Free Infinite in Between by Carolyn Mackler

bad it is? Alicia had written. They went in to fight over custody of our DOG. I hate them.
    Whitney was aware of her friends, chatting happily around her, totally oblivious.
    Custody of Vic? she wrote to Alicia. That was their white Jack Russell terrier. Since her dad had stayed in the house after the separation, he’d gotten the dog.
    Are there other dogs in the picture? Alicia texted back. Of course Vic.
    Why can’t they just figure it out on their own? Whitney asked.
    Because they’re immature infants, Alicia wrote. I hate them both.
    â€œDo you ever wonder what Caesar thought?” Laurel asked, taking a sip of water from Whitney’s bottle.
    Whitney set down her phone. Her head felt woozy. “What he thought when?” she asked. She wanted to pretend things were normal, that her parents weren’t going through a divorce and fighting over a dog and her sister didn’t hate everyone. She wished she could live in this world of Grease and never leave.
    â€œWhen Brutus was coming at him with a knife,” Laurel said.
    â€œIt wasn’t just Brutus coming at him,” Gus said. “It was the entire Senate.”
    â€œBrutal,” Whitney said.
    Everyone laughed. When her phone pinged again, she turned it off.

GREGOR
    GREGOR DID NOT see this coming. At least they were doing dishes so he didn’t have to look his dad in the eye.
    â€œAs I imagine you know,” his dad said, “there are several brands. When you do need a condom, I recommend starting with a conventional maker like Trojan or Lifestyle.”
    At least his mom and Erica weren’t home. They were searching for prom dresses at the mall. He and his dad had made burgers and eaten in front of the TV. Things had seemed normal until . . . this. Gregor’s cheeks felt feverish, and his ears were ringing.
    â€œDo you know about lubrication?” his dad asked, handing him a sudsy plate.
    Gregor stooped over the dishwasher, taking extra time to fit the plate in.
    â€œI guess,” he finally managed. “It’s moisture, right?”
    â€œExactly.” His dad handed him two forks. “A condom with lubrication will be more comfortable for your partner . . . and for you. Spermicide is important too. I’ll buy you some condoms to try on when you’re ready. It’s good to have practice.”
    Now his dad was going too far. Way too far.
    â€œDad.” Gregor’s voice was barely a squeak. “I’m kind of dying here. Can we change the subject?”
    â€œToo much?”
    â€œMaybe a little,” Gregor said. “Maybe a thousand times more than a little.”
    â€œGot it.” Gregor’s dad tossed him a sponge to clean the counters. “Here’s a good story for you. This is an embarrassing one from when I was in high school.”
    â€œIt’s not about condoms, is it?”
    His dad shook his head and then squeezed dishsoap into the frying pan. “One morning my mom was dropping me off outside the band room.”
    Gregor tried to picture his grandmother as a mom, driving her son to school. Nana Margaret had gotten her license taken away a few years ago when she’d knocked over three mailboxes in a five-day period.
    Gregor’s dad continued. “She was driving a green Oldsmobile station wagon with a bumper sticker that said My Child Is An Honor Student .”
    â€œSounds bad,” Gregor said, grinning. He was still recovering from the condom talk, but he liked stories from when his dad went to Hankinson.
    â€œI opened the passenger door, got my oboe case, and stepped out. Just at that moment, Nana Margaret backed up, rolling over my foot. But instead of continuing to reverse, she braked to remind me I had an orthodontist appointment that afternoon.”
    â€œShe drove over your foot? Were you okay?”
    â€œNo!” Gregor’s dad laughed. “But just as I was about to scream, I saw three cute girls on the path going into