Call It What You Want

by Brigid Kemmerer

Owen studies me. “I’m telling you how I really feel. You look like crap.”

  I rub at my eyes and give him half my sandwich. “I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just … it’s a long story. Can we just eat?”

  “Sure.”

  So, we do. It’s quiet. Amiable.

  Despite that, my shoulders are gripped with uncomfortable tension.

  The tension doubles when Owen speaks low and says, “Have you sold the earrings yet?”

  I flinch. “No.”

  “Are you worried about your mom finding them?”

  A little, but I shake my head.

  “I thought you were going to check out a pawn shop in the city.”

  That’s right. I did tell him that. I swallow. “I don’t know.”

  “You do know.” He sounds irritated.

  I snap my eyes up to meet his. “Look, you’re not the one on the hook for this, okay? If you need the money so bad, do it yourself.”

  He jerks back in surprise. Hurt flares in his eyes, followed by anger. He shoves the remaining portion of his sandwich back at me. “Look, this all wasn’t my idea. I didn’t tell you to steal—” He catches himself and casts a look around, then drops his voice. “I didn’t tell you to do any of this. So don’t act like I’m some kind of kingpin forcing you into a life of crime.”

  “You read too much.”

  “Shut up.” He still looks angry.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I told you I was tired. I wasn’t thinking about what I was saying.” I shove the sandwich back at him.

  He takes it, and we sit there in quiet silence. He’s wrong, anyway: I don’t know why I haven’t sold them. He compared me to Robin Hood, but that doesn’t quite feel right.

  As soon as the thought strikes me, I realize what my problem is.

  Connor’s mom didn’t steal from the poor to buy those earrings. Neither did Lexi Miter or her parents when she was reckless with her credit card. That money in the bake sale cash box wasn’t taken from anyone.

  My dad is the one who stole.

  And now, so am I.

  I feel hot. Angry. Guilty and uncertain. My stomach feels like it’s plummeted through my body and is now in free fall.

  “Are you gonna be sick?” says Owen.

  “I can’t do this,” I whisper.

  “You can’t do what?”

  “It’s stealing,” I say. I clear my throat. “I’m stealing.” I look at him across the table. “I’m not a thief.”

  I expect Owen to offer a sage nod and say something like, “Do what you need to do, Rob,” but he doesn’t. He takes on a cynical expression. “Stealing. Sure. Like it even matters. They don’t even know they’re gone, Rob. You know I don’t want the money, but we could do a lot better with it.”

  That doesn’t feel right. I still can’t put my finger on why though. I mean, he’s not wrong. On all counts. I could probably pay Owen’s lunch bill for a year with those earrings. And then some.

  I don’t want my food. I can’t eat.

  Owen lifts his sandwich. His voice is low, very low, when he speaks. “Prick alert,” he says, “Twelve—”

  “Stop.” I meet his eyes.

  I can’t read his expression. I’m not one hundred percent sure what’s on my own face. We’re frozen for a heartbeat, during which Connor stops beside the table.

  “Hey,” says Connor. His tone is conciliatory, his body angled slightly so that it’s obvious he’s talking to me.

  I break off the staring match with Owen and look up. “Hey.”

  “You don’t have to keep sitting over here,” he says. “I mean, we’re good.” He shrugs and half glances back at his usual table. Our old table. “We’re all good.”

  My familiar defenses click into place, and I almost want to mock him, but I don’t. I’ve been lonely too long. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I’ve missed my friends. My old life.

  Owen is sitting across the table, watching me. Waiting for me to say something.

  When I don’t, he sighs, shoves his food into his bag, and gets up from the table. “It was nice knowing you, Rob.”

  I swallow.

  Connor says, not quietly, “What a frigging drama queen. I can’t believe you—”

  “Stop.” My tone is the same as it was when I told Owen the same thing. “Leave him alone, Connor.”

