Dr. Miller seems genuinely clueless. “Well? What was it?”
“It was a name. Under ‘In Case of Emergency.’ ”
“And what name was that?”
I swallow. “Sandy Gray. Dr. Miller, do you know who she is? Or why her name would be in my file? I’ve never even heard the name before.”
“What did you say the name was?”
“Sandy Gray.”
She shakes her head slowly back and forth. “You don’t have any aunts? Any close family friends with that name?”
“No. I don’t have any close relatives besides my parents. I don’t know anyone with that name. So why would it be there? And why would Del think I had a right to know?” For the first time since I’ve been seeing her, I’m actually interested in her input. “Do you think my parents could be hiding something from me?”
“I can’t imagine,” she says. “Your parents adore you. If there was something significant about this woman, I don’t think they’d be hiding it from you. But still”—she smiles—“it can’t hurt to ask them, can it? After all, our sessions are to help you understand yourself better. Obviously, if this woman is an emergency contact, you should probably know why.”
“So we can ask them?”
“Certainly.”
“Even though the file was stolen?”
“Yes. You still have a right to know. Ask your mother. I’m sure she’ll shed some light on it.”
“But you don’t know anything?”
Dr. Miller gives me a steady, sincere look. “Emily. If I knew anything at all, I would tell you. I will never lie to you. Okay?”
I bite my lip. Thanks for nothing. “Okay. But in the meantime, can you tell me what to do?”
“I can tell you to keep writing down your nightmares. Keep taking your medication. And—and that’s all.”
Over the summer, Ethan has blossomed in a big way. He was always great looking, but Stephanie tells me that, since he made head prefect, he’s been lifting weights and studying vocab words like there’s no tomorrow, determined to uphold Stonybrook’s reputation for excellence, and to get into Stanford.
I giggle. “Does he also want to fly backward around the earth?”
The Superman references—everybody makes them—have always annoyed Steph for some reason. I’m starting to realize it’s precisely because everyone makes them that she doesn’t like them, because it’s something about him that she has to share with everyone else. If she’s changed at all over the summer, she’s become even more touchy and bitter.
“Shut up,” she says. “You know I hate that.”
We’re in the library during English class, where we’re supposed to be researching an author of our choice for a term paper. In order to avoid doing much work, I’ve chosen Victor Hugo. I did a junior year English paper on him, and I’ve seen Les Misérables, like, five times.
Grace is sitting with us. She and I exchange a look. “Steph?” Grace asks, her tone casual. “Can I just ask you a question about Ethan?”
“What?”
“Did he spend a lot of time in his Fortress of Solitude this summer?”
I snort. Grace giggles, beaming at me. “That was funny, wasn’t it?” She’s proud of herself.
“I swear to God, Grace,” Stephanie says, “I’ll stab you with my pen if you don’t shut up.”
Grace is wholly unafraid. “My goodness,” she says, “you’ll get blood all over the library.”
Stephanie kicks her under the table.
“Ow! You’re assaulting me! I was kidding!”
“It wasn’t funny.”
“Yes, it was.” Grace reaches down to rub her calf. “Emily was laughing. It was funny.”
Steph glares at me. “Could we stop talking about my brother?”
“Okay,” I say, “I’ll change the subject. So, Steph. Where do you want to go to college?”
Stephanie is researching Franz Kafka for her paper. She pretends to be deeply engrossed in the book she’s reading. “I don’t know. I’m going to try to get into Stanford, too, with Ethan.”
“Steph …” I let my voice trail off.
“What?” she snaps. “Don’t tell me I don’t have the grades for it.”
“You don’t have the grades for it,” Grace says. “Does she, Emily?”
I hesitate. I don’t say anything else.
Stephanie glares at both of us again. Then she slams her book shut, gathers up her things, and moves two tables over. She’s still well within earshot.
