Renee was practically shouting now. The buzz from the tables around us had died down, and a few students had looked back to more effectively eavesdrop on the argument. If “argument” was really the right word for this situation—in fairness, Lara seemed to almost be goading Renee more than fighting back.
“Well, clearly,” Lara said. “I guess something must have confused me there. Can you think what? It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I just can’t—”
“You need to stop it!” Renee yelled.
“No, you need to stop it,” I said quietly. The thing is, though, I didn’t mean to say it. It was out of my mouth as quickly as I thought it. I froze as Renee turned around to face me, her face red and furious. This was not good. I was not a confrontation kind of person. More of an “eating popcorn in the very back row, out of the firing line” kinda guy.
As she opened her mouth, though, Niamh jumped in. “Renee, if you want to talk to Lara, fine, but screaming at her in public is not a good look.”
“Yeah, so you might wanna get the hell away from our table before the rest of us scream back at you,” Juliette added, her face still blotchy and red, but her voice steady. “And trust me, we can scream louder.”
Renee looked between us and scrunched up her mouth. She seemed to be weighing the pros and cons. Juliette raised an eyebrow at her and she scowled, before turning back to Lara. “Stop texting me,” she said in a low voice.
“You got it, sweetie,” Lara said, turning back to her lasagna like the conversation was a little too boring to hold her attention.
Even when Renee disappeared, Lara did an impressive job of holding her composure, despite the obvious whispering and looks from the tables surrounding us. Even the basketball guys were looking over, and they were practically on the other side of the cafeteria. Matt was staring right at Lara, like he was trying to catch her eye. He looked concerned.
“Sooo …” Juliette said.
Lara rolled her eyes and thrust her phone at Juliette. “There. You tell me if what I said warranted that.”
Juliette and Niamh tipped their heads together to look at the screen. I didn’t bother joining them. I just looked at Lara and waited.
“That was basically gaslighting,” Lara said.
“What’s that?”
“When someone tries to twist what really happened to make you think you’re losing it.” She shoved lasagna into her mouth. “Trying to make me look obsessed with her like she wasn’t actively leading me on that whole time.”
Juliette and Niamh reemerged. “She was flirting with you,” Niamh confirmed.
“All the way up until the part when you got annoyed that she’s flirting with you while dating a guy she has zero intentions of breaking up with,” Juliette said, a little more loudly than she needed to. Probably so the nearby tables would overhear Lara’s side of the story, I guessed.
But Lara shook her head. “Don’t. I don’t need anyone else to know what happened. I could care less what they think.”
Couldn’t care less, I corrected internally. But I kept it to myself. Now didn’t seem like the time.
“But still,” Juliette pressed. “That was completely out of line. I have half a mind to go over there and read this thread out to her whole table.”
Lara shrugged. “It’s fine. Really. I guess I just thought it might mean something to her,” she finished, the same way someone might say, “I guess I thought it was going to rain today.”
Yeah.
I knew how that felt.
19
Lara sat on the brick wall bordering the school’s entrance with a straight back, her heeled boots crossed at the ankles, and her sky-blue dress spread out beneath the iced coffee she clutched in her lap. Juliette, Niamh, and I stood, drinking our own coffees, flanking her. Today, she was a queen, and we were her guards. We stood together, always. We had the necklaces to prove it.
Like any queen, she drew the crowd’s attention as kids passed us on their way into school. But the too-long looks and hushed whispers weren’t awed. Some were curious, some were almost fearful, and some were judgmental.
We stared each one of them down until they kept moving.
Everyone knew by now, of course. Anyone who hadn’t been there in the cafeteria would’ve found out through the whisper network yesterday afternoon. There would be people throughout the school who’d never met Lara, but who now knew intimate details about her sexuality. Would have it in their minds when and if they did meet her. Would have an opinion on her, and who she was as a person.
I knew how that felt. Shit. Absolutely shit.
