Robin Talley - What We Left Behind

Gretchen’s mom steps aside, and Audrey and Chris poke their heads into the room. Chris is grinning big, but my sister looks pouty. Audrey just turned sixteen and doesn’t have a driver’s license yet, so Chris must’ve stopped by our house to play chauffeur.

“Hiiii!” Gretchen sweeps forward and grabs them both into a three-way hug. I’m not a hugger, so I stay where I am.

I’m going to miss them, though. My friends. My sister. Even Gretchen’s parents, who have always been really nice to me.

It’s not that I won’t ever see any of them again. They’ll be around when I come back for breaks. Except that coming home for breaks also means seeing my mother again.

My mother, who still calls me Antonia, no matter how many times I say I hate that stupid girlie name.

My mother, who hasn’t allowed me to get a yearbook photo taken since I turned twelve and finally cut my hair supershort, the way I’d always wanted to.

My mother, who’d pretended the whole threatening-to-sue-the-school thing wasn’t happening junior year, except to walk around the house muttering about how no daughter of hers should want to go to school looking like a freak show.

Maybe I should find some excuse to stay on campus for every break over the next four years. After all, it’s not like I need to come back to Maryland to see Gretchen.

Audrey, though... I’d hate to leave my sister in that house alone for good.

“Hey, T.” Chris fist-bumps me. Chris has gotten really muscly over the past couple of soccer and basketball seasons. Whenever we fist-bump now, I’m afraid this is going to be the time Chris forgets to exercise self-restraint and I wind up with a dislocated shoulder. “You ready? Starting tomorrow we’re mortal enemies.”

“I’m so ready,” I say. “When’s the game?”

“Right before Thanksgiving. Remember, we have to hate each other on game day. It’s the rules.”

“Are you guys seriously going to the Harvard-Yale football game?” Audrey asks. “That’s got to be the nerdiest event of all time.”

“Actually I think it’s less about nerdiness and more about drinking cheap alcohol in a field with your buddies,” Chris says.

“Gross,” Audrey says.

“Oh, because you’ve never done that,” Gretchen says. Audrey laughs.

“How are you holding out after yesterday?” I ask Chris.

“Oh, I’m great. We got back together this morning, actually.” Chris grins big. I sigh.

Last night I got an epic series of texts about Chris’s latest breakup with Steven. They were on and off for pretty much our whole senior year. They kept saying they were going to break up for good before the end of the summer—they still believe that old wives’ tale about how you shouldn’t start college in a long-distance relationship—but they could never stay apart for long.

Chris says it’s because their love is pure and true. I say it’s because they’re hormonal teenagers who don’t know how to keep it in their pants. Not that I’m one to talk.

My friends are always fighting with their boyfriends or girlfriends about the littlest things. My friend Renee, who was my date for Homecoming junior year, realized she was bi and got together with this girl named Liz soon after the dance. Then they spent the entire year fighting about what movie to see that weekend, or whose music to plug into the car stereo, or which of the guys on the lacrosse team was the most obnoxious. Then they broke up. Now Renee’s going out with the lacrosse guy they rated third on their list.

Gretchen and I, though—we never fight. We take turns listening to each other’s music. We only like dramas or highbrow comedies that don’t have any Saturday Night Live stars in them. I think all the guys on the lacrosse team are obnoxious, but Gretchen thinks that’s only because I never took the time to get to know them. I think Gretchen only thinks that because Gretchen’s too nice to think anything bad about anyone.

The thing is, who cares what music you listen to on a random Tuesday afternoon? The stuff that really matters runs way deeper than any of that.

And when it comes to the deep stuff—the really deep stuff, the things we can only tell each other, the things no one else could understand—Gretchen and I are golden.

“Well, good luck,” I tell Chris with a shrug.

Audrey pokes me in the side. “Chris, please ignore my sister’s indifferent tone. She’s still learning how to function in our normal human society.”

“Hey.” I flick Audrey on the shoulder. “Don’t call me an abnormal human.”

“I call them like I see them,” Audrey says, flicking me back.

“Whatever. We’ll be fine,” Chris says. “I leave tomorrow and he leaves the day after. I’ll be in Connecticut and he’ll be in California. This is why they invented texting and video chat.”

“I know you two will make it work,” Gretchen says, smiling as big as ever.

“Thank you, Gretchen,” Chris says. I’m not nearly as sure, and I’m about to say so when Chris adds, “I mean, you guys are doing it, right?”

“Well, it’s not like that for us,” I say. “We’ll be in the same city. It’ll be a pain to go across town, but we’ll deal.”

Chris makes a weird face. “You are? I thought—”

“Actually, hang on.” Gretchen bounds over to where I’m sitting on the bed and grabs my hand. “Let’s go talk outside for a sec.”

“What?” There’s something going on that I don’t know about. I hate not knowing things. “Why?”

“Just for a second.” Gretchen pulls me up and through the door. I get a quick glimpse of my sister’s face as we leave the room. Audrey won’t meet my eyes.

I have a really bad feeling about this.

We wave to Gretchen’s mom in the kitchen, go out the front door and walk down to the grassy strip on the corner of the block. Someone tied a plastic swing set to a tree root there with a bike lock years ago. The swings are too small for us, but we climb on anyway, dragging our feet on the ground and leaning back so our hair doesn’t get tangled in the plastic chains.

“What’s going on?” I hate the antsy feeling in my stomach. The idea that Gretchen’s been keeping a secret from me. On our first date, we said we’d always be honest with each other. Since then we’ve always told each other our secrets. I have, at least.

“I was trying to tell you today,” Gretchen says. “Actually, I’ve been trying for a while. It keeps not being the right time.”

“I think it’s the right time now,” I say.

Gretchen’s wide blue eyes are locked on mine. “I’m scared you’ll be upset.”

“I’m upset already. Just tell me.”

Gretchen’s chin quivers. I hate seeing that. I take Gretchen’s hand and that seems to help. Gretchen smiles, a small smile.

“So you know how I applied to a bunch of different schools,” Gretchen says. “Tufts would’ve been my first choice if I’d gotten in.”

“Yeah, I know. Their admissions office is made up of complete idiots. Your application essay was amazing.”

“Thanks.” Gretchen takes a long breath. “My second choice was NYU, but they wait-listed me.”

“NYU?” I shake my head. “No, you only applied to Boston schools. That was our whole plan. We love Boston.”

“You love Boston, sweetie.” Gretchen’s voice is soft. “You love Harvard. It’s always been your dream.”

Oh.

I love Harvard. Gretchen loves New York.

New York was where Gretchen lived before the Daniels family moved down here. They had a brownstone in Brooklyn. It sounds like paradise whenever Gretchen talks about it.

“You got in off the wait list,” I say.

Gretchen nods and rubs my palm gently. I have to struggle not to pull my hand away. “I found out last week.”