Like Never and Always

by Ann Aguirre

  An hour later, I’m in the school office, using Morgan’s considerable charm to persuade the secretary to adjust my schedule. So far it’s not working.

  “I understand,” she says patiently. “But you can’t just drop into advanced science courses. There are prereqs that you don’t meet.”

  I smile. “According to the handbook, I have the option to test for class credit. Otherwise, you have no way to ascertain how much knowledge I may have gained independently.”

  She hides a smirk behind her hand. “You think you can test into an AP science class on a whim?”

  “Who does it hurt to let me try?” If I have to, I’ll threaten them with Mr. Frost. He’s made several donations over the years, enough to give his wrath some weight.

  Earlier, I wouldn’t have dared try this. I was too afraid of getting caught, but … how can they prove I’m not Morgan? I suspect they’ll attribute behavioral changes to the accident and any similarities to Liv, well, wouldn’t they think Morgan is paying tribute in her own way? The truth is too crazy for anyone to stumble on. People change, right? I just have to take it slow and let everyone get used to the new me.

  Luckily the principal steps out just then. “Can I help you, Morgan?”

  I explain my request all over again, and Mr. Gallo doesn’t seem opposed. “It’s a little unusual, but we could use another girl in the science program. Talk to Mr. Finney. As long as he’s willing to let you take the finals for the prereq courses, I have no objection.”

  “The time has passed for changing schedules,” the secretary protests.

  “We can make an exception for Miss Frost.” His tone is final, so the woman gives me a resentful look but she fills out the request form, stamps it, and gives it to Gallo to sign.

  The only issue with this plan is Morgan is a senior. Which means I have to test out of a class I haven’t taken yet to get back on the science track. This … is a problem. The art kids will probably feel betrayed, too. I hope we can still hang out; it was pretty fun the night they came over, even if I didn’t understand all of the foreign film references.

  Thanks to Mr. Frost’s generosity, Gallo gives me an open pass that lets me wander the halls with impunity. I’m supposed to head straight to the science department to get the ball rolling, but instead I dodge out into the courtyard. The sun is bright overhead and, for once, there are no students tending to the garden. For five blissful minutes I just bask.

  Until someone flicks me in the back of the head. I open my eyes with a frown. “What?”

  It’s the one person I shouldn’t see, the boy whose heart I’m breaking with my silence.

  33

  Leaning down, Nathan stares into my eyes with a disconcertingly intense expression. “The hell are you doing?”

  “Some light sun worship, duh.”

  “You’re terrified of skin cancer.”

  I shrug. “Not anymore. The accident put a lot of things in perspective.”

  “Such as?”

  “Shouldn’t you be in class?” Evading the question is better than continuing this conversation. Why won’t he leave me alone? A phantom ache tightens my chest.

  “I could say the same to you.”

  Lazily I wave my pass. “There are benefits to being me.”

  “Likewise.” Nathan sits down beside me without waiting for an invitation. “The teachers are so sympathetic. If I make a noise in class, they send me to the bathroom for as long as I want. Dead girlfriend perk.”

  Without meaning to, I flinch. “Asshole.”

  “You’re playing the dead bestie card to ditch. How am I worse?”

  He’ll find out sooner or later, so it’s probably better to get it over with now. “Actually I’m switching my focus and changing my schedule. There’s no point in attending classes that I won’t have all semester.”

  “What are you dropping?” he asks.

  “French, Graphic Design, and Visual Arts.”

  Nathan stares as if I’ve grown another head. “Those are your favorite classes. How will you get into—”

  “I’m not going to school in Paris,” I cut in.

  “Don’t tell me you’re staying in Renton for my brother?” Mockery renders his tone sharp enough to cut glass. “Before, I thought you were just using him, but lately I wonder. Don’t tell me you’re developing a taste for white trash, rich girl.”