I spotted a group of black-and-white moving across the parking lot. Will, Darnell, and Matt. I angled my body toward Lara so I wouldn’t have to pretend to be incredibly interested in the roof when Will walked past in order to avoid awkward eye contact.
“Ask her.”
The whisper came from a group of girls I vaguely recognized from Biology. One of them, a girl who wore her mousy blond hair in a ponytail, had on a T-shirt that said CHOCOLATE IS THE ANSWER, BUT WHAT WAS THE QUESTION? Her friends gave her a shove, and she giggled, then dared to look up at Lara on her throne. “So, we wanted to know if you were lesbian when we all got changed together backstage at the Sophomore Showcase?”
Lara made a point of gradually turning her head to take the girl in. “Oh, good fucking morning, Charlotte,” she said, high-pitched and perky.
Charlotte’s friends shifted in place, but they held their ground. “It’s a fair question,” Charlotte said. “I mean, if you were, it’s pretty bad that you didn’t say anything. We had a right to know who we were changing in front of. Some of us were naked.”
Lara laughed into her drink, causing the coffee to bubble. “God, you’re right. It’s a wonder I was able to restrain myself around you all once you stripped down to your grandma underwear.”
“So, you were?”
“What, you think I went to bed straight then had the world’s most convincing sex dream and woke up craving—”
“Don’t say it.”
“Vagina, clit, beaver—”
“You’re disgusting.”
“The furry furnace,” Lara cried, kicking out in front of her. Charlotte shrieked and leaped backward. “What, are you ashamed to be a girl or something, Char?”
“Charlotte. And no, I don’t think that. But I did think it was interesting that you all start hanging with the new kid, and suddenly you’re gay, too.”
Of course I’d get dragged into this. Of course.
“There’s nothing sudden about it, Charlotte,” Lara said.
“That’s all I wanted to know. In that case—”
“In fact,” Lara said over her, “I was screwing your mother the day you had your first Lifetime channel, straight-ass kiss with Todd Ferguson.”
“I always knew you were a slut, but I didn’t take you for a—”
“I don’t think you want to finish that sentence.” It was Matt, storming through the stream of students, closely followed by Darnell and a nervous-looking Will.
“This is none of your business,” Charlotte said, but her voice had lost some of its thunder.
“Like hell it’s none of my business. You’re standing in front of my school spewing some crap to my friend, when you and I both know your mama would wash your damn mouth out if she heard you saying that kind of shit. So go on if you want to, but I will be recording it, and I will send it straight to my ma, who’ll make sure yours sees it by first period. They work in the same building, remember?”
Several students had slowed down to watch the drama unfold by now. Charlotte looked like she had half a mind to keep going, but her friends had the sense to grab her by the elbow and drag her inside the building. Gradually, the crowd dispersed, and Matt went to stand below Lara.
“I don’t need defending,” she said.
“Oh, I know you don’t. But you always get to go in with the smackdowns, and I’ve hated that girl’s face since seventh grade when she
bribed her way into being class president.”
“You just wanted a little masculinity boost.”
“Trust me, my masculinity didn’t need any boosting.” Matt leaned one arm against the brick wall. “But, seriously, fuck her. If she or anyone else gives you shit, let me know, all right? That shit’s not cool, and I’m not afraid to play dirty.”
Darnell must have noticed the admiring look Niamh was giving Matt, because he jumped in with, “Yeah, me, too. Who cares if you’re into girls? The world keeps spinning, you know?”
My attention went straight to Will at this, and I searched his face for any sign that he was surprised by his friend’s words. But today he was unreadable.
And just for a moment, I hated him a little. Because, I guess, after all this, a teeny part of me still hoped he would magically realize he didn’t have to be terrified of what would happen if his friends figured things out. Then, ideally, he’d understand how much he’d hurt me, with the whole thing culminating in some sort of grand gesture to prove he truly did care all along.
