Rules We're Meant to Break

by Natalie Williamson

  I scramble to my feet, my hands shaking, and back away from her. Buffy gets up too and puts herself between Hannah and me. “Don’t. Just stop. You know it doesn’t work like that. You know the rules.”

  I’ve been letting them slide too much lately, but I have to stop. Because every time I do, it’s like Mom knows and decides that’s the best time to end things and move on to the next guy. I don’t ever get a choice. I just get hurt. So the rules, following them, that’s my choice. It’s the only one I get. How can I break them, knowing that?

  Hannah’s face softens, and she gets this look of understanding that I hate. Like she can see some part of me that even I can’t. “Amber,” she says, taking a tentative step forward, reaching out one hand to Buffy, who sniffs it delicately, and the other to me. “Maybe this time will be different. Your mom really seems to like Kevin, and he—”

  I’m already heading for the stairs, shaking my head and fighting back sudden tears. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Or ever. “Just drop it. I’ll see you upstairs.”

  twenty

  Hannah leaves early the next morning, when it becomes clear to her that I am going to fake-sleep until she goes away. I hear her stop in my doorway, and then she says, “You can keep this up for as long as you want, but I’m the one who taught you how to fake-snore in the first place. Don’t even pretend like I don’t know what you’re doing. When you want to talk about this—about everything—I’ll be here. Until then, snore away.” Then she goes, and I feel like something heavy is sitting on my chest.

  At school on Monday, Hannah and I pretend like nothing happened, though I can tell by the way she watches me that she’s still mad-at-slash-worried-about me. Luckily she has Elliot as a distraction and I have Ryan to pass me bites of cinnamon crunch bagels under the table. Without them there’d be frigid silence at our lunch table, though things are pretty quiet even with the boys as buffers.

  I avoid Cammie. Partly because the last week was a wake-up call that I need to be stricter about the rules, about remembering she and I aren’t friends and never will be. But I also avoid her because I’m embarrassed about how I treated her. It’s been a long time since I lost control like that in front of one of my mom’s boyfriends or their families. Even longer since I took my anger out on them. It makes me feel small.

  Jordan I do not avoid, but it’s not like I see him much, anyway. We are strictly back to business. I go over to his house on Thursday night for not-tutoring session number six, and we keep things totally professional. We get through his fifteen-page midterm paper in record time and then I leave, because after last week horse is apparently off the table. I try not to think about how much this bothers me, but that night when I get home it takes me a long, long time to fall asleep.

  Friday morning Ms. Ulbrich pulls me aside after English class again. “Can you come by during lunch?” she says. “I thought today would be a good time to check in with you and Mr. Baugh. See how your meetings are going.”

  Oh. Right. “Definitely. I’ll see you then.”

  She nods and I leave to spend the rest of the morning with my stomach in knots, which is stupid. I knew this was coming. Six weeks was always the time limit. I’m only upset because I promised Jordan I’d make sure he kept his grades up and I can’t do that if we don’t meet anymore. That’s all.

  Jordan beats me to Ms. Ulbrich’s room again. He gives a hesitant smile when he sees me.

  Ms. Ulbrich comes over and plonks herself down in the seat across from us and says, “Let’s begin.”

  Jordan and I both look at her. She’s got Jordan’s midterm paper in her hands, and I brace myself for her to go into some long, detailed conversation about it. But she doesn’t. She just says, “Well, Mr. Baugh, this is certainly an improvement. Your argument is much more coherent, and the random capitalizations are gone. I think you’re doing very well. This is a solid B paper, and the rest of the work you’ve turned in since you started working with Ms. Richter is as well.”

  “Oh.” Jordan glances at me and then quickly away. “Thanks. Amber’s been really … She’s really helped me.”

  I can feel myself blushing, but luckily neither of them seem to notice.

  “I’m happy to hear that,” Ms. Ulbrich says. “However, since we only have next week left before the holiday break, I’d like to see how you do on your own for those assignments before we decide if this arrangement should continue next semester. Does that work for both of you?”

