There’s a moment of silence in the bar when the clip ends, then everyone bursts into raucous applause, the kind he deserved but didn’t get on awards night, thanks to yours truly. Now I stand and clap with everyone else, my smile so wide it hurts. But it’s real. It’s the happiest I’ve been in a week, and it’s nice to be remember what that feels like.
A pretty girl in a blue dress sidles up, sipping on a margarita. “Congratulations, Gary,” she says, smiling. “That was pretty amazing.”
“Yeah,” echoes a second girl, appearing behind the first. “It was so...moving.”
“I have tears in my eyes,” comes a third voice, and behind them I can see what looks like half the bar moving close to be near the man of the night.
Crosbie meets my eye and nods. A year ago, there was nowhere I wanted to be more than exactly where Choo is sitting. But that’s not my show anymore, and I don’t want it to be.
I put some money on the table, pull on my jacket, and slip out of the bar unnoticed. There’s a light snow falling when I reach the sidewalk, the night dark and cold, disconcertingly quiet after the noise inside. I tuck my hands in my pockets and walk back to campus, grateful for the alone time. Since the babysitters club formed it’s been next to impossible to find time for myself, and I appreciate being alone.
When I reach the turn that takes me home, I hesitate and look toward the looming campus structures a few blocks away. I don’t know when Andi’s exams wrapped up, if she’s still here or if she’s already gone back to Avilla. But she made herself clear, and McKinley isn’t really a place I’m ready to return to anyway. Still, I walk the slippery path to campus, under glowing streetlamps and trees dusted with snow, until I reach the Student Union Building.
With the exception of an unfamiliar security guard and a guy sleeping on one of the couches, it’s empty. My sneakers squeak like a warning as I approach the elevators, but no one stops me. I ride up to the fourth floor and stare at the bathroom door like I’m not sure what awaits me on the other side. And I guess I don’t. It’s possible the list has been reinstated, though there’s only one name to add to it. Or maybe there are more slurs, more lies, more attempts to convince people I’m living the life they think I should be.
I push open the door, squawking in terror when a giant figure emerges from one of the stalls.
“Ahh!” we cry in unison, abruptly cutting off when we recognize each other.
I make a disgusted face to hide my fear. “Crick?”
“McVey?”
I look at him. He’s wearing track pants and a winter jacket, a gym bag in his hand. He’s not here to use the bathroom, he’s visiting. It’d be weird if I weren’t doing the same thing.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, aiming for nonchalant but winding up at stupid.
“Same thing you’re doing, I think.”
His eyes dart from side to side, then return to mine. And that’s when I smell it. Paint.
Instantly my hackles rise. “What are you really doing, you asshole?” I shove past him and push open the door to the stall he’d emerged from. It’s not the stall that housed my list; this one hosts the basketball players. But instead of the long list of fabricated names I’m expecting, I find a swath of empty, newly painted space.
Slowly I back out of the stall and look at Crick.
After a second he looks at me sheepishly. “Fresh start.”
“Was Jazzy on there?”
He sighs and rubs his temples. “Only like half a dozen times, man. I couldn’t stop her from adding herself.”
“Or stealing your car.”
“Or pissing in your apartment.”
“She told you that?”
“Yeah. Right before she stole my car.”
“Well, you deserved it.”
He rubs his chin. “I know. I’m sorry about the awards thing. I wanted to ruin your night, not Andi’s. I didn’t think it through.”
“You did ruin mine, if it’s any consolation.”
“Not really.”
I want to blame Crick for everything that’s gone wrong in my life, but I can’t. If I don’t own it, I can’t fix it. “I wouldn’t have been in that position if I’d just been honest with her sooner,” I hear myself say.
Crick looks surprised by the confession. “New year, new opportunities, I guess.”
“Yeah.” I reach over and nudge open the door to the third stall. The last time I saw it it said Andrea Walsh Is a Whore! I guess we know who to thank for that.
“Is it still blank?” Crick asks, coming to look over my shoulder.
“No,” I answer, reading. “It’s not.”
“Huh,” he says.
Three new lists occupy the space that used to be mine. I recognize the guys’ names as freshmen on the cross country team. Guys who get to make this mistake. Guys who get to live life as they see fit, learn from it—or not—and adapt accordingly. My mistake wasn’t having a list, or even being a little bit proud of it. It was letting someone else tell my story instead of writing it myself.
“What are you going to do now?” Crick asks.
I stare at the wall for a second longer, the last time I’ll ever look at it. “I’m going home,” I tell him.
chapter nineteen
I drive back to Avilla alone. I listen to Christmas music on the radio, pop songs then oldies then blues then country, a soundtrack for a time of year that’s meant to be filled with love and hope and resolutions. I’ve never been dumped before, but with fifteen whole days between now and the debacle with Andi, I have some perspective. I also have a truckload of mostly unwanted advice from my friends about how to handle things. What I don’t have is any idea what, if anything, I’m going to do when I get home.
I drive through rain, sleet and snow, but the closer to Avilla I get, the more sunshine I start to see. Less forest, more desert. I swap my sweater for a T-shirt, roll down the windows and turn up the music. I still don’t have a game plan, but at least I look the part.