But that was just a fantasy. A nice fantasy, sure, but no more real than a million other fairy tales.
God, what I wouldn’t give to live in a fairy tale, sometimes. Or even just a romantic comedy. In them, this wouldn’t fly. Like, imagine if Prince Charming had picked up the glass slipper and decided the city was too big to scour it for someone who fit the damn thing? Or if Prince Phillip saw Maleficent blowing fire all over the forest and went nope, fuck that, too risky? Or if Prince Eric was all like, “Hmm, I could fight the giant octopus sea witch from my nightmares, but then I could also sail home and return to eating fish I now know are sentient, safe in my denial and cognitive goddamn dissonance!”?
But they wouldn’t, they wouldn’t have done any of that, because in stories guys fight. They fight for the person they care about, and they don’t give up, ever.
In real life, though, sometimes you beg for them to care, and they just don’t. And then they go quiet.
And they let you walk away without much of a fight at all.
Two weeks after the Renee disaster—debacle—devastation … whatever-you-wanted-to-call-it, Lara had apparently decided she was ready to move on.
Part of me would’ve called it quick, but then I was still moping around after Will like he was my prophesized, meant-to-be true love and not just a summer fling that wasn’t evergreen, so maybe I had no grasp on how long it was supposed to take to move on after heartbreak.
How did I know she was ready to move on? Two things. One, that she was suddenly, inexplicably flirting with Matt at lunch on the odd occasion when the basketball guys visited the table, dragged over by Darnell who always seemed to have one question or another he had to ask Niamh. And when I say Lara was flirting, I don’t mean the natural banter that had caused Will and me to give birth to Larmatt. I mean licking her spoon like she was a RedTube star, burning holes into his pecs with her stare and grabbing his arm every time she spoke to him as though to trap him into conversation.
Even more bizarrely, Matt seemed suddenly, inexplicably uninterested in Lara’s flirting. He barely held eye contact with her, kept giving her tight, short smiles, and only spoke to her to answer her many, many questions.
So, basically, it looked to me like Lara’s interest was fueled by Matt’s disinterest, which was fueled by Lara’s interest.
And I thought Will and I were messy.
The second thing was more straightforward. Later that same day, I was pulling in to my house after school— for once, I didn’t have to go to Aunt Linda’s. She’d been emergency free for a little while now, knock on wood, and so the night was going to be me, Netflix, and a whole bag of mini Reese’s Pieces. Anyway, I’d just turned off the ignition, when Lara messaged me.
Monday, 3:04 PM
Can I tell you something?
Lara never messaged me. Not outside of Snapchat, which barely counted. This was totally out of the blue, without any initiation from me. So sure, I was intrigued. I put my car into park and messaged her back.
Monday, 3:06 PM
Shoot.
Before I could even pull my keys out of the ignition, she replied. Guessing she’d typed it out before I’d had the chance to text back.
Monday, 3:06 PM
I’m kind of over Renee. It doesn’t
hurt like it did, at least. Also, can
you keep a secret?
Monday, 3:07 PM
What?
Monday, 3:07 PM
It’s seriously a secret. But I don’t
know, I was thinking about
Matt after our talk at the dance …
Monday, 3:08 PM
Oh my God, you’re
rebounding.
Monday, 3:08 PM
I am not!
Well, maybe.
But does it matter if I am? So
what? We’re seventeen, it’s not like
we’re going to marry the people we
date right now. I’m just having fun.
Plus, he’s hot.
Monday, 3:09 PM
I mean, yeah. He’s totally hot.
Especially when he was
throwing down with that Charlotte girl.
Monday, 3:09 PM
Hands off!! Do you think I should
go for it?
Monday, 3:09 PM
Will it make you happy?
Monday, 3:10 PM
I don’t know, Ollie, I’m not a damn
psychic! But it might.
