13 and Counting Read online

  DEDICATION

  For Zeyda, a Miracle Man

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1. Kaylan

  2. Ari

  3. Kaylan

  4. Ari

  5. Kaylan

  6. Ari

  7. Kaylan

  8. Ari

  9. Kaylan

  10. Ari

  11. Kaylan

  12. Ari

  13. Kaylan

  14. Ari

  15. Kaylan

  16. Ari

  17. Kaylan

  18. Ari

  19. Kaylan

  20. Ari

  21. Kaylan

  22. Ari

  23. Kaylan

  24. Ari

  25. Kaylan

  26. Ari

  27. Kaylan

  28. Ari

  29. Kaylan

  30. Ari

  31. Kaylan

  32. Ari

  33. Kaylan

  34. Ari

  35. Kaylan

  36. Ari

  37. Kaylan

  38. Ari

  39. Kaylan

  40. Ari

  41. Kaylan

  42. Ari

  43. Kaylan

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Lisa Greenwald

  Back Ad

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  1

  KAYLAN

  “I KIND OF EXPECTED SOMETHING crazy to happen the minute we turned thirteen. Didn’t you?” I ask Ari. We’re side by side on my bed, watching Freaky Friday for the zillionth time.

  “Not really.” She laughs. “You expected aliens touching down on your front lawn? Or what?”

  I whack her with a pillow. “No, nothing like that. Forget it. I don’t know.”

  All of a sudden it hits me that we really are thirteen. That we’ve been friends since fourth grade, when Ari moved to Brookside. It’s been a long time already.

  “I know what you’re saying.” Ari sits up. “We waited so long to be teenagers and now we are and it’s been two months of just, like, regular life.”

  “Yup. Regular life. And winter. And blah. I guess my main hope for the next few months is that we have a lot of snow days.” I pause. “Yours?”

  “Ummmm.” Ari rubs her eyes. “I kind of just want to relax. The first half of the year was all bat mitzvah stress. And my dad has a new job now so that agita is over, too. Can this half of the year just be chill time? Except for the insane amount of homework I have.”

  “Nice use of the word agita, Ar.” I laugh. “And yes, chill time sounds fab. Ohhhh, and can we finally do that beach-themed sleepover we’ve been talking about forever? We can turn the heat super high and wear our bikinis and stuff. I feel like we need that to get us through winter. Like trick our minds that it’s maybe summer?”

  Ari claps. “Yes. Def. Next sleepover is totally beach theme. Do you realize we just had our fourth sleepover of winter break?”

  I think about it for a second. “I didn’t realize you were counting. But, yeah. Wahhhh! I am so sad we’re going back to school tomorrow.”

  Ari frowns. “Break went so fast. Didn’t it?”

  “Kaylan!” we hear my mom yell up the stairs before I have a chance to answer. “Mail!”

  “Mail?” Ari crinkles her face. “You get mail? Like real letters? From who?”

  I shrug. “Sometimes.”

  “Are you expecting something?” Ari asks, hopping off the bed and sliding her feet into the fluffy slippers she leaves at my house.

  “Um, maybe?” My heart pounds because I kind of am expecting something.

  We get downstairs and find my mom at the kitchen table, surrounded by a pile of mail and a steaming mug of tea.

  “This came for you,” my mom says, handing me an envelope, her glasses perched at the edge of her nose.

  Ari leans over my shoulder, trying to read the envelope.

  Return address: Laurel Lake Camp for the Arts.

  “What is happening right now?” Ari whispers in my ear as I stand perfectly still with my eyes closed, holding the envelope in my hand. I’ve suddenly become frozen in place. “Are you all right, Kay?”

  I nod, and look over at my mom, who appears not to have read the envelope and is clearly not even paying attention to us at all. Maybe it’s better that way.

  “Let’s go into the den,” I say quietly.

