11 Before 12 Read online

  I roll my eyes but try not to make it visible. Who is this Jules girl, and why is she always around all of a sudden?

  Right then, as if it’s a signal from God, I hear the loudest crash of thunder I’ve ever heard in my entire life. And then the heavens open up, and in three seconds we’re completely soaked with rain.

  Jules and her friends cover their heads with their arms and scurry over to their lounges.

  “Brookside Pool is closing early due to thunder,” we hear Joey say over the loudspeaker. “Stay safe, my friends.”

  “Run!” Ari screams, grabbing all of her things. “Come on!”

  I stuff everything in my backpack and follow her, and soon we’re sprinting home, flip-flops falling off, mud painting the backs of our legs, our towels stuck to our bodies.

  “Come to my house; it’s closer,” I say, as we’re running through the rain.

  “This is terrible!” Ari screams. “I can’t even see!”

  “We’re almost there,” I shout, wiping the rain off my face with my arm.

  “Do you want to come in?” I ask her. “I can lend you clothes.”

  “I think I’m just gonna go home. I’m already soaked.” She reaches out for an air hug. “So you know the plan?”

  “Yup.”

  “Good. Call me as soon as you finish dinner. You guys always eat later than we do. If all goes according to plan, we will be making hair appointments first thing tomorrow morning.” She does her little Ari excited dance.

  I nod. My stomach swishes as I walk inside my house. We’re just talking about highlights here. I need to get hold of myself.

  “Kaylan, thank God you’re home. That was some storm!” My mom’s wearing an apron, peering out the window. “Although it seems to have stopped now. Weird. How was the pool? Before the rain, I mean.”

  “Fine.” I smile. “How was your day?”

  I remind myself to be extra-nice.

  “Busy, but good.” She kisses me on the forehead. “Okay, go change into some dry clothes. Dinner will be ready in a half hour.”

  I can smell Mom’s spaghetti and meatballs. “Mom, dinner smells great!” I call as I’m running up the stairs.

  As soon as I get up to my room, a basketball hits my window.

  “Sorry, Kaylan,” I hear someone yell.

  It’s Tyler. He’s outside with Ryan and they’re soaking wet. A tiny little part of me perks up, more excited for dinner than I was just a few moments ago.

  My heart does that pat-pat-flutter-flutter thing it always seems to do now when I’m around Tyler.

  I wonder if he was at our house this much before and I just didn’t notice it. It seems like he’s here all the time now. Maybe he moved into the basement and no one told me.

  I change into my faded-on-purpose gray V-neck and my favorite cutoffs. Normally I’d just wear a big nightshirt for dinner after coming home from the pool and a rainstorm, but with Tyler here, I feel like I have to at least look sort of normal and maybe even a little bit cute.

  I’m coming down the stairs for dinner when I hear Tyler say, “Later, Mrs. T.”

  I open my mouth to say good-bye to him, but no words come out. My whole body feels sulky after that. Disappointed about something I’d only just started to care about.

  I take a deep breath and prepare.

  I can do this. I can convince my mom that not only should I be allowed to get highlights but that they’re a good idea. And she’s excited about it, too.

  Ryan’s changed into dry clothes, and he sits down at the table and continues texting. He doesn’t look at me or my mom, even after she brings over a steaming bowl of spaghetti and the pot of meatballs in the sauce.

  “Ry, put down the phone,” Mom says, sounding tired. “Please.”

  “One minute!” he yells.

  We stare at him and he finally puts the phone in his pocket.

  “Thank you,” Mom mouths, and I wonder why she’s letting him talk to her like that. I want to call her out on it, but I let it go. I can’t upset her. The time for buttering Mom up starts now.

  “Mom, your hair looks amazing,” I say, nodding to help my words seem more believable. “Did you get it cut today or something?”

  She gives it a gentle stroke. “No, I didn’t even wash it today.” She laughs a little and scoops some meatballs and spaghetti onto my plate, and then some onto Ryan’s. “Must be the natural oils working their magic.”

  “Could be,” I say with enthusiasm.

  “Speaking of haircuts,” my mom says, “Ryan, what’s happening with your hair? It’s in your eyes. We gotta do something about this.”