  “Look, I’m just saying. I’m trying to tell you that you don’t need to sit here like a loser—”

  “I’m not a loser. Neither is Owen.” I glare up at him. “I know you’re trying to make up for lost time, or whatever, but I can’t undo the last eight months, okay?”

  He flinches, and for a moment, I see a flash of the vulnerability I saw last night, when I finally took pity on him. In a way, he’s been as adrift as I was. I never realized.

  Connor really does think he can undo the last eight months by inviting me back to his table.

  I wish he could.

  I wish he could undo the last eight days.

  “Look,” I say more quietly. “I can’t jump right back into the old crowd. It’s too much. Do you get it?”

  “Yeah. Sure. I get it.” He’s almost dismissive, and I expect him to turn away and leave me here.

  Instead, Connor swings a leg over the bench and drops down across from me.

  “What are you doing?” I say.

  “You said the old crowd is too much. So I’m sitting down.” He hesitates. “Is that okay?”

  I don’t know. “Sure.”

  He doesn’t have any food with him, and I’ve already put mine away. Every vertebra in my back is tight, waiting for some kind of interrogation, but none comes. Like last night, he sits, and he waits.

  He’s just sitting. No demands, no expectation. Just sitting.

  Connor is clueless about some things, but not about everything. And I was once the same way. He’s trying. I should be trying, too.

  I stole your mom’s earrings, I want to say.

  There’s no way that will make anything better.

  After we’ve been quiet for a while, Connor says, “I was kind of a shit to your friend.”

  Owen’s parting words keep ricocheting around my skull. It was nice knowing you, Rob.

  I wish he had a phone. I wish I could text him. I wish I could fix it. I wish I could sell the earrings and give him the money and make everything better.

  This is all so hard.

  I look at Connor. “You think?”

  “He’s the one who keeps saying ‘prick alert’ every time I walk over here.”

  “Maybe he’s on to something.” I’m half-teasing, half-serious. There’s a note in my voice that hasn’t been there in a while, a note that says, I’m giving you crap because you can take it.

  “Is he your friend?” says Connor. “I thought you were sitting over here to prove some kind of point.”

  “What kind of point?” I scoff. “You really are a pr—”

  “Okay, okay.” Connor rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ll find him and apologize.”

  I doubt that would be welcomed by Owen, but it’s not necessary anyway. I’m the one who needs to find him and apologize. “Leave it,” I say. “I’ll find him.” I jerk my backpack from under the table. “I’m going to class.” I hesitate. “Thanks for explaining. Last night.”

  “I should have done it sooner.”

  I shrug. “You did it now.”

  “Are we okay?” he says. “Really?”

  I can’t say yes. Not yet. Not with his mother’s stolen earrings in my pocket and Owen pissed at me for hesitating about selling them. “Almost.”

  Connor gives me a nod, and I shoulder my bag to walk away from the table.

  I need to fix this. I can’t fix both at once, but I do know I don’t want to be a thief. I wish I could break into Connor’s house the way he broke into mine.

  Wait. He didn’t break in. What did he say? I still have a key, you asshole.

  We were
best friends for years. We practically lived at each other’s houses. Of course he still had a key.

  I pull my key ring out of my backpack and look at it.

  So do I.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Maegan

  Samantha is telling Mom and Dad everything. I asked her if she wanted me to sit with her while she did it, but she said no, that she could do it on her own. So I’ve been sitting in my bedroom, staring at the darkening sky outside my window.

  At first, I thought this was a good idea, but as the evening drags on, I begin to wonder about my role in everything. Cutting class. Knowing the truth about David. Keeping Samantha’s secret—because I’m sure it was so much bigger than Mom and Dad ever expected.

  I begin to wonder about Rob, and the secrets he’s keeping, and what he’s doing.

  By the time a gentle tap hits my door, my nerves are primed, and I sit bolt upright in bed.

  “Come in!” I call.

  Samantha pokes her head in, and then her whole body. Her cheeks are blotchy and red, and she looks … drained.

  “Are you okay?” I ask softly.