  We sit down on the couch and I’m still holding the envelope in my hands. I wasn’t even expecting a real letter. I figured I’d get the answer by email. And to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t expecting anything right now. I thought I’d hear in February, maybe even early March. I planned to have more time to come up with some kind of reason why I didn’t even ask my parents if I could apply, why I didn’t tell Ari or anyone in the world about this.

  “Kaylan,” Ari says in her quiet, concerned tone, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay? You haven’t said anything in a really long time. Your skin looks kind of gray.”

  “It does?”

  “Yes.” She raises her eyebrows at me. “Would you like me to, um, open the envelope?”

  I nod, slowly. I’m not sure I really want her to, but I don’t think I can do it myself. I already see sweat droplets on the paper; something has to happen soon.

  Plus, if there’s anyone I’d want around me when I get bad news, it’s Ari. And if it’s good news—she’s the person I want beside me then, too.

  “Hold my hand,” I whisper.

  Ari crinkles her face again and then tries to hold my hand and open the envelope at the same time. She’s about to rip it apart with her teeth when I let go. “Okay, that won’t work. Just open it.”

  Time creeps by from the second she tears open the envelope to the second we’re reading the letter. But then I see:

  Congratulations! We’re happy to welcome you to Laurel Lake Camp for the Arts’ Comedy Intensive!

  I stop reading. I fall back on the couch with my eyes closed.

  I got in.

  I didn’t tell a single person about this because I truthfully didn’t believe I’d get accepted. I had to send a two-minute video of a comedy routine and write an essay about what comedy means to me. But when I realized that they didn’t require any adult signatures, I decided to just go ahead and do this on my own and see what happened.

  “Kay?” I feel Ari’s presence super close to me, almost like she’s trying to peer into my brain somehow. “Are you all right?”

  I sit up and open my eyes. “Yes. I’m fine. Shocked. But fine.”

  Ari drapes an arm over my shoulders. “Um, I’m a little concerned, FYI. Also, please explain what’s going on.”

  I turn around to make sure my mom isn’t eavesdropping. I’m going to have to tell her about this sooner or later, but it needs to be finessed in a certain way. It’s not the kind of thing a mom should overhear.

  “Well, first of all, this kind of came about because of your Camp Silver obsession. Just so you know.” I eye-bulge at Ari and she nods, encouraging me to keep talking. “And so I did some research on summer comedy programs, and I found this one. But I didn’t tell my parents because I figured they’d try to talk me out of it, and when I found one where you had to, like, apply and maybe not get in, I didn’t want to tell anyone because I didn’t want to jinx it.”

  “Wait,” Ari interrupts me. She picks the letter up from the floor and reads it over. “So we’re both going to camp this summer. Apart. Away from home? This says the session is four weeks. I’ll be gone for seven.”

  I nod. “I think so. I don’t think anyone stays all summer at Laurel Lake. But, yes. We are both going to be away, at camp, apart. I’m
going. Even if my parents say no and I have to run away, I’m going.”

  “This is so amazing.” Ari’s smile widens. “Now you’ll know how great camp is. You’ll really and truly get it! You’ll get to live the magic.”

  I look at her sideways, remembering when we stayed up all night and I found it so hard to understand the whole camp thing. Maybe she’s right—maybe I really will get it now.

  Ari’s quiet for a moment and then she says, “You know what this means, Kay?”

  I tilt my head to the side. “Um, that I’m actually super funny?”

  Ari cracks up. “Yes, but something else, too. . . .”

  I don’t know what she’s talking about and I’m not really into guessing games, especially at a time like this. “Just tell me. I’m not thinking clearly.”

  She flicks my forehead. “The list. Our next list. We need to start it right away because we’re both going to be away for the summer for the first time in our lives and we need a list to prepare us, and we won’t really be able to do a summer one . . . and—”

  I cut her off. “Ar, relax. You’re right, but also the first thing on the list probably needs to be tell Kaylan’s parents she’s leaving for the summer and they need to pay this camp tuition and she’s sorry she didn’t even tell them she applied.”