  “I’m letting it grow,” he mumbles with food in his mouth.

  “Forever?” I shriek. That would look beyond gross; he’d probably never wash it.

  “Not forever, dimwit.” He puts down his fork. “But for a while. I think I’ll look cool with long hair. And I’m trying out for the jam band. I need to have the right look.”

  “Jam band?” I ask.

  “I play guitar,” he says, like I didn’t already know that. “Tryouts are next week. That way we can start practicing as soon as school starts.”

  The way he talks—it all sounds so passionate and intense. Like he actually thinks he’s going to be a professional guitarist or something. Part of me feels bad for him because he’s honestly not that good. Like when someone has food stuck in their teeth and you’re not sure if you should tell them or not.

  I need to get this dinner conversation away from Ryan’s hair and on to my need for highlights.

  “Well, you’ll need a trim,” Mom says after a sip of water. “You can’t start school with hair in your eyes like that. You won’t be able to see the board, your papers, the computer, your music for jam band—”

  “Mom, I get it,” Ryan groans. “Let’s just drop it for now. I thought you guys would be more excited about me trying out for the band. Guess not.”

  He looks down into his plate. Sulking. It’s a forced sulk. I can tell.

  “Ry, we are excited,” Mom says and then looks at me. “Right, Kaylan?”

  “Right. I’m so excited,” I force.

  But I’m not excited at all. Ryan’s terrible on guitar and now I’m going to have to hear him practicing 24-7. “And actually, speaking of hair . . .”

  I pause for a second and smile, trying to give everyone the feeling that we’re on the same team, looking out for each other, encouraging new hairstyles.

  “Yes?” Mom asks.

  “Well, Mom, I thought that this Saturday, you, me, Ari, and her mom could have a really special girls’ day—ya know, lunch, walking around in town, stuff like that, and then Ari and I could get our hair highlighted.” I run the last part together really fast.

  “Wait.” Mom side-eyes me. “Say that again.”

  “She wants to get her hair highlighted,” Ryan groans, scooping more food onto his plate. “Obviously she realizes she looks horrible and is causing everyone she sees to go blind, and needs to do something to fix herself.”

  “Ryan,” Mom warns. “Stop that talk this instant.”

  “It was more than that,” I mumble and try to ignore Ryan. I turn to face my mom. “Ari and I want to have a girls’ day with our moms! We want to spend time with you guys! And we want to get highlights. Nothing crazy. Just a little bit of a change before we start middle school.”

  “Oh, Kaylan, I don’t know. . . .” She sighs. “You’re only eleven. That seems awfully young for hair dye. Doesn’t it?”

  I’m not sure who she’s asking. Clearly I don’t think it’s young. And Ryan doesn’t care. My dad’s not here, but he never paid any attention to hair rites of passage. I guess she’s asking herself. Or asking the universe. Does the universe care about highlights? I doubt it.

  “Eleven is not too young for highlights,” I answer, finally. “Plus they have organic, like, healthier hair dye. I checked. And honestly, I know tons of girls who have gotten highlights. That girl Cara from the pool. Remember h
er? Mrs. Etisof’s daughter even got highlights when she was younger! Middle school is a time for change, new starts. You need to realize that I’m not a baby anymore.”

  Her face sinks a little bit after I say that, and I’m instantly plagued with guilt. I shouldn’t have said that. Not now. Not after she’s had a tiring day at work. “I mean, I’m eleven. Ya know? I’m getting older.” I put an arm around her and whisper, “But I’ll always be your baby.”

  Sometimes you have to tell a mom what she wants to hear.

  Especially when you’re trying to get what you want.

  NINE

  OUR MOMS DECIDE TO HAVE a face-to-face chat about the highlights on Saturday morning. They’ve talked on the phone about it, but apparently that’s not enough. Moms tend to overdiscuss things. I wonder if I’ll be like that when I’m a mom. Maybe it’s something that just happens to you as soon as you have a baby.

