Opposite of Always by Justin A. Reynolds

Author:Justin A. Reynolds [Reynolds, Justin A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Katherine Tegen Books
Published: 2019-03-05T06:00:00+00:00

Life as We Know It

Naturally, thereafter, life sucks.

Everything is gray now. And not shiny chrome gray. Dull, monochromatic gray. I am the very image of the moping, love-angsted teenager. I wear the same jeans for several days as an outward symbol of my pain.

But no one bats an eye when you wear the same denim for a week.

So in a more obvious outward symbol of my pain I wear the same shirt.

And not just a flannel or solid-color shirt—those would be too easy to chalk up. Yes, you wore two red flannel shirts on back-to-back days, but maybe today’s flannel has a white hatch that’s slightly different from yesterday’s eggshell hatch? No, to proclaim your heartache you must go all in—which is why I’m wearing a shirt that is unmistakably unique.

A white T-shirt with a giant decal smack-dab in the middle.

A birthday present from Grandma Charlie two years ago—featuring a giant bottlenose dolphin, who’s smiling for no apparent reason, and who’s spouting an impressive amount of water from his blowhole, a spiraling tower of water atop which a grinning yellow rubber ducky floats.

You heard right. Creepy dolphin, blowhole, scary rubber ducky. All on the same shirt. Boo-yah!

Like I said, there’s no question whether I’m wearing the same shirt.

You know I am.

Boy does that get everyone’s attention.

And yes, in the way you’d expect. Molly Hendricks stands up in art class and says, “Jesus, Jack, please tell me you own like fifteen of the same shirt. Or that your parents are getting a divorce and you’re staying at your dad’s crappy apartment and he didn’t have quarters for the unit washing machine.”

“Wow, Molly, that was a very rude yet decently composed joke,” Ms. Haggerty, the art teacher, concedes. After class Ms. Haggerty pulls me aside.

“Jack, is everything okay at home?”

“Home is fine.” But my heart is another thing entirely.

Even the JV basketball team gets in on the fun. “Rubber ducky, you’re the one, you make my bath time lots of fun, rubber ducky, I’m awfully fond of you . . . rub a dub dub . . . ,” they croon while we stand in line for Mystery Meat Monday in the cafeteria.

At least the jokes are funny. I even laugh, especially at the Sesame Street serenade, although only for a second, because laughter goes against the broken heart melodrama that I am in the middle of suffering. My friends, on the other hand, fail to see the humor.

“Jack, you smell terrible, man,” Franny says on the drive home.

Jillian doesn’t pull her punches either. “If you show up outside in that shirt tomorrow, Jack, you’ll have to find another ride.”

But then she frowns and reaches across the car seat to pinch my cheek. There are times when Jillian is downright motherly; these are the times when I can see into her crystal ball and know that she will be an amazing environmental activist/doctor/Supreme Court judge, yes, but she will still find time to bake the best oatmeal chocolate chip cookies for her

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