Only the Pretty Lies

by Rebekah Crane

“I’m not having sex with anyone tomorrow.”

  “But if you did, who would it be?”

  “No one.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Ellis, I’m dating Zach.”

  “If you wanted to keep dating Zach, you wouldn’t have agreed to kiss someone at the party.”

  “I didn’t agree,” I argue. “I was blackmailed. By you. Plus, you said it was no big deal. It doesn’t count as cheating if it doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Don’t blame me,” Ellis slurs. “This isn’t my fault. I’m not the one pretending I still like Zach.”

  “I’m not pretending. I do like Zach.”

  “But admit it. You’re kind of excited to kiss a new person tomorrow, right?”

  I’m not answering that.

  “I knew it,” she says. “I know you better than you know yourself. I’m doing this for you, Amoris. I’m making your senior year interesting. You should be thanking me instead of pouting.”

  “So you’re making me cheat on Zach to keep things interesting? That’s messed up, Ellis.”

  “Blame it on Dead Mom Syndrome.”

  I don’t know why I bother talking to Ellis when she’s like this. Nothing sticks in her drunken state. I refrain from offering my psychoanalysis. It wouldn’t help, and it’s not my place. But on nights like this, it’s hard not to be mad at her dad. River thinks Chris is bad, but at least we have Rayne. Ellis has . . . no one.

  Ellis’s mom died when we were in eighth grade. She was crushed by a rockslide. The hikers who saw it happen said she didn’t even have time to scream, though I don’t think that gave Ellis or her dad, Matt, any comfort. They dealt with it in their own ways. Ellis rebelled, numbing the pain with boys and mischief. Matt decided to search the world for enlightenment, dropping Ellis on our doorstep two months after her mom’s death. When he finally came home, more than nine months later, decorated in mala beads, he stepped back into Ellis’s life like nothing happened.

  “The room’s spinning,” she says. “Get me some water.”

  I normally don’t mind when Ellis turns up at my house late at night, wanting a place to sleep other than her lonely, empty house. I prefer she stay here. But tonight, her appearance is grating. Why do I constantly have to be the one protecting her?

  “Don’t boss me around, Ellis.”

  “I was just asking. No need to overreact. I’ll get it myself.”

  She stumbles out of bed, but I stop her. “Just stay put and don’t puke on my bed.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ellis salutes me and laughs, flopping back on the bed.

  I contemplate sleeping on the couch. I just need space. To breathe and think.

  Ellis seems to be sleeping when I return with water. She looks so young and peaceful. Ellis stays perfectly still when she sleeps. It’s the only time she doesn’t wrestle with the world.

  I crawl in next to her. She threads her fingers through mine, holding on to me like I’m a lifejacket.

  Rayne warned me that grief is a tidal wave. Instinct tells us to run, but no matter how quick we are, the tidal wave eventually sweeps us off our feet and knocks us down so hard that survivors emerge drenched, bruised, and nearly unrecognizable.

  “Whoever she was before this, Amoris, Ellis will never be that person again,” Rayne said. “Grief rewires the body.”

  During eighth grade, Rayne waited for Ellis night after night, sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of tea in her hands, and when Ellis walked through the door from wherever she’d snuck out to, Rayne would calmly ask if she wanted some chamomile tea and lavender oil to help her sleep.

  “If I use that oil, will it make my mom come back?” Ellis asked one night.

  “No.”

  “Then it won’t help.”

  “Never underestimate Mother Nature,” Rayne said. “She created everything.”

  “Don’t talk to me about mothers,” Ellis said.

  I would lie awake, waiting for Ellis to climb into bed. I was so angry with Matt for leaving her alone. I wanted to beg Ellis to stop sneaking out. I wanted her to cry and scream and grieve. But I knew the only thing that would make Ellis happy was having her mom back, and I couldn’t give her that. So I played her a song—James Taylor’s “You’ve Got a Friend.” Every night.

  And then one night, months into Ellis’s living with us, months after her dad should have been home, she came to bed smelling of lavender.

  She slept until the sun rose.