  She comes in and closes the door behind her. “Yeah. Dad’s calling the school now, even though there’s not going to be anyone there.” Her eyes glance at the pitch-black sky outside my window. “He and Mom are pretty furious.”

  “They should be.” I pause, wanting to ask if she’s made any decisions now that it’s all out in the open, but not wanting to push. “It’s not your fault, Sam.”

  “Well.” She gives a little laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Some of it is my fault.”

  “He was horrible.”

  “Yeah.” A tear rolls down her face. “I don’t know how I missed that.”

  “Dad said … he said that when people are under a lot of pressure, they don’t always make the right decisions.”

  She swipes at her cheek. “Yeah. Well.”

  “I think that applies to more than just this situation, Sam.” I hesitate. “I don’t think I ever realized that. About you.”

  “I don’t think I ever realized that about myself.” Another tear. “Isn’t that stupid? I’m so stupid.”

  “You’re not stupid.”

  “I am. And now I’m going to have to deal with it.”

  Deal with it. I sit up straighter. “Does … does that mean you’re getting an abortion?”

  She bursts into tears. Her arms fold across her abdomen.

  I shift forward and wrap my arms around her. “Sam. Sam. It’ll be okay. I’ll go with you. Whatever you need.”

  She shudders against me. “No. I’m not doing it.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not doing it. I might—I might look at an open adoption. Maybe. But I don’t want to get rid of it.” She sucks up her tears and looks at me clearly. “I went to the clinic on Friday.”

  “You—you went by yourself?” So very Samantha.

  “Yeah. I went, and I thought about it, and the nurse was just—she was so kind. I thought I’d walk through the door and it would be fast and horrible and it would be done, but—it wasn’t. I thought I would have to terminate the pregnancy or my life would be ruined. She was the first person to really walk me through everything. I don’t think I realized how much I needed that. You know? Someone to show me all the options.”

  “Yeah. I know.” I hug her again, then draw back to peer at her. “And you’re okay? With everything?”

  “Well, I’m probably going to lose my scholarship.” She sniffs. “Mom and Dad are pretty upset about that. But it’s not the end of the world. I wasn’t—I wasn’t very happy. I loved lacrosse, but it became something I had to do instead of something I wanted to do.” She looks at me. “What you did today … that meant a lot.”

  “I didn’t do anything, Sam.”

  “No, you did. You did the right thing, when I was about to let him get away with it.” She leans forward and gives me another hug. “You’re always so good at that.”

  I give a strangled laugh, surprised. “I don’t think Mom and Dad would agree.”

  “What?” She’s surprised.

  I give her a half smile. “I’m the big cheater, remember?”

  She opens her mouth, then closes it. “Megs, you made a mistake. You’re allowed to make a mistake.”

  I chew at my lip and don’t say anything.

  Sam rubs at her stomach. “Something else the nurse told me really sat with me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “One choice doesn’t determine your whole future.” She pauses. “She was talking about abortion. But I think it applies to you, too.”

  She’s right. I offer her a watery smile. “Thanks, Sam.”

  As I say it, I realize, it doesn’t just apply to her and me.

  One choice doesn’t determine your whole future.

  It applies to Rob, too.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Rob

  I’m more nervous about returning these earrings than I was about committing the actual crime.

  Midnight darkness cloaks the grounds surrounding the Tunstall house, though the place is lit up as brightly as it was on the night of the party. I’ve been sitting in my car down the street for the longest time, watching the interior lights flick on and off as Connor and his parents go about their evening. It’s been months, but I still remember their family routine as easily as I remember my own.

  Dinner in the dining room around six.

  Then brightness in the kitchen as Mrs. Tunstall cleaned everything up. Lights in the family room as they watched television. Those went off around ten, and lights upstairs went on.

  Now it’s midnight, and the house is mostly dark.

  I can do this. I’ll go in, slip into the pool house, and leave the earrings right where I found them.

