“Tark Culpepper.”
“Tark Culpepper?” I say. Tark is a name?
“He goes to the Academy,” Margo says. “But some of his friends go to Central. You know, like Mitchell Lumpkin? And Chase Warren?”
“Yeah,” I say, though those names mean nothing to me.
“So, are you dating Donal Murphy?” Aimee asks.
“The Irish dude?” Margo asks.
“No,” I say. “We’re just friends.” Which is true. Right?
“Someone said you were,” Aimee says.
“Nope,” I say, wondering who said that. Did Donal tell the other guys about the day at his house? My face reddens.
“He’s a cutie. You should go for that,” Aimee says.
“Speaking of, Tark is a total hottie,” Margo says. “Grace and I are totally going to fight each other over him.”
“We are not,” Grace says, laughing. “He’s all yours.”
“Well, sorry to burst your bubbles, but I heard Simone and Tark hooked up,” Aimee says. “At Harrison’s homecoming party.”
“Ugh, Simone,” Margo says. “Figures.”
They keep talking, throwing out names of more people I don’t know—Leslie, Jed, Harrison, Cecily. These girls have an easy rapport with one another. But I feel tongue-tied. I can’t follow what or who they’re talking about. What am I doing here, I think. But it’s too late to back out.
We finally pull up to where the party is—a big brick house with a circular drive, with tons of tall pine trees everywhere, like we’re in a magical forest.
The party inside is packed, and there are some faces I recognize, but mostly faces I don’t. I shield myself behind the girls as they make their way through the crowd. They stop and talk to the other partygoers, but I just stand there awkwardly, like an afterthought. I see people heading to one of the back rooms—the kitchen—so I break off and make my way there. In the kitchen I see a keg and bottles of liquor set out. A guy pours vodka into a plastic cup with ice, then pours orange juice, and stirs it with a long spoon. “Want one?” he asks, noticing me. I nod and he hands me the drink. “Thanks,” I say, but he’s too busy mixing another one for himself to acknowledge me.
I walk from room to room, not stopping. Stopping means standing there and looking like I don’t belong.
My drink is strong, but the orange juice makes it taste bearable. I start to feel calmer. Grace walks up behind me. “Hey! Where’d you go?” she says. She’s flushed, grinning, with some guy in tow. He’s got insanely green eyes and carefully combed dark brown hair. He’s so chiseled he almost looks like a cartoon character. “This is Tark,” Grace says.
“So you’re the famous Beth Walsh.” I can’t tell if he’s being jokey or flirty or something else. He reaches out his hand and I shake it. He holds on a bit longer than I’m used to.
“I’m not famous,” I say, twitching inside at the reference to Sam. I take another quick sip of my drink.
“Uh, yeah, you are,” he says. “Your story’s like something out of a movie.”
“A movie. Totally,” Grace says. “Beth, who would play you?”
“So, how’s your brother doing?” Tark asks, ignoring Grace.
I have no idea. “He’s okay.”
“That’s great. That’s really awesome,” he says, smiling like he’s posing for a yearbook photo. “Hey, come meet some of my friends,” he says, grabbing my hand and tugging me to a side room, where some of his private-school friends are holding court. I shoot Grace a look, but she’s smiling, like this is what she had in mind all along, parading around her “famous” friend.
“Hey, guys, this is Beth. Beth Walsh. Her brother is the kid that vanished and then came back.”
“Omigod,” some girl says, bounding up from her seat. She’s in a shimmery cocktail dress, like she’s at some fashion show instead of a dumb high school kegger. “I saw you on TV!”
“Who?” some guy sitting on the couch asks. His hair is long and looks dirty and he probably thinks he looks cool.
“The girl whose brother went missing,” she says, sounding impatient.
“We were just talking about how Beth’s life could be made into a movie,” Tark says.
“Oh, totally,” the girl says. “Or maybe a miniseries!”
I shake my drink cup around. “I think I need another,” I say, and then I turn around and walk away. I know I’m being rude, but I can’t stand there anymore. I make my way back to the kitchen and try to pour myself the same drink that guy made me, but it tastes way worse than before.