  “Right.” Ari smiles. “So we’re not ready to make the list yet. But we agree we need to do a list, right? And start soon? Deadline first day of summer break?”

  “Yes, definitely. Agree.” I sit back and think for a minute. I’m completely shocked and overwhelmed at the moment. But the thought of a new list feels oddly calming.

  I guess that makes sense since it’s how the lists started in the first place.

  “I know we said we weren’t going to make the list yet, but I just had a brainstorm and I have to share.” I widen my eyes. “What do you think about the list items sort of coming to us naturally? Like, let’s not overthink it. Let’s just see what comes into our heads.”

  I rest my head on her shoulder and breathe in her crisp, cucumber-smelling organic shampoo. I hope she uses this shampoo for the rest of her life and always smells like this. It’s the most comforting smell in the world.

  “I like that. An organic list.” Ari ponders this for a second.

  “Like your shampoo!” I pick my head up from her shoulder. “But first, list or no list, I need to figure out a way to tell my parents about this.”

  “Yes,” she says. “You do.”

  My phone buzzes on the table and I pick it up.

  “Oh, Cami texted. They’re all going to that indoor water park. You know the one where they have that new spiral twisty slide?”

  “Um, maybe?” Ari crinkles her nose.

  “She wants to know if we’re coming.”

  Ari deep-sighs and exhales. “You know how I feel about indoor water parks. . . .”

  “Yeah, but this could be really fun and everyone’s going, and I heard they remodeled it and it’s way cleaner now,” I tell her, sort of lying but also sort of not. I didn’t study the reviews or anything but I heard Ryan tell my mom once that it was pretty cool. So that’s something. “Plus it’ll take our minds off the dreaded school is starting again tomorrow thoughts.”

  “I thought we had to work on telling your mom about the comedy camp thing?” she asks me.

  “Sssshhh. Not right away! And yes, we do. But I feel like this could be fun and I have to do something with all this nervous energy. Come on, let’s go with them!”

  Ari makes a face at me.

  “Would you kill me if I don’t go?” she asks. “I just don’t know if I feel like getting into a bathing suit. My period is still kind of here; you know when it’s at the end but still hanging on? And I haven’t shaved my legs in a decade and—”

  “Ari! Hello! Remember we regretted not adding saying yes to the last list? The whole you regret the things you don’t do more than the things that you do do.” I crack up. “Do-do.”

  “Good to know your maturity level is still not quite at your age level.” Ari rolls her eyes at me. “Kay, I really don’t want to. You can go and have fun, and it’s fine. And I can do something else. For real.”

  “You’re lame,” I say. “What are you going to do? Spend all day reading about neuroscience or something? You’ve become such a brainiac now that you’re in the honors block.”

  “Have not.” She moves away from me a little bit and lies down on the couch. “I’m pleased with myself, thankyouverymuch.”

  “Well, I’m pleased with myself, thankyouverymuch.”

  “Good. Have fun.” She air-kisses me. “I’ll spend all day thinking of a game plan on how to tell your mom about comedy camp.”

  “That’s a good idea. I still wish you were coming, though, Ari,” I whine. “Pleaaasssssee.”

  “Kay, I’ll come next time.” She smiles and pulls a sweatshirt over her head. “Promise, promise. I’m just not feeling it today.”

  “Fine.” I text Cami back that I’m coming but Ari’s not.

  “But definitely text me pics and stuff so I can see how much fun you’re having,” Ari instructs. “I’m hungry again. Can we have a snack before you go?”

  “Totes.” I look up at her. “But, um, one last thing—can I borrow the bathing suit you left here last summer?” I scrunch up my face, feeling a little silly that I never returned it. “That polka-dot bikini. I just love it.”

  “Sure,” she replies. “What’s mine is yours, dahling.”

  2

  ARI

  AFTER CAMI’S MOM PICKS KAYLAN up, I walk home. It’s actually mildly warm for January and I can be outside without needing to be dressed for the Arctic. I feel fine in my fleece jacket and scarf. The air smells smoky, like someone’s making a fire really close by.

