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  Our parents waited a long time to have us.

  Some, like Mom and Dad, needed help.

  We get a lot of attention

  because our parents have fewer of us

  than their parents did.

  We were the first generation to wear bike helmets

  and get strapped into car seats.

  We join a lot of groups

  and do a lot of volunteering.

  Our parents expect a lot from us.

  52 days before

  Parker

  Mom makes another of Dad’s favorites for dinner, sweet and sour meatballs, with lemon pie for dessert.

  “Mmmm,” Dad says, though he’s barely made a dent in any of it. “Let’s pack some of these puppies for St. John’s Soup Kitchen. There’s a run tomorrow night at the synagogue.”

  “Not for you,” Mom replies. “There’s an appointment at the cancer center for you tomorrow night.”

  Dad frowns. “So? We can do both.”

  “No, we can’t.”

  He turns to me. “I bet Parker can handle it. What say you, Parker, about taking your old man to the cancer center tomorrow after making a meatball run to the synagogue?”

  “Leave Parker out of this,” Mom snaps. “He’s got enough going on.”

  I glance at Dad, then at Mom, then back at Dad.

  I want to say yes, of course. And I want to say no.

  Besides, Mom’s right. I have two papers, two exams, three meetings, and one quiz.

  I’m in danger of flunking calc, losing my number-one spot to Amber Weinstein, being fat, not being valedictorian, and not getting into Princeton.

  At least my father has a cancer center to go to, a place where people help him get better.

  I wish I had a not-feeling-like-a-big-fat-nothing center to go to.

  51 days before

  Danielle

  Minyan

  paintball

  now the cancer center.

  I

  am

  invisible.

  After dinner, I go up to my room

  and write a postcard to my brother:

  Dear Parker,

  I hate you.

  I love you.

  I hate your perfectness.

  I love your perfectness.

  I hate the way you make me feel.

  I love the way you make me feel.

  For just one minute

  I wish I could feel

  what it would be like to be you.

  I bet it’s

  something.

  Love (and hate),

  Danielle

  50 days before

  Parker

  “So, how’s calc, dude?” Spaz asks on our way to meet Foxy at study hall in the library.

  I shrug. What can I say? I’m not sure if Spaz’s trying to be helpful or harmful.

  “I know what you need,” he says. “A change of scenery.”

  I snort. I don’t see how “a change of scenery” is going to lighten my extracurricular overload, get me an A in calc, cinch my acceptance to Princeton, make Julianne stop being suspicious of me, make Danielle stop being jealous of me, cure Dad, cure me, or solve any of the world’s problems, but it’s hard not to bite when Spaz gets enthusiastic about something.

  “Where to?” I ask.

  “Red Bank,” he answers immediately. “The Hippest City in New Jersey. We’ll triple date. It’ll be awesome.”

  The last time something was supposed to be “awesome,” I ended up with a nailed finger. But that bandage is off now, and like I said, it’s hard not to go along with Spaz. Besides, maybe he’s right. Maybe I could use time away from classes and calc quizzes and Aaron Rosenthal and minyan and Myrna Katz and Associates.

  “The only thing is how do we get there?” Spaz asks as we spot Foxy at one of the round tables in the back.

  “We going on a road trip, dude?” Foxy asks.

  “Roger,” Spaz answers. “I could borrow the minivan.”

  “No way,” Foxy huffs. “We can’t go suburban lame. Let’s rent something.”

  I peer at the row of computers in the middle of the library. “Let’s book something right now.”

  We pull three chairs around one of the free terminals and look up limo-rental companies.

  “Oh, baby,” Foxy says as a picture of a stretch Hummer appears. “Now we’re talking.”

  Spaz smiles from ear to ear. “What do you think, Parker?”

  “I think,” I say, typing away. “It’s ours.”

  49 days before

  Danielle

  I write another postcard to Parker:

  Dear Parker,

  Do you ever wish

  you could start over

  from

  nothing?

  I do.

  I even love the way the word sounds.

  Nothing.

  No shadows

  no boundaries

  no edge.

  Just a

  huge

  unfilled

  empty

  nothing.

  My life is so crowded

  with

  you.

  Everything I touch

  has your fingerprint on it.

  Everywhere I go

  has your footprint on it.

  My life is

  smeared

  with your

  presence.

  I

  long

  for

  nothing.

  Love,

  Danielle

  48 days before

  Parker

  I pull out my copy of my application to Princeton from the bottom of my drawer, and take a look at it.

  It’s all there. My whole life.

  All my accomplishments, successes, honors, activities, memberships, leadership positions held, trophies awarded, A-pluses earned … all reduced to a careful listing shaped by Myrna Katz and Associates.

  I worked my butt off for every word in there.