When I turn around, Tark’s behind me. “Did we scare you off?” he asks.
“No,” I lie. “I just needed a drink.”
“Come,” he says, “I’ll show you the lake.” I follow him, and as we walk through the crowd I spot Aimee from a distance, and when she sees me with Tark, she sticks her tongue out and smiles.
Outside, the night air is cool. Tark leads me across the deck, past more clumps of people, down some steps, and then along a slight dirt path that weaves through a bunch of trees. Once we clear the trees we are on a wooden boat dock, the lake spreading out before us, gentle ripples visible in the moonlight.
“It’s pretty,” I say, walking to the dock’s edge. I take another sip. And another. The dock creaks as he moves closer to me, closer, till I can smell his cologne.
“You’re pretty,” he says, putting his hand on my back, cupping himself behind me.
I want to like this. I want to want this. I want to feel like this is a world I could walk around in—parties, drinking, hot guys. But this whole night is wrong. When Tark starts to nuzzle his mouth on my neck, I step to the side, and walk to the other side of the dock.
“Um, okay?” he says. Maybe I’m the first girl who hasn’t swooned and fallen into his arms.
“Listen, it’s nothing personal.” My voice sounds wobbly. “You’re only giving me the time of day because you think I’m some celebrity. The girl with the brother who came back from the dead. The famous Beth Walsh.”
He stands there, across from me, and turns to face the water, maybe to look at the moon—at anything besides me. I’ve ruined the moment he had in mind. But I don’t care.
“You know, when I first started at Central, everyone knew who I was. The girl with the missing brother. But I made some friends, and they didn’t care about that. They just knew me as Beth.” I think of Chita and Darla and Ainsley and wonder what they’re doing, if they’re all hanging out, and I feel a jolt of remorse at how I’ve been acting. “And then everyone at school forgot about all that stuff. They just knew me as Beth, too. The girl on the soccer team. No one special.” I take another sip of my drink. “But all that’s changed again. Now I’m Beth whose brother miraculously reappeared. Beth from national TV. Beth whose life could be a movie. But that’s bullshit, because I’m still just Beth. I just want to be Beth.” I laugh to myself, because who is that? Who the hell am I? I don’t really know anymore. I laugh again, and even in the faint moonlight I see Tark look back at me like I’m a lunatic.
I have to get away. I leave the dock and rush back up the slope to the house, back to the kitchen. I make myself another drink. I stand there for a bit, sort of in a trance, feeling like I’m not fully present in my body. Someone nudges me to get to the booze, so I walk to the main room and I see Tark talking with Margo in a corner, probably telling her what a weirdo I am. I shuffle back down the hall and bump into someone and spill my drink, splashing a little on the floor. “Sorry,” I say, keeping my head down.
“Beth?”
I look up, hearing the accent. “What are you doing here?” Donal asks.
“What are you doing here?”
“Just here with the twins.”
I see Jake and Jackson across the room, their matching dark flops of hair. “Oh God,” I moan, my stomach rumbling all of a sudden. I hand him my drink and
barrel my way through people.
Bathroom. Must find bathroom. There’s a line when I get there, so instead I rush out the front door, push past a few people just arriving, onto the lawn, where I bend over and retch and then puke. I’m not sure how long this goes on. Everyone in the party must be peering through the windows, laughing.
“Beth?”
I jolt up. It’s Donal, thank God.
“You okay?”
“Can you take me home?” I ask.
“Yeah. Of course.” We walk down the street to his Jeep. He opens the passenger door for me, and I get in. “You sure you’re okay?” he asks.
“Just take me home.” And he does. And it’s like he knows not to talk to me, because we’re quiet most of the way, until we get closer to my house.
“I don’t know what I was doing there,” I say. “I made a fool of myself.”
“I doubt that,” he says. He pulls into my neighborhood. I click my phone and see it’s almost eleven, just in time for my curfew. I hope Mom and Earl are asleep. I don’t want them to see me like this.