  She says that last part like a question, but I can tell it’s really not. So I ignore the sinking feeling in my gut and say, “That’s fine with me.”

  “Yeah, no problem,” Jordan agrees, staring at his feet.

  “Wonderful,” Ms. Ulbrich says. “We’ll check back in after the new year, then.” And with that, she gets up and leaves the room.

  “Well,” Jordan says. “I guess that’s it.”

  There’s a note of disappointment in his voice that makes my heart thump hard in my chest, but I force myself to keep my tone neutral as I say, “For now at least.”

  “Right.” He gets to his feet and looks over at me. “I guess we should go get some food, then.” As if on cue, my stomach rumbles, and he grins. “Hungry?”

  “Starving,” I admit.

  “Then let’s go.”

  We head out of the classroom and toward the commons. We’re silent for a minute and then Jordan clears his throat. “So. You coming to the game tonight?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “And the dance tomorrow.” This weekend is basketball Homecoming. Why the school administration decided to put it on the last weekend of school before winter break is beyond me, but there you go.

  “Nice. You going with anybody?”

  “Hannah,” I say, resisting the urge to ask him why he wants to know. “I’m her second date.” I still have this title, in spite of our fight. One of the perks of being best friends.

  That surprises a laugh out of him. “Second date?”

  I grin and feel myself relax a little. “Yeah. Elliot’s her first, but she and I have a long-standing tradition. And besides, I’m a better dancer than Elliot anyway.”

  He shoots me a sideways glance, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a smile. “That I can definitely believe.”

  We’re at the commons now. Ryan spots me and waves, motioning to show me that they’ve saved me a seat. “I’d better go,” I say, nodding toward them.

  “Right, yeah,” Jordan says, looking over at my friends and then back at me. I start toward the table but I don’t get very far before he says, “I’ll be there tomorrow. At the dance.”

  He looks so serious. My heart starts pounding hard in my chest. I open my mouth to say something like, “Then I’ll see you there,” or “Awesome, it’s gonna be so much fun!”

  What comes out instead is, “If you win tonight, I’ll save a dance for you.”

  His mouth opens in surprise. We stare at each other for a long moment.

  “Amber!” Hannah calls.

  I jump like I’ve been shocked and squeak, “Gottagoseeyoulaterbye!”

  And then I turn and practically sprint toward my friends’ table, trying to ignore the fizzing feeling that’s happening in my veins. Jesus Christ. Why did I say that?

  “What was that about?” Hannah asks as soon as I reach them. Ryan raises an eyebrow at me, clearly interested by the suspicion in her tone.

  “Nothing.” I flop into the seat across from Ryan and reach for his chips. “Just talking about the game.”

  Hannah looks at me with a knowing expression. “That didn’t look like nothing.”

  “Hey, I wasn’t done with those,” Ryan says.

  “Sorry.” I hand the bag back to him and reach for the apple on his tray instead; he rolls his eyes, laughs, and hands the chip bag back to me. To Hannah, I add, “Well, what did it look like?”

  “Something.”

  “Right. Well it wasn’t, so don’t worry about it.”

  She eyes me carefully for a sec
ond, clearly trying to decide whether she should push me on this or not. And I guess she decides not to, because she nods and says, “Okay. We’re still carpooling to the game tonight, right?”

  “Right.”

  I hope we lose.

  * * *

  We win. By twenty points. And when that final buzzer sounds, my promise echoes in my head. If you win tonight, I’ll save a dance for you.

  Shit.

  * * *

  Hannah insists that we go out to get dessert after the game, so it’s late when I finally get home, pushing close to my curfew. I’m careful to be quiet as I slip through the kitchen and head toward the stairs. Buffy greets me in the living room, her paws padding softly on the carpet as she comes over to stick her nose in my hand. I’m bending down to rub her neck under her collar when I hear angry voices coming from Mom and Kevin’s room.

