She examined it, tapped something quickly on her screen, and then looked up at me.
Buzz. My phone shuddered and I picked it up, gathering that she’d sent me a test message.
On my screen were the words: You’re the best.
I dropped my phone and the screen cracked into six fissures.
“Oh my god, your phone!” Kaia gasped.
I picked it up quickly and assured her it was no problem. The screen still worked. Her text was still there.
And I would happily look at those cracks until the end of time.
I pulled down my Dear Evan Hansen poster and made room for a Save Steve vision board. I darted around my room like a deranged dragonfly as I plotted the biggest fundraiser Ventura had ever seen. Grabbing a pack of blank note cards and a Sharpie, I stared at the empty space in front of me.
Car wash? Bake sale? No! It had to be bigger. Run-a-thon? Dance-a-thon? Too small! This had to be special. Memorable! Impressive! Epic! Or else Kaia would think I was just some mediocre do-gooder.
Kaia.
Our moment by the Wall of Service bulletin board still swam in my head. Mostly the pungent smell of tropical paradise, but also . . . everything. She had let me comfort her. She felt she could trust me. She knew who I was!
You’re the best.
I couldn’t stand still anymore. I jumped up on my bed and giddily bounced. “You’re the best! You’re the best!” I banged my head on the ceiling, forgetting that I wasn’t seven anymore, but it didn’t matter. I continued bouncing (a little more cautiously) and I just kept repeating, “You’re the best.” Then I flopped on my bed, held up my cracked phone, and gazed at her text to make sure it wasn’t accidentally erased.
Kaia: You’re the best.
There it was. I had added her name to her number, making her text even more heart-stopping. She was in my phone! I sat up and let that thought linger. We were going to save Steve. Together. Then I felt a presence and knew exactly who it was.
Michelle.
I looked over at her proudly. “I am going so high, Michelle. Did you see who I’m saving? This isn’t an orphaned child from Syria with cancer we’re talking about. This is Steve fucking Stevenson. I mean, look at this guy!”
I opened Instagram and flipped through his feed. Each photo that came up was more obnoxious than the next. Steve photobombing the science fair. Steve photobombing the Cesar Chavez assembly. Steve photobombing last year’s production of The Crucible.
“I’m not sure it’s as big as you hanging out with Melania during the inauguration, but we are close. We are very close.”
“Look, I know he’s scary and has a terrible reputation, but if you just give him a chance—” The woman pushed her shopping cart past me without stopping. I was in front of the Ralphs on Victoria Avenue with my fellow activists Todd and Patrice. Armed with clipboards, we had a five-minute spiel about the negative impacts of keeping a shark in captivity, if only anyone would stop long enough to listen. Most people rushed by, refusing to make eye contact, but we’d managed to get a few signatures.
Todd clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Good try, kiddo. Now, about saving this Steve kid . . .” I’d been explaining to Todd and Patrice my plan to help Steve. They’d worked together up and down all of California on various causes—they’d gotten a law passed that forced almond growers to use less water and saved a riverbed in Mendocino from a strip mall development. I figured they’d have some pointers. “Noble shit, man. But he sounds like the biggest asshole,” Todd continued.
“But that’s a good thing, right? Helping someone who doesn’t deserve it?” I’d left out anything about spending more time with Kaia, because I didn’t think that was super pertinent. But Patrice suspected something.
“This is a bad idea,” she said.
“What?”
“Didn’t you ever watch The Fault in Our Stars?”
“Is that the doc about corruption in the Pentagon?” Todd asked.
“No. What the fuck rock do you live under? It’s the tragic love story about two teens dying from cancer.”
“Uh, Kaia doesn’t have cancer,” I offered.
“Not my point.” She waved to a passerby. “Excuse me, do you know that a shark is being kept under sickening conditions for the amusement of humans?” The mom with her two toddlers gave us a horrified look, then scurried toward the safety of the grocery store. “Hey! I know your kids love that ‘Baby Shark’ song. How ’bout some love for a real shark?” she called as the double doors snapped closed. She turned back to us. “Okay, how about the movie Love Story?”
“Haven’t seen it,” Todd said.
“Terms of Endearment?”
“No.”
“Uh-uh.”
“A Walk to Remember?” We stared blankly at her. She sighed. “Whatever. There are a thousand of these. My point is, a cancer love story is an unstoppable force. You don’t get in the middle of something like that.”
“I’m not getting in the middle,” I protested.
Patrice leveled her gaze at me. “So that was just your passion for rescuing sea creatures that had you all starry-eyed at our last protest and not cute little Kaia.”
“Uh . . .”
“I’m gonna bring you my copy of Before I Die.”
“Stop. You don’t understand. Steve’s not dying. He has good cancer.”
Both of them raised their eyebrows. “Good? Cancer?” Todd asked.
“Pretty sure that’s not a thing,” Patrice added, crossing her arms.
“No, I know, but it’s not like serious, dying cancer. It has a ninety-four percent recovery rate.” I looked back and forth between them, seeking assurance.
Patrice put her hand on my shoulder. “Look, I stand by it. You don’t mess with a cancer love story.”
Rattled, I got home as the sun was setting, turning the taupe stucco of our town house a vibrant orange. Letting myself inside, I could hear the TV and smell enchiladas.
“You stood by that pussy grabber all those years, and now you’re telling me what to do with my body? Fuck you and your patriarchal bullshit!” My mom was watching the news while she cooked. It was one of her favorite activities. She said it made the food spicier. I tried to sneak upstairs, but the screen door banged behind me. “That you, Cam, honey?”
“Yeah. I just—”
My mom came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Can you believe those manipulative, conniving dipshits?” She wrapped me in a tight hug, then let me go. “They’ll do anything to get what they want. Oh, sure, they pretend it’s for a good, noble reason, but deep down it’s evil.” Hold on. Was this about me helping Steve? Did she sense I had more than one motive? Was this a not-so-coded message? “Don’t ever be like one of those assholes.”
But just as I started to explain, her frown switched to a bright smile. “Dinner’s in half an hour, okay?” Without waiting for an answer, she walked back to the kitchen, already screaming at the TV again.
Okay, maybe that wasn’t about Steve and Kaia after all. Regardless, I stood alone in our entryway with a horrible thought: Was I a manipulative, conniving asshole?
Upstairs in my room, I lay down on my bed and stared at the ceiling. I could feel her eyes on me. Michelle. I rolled over. She stared at me from her picture frame.