Tangled by Carolyn Mackler

said.
    “Good school,” Bill said.
    “But not the best,” Pauline added.
    “Of course not. If you’re going for the best state,” Bill said, “it’s got to be Cornell’s ag school.”
    After dinner, Bill served us leftover birthday cake. As Pauline licked her final dab of frosting, she said, “You didn’t call me yesterday.”
    “I had other things going on,” I said. And then, for some reason, I added, “It was my girlfriend’s birthday.”
    Pauline set down her fork. “You have a new girlfriend already? I thought your girlfriend died.”
    “No,” I said quietly. “It was the dead one’s birthday.”
    Pauline and Bill looked at each other and then, without another word, cleared their plates, piled them into the sink, and retreated to the TV room.

eight
    Talk about exile. Knolls Landing was so far off the grid I didn’t even get cell phone reception. Not that I wanted to spill my soul to anyone, but it might have been nice to text a few guys, see if we won against Spencerport. I had my computer with me, but I couldn’t look up the game because they didn’t have Internet access here. Fucking Dark Ages.
    I actually needed to get online because I was supposed to email my homework assignments to a few teachers who don’t understand that the sole perk of suspension is the break from school. I barely cared about grades at this point, but the last thing I wanted was for an F to wreck my chances of going to Fredonia. I told my grandparents about the homework and suggested maybe I could borrow their car and driveinto town, find someplace that has wireless.
    “No way,” Pauline said. “Not after the trouble you got into back home.”
    That’s when Bill dug this ancient fax machine out of a downstairs closet. “Fax it in,” he said in his typical monotone.
    “Do you have a printer here?” I asked.
    Bill shook his head.
    “But I’d have to print out my homework to fax it in,” I said.
    “Guess you’ll be handwriting your assignments,” Pauline said, clucking her tongue.
    I made a face.
    “Your generation,” Pauline said as she retrieved two yellow slickers from the hall closet, “is way too dependent on technology. It’s frightening, really.”
    I wanted to tell her that she was the frightening one here, but before I could respond she was already out the door.
    This was Wednesday. It had been raining since Saturday night. A cold, driving rain with no end in sight. At first, it hadn’t mattered that the weather was shitty because my knee was still wrecked from the fight with Timon and my biceps were still pulled from lifting too much. After a few days, though, I felt much better. Butthe rain was coming down so hard I could barely step outside without getting soaked.
    My grandparents, however, couldn’t be stopped. Every morning at nine fifteen, Pauline and Bill donned identical raincoats, boots, and waterproof hats and embarked on a power walk. Their whole joined-at-the-hip thing was freaky. They spooned up their bran cereal together, read the newspaper, went on their walk, ate their lunch, took their nap, watched their shows—and never once invited me to join them. The only thing we all did was dinner, and even then they mainly talked to each other. It’s not like I’m the guest of honor at my dad’s house, but it was strange to feel so unwelcome. My mom was their only child, growing up in nearby Syracuse. I had to wonder if she felt this way too.
    The days were long in Knolls Landing. I watched whatever I could find on their four staticky channels. I wrote out my homework until my fingers were indented, and then faxed it into school. For the rest of the time, I lay on the bed listening to music. That’s when my stomach burned the worst.
    Mostly, as I lay there, I wondered about Natalie and Jake, about that poem Timon had begun reciting when I slugged him. I could only remember one part,something about “feeling the flowers,” whatever that means. Part of me wanted to know the rest. I