  I freeze, hold my breath, and try to make out what they’re saying. But I can’t from here, can barely even tell it’s my mother talking and not Kevin; I only know it’s her because I have years of experience listening to her hiss at people behind closed doors. Slowly I let my breath out and take a step closer, and then another, until I’m across the living room and at the start of the hallway that leads to their bedroom.

  “… without asking me,” I hear my mother say, her voice low and sharp.

  “Claire,” Kevin says, “I really think you’re blowing this out of proportion.”

  “I’m not,” she snaps. The words are cutting even to me, so I can imagine what they must feel like to Kevin. I hear her saying something else, but I don’t catch the first part of it. I just get “… don’t appreciate it.”

  Kevin says something back, his voice muffled now too. They must be walking toward the bathroom, or their closet or something. “Shouldn’t you let … say…? You don’t know … might … future.”

  “I do know,” my mother says, her voice clear again. “And I’m done talking about this. I’m going to bed.”

  With that, the strip of light under their door goes dark, and I hear the sound of rustling covers. I stay where I am for a second, waiting to see if Kevin will push back or if the conversation really is over. But he stays quiet and the light stays off, so I back away from the hallway and hurry toward the stairs.

  This is how it always starts. Angry voices behind closed doors lead to tense silences at dinner, which turn into clipped words and sighs of irritation, and then full-on fights with actual yelling that my mother couldn’t hide even if she wanted to. And then it’s over and she finds someone new and convinces herself that this guy will be The One. That this will be the last time we have to rearrange our whole lives again.

  I never believe it. I just wait for the signs that show me the end is coming, so that I’ll be ready when it does. Usually it’s a relief when I spot the first one, because waiting takes a lot of energy and it’s hard to always be on edge. But this time I don’t feel relieved.

  I feel like crying.

  * * *

  I wake up early the next morning to let Buffy out and feed her, then go back to bed and sleep until it’s almost time for lunch. When I come downstairs again, Mom is at the kitchen island, nursing a cup of coffee and aggressively flipping through one of her favorite recipe books. Kevin is nowhere to be seen.

  “Um, morning,” I say, hesitating in the doorway, and she jumps at the sound of my voice.

  “Oh, Amber, you scared me,” she says, setting her coffee cup down and putting a hand over her heart.

  “Sorry.” I come further into the room and head for the fridge in search of food.

  “That’s all right, sweetheart. Are you and Hannah still planning to come back here after your dance tonight?”

  I hesitate. Part of me wants to say no, that Hannah and I are staying at her house now, but if I do that Mom will ask why we changed our minds. I don’t want her to know that I overheard her fight with Kevin last night, and maybe knowing Hannah and I are coming back here will make them less likely to give a repeat performance.

  “That’s the plan,” I say, emerging from behind the refrigerator door with an apple and some Babybel cheese. At the sight of the cheese Buffy gives me sad eyes, so I take pity on her and start unwrapping one for us to share.

  “Good,” Mom says, smiling now. “Any snack requests? Stella has the bakery covered today, so I figured I’d play around with some new recipes.”

  “Hannah liked those s’mores cookies you did over the summer. Otherwise just surprise me.”

  “Deal,” Mom says. Then she glances at something behind me and stiffens in her seat.

  I turn to find Kevin coming into the kitchen, his coat halfway on and his keys and a pair of sparkly high heels in hand.

  He smiles warmly at me. “Morning, Amber.” Then he turns to Mom and adds, “I’ve got to run Cam’s shoes over to Ellen’s,” in a tone that for normal humans would be considered friendly but for him is downright frosty.

  “All right,” Mom says, not meeting his gaze.

  Aaaand that’s my cue to leave.

  “I’ve got to head to Hannah’s to get ready,” I say, loudly enough that both of them start and look at me. “Mom, you guys can still take care of Buffy tonight, right?”

  “Yes.” She nods and gets to her feet. “We’ve got her covered.”

  “Thanks,” I say, turning to go.