  It wasn’t until later that I realized Ellis always snuck out of the house, but not back in. She knew Rayne was waiting, and she never avoided her. If she hadn’t wanted to get caught, she wouldn’t have done that. Somehow Rayne knew, and she was there every night, waiting for Ellis.

  “People want a witness to their pain,” Rayne said. “Not a judge.”

  That’s what I’ve tried to do for four years—not judge Ellis.

  Now, from her side of the bed, Ellis whispers, “You know I love you, right? I can’t imagine my life without you. I’d be miserable.”

  “I know.”

  “Will you play our song?” she asks. “It helps me sleep.”

  Our hands are interlaced. I whisper back, “Of course.”

  9

  THE F-WORD

  People are overflowing from Ellis’s house, spilling out the doors and into the yard. Music plays loudly inside, where the air is warm with body heat. I’m in my usual spot in her kitchen, drink in hand.

  Ellis’s house—a big rustic home with exposed wood and large stones and decks off every room—sits on the top of a hill outside of Alder Creek. Unlike Shangri-La, which is practically in the center of town, Ellis’s house is tucked into the foothills. The house is up high enough that it overlooks town. It’s private, practically hidden, and perfect for high school parties.

  Sam and Tucker lean on the counter, talking casually. Sam prefers not to drink. He said once that he doesn’t want to be so uncreative that he has to resort to drugs and alcohol for entertainment. Maybe if I had his imaginative mind, I’d agree. Tucker has a bottle of beer in his hand, but it’s a prop. Tucker hates beer. If he had his choice, he’d drink hard seltzer. He stands tall, chest out, looking extra male tonight—jeans, baseball cap, Eaton Falls High School Football T-shirt, and a pair of heavy-duty cowboy boots.

  Ellis returns to the kitchen, Jamison next to her, Beckett following behind like a sex-deprived puppy, his blond hair peeking out from under a baseball cap. He has the expensive-yet-unkempt look nailed. Chris would call him a frat boy and warn me to stay away from Republicans.

  Ellis has been dragging Jamison around the party, introducing him to everyone she thinks worthy of introduction. Jamison looks as though he’s just been tortured by bees. Like he wants to swat at the air to get rid of all the buzzing.

  Sam takes the untouched beer out of Tucker’s hand and gives it to Jamison. “You probably need this more than he does.”

  “Thanks.” Jamison takes a large gulp.

  “Ellis has officially initiated you into Alder Creek High,” Sam says. “I hope she didn’t haze you too much.”

  “I’m saving that for later,” Ellis says with a wink. She’s already tipsy. No matter how in control Ellis wants to pretend she is, when she drinks, her eyes get lazy.

  She woke up in my bed this morning, popped two aspirin, and gulped down a glass of water. When I left the house for my shift at the café, she was helping Rayne make pancakes. They were dancing around the kitchen, singing into spoons.

  I swear I don’t mind sharing Rayne . . . most days. But this morning, the whole scene felt wrong. Like Ellis was trying to move into my spot instead of sharing it with me. I felt protective of my mom in a way I haven’t before. It’s ridiculous, I know. I’m overreacting and being too sensitive.

  “Did you find your prey yet, Amoris?” Ellis asks me as she refills her glass with more vodka.

  “For what?” Jamison asks.

  “Nothing,” I clarify.

  “A deal’s a deal, Am
oris,” Ellis says, “and you agreed. It’s happening.”

  “Did I agree, Ellis, or was I coerced?”

  “Either way. If you’re not going to step up, I’m taking matters into my own hands.” When she takes the beer from Jamison, I see the idea spark almost instantly—Spin the Bottle. Ellis chugs the beer and then grabs me by the arm, dragging me toward the living room. Sam, Tucker, Jamison, and Beckett follow us. Ellis pushes back the couch and chairs, creating a large space on the floor. She sets the bottle down in the middle. “Who wants to play?” she announces.

  “Spin the Bottle. How perfectly juvenile of you, Elle,” Sam says.

  “You can thank me later.” She takes a seat on the floor.

  Beckett sits. “I don’t know why we ever stopped playing this game.”

  “Because we started having sex instead,” Ellis states.

  “Right.” Beckett smiles.

  “I’m in,” Tucker says, taking a seat next to Beckett.