  When Ari and her mom ring the doorbell, I make sure the muffins are artfully arranged on a plate and our tea box is open. Ari’s mom’s a tea drinker. My mom is a 100 percent coffee drinker, but she has this fancy box of tea she received as a Secret Santa gift once. (She had a really bad Secret Santa that year, but whatever.) So we bring it out for guests.

  I want to do all that I can to make this highlights thing happen. It’s the first thing on our list. If we can’t reach our first goal, I’m not sure we can do the others, either.

  The moms sit down in the living room, and Ari and I go up to my room.

  “I typed up the list and made two copies,” Ari says, unzipping her backpack. “And then I begged my dad to take it to work and get it laminated. He agreed.”

  She hands me a hot-pink, laminated piece of paper with our list printed in a pretty curlicue font.

  “Everything is better laminated,” I tell her. “Don’t you think?”

  She cracks up. “Where do you get this stuff, Kay? You have, like, a treasure chest of random sayings in your brain.”

  “Brain treasures!” I laugh. “That’s me!”

  “So our deadline is November second,” Ari reminds me.

  “Your twelfth birthday,” I reply, as if she doesn’t know.

  She continues. “Right. We need to give ourselves the extra day for my birthday, because otherwise I’ll still be eleven when we finish, ya know?”

  It always seemed like twelve-year-olds were really independent—they could ride bikes all over town, wherever they wanted to go. They could stay home alone, too. Maybe even be allowed to order pizza. Plus kayaking—our parents always said we could paddle to Arch Island by ourselves when we turned twelve. It sort of seemed like they pulled that age out of nowhere, but whatever, we remembered it. And we’re taking it to the next level—we’re going to kayak at night.

  Twelve is the dream age.

  “I’m just getting this feeling,” I start. “Like if we don’t do the list, everything on it, something bad will happen.” I sit down on my bed, and Ari follows.

  Fake-spooked, she says, “Like what? We turn into elves or something?”

  I laugh and shake my head. “No, I mean, nothing weird like that. But, like, we fail middle school. We’re social pariahs. Ya know?”

  Ari rolls her eyes. “Why are you so freakishly superstitious? You’re just making it up!”

  “My grandma really believes this kind of stuff, and so I do, too.” I shrug. “Maybe I’m wrong! But maybe not. . . .” I tap my fingers against each other. “Come on. Let’s go eavesdrop on our moms and see if they’re coming around to the highlights.”

  “Ooh! Good idea!”

  We open the door to my room, careful to do it slowly so it doesn’t creak. I’ve had a creaky door forever, and nothing has made it uncreaky. My dad tried to fix it, but I realized at a pretty young age that he’s just not so good at fixing things.

  Ryan sees us right away. “Why do you guys look like you just broke a lamp?” he asks, all sweaty. He has that terrible, outdoorsy-metal-y smell, and I almost gag.

  “Broke a lamp?” I cover my mouth to try and get Ryan to stop talking and also to avoid the stench.

  “You two are crazy,” he says. “I’m going to Tyler’s to shoot hoops. Tell Mom. Bye.”

  I nod, grateful that he’s leaving the house with that stink.

  We make it to the top of the stairs, and put our ears against the railing.

  “It went so fast, didn’t it?” I hear my mom say. My throat tingles. Sometimes I look at my mom and feel bad for her. I think she really enjoyed having little kids, and we’re not little anymore. There’s nothing anyone can do about that.

  “It did,” Ari’s mom says. “I try to hold on to Gemma staying little as hard as I can.”

  Ari rolls her eyes. “Oh, here we go. They’re not even discussing highlights!”

  “What should we do?” I whisper.

  Ari thinks for a minute. “We need to prove we’re responsible and grown-up.” She looks at me.

  “You’re right, that’s definitely a thing that moms look for.” I look around to think of something.

  “Any chores that need doing?” Ari asks, hands on her hips.

  “Chores, hmmm.” I know my mom asks me to do stuff all the time, but at that second, nothing is coming to me.

  “Oh!” Ari says too loud, and then covers her mouth. “Your mom has been asking you to go through the toys in the basement and sort them into bags so you can donate them.”

  “I love how you remembered that and I didn’t.” I cover my face in embarrassment. “Genius, Ari!”