  “Have fun,” she and Kevin say together, and I look back in time to find them watching each other warily. I don’t wait to see how the standoff turns out. Instead I hurry out of the room and back upstairs to grab my stuff, glad that for today at least, I have a place to make my escape.

  twenty-one

  Hannah and I spend the whole afternoon getting ready for the dance. She keeps changing her mind about her lipstick color and yelling at Matt, who is already home from KU for winter break, to turn down his music. After what I heard last night and witnessed this morning I’m having a hard time caring about the dance, but I know there’s no way I can get out of it. So I do my best to act like I’m having a good time and to keep myself from thinking about the drama that’s waiting for me back at Kevin’s. I do a pretty good job at faking enthusiasm. Not so good at keeping my thoughts in check.

  Hannah and I do each other’s hair—I put hers up with a bunch of loose braids and she curls mine so the waves are bigger than usual—and she lets me borrow her favorite pair of blue heels to go with my dress. This is her version of a peace offering. Some people say they’re sorry or try to talk things out with you after a fight, but not Hannah. She lets you wear her shoes.

  We meet up with Elliot and Ryan at Megan’s house, and Megan’s mom has us line up to take a million pictures in front of her fireplace. I’m exhausted by the end of it and feeling very much like a fifth wheel, but I don’t say anything because I don’t want to ruin the night for anyone else.

  The music’s already blaring when we get to the dance. Hannah and Megan have to go to the coat check, but I skip it because I left my coat in the car and everything else I need fits in my bra. Instead I take a bathroom break to double-check my hair and makeup. I have to skirt around the dance floor—which is really the floor of the commons decorated with snowflakes and flooded with strobe lights—to get there. It’s still early, so not many people are dancing yet. Just a few awkward baby freshmen and some of the die-hard girls who never miss a song.

  I walk into the bathroom and stop short at the sight of Cammie in a poufy pink dress, leaning close to the mirror to touch up her lip gloss.

  She catches sight of me in the mirror, and smiles warily. “Amber. Hi.”

  “Hey.” I hesitate for a second and then go over to stand next to her so I can check my makeup too.

  She studies me carefully in the mirror. “I stopped by the house on the way here. Your mom said to tell you to make sure Megan’s mom gives her pictures.”

  I roll my eyes. Mom has already texted me this like ten times. “Will do.”

  “Okay,” Cammie says. She’s quiet for a beat. T
hen: “So. Where’s your date?” I must look confused because she adds, “Hannah.”

  “Oh, right.” I laugh uneasily. Jordan must’ve told her about me and Hannah’s arrangement. How else would she know? “She’s in line for the coat check with Megan and the guys.”

  “Ah.” Some other girls come in and Cammie backs away from the mirror. I think she’s going to leave but then she turns to me and says, “Well. Jordan and some of the other guys from the team got here a little bit ago.”

  My stomach flips. “Uh, okay.”

  “Just so you know,” Cammie says.

  “Right.”

  She peers at me for a second, frowning a little. Then she shakes her head and says, “I’ll see you out there, Amber.”

  I have butterflies when I leave the bathroom, the big, swooping, scary kind. I tell myself to go find Jordan and end this whole stupid thing now, but Hannah and Megan and the boys find me before I can and start pulling me toward the dance floor. It’s kind of a relief, to be honest. I’ll deal with Jordan later. Or maybe he’ll forget about what I said to him and won’t come find me at all.

  We push our way through the growing crowd until we’re right next to the DJ booth, where the music is so loud it’s like I can feel it in my bloodstream. The first song melts into the second and then the third and then the fourth, and somehow I manage to lose myself in the music.

  It’s hot and it doesn’t take long for me to feel sweat trickling down my back. My hair feels heavy so I gather it up in one hand and pull it over my shoulder, not ready to give up and pull it back yet. Hannah’s dancing with Elliot—his arms are around her waist and he keeps leaning down so his mouth is near her ear. They look happy.

  She smiles a huge smile at me and holds out her wrist, the one with the ponytail holder. I shake my head no. Then her smile gets even bigger and she waves at someone behind me, and I turn around and there’s Cammie. And I wonder why Hannah’s smiling like that, because I know she likes Cammie but that’s the smile she saves for whenever important boy things are about to happen.