  My hand lashes out, delivering the slap before I process the intention. The sting of my palm and his reddening cheek, sunlight bright overhead, and the sweet smell of the still air stretches between us. His gaze locks onto mine, and I can see the wheels turning in his head. Morgan would never have done that, no matter how provoked she felt; she was far too controlled, and words were her weapon of choice.

  My voice comes out soft. “You’re hurting, I get it. But you owe him better than that. He’s given up so much to make sure you have a future. If he’s trash, what does that make you?”

  He tips his head back, staring directly up at the heartbreak-blue sky. “Infinitely worse. You think I don’t know that?”

  The sheer anguish in his tone startles me. “Nathan—”

  “Am I such a bastard that I want to steal from my brother? It’s like I can’t stand for him to be happy, even for a minute. Jesus, I look at you and I ache. Since the night we kissed, I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s driving me insane.”

  The silence is so deep I can’t break it. I want to run, but I want to touch him, too. Which is wrong. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. The girl he loves is dead.

  Officially.

  But there’s a buoyant joy rising in me. Because on some level, he does know. Logic just won’t permit him to make such a ridiculous leap.

  Suddenly he grabs my hand and presses it to his chest. Beneath my palm he’s warm even through his T-shirt and I can feel his heart racing. There’s no reason I should open my fingers but I do because this is Nathan, and it’s been so long since I touched him. He’s a lifeline connecting me to my world before.

  “What am I supposed to say?” I whisper.

  “Hit me again. Say I’m crazy. Tell me you love my brother.”

  “This can’t happen. You’re grieving.” I try to make my tone comforting, but my hands operate on their own, coming up to stroke his face.

  Mixed messages much? This so isn’t fair to him.

  His eyes spark green and then he grabs my wrist, pulling me off the bench and through the quiet halls. I have no idea where we’re going until he drags me to the maintenance stairs that lead to the roof. I’ve never been up here, though I know sometimes people sneak off to make out. The roof is flat, sticky in the heat, and it offers access to various heating and cooling elements. Otherwise there’s nothing up here but privacy.

  “Why didn’t you stop me?” He steps closer and presses his palm over my heart. “Don’t screw with me. Are you feeling this, too?”

  “I just ran up all those stairs,” I mumble.

  Of course I feel it. Love doesn’t disappear in a few weeks. I’ve buried it, but he’s still in my heart, now thundering madly beneath his fingers. Nathan is and always will be my first love. But nothing is so simple anymore.

  While I’m trying to figure out how to stop this without making it worse, he whispers, “Remember that summer?”

  My whole body chills.

  “You borrowed your dad’s car, even though you didn’t have a license. We drove out to the quarry, but you wouldn’t get in the water until I covered every inch of you with sunblock.”

  I have a feeling I know where this story is going. My tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth, and I can’t find the words to stop him. There’s also this awful, morbid curiosity. I’ve wondered how it happened, and Nathan seems to think he’s seducing me with his memories.

  “We might’ve gotten caught if we’d been in our pool.”

  He smiles. “That’s what you said then.”

  The knot in my stomach gets bigger, but I don’t pull away. He cups my shoulders in
his hands, though the spark of longing I felt earlier has died to smoking ash. I can taste it as bitter sulfur on my palate, and he keeps talking.

  “That day … I haven’t forgotten.”

  Before, he said it was just sex. But it was also his first time. I guess that makes it special. Through some superhuman effort, I choke down the tears because now I have to wonder if he was thinking about Morgan every time we made out, if he was imagining her in my place. My breath hitches and he takes it for encouragement.

  “You, too?”

  I step back then, breaking his hold. “From what I remember, it was really fast, messy, and awkward. It wouldn’t be in my top five.”

  He flinches, but doesn’t let go of me. “Morgan, please. The only time I stop thinking about Liv is when I’m with you.”

  That helps a little. But … it’s not enough. I wrench out of Nathan’s hold.