  While I’ve been sitting here, I’ve toyed with the idea of doing this differently. Things between Connor and me are … not as bad. I could probably engineer an invite to hang out later this week. It would be easy enough to slip the earrings back into place.

  Or I could keep them. I think of Owen storming away from the lunch table. Somehow this has driven a splinter into our friendship, and I’m not sure how or why.

  All of my relationships are splintered, though, so what’s the difference?

  But every time I think about shifting my car into drive, my muscles refuse to function.

  I’m not like my father. I’m not a thief. I can’t hold on to these earrings for one more minute.

  I have a key anyway. I’m not breaking and entering. I’m going to slip in, put the earrings away, and leave.

  It’s time.

  The lock gives with barely a sound, and the front door eases open. I tap the alarm code into the silent panel by the door and move away. The night has grown colder than I realized, and it’s almost a relief to slip into the warm darkness of the house. I’m greeted by absolute silence. The door slides back into place, and I stop and wait, listening.

  My heart pounds against my rib cage, but that’s it. Nothing. Absolute silence.

  I slip down the hallway where I kissed Maegan, stepping carefully so my sneakers don’t make a sound on the hardwood. My fingers are trembling when I find the next keypad, the dimly lit numbers barely visible in the darkness.

  I tap in the code and press the pound key to make the lock release.

  It doesn’t. A little light flashes red and the lock goes beep beep.

  I freeze. This one isn’t silent, and I must have mis-keyed the code. I freeze with my hand on the knob, waiting to see if anyone could have heard that.

  Nothing happens. I try again.

  Again, the lock doesn’t release. Red flash. Beep beep.

  He changed the code. My blood freezes in my veins. This is because of me. He changed the code because of me.

  My breathing has accelerated. I need to talk myself off this ledge.

  It’s okay. It’s okay. It doesn’t matter. I don’t have to leave these earrings by the ho
t tub. I can leave them anywhere. In the family room, down in the cushions. In the kitchen on the windowsill. In the powder room next to the soap dish. Anywhere.

  A memory comes to me. Connor and I were fifteen. We were sacked out on the sofa, talking lacrosse. His mom came home from some luncheon, telling Connor he needed to get his room ready for inspection that night. Connor hauled himself off the couch with a heavy sigh and asked me to help him—which I did, of course.

  His mother took out her earrings and dropped them in a glass bowl on a table by the staircase. I remember it because she said, “Be glad you boys don’t have to wear these wretched things. Nothing gives me a headache faster.”

  My eyes find the table by the staircase. The bowl is still there.

  I want to run across the family room and fling them down, but I need to be quiet. Every step seems to take an hour. When I get to the bowl, I meticulously place the earrings against the glass so they don’t rattle.

  And then it’s done. The earrings are no longer in my possession. I’m not a thief.

  The weight that drops off my shoulders is almost tangible. I need to get out of here.

  “… is talking to Rob again,” says a woman’s voice.

  I freeze. The voice is muffled, coming from above. Mrs. Tunstall.

  “What’s that about?”

  Mr. Tunstall.

  “He said they’re making up,” says Mrs. Tunstall. “That there was a misunderstanding.” She pauses. “I’m glad. You know, I’ve said before that it was a shame for them to—”

  “It wasn’t a shame. That needed to end. I know you’ve tried to be there for Carolyn, but we need to distance ourselves from that family.”

  Carolyn. My mother, who lost more than anyone and deserves nothing but kindness. I bristle, frozen in place at the bottom of the stairs. “I need to be there,” says Mrs. Tunstall. “We need to make sure she’s not going to change her mind.”

  Change her mind. About what?

  “She won’t change her mind,” says Bill. “Not if she knows what’s good for her. She needs to ride out the lawsuits and then she can put it all behind her. We can’t be seen associating with that family. It’s not good for business.”

  He’s such an asshole.

  “It’ll be fine,” says Bill. “A few more months. You’ll see. But I don’t want you to encourage Connor to rekindle this friendship. We need a clean break.”