“How’s your ankle?” Donal asks.
For a second I wonder what he’s talking about, and then I remember. “Okay, I guess.”
“It seems like you’re walking normal now. You going to be back on the field soon? Maybe we could kick the ball around?” He gives me a quick glance, probably hoping I’ll nod my head in agreement.
“Bowl?” I ask.
“Ball,” he says. “Ball.” He smiles, shakes his head. “You making fun of me?” he says, exaggerating his accent. He grins, hoping I’ll laugh, and normally I would. But my brain is soupy. “I don’t know,” I say. “I may quit.”
“You will not,” Donal says. “I’m afraid I won’t allow it.”
I almost smile. His damn accent still gets to me. Even after all these years. Is that what makes him seem different than the other guys, or is it something else?
He pulls up to my house and stops the car. We sit there and I can tell he wants to reach over and kiss me, like he did that day at his house. There’s a charge in the air of the car, and I can sense him hoping for some sign—the same kind of sign I must have given off that day.
But I have nothing to give tonight. I open my door and get out. He gets out, too, and comes around to my side of the car. But he doesn’t try to touch me. He stands there, his hands in his jeans pockets, respectful.
“Thanks for the ride. For getting me out of there.”
“Any time,” he says.
I start walking to the kitchen door, careful with my feet.
“Beth?” he says loudly.
I stop and turn back to him.
“Can you text me when you wake up tomorrow, so I know you’re okay?”
It’s dark out but I can still see him clearly because of his car’s headlights. He looks solid, tall and strong—not slouchy and awkward like so many of the guys in my class. His endearingly big ears fit his face better. I know a lot of girls have a crush on him. But he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world he can see. I want to warn him away. I want to say, Don’t bother with me. Instead I say, “Okay,” before walking on.
I step inside and shut the door and lean back against it and close my eyes. A few seconds later, I hear the Jeep speed away. I open my eyes. The light above the stove provides a slight glow in the darkness. I creep into the den. The TV is off. The lights are off. I’m relieved but also ready to just collapse. I’m heading to my room when I notice something out of the corner of my eye.
Someone is on the couch, sitting in the dark. I can see the faintest suggestion of a body. “Hello?” I whisper, my heart suddenly pounding.
“Hi, Beth.” Sam’s voice cuts through the darkness.
“What are you doing?” I say, just above a murmur.
“Just sitting here,” he says quietly, as if that’s a normal thing to be doing—like watching TV, or reading a book. Just sitting in the dark.
I tiptoe to one of the armchairs across from the couch. I still have my jacket on but I sit down. Sam flicks on the little side lamp. He’s in his jeans and a flannel shirt unbuttoned over a tee, wearing his shoes, like he was on his way out somewhere. Dressed the way he was when he returned, except his hair is trimmed. Those piercings are gone. I still can’t get used to teenage Sam.
“How was the party?”
“Awful,” I say. I shudder thinking about all of it—Tark and those kids and puking my brains out. The famous Beth Walsh. “What are you doing out here?”
He doesn’t answer right away. He’s just sort of looking off to the side as if he’s searching for a response. “Sometimes I can’t sleep.”
Goose bumps bloom on my skin. “I can’t sleep sometimes, too,” I say.
He flashes his eyes at me, like he’s just noticing I’m here. “It’s so quiet here,” he says. “I’m used to . . . I’m not used to it being so quiet. That’s funny, isn’t it?” He looks off into space again, smiling that slight smile of his. “Sometimes I wake up, and I realize all over again that I’m home, not at Rusty’s. And I’m so happy . . . too happy to go back to sleep. Like I . . .”
But he hesitates, and his face goes blank, like a switch has been flipped. Do I look panicked? That name—Rusty. Wasn’t his name Russell? I feel my stomach rumble. Maybe I didn’t puke all the booze out. Or maybe I did. Rusty. A nickname. I can tell Sam is about to add something else, something I don’t want to hear, so I say, “I’m so tired.”
