Forward Me Back to You Read online

  The door is open. His friends are sitting in their usual circle of two squashy floral sofas, two armchairs, and one loveseat. Standing at the threshold of this room where he’s spent so many Thursday evenings, Robin takes stock of the scene with outsider eyes.

  Pudgy, balding PG, their youth pastor, is arguing about an Oscar-winning film with redheaded, gangly Martin. Tattooed, purple-haired Ash is strumming on her guitar. The tune’s in a minor key; it sounds sad.

  Brian’s feet are splayed across the spot where Robin usually sits. White T-shirt. Jeans. Six foot three. As usual, immersed in his phone.

  And then there’s dark-haired, doll-like Gracie. Robin feels himself relax at the sight of her kind face.

  Nefertiti clears her throat. To remind him that she’s there, maybe?

  “Hey, guys,” Robin says feebly. “We have a visitor. This is Ms. Vee’s … granddaughter.”

  The conversation inside stops like someone presses a mute button. PG, though, doesn’t look surprised. He stands up with his signature kind smile. “Welcome, welcome,” he says, striding over and reaching out a hand.

  Nefertiti doesn’t take it. The hand plummets after an awkward pause in midair.

  “Er … I’m Pastor Greg. Everybody calls me PG, though. Ms. Vee told me you might be coming. You’re from California, right?”

  “The Bay Area.”

  Gracie jumps up. “My abuelita lives in San Diego. I’ve never been to San Francisco, though. Do they speak a lot of Spanish there?”

  “Maybe,” answers Nefertiti. “But I don’t.”

  “Well, welcome anyway! I’m Graciela Maria Rivera, but everyone calls me Gracie.” She skips past Robin and throws her arms around their visitor.

  Robin braces himself for his best friend to be flung aside like a tissue, but it doesn’t happen. Nefertiti keeps her arms crossed but allows herself to be hugged.

  Eventually, Gracie lets go. Even a master embracer knows you can’t sustain a one-way hug for long. “What’s your name?” she asks.

  “Kat.”

  Robin can’t believe the coincidence. Who’s writing this script, anyway?

  “Oh, Robin,” Gracie says, turning to him with arms open. “I was so happy to see Kat that I forgot to welcome you!”

  She gives Robin the same hug she gave him during her first visit to small group. Gracie was in sixth grade; Robin in seventh. He was startled by her affection that day, but now it feels totally normal. He pulls her close and leans his cheek on her hair. Hugging Gracie is one of the only times his body feels big; she’s barely five feet tall to his five foot seven.

  Meanwhile, Kat’s turned to face them, her eyes wide. “You’re Robin?” she asks, once he’s let go of Gracie.

  “Yep,” he says.

  As Gracie heads back to the loveseat, Martin waggles his fingers at Kat from his armchair. “I’m Martin. Can you sing like your grandmother? She holds the high notes like a diva.”

  “Don’t sing,” answers Kat.

  Another silence. Robin stays beside Kat, even though she’s still outside the door. She hasn’t made up her mind about us yet, he thinks.

  And then Brian flashes one of his social media smiles. “How ya doin’? That’s the way we say hello in Boston, in case you hadn’t figured it out yet. I’m Brian Cleery.”

  Robin watches Kat closely. When Brian turns on the charm, some girls respond by sucking in a stomach, planting a fist on a hip, fingering hair, lowering eyelids and raising them again. But Kat’s body language doesn’t change. She isn’t even looking Brian’s way.

  “Won’t you come in and sit down, Kat?” PG pats the space beside him on his sofa, which usually stays empty.

  With another flash of insight, Robin knows that not a single cell in Nefertiti’s body wants to accept the invitation. Come in, he urges the girl with the dimple. The one hiding behind the scowl. You’re safe here.

  As if she can read his mind, Kat draws a deep breath. Uncrosses her arms. Slowly, one heel at a time, her boots carry her across the threshold and into the room.

  KAT

  Youth group turns out to have three people Kat classifies as avian, two as feline, and one, most definitely, as canine.

  The hugging girl is a Paloma. Kat actually does know a couple of words in Spanish. Mostly animal ones. She has to, for her job, to point people in the right direction for exhibits. Anyway, this girl’s arms feel like dove feathers encircling her. It’s been a while since Kat’s been hugged by a stranger her age.