I couldn’t help but laugh at this. What a way to go through life. Trying out crazy things on the off chance that they might make you happy. It totally went against my personal philosophy of overanalyzing everything and only taking risks when there was a 5 percent or less chance of failure. But maybe Lara’s take had merit. I messaged her back while hopping out of the car.
Monday, 3:10 PM
Good enough for me. Hell
yeah you should go for it.
Have as much fun as you can
until it’s not fun anymore. And
if that never happens, even
better.
Monday, 3:11 PM
Hah. I always have as much fun as I
can. What’s the point otherwise?
I cracked a grin at her reply as I pushed open the front door with my hip, my backpack sliding down my shoulder. I jumped to correct it, steadied myself, and paused to find my parents sitting in the living room.
They both should’ve been at work.
I let my backpack slip all the way down my arm, and I dropped it on the floor by the door. I wanted to walk right back outside, climb into my car, and drive back in time. Because I knew with horrible certainty that I wasn’t ready for whatever my parents were going to say next.
But I had to go into the room. I shuffled to the couch and sat down heavily.
Silence.
I spoke first, because my parents kept looking at each other to check who should break it to me. Like I needed anything broken to me. Like I still didn’t know what was coming.
“When did it happen?” I asked.
Amazingly, they looked relieved. At least neither of them had to say it out loud, I guess.
“Around lunchtime,” Dad said.
Oh. Lunchtime. She’d been dead for several hours. And I hadn’t even noticed the cataclysmic shift. I would’ve thought I’d notice. Somehow.
“She had a pulmonary embolism. Really, we’re lucky it happened like this,” Mom said in a tight voice. “It, ah, it was fast. And, we, um, we were told her condition was going downhill. And that she would be in a lot of pain, soon. A lot of pain, Ollie. And she didn’t want to be in pain like that. No one does. That’s no way to spend the last few weeks you ever get. And she got to spend her last few weeks with us, walking around, eating, laughing.”
I stared at the ground.
“A lot of people in her situation end up with a blocked intestine. All they can do in their last weeks is lie in bed and wet the
ir lips. That’s such a horrible way to go. We’re so lucky Linda didn’t have to go through that, sweetie.”
Was she trying to comfort me? Because the tone of her voice was so pleading, it seemed more like she wanted me to tell her that yes, all of that was true, and this definitely wasn’t the worst day any of us had ever lived through.
I tried to speak, but nothing came out. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Okay.”
We sat in silence. I felt like we should be hugging each other, or sobbing or something, but I didn’t feel like crying. I didn’t feel anything except stunned. What were we supposed to do now? Seriously, what? Did we go around to Uncle Roy’s and comfort him? He probably didn’t want us there right now. Not just yet. So, what, did we talk about our favorite memories of Aunt Linda? Oh, God, no, memories, all we had were memories now. That didn’t feel real yet, though. It was like it was happening to someone else.
Okay, so, then, what? Did we just … turn on the TV? Do the dishes? Take showers? Did I do my homework? None of it felt right.
I waited for my parents to direct the next steps.
But maybe they didn’t know what to do now, either.
It was too hard to look at my parents’ stricken faces, so I picked at a hangnail instead. Was it bad that I didn’t feel sad? Did that mean there was something wrong with me?
Maybe I was like the main character from Dexter. Like, maybe I was immune to death and pain, and I could theoretically spend the rest of my life killing people who I thought objectively deserved to die, and I’d never be even a little damaged by any of it.
Mom stood up first. “I’m going to call Grandma and Grandpa again,” she said.
By that, she meant Dad’s parents. Her parents had passed away when I was little. They’d had Mom when they were super old, like, almost forty.
Which meant that out of her whole family, Mom was the only one left now.
Mom pulled down her blouse and left the room. She was still wearing her work outfit. Usually when you think of grieving people, they’re in their pajamas, and maybe a dressing gown, and their faces are red and blotchy. Mom’s face was blotchy, but outside of that, she could run a board meeting now and she wouldn’t seem out of place.
Only Mostly Devastated Page 19
