Sunny Days Inside Page 4
“Duh,” he said, not even bothering to meet her eye now. “Everything’s closed.”
Strawberries splattered her cheeks. “Right. I forgot. Well … nice talking to you.”
She went back inside where she lay down on the sofa, breathing carefully in case she exploded with happiness.
She’d done it! She’d spoken to him!
•
Juliet’s mom was going to write five hundred words a day. She already had a thousand of them.
She told them about it when they settled together on the sofa to watch a movie, their six feet propped up on the coffee table like three pairs of birds of different species along a telephone line. Black birds, striped birds, polka-dot birds. A big bowl of buttery popcorn sat in the middle lap, Juliet’s. She wasn’t supposed to eat popcorn because of her braces, but was given a pass on Saturday nights, as long as she used the Waterpik before bed.
From the outside, life really hadn’t changed much. But inside Juliet? She was a different species of girl.
“Five hundred words is two pages,” Mom said. “See, I’ve broken it down into an achievable daily goal, which is what you two should do. The average novel is 350 pages. So I’ll get to the end in 175 days. About six months.”
“Are we going to be stuck inside for six months?” Juliet asked, thinking of Reo.
Reo Reo Reo Reo Reo …
“I hope not,” Mom said. “But by the time we get back to normal, I’ll have made a good start. Whatever you two are planning for this time — you don’t have to tell me what it is if you don’t want to — goal-setting helps.”
Pops asked what kind of book it was.
Mom took a big handful of popcorn. “A romance! They sell the best. Everybody needs love in their lives, right?”
“So it’s our story?” he said.
Mom laughed and leaned over Juliet to kiss his cheek, squashing Juliet in the process.
Juliet didn’t say she’d already achieved her goal.
But what about Reo, who had seen his goal crushed? How terrible!
•
The next day, when she noticed Reo slumped on the patio chair, she stepped out on her balcony with a calculator. “I’ve been thinking about you.”
Arms crossed, scowling, he ignored her. Of course he did! Why would he talk to a girl whose face changed color every three sentences? Who had a hardware store in her mouth?
She almost retreated, but then she noticed the cord snaking from his hoodie pocket. It split and disappeared inside the hood.
She leaned right over the railing for a gargantuan two-armed wave. He saw her then and, looking annoyed, pulled his earbuds out.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” she told him.
He stared blankly.
“You have an achievable goal. You just need to work toward it. I measured our balcony. It’s ten feet long, so yours is too. If you run back and forth 264 times, you’ll know how long it takes to run a mile. Then you can calculate how many hours you’d need to run to reach your goal of thirty miles per week.”
“Run back and forth here?” His gesture took in the balcony around him. “For thirty miles?”
“Or you can run back and forth in the apartment, but your family probably wouldn’t like it. Also, whoever lives below you might complain.”
“Sounds really boring.”
“What else do you have to do? I’ll count. When should we start?” Juliet smiled with a closed mouth.
Reo sat in silence for a moment, thinking very handsomely.
Then he stood and began to fold the furniture and move the plants to clear the widest track possible.
He squinted up at her. “I have to change.”
Juliet would cherish her whole life the first time that Reo ran for her. (Or so she thought at the time.) His dizzying shuttle back and forth, bare legs bulging, the hint of the cuddly doll he used to be when his cheeks filled up with air. The way his chest rose and fell, like hers as it swelled with love. She was free, free to adore him as she ticked off each lap on the pad.
Those other girls who hung around when the track team was practicing? They had to pretend they’d just happened to pass by. Juliet was practically his coach!
At one point, Pops reared up like a grizzly in the balcony doorway, but she waved away the distraction so she wouldn’t lose count. If an actual grizzly had appeared, she would probably have done the same.
“Two-hundred and sixty-two,” she called. “Two-hundred and sixty-three. Two-hundred and sixty-four. Stop!”
Reo was peeved when Juliet read out the time. “I can run a mile way faster than that. It’s all that pivoting. Also, you can’t really get your speed up.”
She smiled, forgetting about the elastics and wires. Because it sounded like he was trying to impress her, or at least that he cared what she thought.
His conclusion: running for thirty miles a week at ten-foot intervals was too humiliating. He went inside to stretch and shower.
“Don’t give up so easily!” Juliet called.
When she went back in, Pops was at the table writing something on a pad of paper.
“Sorry,” she told him. “I was busy. Did you want to talk to me?”
“Just going shopping. Anything you want to add to the list?”
Pops was their designated shopper. It was safer if only one person went to the grocery store. Then only one person in the family would risk exposure to the virus. Pops had not given Juliet and her mom any choice about this.
While Juliet read over the list, Pops got ready. He fitted a mask over his nose and mouth. He plucked a pair of medical gloves from the tissue-box receptacle and struggled to get them on his huge hands. Lastly, he donned a face shield that he’d made himself out of a clear plastic folder. It had three holes along one side so that it could be snapped into a three-ring binder. Through two of them he threaded the arms of his glasses.