  Their leader’s a Goose. Not much of a fighter when it comes to canines, but won’t do any harm himself. PG, they call him. Guess Kat can, too.

  The guitar-strumming girl’s a Cheetah. Kat gets her, feline to feline. The redhead’s a Tabby, Kat’s favorite kind of house cat. If their landlord let her have a pet, that’s exactly what she’d get.

  And then there’s the German Shepherd. The Brits call them Alsatians. Domesticated but still dominated by wolflike tendencies. Kat spots the alpha in his eyes the moment he lays them on her.

  Last, Grandma Vee’s friend. Kat was surprised when Robin turned out to be a guy, but he’s an avian, of course. Bird Boy. What else could he be with a name like “Robin”? And Kat can’t help seeing that Grandma Vee was right; there’s something sort of … wistful about this kid.

  I want you to meet my friend Robin, she’d said.

  It’s Grandma Vee’s request that makes Kat stay.

  Ignoring PG’s pat, she makes her way to the other sofa. Cheetah puts down her guitar and shifts to make room, and Kat takes a seat.

  ROBIN

  Robin waits by the sofa until Brian swings his size twelves to the floor. Then he sits down in his usual place.

  “Phone stack,” PG says.

  Robin’s the first to obey. It’s another conditioned habit, one that always kicks off small group. Everyone turns off their phones and piles them on the coffee table. Even Brian. Last comes Kat’s.

  PG clears his throat. “Why don’t you each give Kat a quick rundown on your basics—grade in school, families, hobbies?”

  “I’ll start,” says Gracie. “I’m a junior at Saint Perpetua’s Catholic School for Girls. Two parents, four younger sisters, another Baby Rivera on the way. Hobbies? Babies. That’s all I’ve got so far for college apps. ‘Describe a contribution you’ve made to the planet.’” She sighs. “My essay’s going to be about diapers and burping.”

  Ash is picking at the newest tattoo on her arm—a haiku in Japanese characters, which doesn’t seem to be healing well. “I’m Ash,” she grunts, catching PG’s expression. “Also a junior at Saint Perpetua’s. Not Catholic, though.”

  “Hobbies?” PG prompts.

  “Songwriting, guitar, body ink.”

  PG nods at Martin. “Your turn.”

  “My younger brother and Mom are here in Boston, but Dad’s in New York,” Martin says. “Choral music, theater, young-adult novels. I’m graduating this year, thank God, and trying to convince the housing guy at Brown that my cat is a necessary academic accommodation. Can’t imagine succeeding at college without Mr. Boots.”

  “I’ll vouch for your need,” PG says. He nods at Robin. “Your turn.”

  “Robin Thornton. Senior at Metrowest High. Two parents, no siblings.” He doesn’t mention the adoption. She’ll figure it out when she sees his parents at church.

  “Interests?” PG asks.

  None, Robin thinks. “Cars. Movies.”

  “Robin’s seen every superhero movie ever made,” Gracie adds. She sounds proud, as if film-watching is an actual accomplishment.

  Kat lifts her eyebrows. “Superman IV: The Quest for Peace?”

  Wow. Nobody knows that one. Robin nods. “Three times.”

  “Howard the Duck?” she asks.

  Stop. No way. He sits up. “Once. You?”

  “Twice.”

  “Which one?” he asks. “Chip Zien or Seth Green?” Both actors voiced the character. This is the real test; Zien’s the right answer.

&
nbsp; She doesn’t hesitate. “Zien all the way.”

  “Okay, enough movie trivia for now,” interrupts PG. “Brian, your turn.”

  Brian’s vanilla teeth show up again in his chiseled face. “Already told you my name. It’s Brian, in case you forgot. I’m an only child. Live with my mom and her husband. I play football and hockey at Metrowest High. Heading to Texas this summer to start playing for Baylor. Hobbies?” He ruffles Robin’s hair before Robin can yank his head out of reach. “Mostly I keep an eye on Little Guy.”

  That stupid nickname again. And the gesture, which he’s endured dozens of times. Robin is sick of them both. He glances at Kat. Has she noticed Brian turning him into a sidekick? Well, she’s sneering. And those eyes! They rake across Brian so quickly they erase him. Poof, it’s like he disappears and Robin’s alone on the sofa. He’s never seen anyone make Brian vanish like that.