It’s dark when I reach town, glowing Christmas lights twined around palm trees and cacti and window frames. I take my time navigating the quiet streets. I tell myself I’m absorbing the atmosphere, but really I’m putting off the moment I climb the stairs to my old room and lie in a bed just feet away from Andi.
I turn onto our street, park in front of the house and grab my bag from the backseat. I’ve taken all of eight steps when the door bangs open and my mom bounces onto the porch, arms open.
“I missed you!” she exclaims, hugging me tightly. My brothers don’t get to come home for the holidays so I’m the recipient of all her pent up affection.
“Hi, Mom.”
My dad appears over her shoulder, a dishtowel in his hand. “Hey, Kell,” he says.
“Hi, Dad.”
My mom lets go and I hug him too, hearing my mom fuss over my hair and my weight and my luggage; basically everything in sight.
“Are you hungry?” she asks. “Do you want something to eat? I made lasagna.”
“That’s okay. I ate on the road.”
I follow them into the kitchen and take a seat at the island as my dad continues to dry dishes and my mom re-dries them. Their Christmas decorations are minimal now that there are no kids in the house; the tree stands in its traditional spot in the corner of the living room, lights off, a few presents scattered at its base.
“We were surprised you didn’t drive back with Andi,” my dad remarks absently. “She said she took a bus.”
“Her exams finished before mine,” I lie. I try to ignore the ache in my chest, but knowing that Andi’s not acknowledging us hurts more than I expected, even though that’s been the whole unspoken history of our convoluted relationship. I open my mouth to add to the lie, then close it. Then I open it again. “Actually, we broke up,” I hear myself announce. “And she hates me.”
My parents pause in their dish drying, eyebrows raised, dazed by the confession and all it implies. I don’t think it’s a shock for them to hear
that someone might hate me, or that I had a relationship end. It’s the implication that Andi and I had anything, ever, that could end, that’s the shocker.
“Oh, Kell,” my mom says eventually. “That’s...disappointing.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It is.”
“What happened?” my dad asks.
I want to blow it off, downplay everything, but acting like things meant less to me than they did is what got me into this situation, so instead I tell the truth. I leave out the really personal details, but they get the gist of it. Andi came to Burnham. We got together. I fell for her but never really admitted it. Then, when I finally did speak up, it was to tell the whole athletics department that I didn’t love her.
Their eyebrows have now risen all the way up, disappearing into their hairlines.
“Oh,” my mom says.
“Hmm,” my dad says.
“Yeah,” I say.
After a second my dad reaches into the fridge and pulls out two beers, popping off the tops and sliding one bottle across the island.
“I guess that’s my cue,” my moms says.
I sip the beer, icy cold but only about ten percent satisfying. “You can stay.”
“Nah.” She comes over to kiss the top of my head, say goodnight, and disappear upstairs.
My dad comes to sit on the stool next to mine. “Well.”
“Well.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Pretty awful.”
“So what’s the problem?”
I frown at him. “Andi hates me. Weren’t you listening?”
“I mean, what’s the problem with you? Why didn’t you just tell her you loved her instead of letting everything blow up like this?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Because I’m an idiot?”
He looks thoughtful. “You’re not dumb, Kellan. You act like it sometimes, but you’re not. The problem is you’re too handsome.”
I snort into my beer. “That was my second guess.”
“It was obvious,” he continues. “When you were little. That’s why I told you not fall for anyone. I didn’t want you to get a girl pregnant and be trapped in a life that would make you miserable. That would tie you to this place and make you wonder what you were missing.”
“Is that what happened to you?”
He looks surprised. “What? No. Is that what you think happened? We planned for you kids. Well, we planned for your brothers. You were a shock. I mean, a delight.”
I roll my eyes.
“Maybe it wasn’t the life I thought I’d have,” he adds, “but it turned out to be the only life I wanted.”
This is so contrary to what I’ve always believed that I’m having trouble absorbing the words. I pick at the label on my beer and try to process things.
“Your brothers had it,” he continues. “That look. Like they were just biding their time here, counting the seconds until they could leave. And every time one left I’d watch you and see that same hope on your face, the same anticipation. And I didn’t want anything to stand in your way.”
“Well, your plan worked. I left.”
“I thought you liked it at school.”
I sigh. “I did. I do. It’s just complicated now.”
“I’ve got bad news for you, Kell. It stays complicated forever. That’s what keeps life interesting. Things are boring when they’re easy.”
I think of my first year at Burnham. Easy. Uncomplicated. Awesome. My second year, slightly more complicated, slightly less awesome. My third year. Andi. The polar opposite of easy. As for awesome...well, she has her moments. I drink more beer. “I don’t know what to do.”
“What have you tried?”
“Talking to her. Right after the banquet. She slapped me and told me to leave her alone so she could get over us. She said she’d been in love with me forever and all I’ve ever done is break her heart.”
“That’s pretty harsh.”
“Harsh but true.”
“Well,” he says. “It sucks to feel like you’re alone in something, especially something as messy and messed up as love.”