“Did somebody say my name?” Ethan is suddenly behind me, his hands resting lightly on my shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I feel a jolt through my whole body. I remember the Christmas party, the awkward phone call that followed. But that was all before Del left. It feels like a lifetime ago. I haven’t talked to Ethan all summer.
“We sure did,” Grace says, opening her big mouth. “We’re talking about where everyone’s going to school next fall, and Steph said she wanted to go to Stanford with you.”
“Oh.” I can’t see Ethan’s face, but I sense the hesitation in his tone. “Well, she can apply anywhere she wants. I guess it’s, you know, up to the admissions board.”
I glance at Stephanie to gauge her expression. She’s pretending to stare at her book again, but I can tell she’s trying not to cry.
For no reason that I can tell, I find myself thinking of Del. I wonder what he’s doing this very moment. I wonder if he’s happy, or if he’s managed to track down his sister yet. And if he makes it to college—even though he said more than once that he wasn’t going—maybe it’s possible we’ll end up seeing each other again. Maybe things will be different. I don’t even know what school he’s at.
“ … She’s not paying any attention to you,” Grace is saying.
“I know. I could probably lean down and say something like, ‘Emily Meckler. Can I have your attention, please?’ ” Ethan’s mouth is directly next to my ear, so close that I can feel his warm breath on my skin.
My stomach flutters. “What?”
“I said, do you want to do something tonight after chorus practice?”
I look from Grace to Stephanie. Is Ethan asking me out?
Stephanie scowls, still pretending to read her book. Grace wriggles in her seat, unable to physically contain her excitement.
I should have expected this. I remember everything he said at the Christmas party last year, and on the phone over Christmas break. In hindsight, it was so obvious. But now that it’s actually happening, it’s hard for me to believe. It occurs to me that Ethan doesn’t know who I really am, that he’ll probably never know. And if he did, would he still want to have anything to do with me? Is it fair for me to mislead him, to let him think I’m just little Emily Meckler with a pretty voice?
I don’t care. I just want life to be normal again—whatever that means.
“Um. Sure. Okay.” I can feel myself blushing.
“Okay. Super. Fantastic.” His voice is nothing but confident. “We’ll get ice cream or something. Sound good?”
Grace looks ready to fall out of her seat. Her grin is so huge that I can see the tops of her gums.
“Okay.”
“Okay, then. I’ll see you tonight.” He takes a deep breath and murmurs, “Finally.” Then, as quickly as he appeared—he’s not even in our English class—he’s gone.
“Oh my God,” Grace says. “You’re going on a date with Ethan Prince. He wants you to be his girlfriend. He likes you.” Suddenly, she seems gravely concerned. “Emily. What if he falls in love with you? What if you fall in love with him? Will you go to Stanford? You’ll never get into Stanford. Oh my God. You two could get married. Emily Meckler-Prince.” She whistles softly. “That sounds really classy.”
“Grace,” I whisper, looking around to make sure he’s gone. I can’t stop smiling. “He just wants to get ice cream.”
“Emily,” Grace says, “he’s a seventeen-year-old boy. He wants more than ice cream.”
I stare at her. “How do you know what he wants?”
“Because he’s my twin brother. We have a connection.”
“Oh, really?” I suddenly can’t stand her. “Did you know that he called me last Christmas break? After the party?”
Stephanie’s expression falls flat. “What?”
“That’s right,” I say. “He called me up just to tell me merry Christmas.” I cross my arms. “What do you think about that?”
She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but she glowers at me and Grace. Finally, her voice cracking, she says, “I think my brother is a really nice guy. And I think he deserves a really nice girl.”
She slams her book shut. Then she stands up, shoves her things into her book bag, and walks quickly out of the library.
As I watch her leave, I find myself thinking of Del again, feeling guilty that I’m so excited to go out with Ethan. How would I feel if Del had another girlfriend at his new school?
Del does not have another girlfriend. I feel certain. I feel like I would know if he did.
There’s a small part of me, I know, that’s waiting for him to show up again, anticipating him any day now. But I’m not sure what I expect him to do once he gets here.