  Hesitantly Sam takes a seat on the floor, pulling his knees into his chest. “Me, too.”

  “I’m not playing if I have to kiss dudes,” Beckett says. “Sorry, Sam. It’s just not my thing.”

  “Believe me, I don’t want to kiss you either,” Sam says.

  “Spinner’s choice,” Ellis declares. “We don’t discriminate around here. If you can’t handle that, Beckett, don’t play. Take your homophobia somewhere else. It doesn’t belong in this circle.”

  “Don’t worry, Becks,” Sam says. “I wouldn’t kiss you if you were the last man on earth.”

  Beckett stays put.

  As people come into the living room and notice what’s happening, the circle begins to fill up.

  “Come on, Amoris.” Ellis pats the seat next to her. “It’s just a harmless game.”

  But I’m solely focused on the fact that Jamison just took a seat in the circle.

  When I sit down next to Ellis, she whispers, “Good girl.” Then she leans into the center and grabs the bottle. “I’ll go first.”

  She spins it, and I swear I hold my breath until the bottle stops, pointing at Aiden Price.

  Ellis and Aiden lean into the center of the circle and kiss. It’s quick. People laugh. There’s an innocent energy to the room, like we’ve all been transported back to junior high.

  The game moves clockwise, leaving me for last. Beckett’s spin lands on Michelle Hernández. He looks relieved as he leans in to kiss her.

  Tucker spins next. The bottle stops on Ellis. She leans forward. “Glad to see you followed the rules and wore sleeves,” she says.

  Tucker counters, “Don’t worry, I’ll rip them off later.”

  They kiss in an oddly tense way, but at least Sam is happy with Tucker’s spin. Jamison is next. I swear it takes a millennium for the bottle to stop. When it finally does, pointing at Michelle, I feel relief. It’s a quick peck. Uneventful, though Michelle appears to have wanted more.

  “Boring,” Ellis says. “You call that a kiss? I know you can do better than that.”

  “That was just a warm-up,” Jamison says.

  Was that an allusion to their past kiss? And why can’t I just get up and walk away right now?

  Paisley Phillips gets Veronica Lamont. They kiss, and Beckett whistles. Sam lands on me. He sighs in relief when we lean in for a brief, friendly peck. Aiden, Michelle, Veronica, and a few others spin, the bottle appointing their kissing partners until finally it’s passed to me.

  “Your turn, Amoris,” Ellis declares. I tell myself this is nothing. A stupid junior-high game. I shouldn’t be nervous. I’ll probably have to kiss Aiden or Beckett or Sam, and it’ll be over. Ellis will be satisfied. I spin the damn bottle. Then I sit back, watching.

  It slows to a stop, pointing directly in between Tucker and Jamison.

  “Spinner’s choice. Who will it be?” Ellis asks.

  Why couldn’t the bottle land decisively? Why does Ellis constantly have to meddle in my business? And why am I supposed to live up to her expectations, and not the other way around? But that’s how it’s always been with Ellis and me. Can I really fault her now, when she’s the same as she’s always been? And isn’t this what I’ve been waiting for? But not like this.

  “Tucker,” I say. I feel out of my body. I can’t look at Jamison for fear of what I might see on his face. Relief or pain—either would be brutal.

  I can tell myself all day long that I’m doing this for Tucker and Sam. That I’m helping promote their charade. But that’s a lie.

  My heart hurts, and it’s my own doing.

  But the moment Tucker’s lips are about to touch mine, a loud crash startles everyone.

  “Shit!” Ellis stands quickly. Everyone moves to see what’s happened. I follow, only to find River pushing himself off the floor, a vase shattered next to him. He’s so intoxicated he can’t stand up straight. Jamison and I are at his side immediately.

  “I don’t need your help.” River manages to stand by gripping the wall.

  “Fuck,” Ellis says. “My dad got that vase in Bali.”

  “I’m sorry, Elle,” I say, as I attempt to hold River still.

  “Just leave me alone, Amoris.” River wriggles out of my grip.

  Ellis waves off my apology. “Don’t worry about it. My dad has broken worse things. He deserves it. Just get River home before he breaks something else.”

  I look around at all the staring eyes.

