The In-Between Read online

  Dedication

  To my parents, Carol and Roger, whose love of books and reading never faltered, even when mine did

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Books by Rebecca K. S. Ansari

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  1

  The girl was staring at him again.

  Like she had every day since moving into the house across the alley three months ago, the slight, pale girl sat perched on her new tree swing, swaying gently, her eyes prying into Cooper’s life. It was normally annoying, bordering on creepy even, but today, her presence only served to enrage him further as he exploded out of his back door, the sickening news his mother had shared ricocheting around in his skull. Seeing the girl there, Cooper bellowed, “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

  He already knew she wouldn’t answer. She never did. Her expression didn’t change one bit. She simply looked up and down the alley, as if checking to make sure they were alone, before settling her eyes on him again.

  Cooper kicked a dog-chewed tennis ball that had somehow ended up in his driveway, sending it like a missile against the garage door. It almost hit him on the rebound, and he had to awkwardly dodge it. He flushed furiously, both with embarrassment and at the thought of what the girl was about to witness.

  A stiff Chicago October wind tore a wave of yellowed leaves from their branches, raining them down on him as he pulled his father’s pocket watch from his jeans. For a fraction of a second, he hesitated. Oh, how Cooper loved this watch. He used to sneak it from his father’s bedside table and bring it back to his room, where he would press the gold plunger at the top to open the cover and feel the soft click of the latch as he shut it, over and over, the sensation simple, satisfying, and comforting. Cooper had always imagined its original owner, his great-great-grandfather, doing the same, checking the time on his way to the bank, or the train, or wherever people went back then. “You are the next in a long line of Stewart men to have this,” his father had said with pride when he’d finally gifted it to Cooper. Cooper hadn’t known yet that being a Stewart man was nothing to be proud of.

  How stupid he’d been. It was a dumb watch. Just another thing his father had ruined.

  He opened the cover for the last time. The chain coiled on the cement beneath it as he set the watch on the ground with a gentle care that came by habit—rather ironic now. In the back corner of the garage, Cooper grabbed a cobweb-covered baseball bat from its home amid the collection of neglected sporting gear. The bat had been another gift from his father, and Cooper had told his mom months ago that she could throw it away. Now he was glad she hadn’t listened to him.

  Back when his parents were still married, Cooper hadn’t known which was worse: the many times his dad was too busy working to show up to his games with all the other parents, or the times his dad did manage to make it, shouting endless, useless bits of advice from the stands every time Cooper came to the plate. Choke up on the bat! Step into it! See yourself making contact!

  Finally he could put those words to good use.

  Cooper walked back out to the driveway and smiled grimly as he placed his feet the way his dad had shown him. He tapped the tip of the bat to the shiny glass face of the watch, his other hand up in the air, signaling to an imaginary umpire for time as he stepped into position. He glanced quickly across the alley to make sure the girl had a good view as he wrapped both hands around the grip and raised the bat over his head. With a wail, he brought it down.

  One hit would have been plenty. But Cooper struck the mangled pieces over and over again, each hit punctuated with a cry. Springs, gears, and shards of glass shot in all directions. He felt a small cut across his ankle from a flying bit of metal, but he didn’t stop even when nothing remained at the spot he continued to pound. The clang of aluminum on cement rang across the neighborhood like a church bell.

  Only when the jarring in his hands and shoulders screamed for him to stop did he let the bat clatter to the ground. Then quite unexpectedly Cooper crumpled down beside it. In an instant, his proud fury turned to humiliation, as he was powerless to stop the pathetic display of tears that overcame him. And with them came the same question he’d been asking for three years:

  Why, Dad?

  How could the same person who used to chase him and his sister around the house to blow raspberries on their stomachs shed his whole family, like he was a hermit crab ditching an old shell? How could he slip into a new life just as easily, with a new wife and a new kid, as if Cooper, Jess, and their mom were just some bad dream he had? Was his father chasing that kid around right now, celebrating the fact that there was about to be a new baby brother or sister in the house? Cooper was sure the scene was happier there than it had been in his kitchen a minute ago, when his mother had shared that same news with him and Jess. But at least Mom had told them this time.

  Just you wait, Cooper thought grimly to his unborn half-sibling. Someday he’ll ditch you too. He covered his face to hide a fresh wave of sobs in case the girl across the alley was still watching. He tried to swallow them down, choke them back, gagging from the effort.

  Then came the second question he’d been asking himself for almost as long: Why do I still care? He’d sworn he would never let his dad hurt him again; his father didn’t deserve any feelings from Cooper. None.

  And yet.

  Cooper’s tears dried over the next many minutes, and he lifted his head to see watch debris scattered around him. A gust of wind blew another flurry of leaves down the alley, dragging their brittle edges against the cracked asphalt. A black bird flew overhead, cawing loudly. Cooper watched it sail past and wiped at his cheeks before slowly rising and brushing off the back of his pants.

  All of that, and he felt no better.