“There,” he said, words muffled by the mask. “Behold your knight in shining plastic and latex. Anything missing from the list?”
Juliet shook her head and handed it to him. He lumbered toward the door.
“Wait,” she said.
Pops turned around. Juliet went and planted a kiss on his pillowy cheek through the shield, leaving a glistening imprint of her lip balm on the plastic.
“You’re my hero,” she told him.
•
The next morning Juliet easily talked Reo into running, though the fact that he came out on the balcony in his track clothes suggested he might have decided it for himself. Any amount of running was better than none. He would still be going to the track championships in better shape than most of the competition, except the ones who had big yards or lived in the country.
“But they probably don’t have your discipline,” Juliet said. “They’re probably playing video games. My mom’s writing a novel. She says discipline and courage are the most important things.”
Reo nodded. “She’s right.”
Juliet beamed, remembering to cover her mouth with her hand. “How many hours a day do you want to run?”
“Two?”
She gave him the thumbs up.
“Let’s get to it, then,” he said, slapping his bare muscled thighs and standing. He folded up the chair he’d been sitting on. “Timer on?”
“Timer’s on!”
It was like they were partners in a school project. Balcony running had been her idea, after all. She did her schoolwork while he ran and kept her other eye on the clock.
She called out encouragement. “Twenty minutes! Good work!”
“Almost an hour! You’re doing great!”
“Only ten minutes to go! What a star!”
Afterward, he went inside to stretch and shower. He came back with an enormous pile of food, which he ate while listening to his music, his he
ad bowed over the plate, the delicate doll replaced by a ravenous teenager who chewed with his mouth open.
If it had been anyone else, Juliet would have been too disgusted to watch, but she stayed, hoping that when he finished eating, they might talk.
What would they talk about? Juliet wanted to tell him that she was scared. Their building was across from the hospital. Though her and Reo’s apartments were at the back of the building, they heard the ambulances arriving more and more often now, all day and into the night. Pops listened to news updates on the radio, keeping the volume low if she was in the room. To protect her, Juliet knew.
Reo must be scared, too.
He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, got up from the table and carried the empty plate inside.
“See you tomorrow!” Juliet called.
•
Only a few days later her dream came true, the one she’d dreamed that night at Shakespeare in the Park. She heard her name called from beneath her balcony.
“Juliet!”
She let her spoon fall in her bowl and rushed out, careful to keep one hand over her mouth because there would be gross granola bits stuck all over her braces.
“Reo?” She leaned right over the railing toward where he stood, below and across.
“I’m getting out!”
“You mean outside?”
“Yes! You know that kid Louis on the first floor? He’s renting out his dog.”
“And your mom’s letting you?”
“I have to wear a mask, which sucks, because it will affect my time. But whatever, right?”
Juliet felt Reo’s joy just as she had felt his pain. “That’s so wonderful! Can I come?”
“What do you mean? Run with me?” He let out a sharp laugh, like he’d never heard anything so ridiculous.
She didn’t know what she meant. She’d just blurted it out, because they were partners. “I can wait in the lobby. I’ll time you.”
“No, that’s okay,” Reo said, and he went back inside.
Juliet stood there for a moment, no longer swept up in Reo’s joy, and hers for him. She actually didn’t want to leave the safety of the apartment. She was afraid to and, anyway, Pops would never let her.
But the way Reo had fired his no at her felt like a stinging elastic.
It stung the whole day.
That night Mom came into Juliet’s room with a sheaf of paper in her hand and her reading glasses perched on her head. They held back her hair, which needed cutting.
“Could I get some feedback, honey?”
Mom had finished the first chapter of her novel. “I read it to Pops. He says I’ll be getting the Nobel Prize next year. Sweet, but not very helpful. Can I read it to you?”
Juliet closed her own book, which she was having trouble concentrating on anyway. She sat up on the bed to make room for Mom. The two of them settled side by side with their backs against the wall, causing the mattress to roil so that they fell into each other, giggling.
Juliet started to feel better.
Mom lowered her glasses and began to read. “‘All True Dreams.’ That’s just the working title.
“‘Sara glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Did she look okay for her date with Steve? Every blond hair was in place. Her lipstick stayed within the lines. But that furtive glance changed everything. The car in front, a brand-new BMW, stopped suddenly and Sara’s old clunker ran right into it!’”
Juliet began to slide down the wall. Mom read on, not noticing.
What was Juliet supposed to say? It got worse and worse until the chapter ended with the two characters exchanging insurance information and phone numbers, Sara’s heart racing with excitement.
“Isn’t that a great setup?” Mom asked.
“She’s not going to call him, is she?” Juliet said.
“Why not?”
“He yelled at her. She didn’t dent his car on purpose.”
Mom wasn’t offended. “That’s the character arc, honey. Leonardo starts out a jerk, but by the end he’s a changed man.”