  “It’s good to have you with us, Kat,” PG says. “What about your family? School? Any hobbies or interests you want to share?”

  She shrugs. “I’m a junior. I’ll be studying with Ms. Jones for the rest of this semester, and heading home to Oakland in June. Hobbies? Taxonomy. Brazilian jiu-jitsu. Family? My mother.”

  There’s a finality to the way she says mother, as though it’s all anyone needs. To Robin, the word lands with a thud.

  “What’s taxonomy?” Ash asks.

  “What’s jiu-jitsu?” Gracie asks at the same time.

  “Taxonomy is the classification of organisms,” Martin recites. He’s deep into studying for his AP biology exam. “Domain, kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, species. Right, Kat?”

  “Right,” Kat says. “I have a part-time job at the zoo, so that’s where I learned to classify. And Brazilian jiu-jitsu is a martial art. I just got my adult blue belt but—” She stops, and Robin wonders how the sentence might have ended. Kat turns to Gracie. “Actually, the kind I practice is sometimes called Gracie jiu-jitsu.”

  “Maybe I should learn it,” says Gracie, smiling. “I might have to beat someone up one day.”

  “I think it’s more about nonviolence,” PG says quickly. When they were studying the part about “turning the other cheek” in Jesus’s Sermon on the Mount, he got all passionate about the peaceful resistance of Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr.

  “Yes and no,” Kat says. “Jiu-jitsu teaches a smaller person how to twist, spin, thrust, throw, pin, choke, and lock a more powerful opponent.”

  Sounds to Robin like she could be a stunt double in a fight film. Twist. Spin. Thrust. Throw. Pin. Choke. Lock. The verbs ricochet in his mind.

  PG takes a big breath. “Interesting,” he says, but Robin can tell he means the opposite. “Well, let’s get started, shall we? I’ve got big news to share with you guys. It’s a dream come true. I’ve been waiting for this kind of an invitation for years.”

  He’s beaming, Robin notices. “What’s up, PG?” he asks. “You getting married?”

  “No way,” PG answers. “You think I’d marry someone who hasn’t met you guys yet?”

  “Well, what is it, then?” Ash asks. “I hate surprises.”

  “Two days ago—are you guys ready for this?—my old friend from seminary, Arjun Bose, invited me to visit him in India. Turns out the guy who teaches Greek and Hebrew at Kolkata Bible College is taking a ten-week sabbatical, so Arjun asked if I can substitute.”

  “You’re leaving us, PG?” Gracie asks.

  “Well, sort of. The other good news is that he also invited any of you to come, too, and learn about his organization. It’s called the Bengali Emancipation Society. They fight human trafficking and rescue children who are being bought and sold. We’d leave mid-June and stay in Kolkata through July and August. What do you guys think?”

  PG swivels his head and looks right at Robin.

  Kolkata. Robin’s birthplace. His first home.

  The place where he, like Oswald Cobblepot, was discarded.

  The place he’s told his parents time and time again he doesn’t want to visit.

  He still doesn’t.

  So why is his heart pounding?

  KAT

  “Sign me up,” says the Paloma. “That sounds like a win for the college applications. ‘Worked with an anti-trafficking organization in another country…’ Great essay material. Unlike ‘helped my parents out with their babies.’”

  She’s got a point there, Kat thinks. Brittany, Amber, and so many other Sanger Academy kids take “summer service trips” to foreign places like Thailand or the Dominican Republic. Even if they stay in Oakland, rich people’s kids can pad their college applications by volunteering as “interns” at the zoo to work directly with the animals. They don’t have to sweat all summer long at minimum wage, taking train tickets from sticky little kids, squeezing in time with animals on short breaks.

  “Not everything’s about college applications, Gracie,” says PG. “Sometimes we’re called to good work for reasons we can’t see. And human trafficking’s happening right here in Massachusetts, so if we really cared, we’d be fighting it year-round. We won’t be going to India to do any ‘rescuing.’ Just learning. I’d love to have any or all of you come along.”

  “Wish I could, PG,” the Cheetah says. “But my parents are making me visit colleges this summer.”

  The Tabby sighs. “Why didn’t you tell us before, PG? I promised my dad I’d spend the summer with him.”

