the FBI come by if you die playing badminton? Hold on . . . okay, I'm back. Google says probably not.)

2. I still have LEGO Club to look forward to next week.
I'll never become the future Mrs. Whittaker if I never get a chance to talk to Jackson and/or I'm super dead.

So anyway, I tried to negotiate with Mrs. Rodriguez. “How about two really good laps?”

She squinted at me and tried to stare down into my soul. “This is competitive badminton. Four laps, no less.”

I bit at my lip, scared to correct her. “But I'm fairly sure this is a ‘club.'” (I even used the air quotes when I said it.) “Can't we just play for ‘fun'?” (I air-quoted ‘fun' too. What is wrong with me?)

By the look on her face, I could tell she wasn't just staring at my soul . . . she was being all judgy with it. “We take this seriously. It's fun in a serious, competitive way. Now run!”

I didn't see a choice, so I started my laps around the gym. The first lap was almost enjoyable. The second lap was mildly intolerable. By the third lap I got completely bored, and that's when it all fell apart. “Fell” is the key word in that sentence.

My mind started wandering back to years earlier, when my brother started middle school. There was a school orientation and they held the meeting right here in this gym. I remember sitting in the bleachers in between my parents and feeling very small. I was only six years old, so that makes sense.

Mom adjusted the red-and-black bows in my hair (the colors of the University of Georgia Bulldogs) and she squeezed
my hand as we watched Jason walk up to get his sixth grade orientation packet. But what I remember most was the look on Dad's face as he watched Jason.

Pride. So much pride.

It was the same exact look he had on his face a few months ago when we sat in the bleachers at Stanford, watching Jason at his college orientation.

Dad looking very proud.

Mom squeezing my hand.

And me, sitting in the bleachers, feeling very small.

Bleachers. With all my daydreaming, I didn't even notice that they were pulled out slightly, and on that third lap—without warning—my foot caught the corner of the bottom bleacher and I tripped.

But it wasn't just a simple tripping. Wham! I wiped out on the hardwood floor.

I banged up my toe, knee, shoulder, hand, and even my ear. MY EAR, Piper. All I could think about was how much I wanted to be at home letting Mom take care of me.

Mrs. Rodriguez let me call home so I could be picked up early, but not before she leaned in and whispered, “I don't think competitive badminton is your thing, Olivia. Try Drama Club.”

Mom wasn't home.

Talk about feeling alone in the world. I know you say you feel ignored at your house too, but my feeling ignored means NO ONE IS AROUND. It's not the same. Sorry for my sudden whiny moment, but I just want to remind you how lucky you are.

Anyway, I had no choice—with my knee beginning to throb and my little toe aching—I had to call Dad at work.

He left work early and picked me up and surprisingly he didn't even complain about it. CVS was having a sale on first-aid items so I hobbled around and grabbed everything I needed, plus a couple more items just in case I have another falling-while-attempting-to-make-conversation incident.

And get this. Sandy, the cashier at the CVS, was super chatty! I told her all about my injuries and she told me about all their sales and some of their new products. They have a new self-tanner in stock now. It wasn't a conversation with another student, but it was a conversation.

It was progress.

It's possible we could invite her to the birthday party if we need someone to play the role of Helpful Cashier with a Kind Smile.

Dad took me home, put the ice pack in the fridge, “buddy taped” my hurt toe to the next toe over, poured me some hot tea, and watched some of season four of
Gilmore Girls
with
me. I leaned on his shoulder and he scratched my head. It was the first time we'd hung out like that in a really long time. It was . . . amazing.

I'll be honest, I kind of wanted it to last forever.

You would think now that Jason is gone, I'd be smothered with Mom's and Dad's attention. But, no. It took full-body injuries to get Dad to watch TV with me.

So now here I am, in bed, thinking over tomorrow. Dad wants me to stay home so he can monitor this toe, which is swollen and may be sprained, and also this bruise, which is as big as my palm. I've never gotten a sprain or a bruise from a social situation before. And you know what? It's awesome! It makes me feel like an interesting person.

So you'll have to do LARP tomorrow by yourself, sorry. Of course, I'll call you once this throbbing dies down. Dad said he would drop the notebook on your doorstep in the morning with the Kit Kat.

Even though I didn't chat up (I love that expression. So British.) many people today, I still have a bruise—an amazing one—that I can use for a conversation starter. Who's looking on the bright side now?

But I'm thinking let's stay away from any other clubs involving the word “competitive.”

“Olivia”

Grateful for:

1. Chatty cashiers at CVS

2. Kit Kats

3. That we still have some club choices left

4. The SpongeBob Band-Aids because they're just so cute

5. A dad who knows exactly how I like my head to be scratched

P.S.!! Get me your notes on my notes to that note to Jackson.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Piper gets her LARP on!

Ah-live-ee-ahhhh,

I'm saying your name like that because I'm trying to work on enunciating. Sorry. Eee-nun-cee-ate-ing. It's a LARP thing.

How is Da Bruise? (That's its name now. You have no say about this.) I'm sorry that it's grown so big—that picture you sent me was nasty. And I'm sorry you had to waste time at the doctor's office doing X-rays instead of watching more
Gilmore Girls
. Especially since their prognostics (prognosis? recommendation?) was to elevate your leg. Which is something you could do at home. In bed. Watching TV.

I'm sending you this email because there is no way I can get you the notebook tonight. Since your parents
are crazy protective
love you very much, and you have a family email account, your mom or dad might be reading this. Hello, Mr. and/or Mrs. Weston! Ignore any mention of a boy named Jackson (your daughter's soulmate). And when I say “notebook,” I just mean French homework. Don't worry about that.

Back to MY family. This was the whiteboard schedule for the Jorgensens for today:

12:30 Pick up twins from preschool

1:30 Gymnastics for Flynn and Spencer

3:00 School carpool

3:30 Piper LARP Club (I made the whiteboard. Woot!)

3:30 Talin Student Council

3:45 Luke coach's meeting

4:00 Neighborhood-watch meeting

4:45 Talin violin

5:00 Flynn dentist!

6:30 Luke Boy Scouts

7:00 Drop off dinner for Andersons

Mom was so busy that she made the Andersons OUR dinner and we ate McDonald's in the car. The twins got into a French fry war, and I'm sure we'll find fossilized potatoes in the minivan seats for months now. Maybe your dad can study old fast food for anthropology. (Hey, look at me, spelling
anthropology
I'm pretty sure correctly.)

Looking at a regular old day, you can see that there is nothing on the schedule for things like watching
Gilmore Girls
, at least not with one of my parents. I don't think I've
ever watched an episode of TV with my dad. Is that weird? We've gone fishing a few times, usually with Luke and Talin. I mean, I love my parents, and they love me, but there's never much one-on-one bonding.

Most of the time, I'm glad about that. I like doing my own thing whenever and wherever I want (when not on twin duty). But other times, I totally understand what you're saying. There are different ways to feel alone. Trust me, alone can happen in the middle of busy. Alone can be the best feeling, but it can also be the worst.