  I sit outside on my front porch before going in, pondering how Kaylan can tell her parents about the comedy thing and contemplating a few potential list items in my head.

  I should probably go inside and finish the winter break math packet, but I just can’t muster up the energy.

  “Yo,” Jason yells from across the street, holding a basketball.

  “Yo,” I yell back.

  He stands there with his hands on his hips, holding the ball under his armpit. After staring at each other from across the street for a few minutes, he walks over to my house.

  “What’s up, Nod?” he asks.

  I laugh. “Is that my new nickname?”

  He squints. “I think so. It works, don’t you think?”

  “My last name is Nodberg.” I shrug. “So. Sure.”

  He pulls over one of the Adirondack chairs close to mine and sits down. Our arms are on both the armrests, so close that they’re sort of touching. I look over at him, suddenly confused, like he doesn’t seem like the Jason he’s always been.

  “So talk to me. Did you have a good break? What’s happening?” he asks, not sounding like his usual Jason self. I don’t know what’s different, though. Now I can’t remember how he usually sounds. I just know that something is off.

  “Not much,” I reply. “You?”

  “This, that, the other.” He smiles and looks at me a minute while bouncing the ball. “All right, good talk. Later, Nod.”

  He gets up and dribbles the ball as he crosses the street.

  He’s just not as Jason-y as I remember him. But I don’t know what that means exactly.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket, and without even picking it up I can see that it’s a selfie of Kaylan and the girls in M.W.’s dad’s sprinter van all cheery, making goofy faces.

  I type back a quick: Nice! Have fun!

  I close my eyes and try to scrounge up the energy for the day. We stayed up too late last night. All I really want to do is get back into bed and close my eyes and sleep the afternoon away.

  My phone buzzes again and I expect another Kaylan group selfie.

  But it’s Golfy.

  Hey Ari. Just saying hello. Talk later.

  He�
�s pure goodness. Kindness. Friendliness. He should run a class for all the boys our age so they can see how to act. I don’t think anyone would sign up for the class, but it’s still a good idea. Maybe I’ll suggest it to him one day.

  But the thing is, lately I haven’t been getting that heart-flip feeling when he calls or texts. Sometimes if we miss a day or two without communicating, I don’t even realize it right away.

  After my bat mitzvah, we talked and texted constantly. He was all I could think about. I replayed the slideshow in my head—how it felt to have his hand on my back when we slow-danced, how he gave me the quickest kiss ever in the temple’s coatroom right before he went home.

  I had a check-off calendar on my desk, counting the days until we’d be back at camp together.

  And then one day, my parents, Gemma, and I were out late visiting cousins in New Jersey, and Golfy and I missed our nightly call. And I swear, after that, things changed.

  Is that how relationships fizzle? Just a scheduling glitch, a routine change?

  I mean, I still like him a ton. But that utter, maddeningly obsessive infatuation has kind of faded. I hate to admit that, but it’s true.

  I type back: Hello. Bye Bye. Talk later.

  I open the screen door and yell “I’m walking over to Bubbie and Zeyda’s” to anyone who’s close by. I don’t really need to ask permission but my parents should know where I am.

  “See you later!” my dad yells back.

  I tie my gray paisley scarf around my neck and zip up my puffer coat, pulling my hood tight around my head. How did it get so much colder in the last hour? It sort of feels like it may snow all of a sudden.

  I start to realize that I’m kind of in this no-man’s-land part of the year. I’m not super excited about going back to school tomorrow. Camp is still really far away, so even though I can look forward to that, it’s not exactly a close looking forward to it kind of thing.

  “Hello, my darling girl!” Bubbie greets me at the door, barefoot, despite the fact that it’s winter. The only time she wears shoes and socks is when she’s outside. Never at home. She wraps me in a hug and holds me there and she says, “You really didn’t have to do this, you know. I’m sure you have more exciting things to do than spend an afternoon with two old people.”