“But why’s her heart racing with excitement over a jerk?”
“Good point. I thought it would be less creepy if she made the first move. I guess I have to figure out a better reason for Sara to call. Maybe there’s a problem with her insurance? Maybe it’s lapsed?”
Mom flipped the pages over and asked Juliet to pass her the pencil lying on the side table. She jotted some notes.
“Can she have brown hair?” Juliet asked.
“Sure. Good suggestion. Keep talking. I’m writing everything down. This is so helpful, honey.”
After she noted a few more of Juliet’s suggestions, Mom said, “Romances are supposed to be a bit corny and contrived. They’re not really about love. Love is a completely different thing. Remember when we went to see Romeo and Juliet? Those two didn’t even know each other.”
When Mom mentioned the play, Juliet thought not of Reo, but Pops. Pops the last time he went out for groceries, valiantly suiting up in his protective gear. After he left the apartment, Juliet realized they were out of popcorn and hurried out to the balcony.
“Pops!” she called down just as he came trudging out the back of the building.
He stopped, looked around, then up. When he saw her, he placed a gloved hand over his heart and pretended to stagger.
“Dost I hear fair Juliet?” he shouted.
•
After her conversation with Mom, Juliet searched the play online and discovered it was actually Juliet who had called out to Romeo.
“O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?”
Anyway, Reo was no Romeo. He was just her neighbor.
The next day the school board sent an email. With great regret, they informed parents and students that all upcoming school activities and events had to be canceled. First on the list were elementary and high-school graduation ceremonies. Juliet felt a spasm of disappointment.
Music festivals
Science fairs
Field trips
Track-and-field meets
Later, she heard the sound of somebody crying. She thought it was coming from the playground, until she remembered that the playground was taped off.
She stepped outside.
“Juliet!”
Reo wiped his face on his hoodie sleeve and stood up from his chair. “Did you get the email? They canceled the championships.”
“Yeah. I read that.”
He came over to the railing, craning to see her better. She stepped back inside.
“Everything’s falling apart. It sucks so bad. But maybe I’ll stick to my running goal anyway.”
“You should,” Juliet said from the doorway. “I’m helping my mom with her novel. A goal takes your mind off things.”
“I mean I’ll run here. On the balcony.”
There was a long silence, soon filled with an ambulance siren.
After it stopped, Reo pushed his long hair out of his eyes to see her better. “It really helps my motivation having you here.”
Juliet squirmed. “It’s kind of boring.”
He squinted up at her, handsome as ever, but still …
“I wondered about that,” he said quietly.
She waited to hear what else he had to say.
“I get it. It’s no fun watching other people do stuff, right?” Now he seemed embarrassed. He looked away. “It’s just that I can’t really talk when I run. It affects my time. And talking’s hard for me anyway. But maybe sometime we can? Just talk-talk?”
Below in the playground, a bird landed on the monkey bars and began to sing.
“Okay,” Juliet said. “When?”
“How about now?”
She stepped out on her balcony again. Reo settled back down on his chair.
4
I Like Your Tie
When Conner found out they didn’t have to go back to school after spring break, he couldn’t stop fist pumping. Instead of math and socials and, worst of all, language (f)arts, instead of Mr. Faizabadi with his weirdo ties coming over and tapping his finger on Conner’s desk, Conner was going to surf the couch right into summer watching the hockey playoffs.
Keep it coming, Virus! Maybe Faizabadi would get canned. That would be the icing on the doughnut.
Instead, Conner’s dad got canned when all the restaurants closed.
There was a good side to this, though. His dad used to work really long hours. Conner and his little sister Eden barely saw him except on Sundays and Mondays, his days off. Now Conner and his dad could couch surf the playoffs together. Way to go, Virus! Life was getting better and better.
But then the worst thing Conner could think of happened. Actually, he wouldn’t in a zillion years have thought of this. It was inconceivable, according to that thesaurus exercise in language (f)arts.
Hockey playoffs were canceled.
•
On what was supposed to be the first day back at school, Mr. Faizabadi emailed all the kids with worksheets and links to homework sites. Drop me a line anytime you need to, he wrote. And hang in there! Zoom classes will be starting in a few weeks.
Not canned, obviously.
While Conner was reading the email, Dad shuffled into the kitchen in his robe, feeling around in his pocket for his cigarettes with one hand, rubbing his stubbly head with the other. He still wasn’t out of the habit of sleeping late. Also, Mom said he was depressed about getting laid off. Conner, too, because of hockey. Thanks for nothing, Virus!
Dad headed for the balcony to smoke.
“You’re not playing a video game, are you?” he said in passing.
“What if I am?” Conner answered.
Dad stopped and pointed a finger right at Conner. “No.”
“No what?” Conner said. “I just asked you a question. You asked me one, didn’t you?”
“No attitude, Loudboy.” Loudboy was what Dad called Conner when he was mad at him. “And no sitting in front of the computer all day long.”