  He doesn’t know who I am. If he did, if he saw Liv in Morgan’s skin, I might have done something stupid. The disappointment stings from the inside out, and I hate that I almost fell into this pit again, after just crawling out of it. Without waiting, I yank open the door and race back down to the back hallway. The janitor almost catches me dodging out of the stairwell but I’m fast enough he can’t be sure. I don’t give Nathan a chance to catch up with me and book top speed for the science department.

  Mr. Finney is first surprised to see me and then irritated as hell at my presumption. “You haven’t had science since freshman year. Do you think my classes are a joke?”

  “No, sir.” I like this teacher a lot, and he was fond of me as Liv. Maybe he’ll learn some respect for Morgan, too. “I’ll take the Bio final first to prove I have the knowledge to take the next one.”

  “Well, it can’t be today. I’ll schedule it after school next week. Until then, attend your regular classes.” His disapproving tone tells me he suspects this will be a colossal waste of time.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  By now I’ve missed all of first period, and everyone is getting out of class, so the hallway fills with students, most of whom stare hard at me. I smile at the ones who make eye contact, startling them. The rest whisper to each other and don’t acknowledge me otherwise.

  Oscar breaks my isolation bubble, however, calling to me from down the corridor. “You’re looking all-American today. What gives?”

  “I got tired of trying,” I tell him honestly.

  “It’s exhausting. Once I went without eyeliner and wore a polo shirt, and people legit did not recognize me for half the day.”

  Squinting, I try to imagine him without cosmetics and in preppy clothes, but I can’t quite make the leap. I’m too used to his groomed coif, the black nails and J-pop eyeliner. Today he has on black jeans with lots of zippers, a vinyl jacket, and a mesh shirt underneath.

  As he walks me to second period, he says in a musing tone, “You’ve never asked me, you know. Unlike pretty much everyone else in the school.”

  “Asked what?”

  “If I’m gay. Aren’t you curious?”

  I shrug. “It’s your business. It would only impact me if I was trying to hook up with you. Since we’re friends and I’m not—”

  “Thanks for that.” His tone is unusually serious, his expression almost brooding.

  “For what?”

  He summons a smile, banishing the momentary darkness. “Your friendship. For not asking. I’m still figuring some things out, and it’s tiresome being on everyone’s to-do list.”

  I laugh. “Please tell me you’re being ironic. Because I don’t think I can handle that much conceit so early in the morning.”

  “Since you laughed, obviously that’s what I was going for.” Oscar shoots me another lazy grin and detaches to head into his classroom.

  Trying not to think about Nathan, Creepy Jack, or the potential reality that Morgan’s mother may have been murdered, I doze through the rest of the morning. At lunch I stop Isaiah Emerson, a science nerd I knew pretty well as Liv. He’s a tall, thin black kid who’s on track to be valedictorian with a scholarship to Cornell already locked down, and he has no patience for nonsense.

  He frowns when he hears my request. “Don’t waste my time.”

  “I know you have all your notes along with last year’s syllabus. What does it hurt to let me borrow them?”

  Thick brows shoot up; Isaiah stares, obviously surprised. “Why do you know that?”

  “Liv told me.”

  His expression softens a little, maybe enough. “Oh.”

  There’s an awkward pause with Isaiah studying me from behind wire-framed glasses. He dresses like he’s already working for a company that permits business casual: khaki slacks and a striped blue button-up. No pocket protector, though. If you didn’t know he’s the top science student, you could mistake him for a Young Republican.

  “Consider it a posthumous favor to Liv, if you want.” That’s true enough.

  “Give me some collateral,” he says finally.

  Without hesitation, I pull off the platinum bracelet I’m wearing. “I know your notes are invaluable, but this should prove I’m in earnest.

  Isaiah accepts the swap, beckoning me over to his locker. Inside it’s impressively organized, so he finds the notes fast. “I want these back in a week.”

  That’s about how long I have to study anyway. “No problem.”

  Isaiah brushes by with a final nod of farewell, freeing me to head to the library to review. I’m confident I can pass the freshman and sophomore exams but I haven’t even taken the junior class yet, which is why I have this impeccable study guide.