Sam doesn’t respond at first. I close my eyes, like that can protect me. Finally, he mumbles, “Don’t tell Mom you saw me tonight, out here. I don’t want her to worry.”
“All she does is worry,” I say, opening my eyes again.
Sam cracks a slight smile. After all these years, he still knows what our mother is like.
I feel a stab of closeness to him then, not fear. And I almost open my mouth and say, Sam, it’s okay, you can tell me about what happened.
But no words come.
No words come because I don’t want to know.
And it’s like he can read this on my face because he says, “Good night, Beth,” and he flicks the light off and then we’re back in the dark.
I don’t say anything. I just feel my way toward my room. I undress and crawl into bed. I’m not tired, despite what I said. And I thought my buzz was gone, but I guess it isn’t because when I lie down my head starts spinning. I close my eyes and almost enjoy it, like I’m a kid again on a merry-go-round. Round and round I go, without a care in the world.
CHAPTER 6
Lickety-Split
Josh
After tennis practice on Monday, I wait for Dad to pick me up. I’m not in the best mood, and I wasn’t hitting well today. “You’re gonna have days like this,” Coach Runyon said. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” This was after I’d slammed my racket on the ground. When I picked my racket up, a lot of the guys stared over at me, because I never really show emotion on the court.
Nick usually waits with me after practice, but he’s off talking with Sarah. I try not to look over at them, but I can’t help it. Nick has his hands in his track pants pockets and is swaying back and forth, while Sarah smiles up at him adoringly. I think he could be saying anything and she’d still look that way. Girls have always had crushes on Nick, but before Sarah came along it’s like he didn’t notice or care. I hear Sarah laugh and then Nick laugh back at her, and I feel like bashing my racket on the ground again.
Dad’s late. I look over toward the soccer field. My friend Raj is on the team, junior varsity, and I see him huddled in a group, talking to the coach. The huddle breaks and he runs out with his teammates onto the field.
Sam would probably be on that team. Maybe one day he will be, when he comes back to school. If he comes back.
Stop it. Stop thinking about him.
“
Josh!” Nick says, walking up to me with his tennis stuff and backpack. In the distance I see Sarah getting into a car. “You still waiting on your dad?”
“Yeah,” I say. I want to ask, How’s Sarah? in a mocking way. But I keep quiet. I look at his hair, which keeps getting longer and longer. “You need a haircut,” I say.
“What?” He runs a hand through it. “No way, man. Sarah wants me to grow it out.” He grins big, thinking I will, too. I roll my eyes. Raj actually cut his hair, because Madison H. said she liked it short. Since when did my friends start acting like they don’t have minds of their own?
Just then, Nick’s mom pulls up. She rolls down the window and waves at me. “You need a ride, Josh?”
“No thanks, my dad’s coming soon,” I say.
Nick looks at me. “Later, bud,” he says, tousling his hair like he’s giving me the finger.
Dad finally pulls up after a few more minutes.
“Sorry, kiddo,” he says when I hop in. I don’t say anything back, just give an annoyed look, but he’s oblivious.
Dad has NPR on, as always. A lady with a soothing voice is interviewing some man. He’s talking about the brain, and junk food, something that has to do with science and chemicals and cravings and how companies know how to exploit the taste buds. I like that science can explain almost everything.
“How was practice?” Dad says when a commercial comes on.
Shitty, I want to say. “Okay.”
“And how was school?”
Dad knows I hate this question. “Okay.”
“Okay then. Everything is okay,” Dad says with a chuckle. I feel his eyes on me, but I just look at the scenery out the window. It’s not like we have big conversations all the time, but today I’m just not in the mood to say much.
The commercial ends, and the NPR lady comes back on and says stay tuned for local news. After another commercial, the local host is on. I’m really only half-listening, but suddenly I hear the name Russell Hunnicutt, then Sam Walsh.
“In a Calhoun County courtroom today, Hunnicutt pleaded guilty to seventy-three charges, including kidnapping, sexual abuse, attempted murder, and child—” And right then Dad changes the channel.
We Now Return to Regular Life Page 12
