Katie Li
SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN
BY Katie Li
Kung Fu Girl Books P.O. Box 301373 Boston, MA 02130 www.kungfugirlbooks.com
TUESDAY IS ALWAYS THE WORST day. Worse than Monday. You know Monday will be bad. From the mo- ment the dismissal bell rings on Friday afternoon, each hour is one less hour of freedom, one hour closer to that moment when you open your eyes on Monday morning and wish you’d never woken up.”
“And you think Tuesday is worse than that?” Rom asked, keeping pace with Magnolia as she trudged through the park in her combat boots.
“Yes,” she said. “Because you expect Monday to suck. But Tuesday? There’s nothing special about Tuesday, not even the distinction of being the worst. It’s the most excruciatingly normal day of the week.”
“So, Friday is the best day.” “No, Thursday is the best day.” Over the past few weeks since they’d started walking home together, Rom had begun to un- derstand her ticks and rhythms. At least he thought he did. And then she would say some- thing unexpected and he would have to con- struct his idea of her all over again.
“Why is Thursday the best day?” “Because Thursday you have the anticipa- tion of Friday—so many things could happen,the possibilities are endless on Thursday. But when Friday comes you have to actually start living them out and they’re never as good as you were hoping.”
She sounded sad, and he thought it might have something to do with Zane, who they didn’t usually talk about. Rom could tell it wasn’t a coincidence that she started hanging out with him after Zane stopped hanging out with her.
“And when Friday comes you have to start the countdown to Monday,” she added.
“So, the anticipation that makes Thursday the best is the same anticipation that makes Monday—or Tuesday—the worst.”
She looked up at him, not smiling, but bright-eyed and pleased. “Yeah—I hadn’t thought of it that way. But that’s exactly it.”
Rom wanted to ask her then, Maybe we could do something fun on Friday? The words were formed in his mouth, but his heart was beating so hard he was afraid he’d mess it up. She had only just started talking to him, even though they had been in the same homeroom since she arrived as a transfer student last year. She’d maintained an even, penetrating gaze as she stood by the blackboard when their teacher introduced her to the class. She’d worn the standard gray uniform like everyone else. But her hair, which had an uneven texture—a mix of tight and loose curls—was dyed in varying shades of pink and purple and red. He had been too intimidated to approach her, and even now was careful as he phrased things, not wanting to sound lame. After learning her sentiments about Fridays, he figured that he would only disappoint her.
His question remained unspoken and dis- solved with a couple exhales.
She wasn’t the only punk at school, but there was something about Magnolia that made her special. It was the way her shoulder blades protruded through her shirt, like bud- ding wings, the small gauges in her ears that caught a tiny bit of sunlight. He studied her hair when he should have been paying attention to the lecture or the classwork, and would contemplate what it reminded him of.
Her hair, he decided, was like a sunset. Except now it was dyed blue.
It was the start of their junior year, and already their teachers and parents were bearing down on them with questions about college. Every day they returned home and there was suddenly a pile of glossy postcards and brochures from universities that all looked the same. The same official-looking emblems, the same stock photos of kids leaning over bunsen burners or playing the cello or groups of smiling “friends” looking wholesome and happy to be in college and learning stuff.
They used to not get any mail at all. “What schools are you going to apply to?” their classmates asked. “What are you going to major in?”
Magnolia didn’t know how everyone al- ready had their answers. She knew she was smart, and had always wanted to go to col- lege, but she never knew what she wanted to be when she grew up. She thought that was something people just figured out as they went along. Except she had been going along, and nothing was figured out.
Talking to Zane seemed like an obvious path to a solution. But he’d told her he was too busy to make time for her anymore.
She didn’t want to talk about Zane, the same way she didn’t want to think about going to college.
Magnolia and Rom found plenty of other things to talk about during their long walks home from school—utopia, the nature of time, lucid dreaming, or the best texture of chocolate chip cookies. He preferred them more wa- fer-like and crisp, while she liked them dense and chewy.
Their banter came easy, but they didn’t spend time together past their walks. They didn’t meet up on the weekends, or hang out during school. She was too busy teaching her- self things that were more interesting than whatever lessons their teachers had prepared, and he was too busy just trying to keep his grades up. All they had were their walks through the park, under shadows that were disappearing as the autumn leaves continued to fall.
Maybe because it was the last warm day, they walked a little slower. They found reasons to pause—to fix an undone shoelace or exam- ine bark on a tree—or they would stop entirely for dramatic effect as they waxed poetic. They both knew that, once winter arrived, their af- ternoon walks would come to an end.
And that’s when they found the in-between place.
They stood at the train station where they usually said good-bye. Evening commuters spilled into the street and dispersed—some up the hill to the fancy old mansions, others across the footbridge to the low-rise apartment buildings and run-down houses. Magnolia and Rom would have to leave each other for their own separate worlds.
“Hey—” She looked at something over his shoulder. “Have you ever noticed that gate before?”
Past the station was an iron gate, slightly open. Magnolia had passed through this sta- tion for years, but this was the first time she’d seen the gate.
Something about it, the way it was left ajar, was like an invitation.