  “He could get kicked off the football team if this gets back to his coach,” I whisper to Jamison. “As annoying as he is and as bad as he smells, I don’t want that. He loves football. It might be the only thing that makes him happy right now.”

  Jamison hefts River up, holding him steady under the arms. “Time to go, River Westmore.”

  We carry him to Sam’s car, where Jamison puts him in the back seat. Sam and Tucker climb in the front.

  “Our little River is growing up,” Sam says. “Just don’t puke in my parents’ car, kid.”

  As we pull away from the party, River moans between me and Jamison. I really hope he doesn’t throw up. I’m not in the mood to clean up any more of my brother’s mess.

  Jamison and I make as little noise as possible dragging River up to his room. I don’t want Rayne burdened with this.

  In bed, River curls into a ball, clothes and shoes still on, and opens his eyes slightly.

  “What the hell were you thinking, River?” I whisper.

  “You were at the party, too,” he says.

  “That’s different. Do you want to get kicked off the football team?”

  “I’m not gonna get kicked off the team. I’m the best player they have. They can’t lose me.”

  “You’re an asshole.” I turn to leave River.

  “Did Amoris tell you about Sam?” River says to Jamison.

  “What about Sam?” Jamison asks.

  “He’s a faggot.”

  I’m back in River’s face, appalled. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Stop acting all high and mighty, Amoris,” he says. “You’re a hypocrite like the rest of us.”

  “And you’re a bad drunk.”

  He laughs, but it carries only anger. “So I get drunk once and you’re all mad at me, but Dad can get stoned every goddamn day of his life and you still love him.” River turns away from me. “Get out of my room.”

  I’m at a loss as I close the bedroom door. River might have an attitude sometimes, but that? That was not the brother I know. What is happening?

  “Maybe we should get him some water,” Jamison says. “He’s gonna need it in the morning.”

  Ever since Jamison showed up, nothing’s been right. He tilted my world. And while it doesn’t make any sense, at this moment, I blame him.

  “Just go,” I say, exhausted. “I can take care of River myself.”

  Jamison leaves without another word, and the house goes silent.

  But after I’ve washed my face and brushed my teeth, I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable
to sleep. The angry, drunk person River was tonight doesn’t resemble the brother I know. How can we live under the same roof for fifteen years, and suddenly he’s unrecognizable? I know he’s mad at Chris, but River is acting like a spoiled brat. And he said I’m the hypocrite?

  I spin my phone around in my hands, thinking about texting Zach. He’s what I need right now. Stability. Familiarity. I send a simple sentence.

  I wish u were here

  But when three dots pop up—Zach typing back, like he’s been waiting for me—I feel even angrier. Why does he have to be so good? So loyal? So . . . present? And worse, I’m evading him.

  As quickly as I started the conversation, I end it.

  Exhausted, going to bed

  He writes back: Can we FaceTime tomorrow?

  This is exactly what I don’t need, and I’ve done it to myself.

  Through my open window, I hear the sound of an outside door open and close. Jamison sits in the garden, reading by the brightness of the twinkle lights. I was awful to him. None of this is his fault, and yet I treated him like the guilty person.

  I set my phone down and grab a blanket. When Jamison sees me emerge from the back door, he closes the book.

  “I can’t sleep,” I say.

  “Me neither.”

  I should say I’m sorry. Admit that I was blaming him when I shouldn’t have. Jamison didn’t do anything wrong. River did. And I did. I’m the problem. I’m doing everything wrong.

  “He didn’t mean it, Jay. River would never say that about Sam if he was sober.”

  “Is that true?”

  I can’t answer Jamison’s question honestly. I don’t know, and it only pisses me off more. With one word, River has morphed into someone else. I don’t know who he really is. And if my own brother can be a stranger to me, who or what’s next?

  “Do you want to share my blanket?” I ask. It’s the best peace offering I have. I sit down next to Jamison and spread the blanket over us. “Whatcha reading?”

  Jamison shows me. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.

  “Remember when I told you that book was stupid?”

  “Yeah,” Jamison says.

  “I was just jealous.”

  “I know.”

  I should tell him that I made a mistake tonight. I picked the wrong person to kiss.