  Looking at it now, I can’t believe how meaningless it all was … empty, pointless, a big fat nothing.

  47 days before

  Danielle

  Parker’s going on an all-day road trip with his buddies tomorrow.

  They even rented a stretch Hummer.

  He was a little worried about

  what Mom and Dad would say about it,

  but it’s not like they’re ever home anyway,

  waiting up for us, you know?

  They aren’t even going to be around that day.

  They’re going to be at the

  Iris Applebaum Forty-One-Mile Motorcycle Run

  for Juvenile Diabetes.

  Besides,

  Perfect Parker

  can do no wrong.

  Oh.

  I feel mean when I think things like that.

  Parker’s not a bad brother.

  I heard Mom and Dad arguing last night.

  Mom said Dad was trying to pretend

  nothing was wrong.

  Dad said nothing was wrong.

  Mom said, “You have cancer!

  You should be resting,

  not riding around on a motorcycle!

  You can’t pretend nothing’s wrong!”

  Dad said, “Don’t tell me

  what I have,

  what I should do,

  or what I shouldn’t do.”

  That’s when I turned up the volume on the TV.

  Rachel and I are going to watch

  three seasons of Scrubs />
  downstairs in the home-theater room

  and eat raw chocolate-chip-cookie dough.

  It’s not as glamorous as everyone else’s plans

  but it sounds pretty great to me.

  46 days before

  Parker

  The stretch Hummer arrives right on time. That extra wad of money Dad gave me—the bribe—more than covered the cost. And there’s more where that came from.

  Spaz, Foxy, and I pile into the waiting car. It’s huge, and the chauffer’s so discreet I barely notice his presence. The distance between where he’s sitting and where we’re sitting is so large I can hardly make out the back of his head. Foxy pushes a button to activate the screen between us and he disappears entirely.

  We head to Tina’s house to pick up the girls, not talking or even looking at each other during the ride there. I think we’re all feeling unsure about this triple-date change-of-scenery. But when we arrive, the girls are waiting on the driveway, and as they climb in, laughing and talking, the place gets livened up considerably.

  Julianne wraps herself around me, and when I peek at Foxy and Spaz, I see their girlfriends are doing the same thing.

  “It’s funny, isn’t it, that we’re all Jew-non-Jew couples,” Amber observes.

  I guess that’s true. Me and Julianne (Jew and non-Jew), Spaz and Amber (non-Jew and Jew), Tina and Foxy (non-Jew and Jew).

  “We could switch,” Foxy says. “Do a little swinging.”

  Tina punches him in the shoulder.

  “Oww,” Foxy protests.

  “Why’s it so important anyway?” Julianne asks. “It seems kind of silly.”

  “It’s not important to me,” Spaz chimes in.

  “Cause you’re not Jewish,” Amber says. “My parents think it’s really important. They want me to marry a nice Jewish doctor.”

  “They want me to be a nice Jewish doctor,” I say.

  Everyone laughs. Amber turns red.

  “Do they know?” Tina asks.

  “Yeah,” Amber says. “They’re not happy about it.”

  “Mine aren’t so thrilled either,” Foxy says.

  “What about yours, Parker?” Spaz asks.

  My story’s a minefield for all kinds of reasons, but I wonder if Spaz’s testing me again. Isn’t Amber enough? Does he want Julianne too?

  “They don’t know yet,” I say, which is the truth. “At least, I don’t think they do.” Also the truth. “But I think they’d be okay with it.” A half-truth.

  Julianne snuggles against me. I could’ve asked out the hot girl from the Teen Tzedakah Project whose name I still don’t know. I could’ve asked out Amber before Spaz beat me to it.

  I’m not the rebel type. At least, I hadn’t been up to now.

  –––––

  Two hours later, we pull into Red Bank. Roving groups of rich Rumson kids mill around Broad Street in front of Zebu Forno. We get out in front of Starbucks.

  We walk around—stroll past Old Monmouth Candies and stop to look at a display of cashew brittle, peek inside Carlos O’Connor Mexican Restaurant (“Bring Your Own Water”), check out the Dublin House and Broadway Diner. We wait outside on a bench as the girls look inside Coco Pari.

  Foxy stretches. “I feel like majorly pigging out today.”

  “Me, too,” Spaz says.

  I say nothing.

  “You know what the number-one topic is with guys?” Foxy asks.

  It’s not sports or girls; otherwise, he wouldn’t bring it up.

  “Dieting,” he says when neither of us responds.

  I don’t like where this discussion is heading.

  The girls bound out of the store.

  “This is so much fun,” Tina says, folding herself into Foxy’s lap.

  I hold out my arms to Julianne and she nestles into mine.

  “Hey,” Amber says, making a frame with her hands. “We should take a picture.”