  Ari brushes the hair away from her face. “We can start that, and we don’t have to do it all today.” She looks down at the list. “And that falls into the help-humanity category, too. Doesn’t it?”

  “I think it does!”

  We tiptoe down the stairs to the first floor and then down the flight to the basement. Our moms are still gabbing away about motherhood and who knows what else. I don’t even think they notice us.

  “Wow, it really is a mess down here,” Ari says.

  “Thanks, Ar.” I roll my eyes. “That’s why my mom has been begging Ryan and me to clean it up. We’ve been avoiding it, obviously.”

  Ari walks around and surveys the scene. “Okay, go grab some garbage bags and let’s get started. But some things you need to save.” She picks up a crate of Barbie dolls. “Like these. Your daughter could play with them, the same way I play with my mom’s Barbies.”

  “Okay. That’s true.”

  I run up the stairs to get the garbage bags from under the kitchen sink, and I hear my mom say, “We should let them get the highlights. I’m sure the ladies at Ambiance will know to keep it on the mild side.”

  “Oh, I’m sure,” Ari’s mom replies.

  My heart flutters around like a butterfly. They’re saying yes! We’re getting the highlights! I don’t know if I should tell Ari or let her be surprised.

  We would have survived if they had said no, but the fact that they’re saying yes symbolizes a huge victory! They’re seeing us as mature and grown-up. They understand that we need to have a new look for middle school.

  We’re accomplishing our goals!

  I grab the garbage bag and run downstairs, all hyped up to organize these toys.

  Ari sees the huge smile on my face. “What’s up?” she asks.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “Kaylan! You’re lying! What is it?”

  I shake my head and put some old Disney figurines into one of the garbage bags.

  “Did you just see Tyler?” Ari asks.

  I’m caught off guard. “Huh? No. Why?”

  “That smile on your face,” she says. “It’s weird. I’ve only noticed it after Tyler has been around.”

  “Not at all,” I reply. She’s noticed that? I don’t even know what that means. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I heard our moms talking when I went to get the garbage bags.”

  “And?” Ari asks.

  It’s mean, but sometimes I like to have her sweat t
hings out a little bit. She’s so calm that it’s good to see her get a little nervous every once in a while.

  “Tell me, Kaylan!”

  “They’re gonna say yes!”

  We dance in place and do a silent cheer for a second. And then I say, “I guess we still need to organize these toys, huh?”

  “Yeah, we should,” Ari says.

  “Okay, let’s find a way to make it fun,” I tell her. “I’ll hold out the trash bags, and you throw stuff in.” I turn up the music on my phone—a playlist I made called Summer Sensations.

  Ari throws in a miniature poodle figurine. “Score!” she shouts when she makes it in.

  “What are you girls doing down here?” my mom asks us, coming down the stairs. “You haven’t played in the basement in forever.”

  We stand with our hands on our hips, letting them see for themselves.

  “You’re organizing the toys?” my mom shrieks. “Really?”

  “Well, you did ask me to do it, like, three weeks ago, and you asked Ryan, too, and he hasn’t touched his side. . . .”

  My mom comes over to me and wraps her arms around my shoulders. “Thank you, Kaylan.” She rubs her eyes, and I realize she’s crying. Whoa. Too much. “Sometimes I feel like no one listens to me around here.”

  Okay, really too much. Way, way, way too much. Especially with Ari and her mom here.

  “Mom, it’s okay. I know I’m the best daughter in the world. We all do.” I laugh a little to break the awkwardness that’s spiraling around in the air. “And I do listen to you.”

  I bulge my eyes at Ari, who looks a little concerned and a little confused.

  My mom sniffles and says, “Okay, well, I’m very impressed with the work that’s being done here. Thanks, Ari, for your help. And we’ve decided that we’ll let you girls get the highlights.”

  “You will?” I pretend to act surprised, and Ari does, too.

  The moms nod.

  “Yay!” We shriek. “Thank you. Thank you so so much!”

  “And the cherry on the sundae,” Ari’s mom adds, “is that we can go this afternoon.”

  “What?” Ari and I grab hands and jump up and down.

  “We called the salon, and they happened to have a cancellation,” Ari’s mom continues.