  He looked across the alley, to see if his violent outburst had satisfied the girl’s seemingly unending interest in him. If it had, it didn’t show. She just continued to swing, lightly and calmly, her eyes never unlocking from him as the rope creaked against the bark of the large bough. The prim private-school uniform she always wore—a navy-blue skirt and blazer with gold-stitched crest—remained unruffled.

  “What’d you think?” Cooper asked loudly against the wind. “Did you enjoy the show? Don’t forget to tip your server.”

  She said nothing.

  The irony of it was not lost on Cooper. He hadn’t known anyone could be less interested in making friends than he was.

  He looked beyond her, to her house, newly restored, clean, and expensive, the nicest house on the block. He’d never seen the sibling who lived in the second of two upstairs bedrooms with the windows that faced his house; Cooper assumed it was a sister who was much messier than this girl. He’d never seen the girl’s parents either, who he assumed left early
for work and came home late from their clearly well-paying jobs.

  They had transformed the previously abandoned house into a gorgeous home in a flash, it seemed, like on one of those reality TV shows; Cooper, Jess, and their mother had gone on a summer trip to their grandparents, and when they had returned, the makeover was complete. Butter-yellow paint had replaced the previous chipped brown siding, and new windows sparkled where dusty broken panes had previously let in the rain and wind. The yard was flush with thick grass and potted plants instead of the previous dirt and trash, and down the path from the rebuilt wraparound porch was—no joke—an actual white picket fence.

  When Cooper’s family had arrived home from that trip, he had marveled at how amazing the house looked, but then the look in his mother’s eyes made him immediately regret saying anything. Their own house desperately needed new paint and windows, two of the many things his parents had said they were going to renovate when they bought a cheap house in a neighborhood that was supposed to be on the rise. They had managed a new roof and heating system over the years, but then his father had left—moving with his new wife to a pristine suburb that didn’t need to rise. It was already at the top.

  His mom’s only response was a sigh and, “Okay, Cooper . . .”

  As for their neighborhood, it never did end up rising. And after that day a few months ago, Cooper never mentioned the house across the alley to his mother again, even though everything about the house seemed perfect.

  Everything, that is, except the quiet girl with the cheerless stare.

  Slowly, with eyes that burned from the cutting wind, Cooper backed away. That was when the girl nodded once at him, almost imperceptibly, like granting him leave. It sent a chill down his spine. He turned and quickly climbed the cement steps to his back door. As he turned the knob, he took one last glance back.

  He blinked to make sure he was seeing clearly, and his breath caught in his throat. Cooper had only looked away for an instant, but now, across the alley, all he saw was a gently swaying empty swing. The girl was gone.

  2

  “Dinner’s ready,” Cooper’s mother said as he entered the kitchen.

  “Can you grab the milk?” Jess asked quietly.

  Cooper just blinked at them both. Dinner prep? Milk? That’s all they were concerned with after the news Mom had delivered? And there was no way they hadn’t heard Cooper’s destruction out on the driveway. Yet Jess hadn’t moved from her spot at the kitchen table where she’d been working on her math homework, and Mom was busying herself at the stove, silent.

  Cooper opened the refrigerator door and stood blinking at the cold white space for almost a full minute, his mind so fuzzy and full that he had already forgotten why he was there.

  “The milk?” Jess said again.

  “Right,” Cooper mumbled. The yellow cap of the plastic jug, screwed on poorly after breakfast that morning, flew through the air as he plopped the half-full gallon onto the table.

  “Cooper!” Jess flinched, glaring at him.

  “Oh, that upsets you?”

  “Please, put it down more gently next time,” his mother said, taking a seat. “There’s no need to slam it.”

  “Yeah,” Jess said.

  “I didn’t slam it. I just . . .” Cooper slid into his space at the table and shut his mouth as his mom dropped his plate in front of him.

  Eggs again.

  Cooper had nothing against eggs. In fact, he used to love them. But even an egg fanatic would tire of how often they were served in the Stewart home. Boiled, scrambled, fried; breakfast, lunch, dinner. This was life with a diabetic sister and an overworked vegetarian mother. “Protein is key,” the diabetes doctors had told them when Jess was diagnosed four years before. Jess, who had previously lived on mac and cheese and Fruity Pebbles, had to adjust to a slew of new dietary rules.

  They’d all learned a lot since then. Jess had learned that her body could no longer turn food into energy without multiple daily shots of a hormone called insulin. In order to see how much insulin she needed, she also had to prick her finger before every single shot to test how much sugar was in her blood. On a bad day, it would add up to more than twenty needle pokes.

  Cooper had learned that jabbing his then-six-year-old sister led to lots of fights and tears. Diabetes refused to take a day off, no matter how hard Jess begged. The pop-click of Mom piercing Jess’s fingertip with a lancet—a little needle that shot out from its plastic casing—became as familiar a sound to Cooper as his mother’s voice.