  “I only got Arjun’s invitation two days ago,” PG says. He hesitates, clasps his hands, and leans forward. “What do you think, Robin? After all, Kolkata’s your birthplace.”

  Grandma Vee’s friend hasn’t moved. He doesn’t answer right away, and the question hangs like a baton that nobody’s taking. If a person doesn’t want to answer a question, Kat thinks, they should be able to plead the fifth.

  After a few more long seconds of silence, Bird Boy shrugs. “I told Mike I’d work at the shop full-time starting in June.” His voice is so low Kat can hardly hear it.

  “What do you do for work?” she asks, before PG can ask a follow-up question.

  He doesn’t answer that, either; it’s like he’s in a daze. After another awkward pause, Paloma answers the question. “Robin works at an auto repair shop,” she says. “He can fix anything when it comes to cars.”

  “That’s a good skill,” Kat says.

  Paloma flashes her a quick side-eye. Interesting, Kat thinks. Guess even a dove gets her feathers ruffled up when it comes to protecting her territory. She’s starting to like this Gracie girl. I wasn’t flirting, Kat wants to tell her. Or being sarcastic about his work.

  Bird Boy’s eyes flit in Gracie’s direction and then Kat’s, but he still doesn’t say anything.

  “Robin can’t go to India, PG,” the Alsatian growls. “He’s driving me down to Baylor in July, remember?”

  Cheetah rolls her eyes. “Just fly to college, Brian. You’d better start getting used to not having your personal chauffeur around.”

  The Alsatian’s scowl deepens. “We mapped our road trip. If we leave on the fifteenth of July, the Corvette gets me to Waco just in time for training.”

  Why is this mound of macho making summer plans for both of them? Kat thinks.

  “Why don’t we let Robin decide for himself?” PG asks, echoing her thoughts. “Or at least talk it over with his parents? You can all let me know by tomorrow. I know that’s not a lot of time, but we’re going to have to move fast to make this trip happen.”

  ROBIN

  Robin feels like he’s been sucker-punched by PG’s invitation. Something inside him is rising to the surface, breaking through the static, demanding that he pay attention. Think about it, Dad would say. Take some time. Listen to your heart.

  “Gracie, will you ask God to give us wisdom about this India trip?” PG asks.

  As Gracie bows her head and starts to pray, Brian leans closer to Robin so that PG won’t overhear. “Your new friend’s kind of hot, Little Guy.”

  Suddenly,
a jolt of energy surges through Robin like an electric shock. He leaps to his feet, leans over Brian, and looks him right in the eye. The truth about what he’s feeling cannons out of his mouth: “I HATE THAT NAME!”

  All motion in the room stops, as if the director of the scene has called for a cut. You’d think he hit Brian with a two-by-four. Because Robin never shouts. He never stands up to Brian. Or to anyone else, for that matter.

  “Wow, Robin,” PG says. “What just happened?”

  Robin doesn’t answer. His gaze meets Kat’s.

  “Yeah,” Brian says. “What happened, Little Guy?”

  Robin’s fingers curl into a fist. He’s never decked anyone, but he isn’t sure he can stop himself if he hears that name one more time.

  “Never. Call. Me. That. Again.” Robin glares down at Brian’s upturned face until Brian looks away.

  “Take it easy,” Brian mutters. “I didn’t know you hated it so much. I’ll stop.”

  There. Message received. Finally.

  Robin unclenches his fingers. He can’t stand being in this room another minute. Someone else is going to have to take care of Ms. Vee’s guest.

  “Have to go,” he says, and then grabs his phone and dashes out the door.

  INT. CORVETTE—NIGHT—TRAVELING

  Robin’s always done his best thinking while driving. It’s an in-between time, moving from something in the past to something in the future. No pressing demands, even if just for a short while.

  Not too many cars are out on this icy night. The Corvette picks up speed as it whips around the traffic circle and down Saint James Street toward the Charles. Robin’s been driving it for two years, since his father gave it to him for his sixteenth birthday. Dad doesn’t even own a car himself; he commutes on the T and borrows Mom’s if he needs it.

  As Robin drives along Soldiers Field Road, feelings are crashing through him like chunks of ice after the first thaw. What are they? Why are they? Try to name them. Robin starts with the emotion that made him yell at Brian. That one’s easy. Anger. He’s felt it before, rarely, but never acted on it.