Page 6 of Meant to Be

She bit her lip. “He doesn’t do anything,” she said, hesitating. “He died. In March.”

Her delivery was so matter-of-fact that, at first, I thought I must have misunderstood her. But then she started blinking, like she might cry.

“Oh. Wow. I’m sorry,” I stammered, feeling the rush of empathy that I always had for another kid who had lost a parent. It was a club you didn’t want to be in—but a club nonetheless.

“Thank you,” she said, a reply that I vastly preferred to some variation ofit’s okay. After all, itwasn’tokay—those were just words we said to make other people less uncomfortable.

In that moment, I was speechless—rare for me.

I certainly wasn’t going to ask any questions about the manner of death. (Was it sudden?was the euphemism people used forWas it an accident?) Yet it didn’t feel right to just move on to a new topic, either. A few more seconds passed before I settled on telling her that my father had died, too. “But I was too young to really remember him,” I quickly added. “So your situation is way harder.”

“No. They’re just hard in different ways,” she said, acknowledging something I’d wondered about. Would it have been better if I had known my father? Or would it only have made me more sad? The fact that Berry recognized these nuances impressed me.

“I bet that’s why Mr. Wilkes put us together,” I said, mostly thinking aloud.

“Maybe so,” Berry said. “But please don’t feel like you have to babysit me.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” I said. “I’m happy to show you around and stuff.”

Berry shrugged and said, “Okay. But I really don’t need anything. I’ve changed schools before. It’s no big deal.”

I nodded, giving her my most earnest look. “I hear you,” I said.“But I’m gonna have to assist you regardless. You wouldn’t want to get me in trouble, would you?”

“No,” she said, giving me the smallest of smiles. “OfcourseI wouldn’t.”

—

By the endof the day, the whole school was abuzz with Berry’s story. Rumors swirled that she had lost not only her father but also hermother,both among the 585 people killed in the infamous runway collision of two fully loaded Boeing 747s on the island of Tenerife. I prayed that it wasn’t true—that it was simply some jerk kid embellishing her loss. I mean, surely Berry would have mentioned it if her mother was dead, too.

That evening, my mother, who had apparently talked to Mr. Wilkes about my assignment, confirmed it. She told me that Berry was an only child like me—and was living with her aunt and uncle, both of whom were busy with big jobs. I couldn’t believe it. Berry was anorphan.

Needless to say, I discharged my duties with the utmost seriousness, which some of my friends mistook as my having a crush on the new girl. I denied it, for although shewaspretty, my feelings for Berry bore none of the hallmarks of my usual infatuations. I didn’t want to kiss her; I just wanted to be friends with her.

At some point, the two of us started spending time together outside of school, hanging out in the park, doing homework at my dining room table, and hitting up record stores all over the city. (Berry had great taste in music—which made up for her being clueless about sports.) She was the best listener, and asked questions about how I felt that would have seemed nosy or judgmental from anyone else. She confided in me, too, telling me heavy stuff about her grief and night terrors. Once, she told me how grateful she was that her parents had been together when theydied, even though it meant losing them both. That really bowled me over. I’d never known anyone so selfless or strong.

Over the next few years, Berry and I became closer and closer, and by our junior year of high school, when we both headed off to Andover, she had become an honorary Kingsley, mingling with all the cousins. My mother adored her as much as I did, calling her the daughter she never had. Sometimes, I would come home to find the two of them already chatting away in the kitchen. I found their relationship comforting, like it made all three of us seem more normal. I didn’t even mind when they teasingly ganged up on me, though I pretended to be annoyed.

Their specialty was critiquing the girls I liked, or more accurately, Berry would critique them, and my mother would take her word as gospel. While she’d occasionally deem someone worthy of my attention, more often she’d wrinkle her nose in disapproval, dismissing them as being too needy or a social climber, or lacking substance. Over time, all the girls in our social orbit came to see Berry as the Joe Kingsley gatekeeper. Some girls even tried to befriend her to get closer to me. It was a tactic that Berry saw straight through. You couldn’t get anything by her.

The only time we ever argued was when I put myself in harm’s way with my cousins. Like my mother, Berry had good reason to be afraid—but I never understood why that fear translated to such anger. While others called me reckless, Berry called me selfish and arrogant and stupid.

The summer before our senior year, after one particularly harrowing mishap that involved a capsized kayak and a mild case of hypothermia, Berry wouldn’t speak to me for a week.

“What if something happened to you?” she said when we finally had it out. “Your mother would be alone.Alone,Joe!”

“She wouldn’t be alone. She’d have you.”

“It’s not the same, Joe, and you know it. We aren’t family.”

“You might as well be,” I said. “And besides, nothing is going to happen to me.”

“And why’s that?” she asked, her voice rising. “Because you’re invincible?”

I sighed, silently acknowledging to myself that Ididfeel a little bulletproof. But I wasn’t about to admit this to Berry, so instead I said, “No. Because I’mresourceful.”

“You took a kayak across the bay in athunderstorm,Joe. That’s not resourceful. It’s idiotic.”

“It wasn’t storming when I left.”

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