  Mom, meanwhile, had learned a dozen new ways to make eggs and soothe Jess’s tears. And their dad had learned a hundred new ways to vanish. He played with them less, helped them with their homework even less, and started working late, going out with buddies, or staring silently at the TV for hours on end.

  “When will you be home tonight?” Jess asked their mother now, through a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

  “Same as every Monday, honey.”

  “So, what time?”

  “Ten o’clock,” Cooper said. “Her pottery class starts at seven thirty and ends at nine thirty. Just like last week. And the week before that. And the week before that. And the week—”

  “But do you have to teach tonight?” Jess said, ignoring him. “You’re always gone.”

  “I’m not always gone. It’s only three nights a week.”

  “I don’t get why you have to teach at all. You already work all day.”

  Their mom put her fork down and rubbed her face with both hands. Cooper glared at his sister; the only thing that kept him from yelling, “Stop being so stupid!” was knowing it would only make Mom more upset. Officially, he didn’t know that his father was sending the smallest amount of money possible within the rules of the divorce; he didn’t know his mother was struggling to pay for their house and groceries, or that she had no choice but to pick up a second job teaching classes at the arts center in addition to her day job as a massage therapist.

  He didn’t know a lot of things, officially, but the wall between Cooper’s and his mother’s bedroom was much thinner than she realized. After listening to enough of his parents’ late-night phone calls, Cooper didn’t know which was worse: silence or screaming. Cooper got one from his father; his mother got the other.

  His mom laced her fingers under her chin and lifted the corners of her mouth in something that resembled a smile. “So! Cooper, how was school today?”

  “Fine.”

  “Did you turn in those late assignments?”

  “Yup,” he lied.

  “What else did you do?”

  “You know. Classes and stuff.”

  She let out a loud breath. “And how’s Zack?”

  “Fine.”

  “And Remi?”

  “Good.”

  “They haven’t been over in a while.”

  Cooper shrugged. “They’re busy.”

  His mom waited for more, but there was really nothing else to say. They were fine. At least, as far as Cooper could tell from his silent seat at the lunch table. He’d probably know more if he went to the movies or the sleepovers his friends invited him to, though it had been so long since Cooper had accepted that they barely even asked anymore. Only Zack, Cooper’s was-best-friend, still tried to talk to him every day, but that was probably only because he lived across the street.

  If the sole person you spend time with is yourself, no one can disappoint you.

  With a sigh, his mother chose to move on. “And how about you, Jess?”

  “We did the coolest thing in science today!”

  Cooper closed his eyes in relief as Jess went on and on about her classes, her teachers, her plans for her and her friends’ group Halloween costume. At least her blathering meant he didn’t have to say a word as she recounted who said what about who, who liked who, who wasn’t speaking to who, and who was upset about what. Cooper was consistently amazed that she could spend this much energy caring about such unimportant things. It was shocking her blood sugar
didn’t drop from the effort.

  He finished, cleared his plate, and grabbed his backpack. “I’m going to do some homework, Mom. Can you let me know when you leave?”

  His mother looked at the oven clock and said, “Oh no, I should have left already! Can you clear my dishes?”

  He put his bag back down. “Sure.”

  As she hurried over to where her jacket hung, she nearly tripped over a large mesh cylinder sitting in the corner of the room. “Jess, can I get rid of that yet?”

  “No! She’s going to hatch. She just needs more time.”

  “Your cocoon’s dead,” Cooper said.

  “It is not,” Jess snapped. “And it’s a chrysalis, not a cocoon!”

  The booklet that had come with Jess’s Giant Butterfly Garden had promised three to five monarchs in two weeks, but only one of Jess’s caterpillars had even managed to make a chrysalis, and that one had been dangling there for almost two months.

  “Fine. Your chrysalis is dead. You should email them and get your money back.”

  “She is not dead!”

  “Totally dead.”

  “Mom!”

  Cooper’s mother gave him a look while she pulled her jacket on before turning to Jess with a gentle tilt of the head. “Honey, your brother might be right. Maybe it got too cold or something.”

  “She just needs more time,” Jess repeated with her nose in the air and a firm nod.

  Cooper rolled his eyes. His mom kissed Jess’s cheek, then almost hit Cooper in the face with her messenger bag as she threw the cross-body strap over her head.

  “Will you come kiss me when you get home?” Jess said.

  “Of course I will, sweetie,” Mom said. “Cooper, can you text me her blood sugar at bedtime?”

  “Yeah.” Like always. When exactly, he wondered, would Jess be able to check her own blood sugar? He had started helping with her diabetes when he was ten, so why couldn’t Jess do it now that she was? Oh, right, if Jess learned to manage her diabetes herself, she’d lose all the attention. Cooper was quite certain she didn’t want that.

  He looked up at his mother, and knew, at that moment, if he leaned forward even so much as a millimeter, his mom would envelop him in a hug. And yet, despite feeling a tug in his chest as surely as a rope tied to his heart, he leaned away instead.