  But can I learn a year of material in seven days?

  34

  Right now I don’t want to think of anything but science, where the formulas make sense and I can predict the result of an experiment. I might be wrong, but the process is never painful. Unlike encounters with Nathan.

  Unlike visions from Morgan, her mother’s secrets, Creepy Jack, and the fact that my family is in mourning.

  At this point, I need a pause.

  I don’t care anymore if my sudden change in behavior sets off alarm bells. Genetically speaking, it is indisputable that I’m Morgan Frost, and as little time as Mr. Frost spends with his daughter, both before and after the shift, I doubt he could say if her interest in art and fashion was a fad or not. Plus, that’s kind of the deal with growing up, isn’t it?

  I remember how desperately Morgan wanted to be an actress when she was thirteen, and nobody doubted she had the looks, but then she realized celebrities lose their privacy … and she switched gears. Morgan never explained herself to anyone, not even me. It’s ludicrous to imagine she’d clarify any sudden changes. I can picture her icy, incredulous look, one brow arched. Now that I know how much pain her composure covered, I wish she had confided in me; her secrets were of the dark and destructive variety.

  From here on out, I’ll try to finish what she started while shaping her life to fit. That firmly in mind, I head out after school determined to find out whatever Mrs. Rhodes knows about Morgan’s mom and Creepy Jack. It’s no surprise to find the housekeeper polishing the floors—that’s her job, after all—but when she spots me, she tries to retreat.

  “You’re home early. I’ll make you a snack.”

  “I’d rather chat,” I say.

  Her face pales. “About what?”

  I don’t have the patience to be gentle, so I lead with, “How do you think my dad would feel if he found out about our bonus program?”

  She stumbles back a step, catching herself on the wall, but then she tries to bluff. “You wouldn’t. If you tell him, you lose your precious freedom.” From the way she spits the word “precious,” I can tell she hates covering for Morgan and despises herself for the necessity.

  My indifference is real. “I won’t be living at home that much longer.”

  “What do you want?” she demands.

  “Information. First, tell me everything you know about my mother and
Jack Patterson. And then I want to hear about my father’s girlfriend.”

  “Is that all?” Her expression tells me she expected something worse.

  “It’s not enough?”

  “Come on.” She props her mop against the wall and beckons me toward the kitchen. “I’ll make tea while we talk.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Ten minutes later I’m sitting across from Mrs. Rhodes, who looks more tired than anything else. She stirs her drink exactly six times and then sets her spoon on the saucer. “I suppose you already know that Mr. Patterson is your mother’s ex?”

  I nod. “That’s not news, I found some mementos after she died.”

  “What you probably don’t know is that…” She hesitates, twin pleats forming between her brows. I can see that she’s conflicted about sharing this. “Your mom and dad … things were rocky just before she passed. He’s said some things when he was drinking I’m sure I wasn’t meant to hear.”

  “So…?”

  “From what your father let slip, your mother was … seeing Mr. Patterson when she died.”

  The air gusts from my lungs in what feels like an asthma attack, except that’s not a problem Morgan has. “What?”

  At my expression she adds, “I don’t know what he meant, exactly. That night, he wasn’t what I’d call coherent.”

  “Why?”

  “It was five years ago, the anniversary of your mother’s death. I got the impression your father blames himself. If he’d paid more attention, spent more time with her, the accident wouldn’t have happened.”

  Wow. This is a lot to process. Does this mean Morgan’s mother was having an affair with Creepy Jack? That possibility sends a hot rush of bile to the back of my throat. It’s like Morgan and her mom are interchangeable to that pervert.

  “Did he know she was pregnant?” The question slips out before I can stop it, and judging by how Mrs. Rhodes reacts, she had no idea.

  “Are they still gossiping about her?” She makes a tsking sound. “Whatever your mama may have done, there are some that should really learn to shut their mouths.”