I think about Crosbie. He told me once that the thing that hurt most about learning about me and Nora was not that he was the last to know, but that he’d feared that the thing that frightened him most was true: he was the only one in love in their relationship. He’d been terrified that she loved me while he loved her. It wasn’t the case, of course, but it put him in a vulnerable, scary position and he hadn’t known what to do about it.
I don’t think Andi’s worried I love anybody else; she’s just afraid that I don’t love her. That I never have and I never could. But she’s wrong.
I glance out the window toward the backyard. I can’t see much beyond the dark, but there are a thousand memories swirling around out there. Fighting with Andi, playing with Andi, fighting with her some more. Stealing beer from the fridge, forcing ourselves to drink it and act like it was good. Sneaking into her room, my room, the basement—anywhere we could be alone. It’s never been easy, but it’s always been worth it.
“She’s wrong,” I say.
My dad touches his bottle to mine. “So convince her.”
“I’ll try.”
“But don’t use the words ‘you’re wrong,’” he adds. “That never ends well.”
* * *
It’s after midnight when I carry my bag up to my old bedroom. The driving, the beer and the confession have left me exhausted, but I perk up slightly when I see a light on in Andi’s room, glowing behind the closed curtains. My instinct is to crawl across the bed, shove open my window and call out to her, but my instincts haven’t served me well of late, so instead I drop my bag and go into the bathroom to take a cold shower and clear my head.
When I come back, I still want to talk to Andi. It’s been ten days but it feels like eternity. It’s hard to believe we went two years without speaking and I don’t want that again. I don’t want that for another day, and definitely not for the rest of my life. Maybe it’s selfish, but there you have it. It’s not just about what I want, but what I’m ready for.
I dig through my drawers for shorts and a T-shirt, stopping when I see my old superhero T-shirt, too big for me in first grade, and more than a little too tight now. Still I put it on, count to ten, and open my window. The warm night air wipes some of the staleness from the room and I lean out. “Andi,” I whisper loudly.
No answer.
“Andi. I know you’re in there.”
Still nothing.
“Will you talk to me, please?”
A hand appears behind the curtain, flashes me its middle finger, then yanks down the window and locks it.
I stare at the glass like it’s a set of bars, then flop back onto my mattress and stare at the ceiling instead. How many times had I found myself in just this situation growing up? And what had I done about it then? Nothing. I’d just let things fester, let them fade, then eventually we’d move past them and carry on being friends. That’s not an option anymore. Things have changed. We’ve changed. And there’s so much more at stake. Crosbie and Nora had some time apart, then they got together and talked things over and made up. But it doesn’t look like anything so mature or practical will work with Andi.
I grab a golf club from the corner of the room, crawl back onto my bed, and lean out to tap on Andi’s window. It takes a full minute of tapping before the curtain yanks back and she glares out at me.
“Open the window!” I whisper.
She shakes her head.
“I told my parents about us!”
Her jaw drops and she pushes up the window furiously. “I hope you’re lying!”
“Totally serious. I’ll tell everyone.”
“There’s nothing to tell, you ass!”
“There’s everything. I should have said a lot of things sooner, but I didn’t. I wasn’t ready. I wish I had a better reason, but that’s the truth. I’m ready now.”
“Well, I’m not.”
Ther
e’s a fine line between being persistent and being stalker, and I’m trying to tread it carefully. “I think you are,” I tell her. “I know you’re angry and afraid and—”
She manages to look even angrier, pieces of hair falling out of her bun. “What?”
“But that doesn’t get us anywhere. Remember how my dad told me not to fall in love—”
“You really told your parents? I thought you were lying!”
“No, I really told them. I told them the truth. I lied to everyone at the banquet. I just wanted you to be the first to hear it.”
“Well, that’s ironic, because I’m the last person who wants to.”
“I know it’s taken me a long time—”
“Too long, Kellan.” She tries to close the window but I stick the golf club inside so she can’t manage that last inch. I hear her curse furiously as she tries to push it out, but I don’t let her.
“Give up!” I suggest, grunting at the effort. “Because I won’t!”
“Knock it off!” She pushes the window back up and tries to wrench out the golf club.
“No. I didn’t fight back the last time you shut me out, and I’ve regretted it ever since.”
“I don’t. It was the nicest thing you ever did for me.”
“No,” I counter. “Inviting you to my fourth grade birthday at the trampoline park after you sabotaged my third grade party was the nicest thing I ever did for you. This is the second nicest.”
More hair falls loose as she continues to fumble with the club. “You have no idea what nice means! And your birthday party sucked!”
“It only sucked for you because you kept breaking the rules and got banned from the park!”
“It sucked because you were there and the rules were stupid!”
“I don’t want to fight with you like this,” I say, breathing hard. It’s ridiculously difficult to maintain a battle with a golf club between two houses.
“Then let me close the window.”
“Let’s go outside.”
She gapes at me. “What? Let’s take this outside?”
“No, you psycho. Just meet me outside. Right now. Come on.”
“No. I—”
“You don’t get to freeze me out again. You froze me out last time because you were afraid. Because if you told me I hurt your feelings I’d know you cared and I’d tell you I cared and I’d still leave and we’re both have to admit we felt sad.”
Undeclared (Burnham College #2) Page 28