  Foxy grins. “Three Hot Geniuses Flanked by Their Adoring Wenches.”

  Amber snorts. “Three Stooges, maybe.”

  A gleam comes into Spaz’s eye. “Which one of us is the best?”

  Amber shakes her head. “Oooh, dangerous territory, male ego and all that.”

  “Come on, woman, we can take it.”

  Amber scrunches up her face and studies us. “Well, Parker’s definitely the hottest, no contest.”

  “Parker?” Spaz sputters. “Who’s the most brilliant?”

  “Parker.”

  “Tough crowd,” Spaz grouses. “Don’t I get anything?”

  “Loudest? Craziest? Most annoying?”

  “Best body?” Spaz persists.

  Amber sighs. “Parker.”

  I jump to my feet, nearly knocking Julianne to the ground, and rush down the street.

  I hear Spaz’s voice. “Hey, Parker, we were just joking around.”

  Amber calls, “Parker? I didn’t mean to … ”

  Why do they have to tease me about my body?

  “What’s wrong, Parker?” Julianne asks, following me.

  “I want to be alone,” I reply.

  Julianne’s eyes tear up. It stops me, but just for a second. I cross the street and keep going. I don’t realize Foxy and Spaz have come after me until they’re both right behind me.

  “Parker, wait,” Spaz says. “I’m not sure what just happened.”

  “Are you okay?” Foxy asks.

  “You shouldn’t say stuff like that,” I mumble, stopping in front of Fameabilia. “Stop bringing it up all the time.” I absently pop two wintergreen breath mints into my mouth.

  Foxy stares, but Spaz asks, “What’s with the breath mints, Parker?”

  I shove the breath mints back into my pocket. “Look, forget it, okay?”

  45 days before

  Danielle

  Parker doesn’t feel like telling me

  anything about Red Bank.

  He’s lying on his bed staring at the ceiling.

  He’s been that way for an hour.

  A part of me wants to help him

  because there’s something obviously

  bothering him.

  Another part of me wants to strangle him

  because he has so much going for him

  but he doesn’t know it. Why?

  So I decide I’m going to tell him

  what I did while he was off

  in his stretch Hummer with

  his harem and big-shot friends.

  “We watched three seasons

  of Scrubs,” I start. “And we each

  ate an entire roll of raw chocolate-chip-

  cookie dough. It was delicious!

  We thought we’d get stomachaches,

  but we were fine. I don’t think there’s raw eggs in there.

  I’ve always wanted to eat a whole roll

  of raw chocolate-chip-cookie dough, you know?

  It was my dream come true.”

  All of a sudden, I see I have

  Parker’s full attention.

  He’s not staring at the ceiling anymore.

  He’s gazing right into my eyes

  with his mouth parted.

  He’s breathing heavily.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “There’s a way,” he says in a low voice.

  “A way to what?” I ask.

  The spell breaks.

  Parker looks away.

  “Nothing,” he says

  and rolls over on his side.

  44 days before

  Parker

  It takes three dozen roses to make a dent in how badly I feel about the way I treated Julianne.
>
  “Oh, hi,” she says with a frown when I show up with them on her door step.

  I reach for her right hand, and she lets me have it, and I slowly kiss each finger.

  “Can I drive you to school tomorrow?” I ask.

  I know this is what couples are supposed to do. If a guy has a car, he’s supposed to drive his girlfriend to school and back every day.

  She gives me a small smile. “Okay,” she says.

  “I’m really sorry, Julianne,” I say, extending the roses to her.

  She bends over them and breathes deeply. “It’s okay.” She leans forward and kisses my cheek. “Want to stay for dinner?”

  I stiffen immediately.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” I say automatically, shoving my hands into my pockets. “I, um, can’t. I have youth group tonight.”

  “Oh,” she says.

  “Can I see you afterward?” I ask, even though I have homework and a test and a paper. None of it matters without Julianne.

  She hesitates.

  “Please,” I say.

  I would add, if I could say it out loud:

  You’re the only thing keeping me alive.

  “Okay,” she says.

  43 days before

  Danielle

  Parker takes us to Starbucks

  after Teen Tzedakah Project

  and it’s great to walk in there

  with him, Foxy, Amber,

  and all the other cool seniors,

  and have everyone notice us.

  Parker asks me what I want,

  and orders my vanilla latte and orange cupcake,

  and waits around by the oval serving table,

  where the barista yells out your order when it’s ready,

  and then Parker brings them right over to me.

  He sits down between me and Rachel

  and Rachel’s face is so reddened

  she looks like a cherry tomato.

  She keeps touching him on the wrist.

  I know she’s totally freaked

  by being this close to him

  and I know he’s being nice to her,

  laughing at her jokes, answering her questions,

  because she’s my friend

  and, at that moment, it doesn’t matter