In my room, there’s a letter for me in a plain white envelope, resting on my pillow, undoubtedly placed there by an already dozing Franny (her underwear says THURSDAY!, even though it’s Wednesday). The letter writer was obviously trying to be discreet—there’s no return address or anything—but I would recognize the sloppy handwriting anywhere; it’s from Renee.
I’ve never gotten a letter from anyone besides colleges and junk mail. I tear it open carefully, like it’s an artifact, and sit on top of my covers to read it.
September 8
44 degrees, rainy and overcast
sore throat
Hi Emily,
I’m writing to you because I figure nobody would expect us to communicate in such an archaic way. The new school is good. Lots of hippie, artsy kids, which I guess is okay. How are you? Did the trainer (Cory? Colby?) take care of everything for you? Last time I saw, you had killer abs, so I’m betting there are no problems.
You should go see Bruce’s new movie . The movie itself sucks, but he really liked you. It’s worth ten bucks for a ticket to return the favor, right? He and my mother are going to court again to fight over custody of me . I’m seventeen and at boarding school nine months out of the year, so you’d think they’d give it up by now. Especially because I haven’t seen my mother since last year sometime .
My new address is below. I’d love to have a pen pal. Miss you and all our adventures. Everything’s good on your end, yes? Definitely let me know …
Much love,
R .G.
The letter brings tears to my eyes. I’m wiping them away when I hear Grace and Stephanie in the hallway. Before they come in, I shove the letter beneath my mattress.
I’d love to have a pen pal.
Me, too, I think. There is so much to say that can’t be said to anyone else.
After chorus, Ethan strolls over to me, cool as can be, and says, “Well? You ready for some ice cream, sweet thing?”
Oh, yeah. It’s a date.
Going to downtown Stonybrook is like stepping back in time. There are soda shops and restaurants along the shore; there’s a long pier with mansions stretching on either side of it down the beach as far as we can see. We get our ice cream—hot fudge sundaes for both of us, which I can imagine Grace will find disappointingly boring—and walk to the end of the pier. Ethan reaches for my hand; I flinch.
“Emily? Is this okay?” he asks.
I smile. “Yes.” It’s just that I had a secret baby with Del Sugar over the summer, and I’m not sure but I think there’s a slight possibility that I still love Del, and I have no idea where he is, and I’m not even ready to start dealing with my feelings about giving the baby up for adoption, so it’s not like I’m exactly ready to jump into a serious relationship right now, especially with someone as sweet and normal as you. “It’s great.”
He laces his fingers through mine. His hand is cold, the evening cool. He keeps holding my hand as we sit down on a bench. I rest my head on his shoulder. I’ve done it a million times; until he started acting differently toward me, he was almost like a brother.
At first I feel uncomfortable being so close to a boy again. But then I remind myself: this is Ethan. He’s a good person. Ethan Prince would not impregnate his girlfriend while secretly abusing cocaine behind her back, and then leave her all alone.
“Emily?” His voice is more nervous than I’ve ever heard it. “I wanted to tell you something.”
It’s past dusk on the pier; the sun slips gently into the sea and we’re left chilly, almost alone as the tourists start to meander back to their cars.
“I’ve liked you for a long time,” Ethan says.
It’s so cold that I can see my breath. I remember Del’s red blanket wrapped around my body.
“It isn’t covered in dirt. It’s covered in you.”
But Del is gone. Ethan is right here. “I had an idea,” I tell him. “I mean, there was the Christmas party.”
“I was going to ask you out last year,” he explains, “as soon as we got to school. But then everything happened with you and Del, and I didn’t get the chance. I wasn’t even supposed to talk to you.”
“You can talk to me now.”
“I know,” he says. He smiles. “I don’t want to waste any more time.”
“I have to tell you, Ethan, this is all kind of hard to believe. I mean, you’re my best friend’s twin brother.”
“I know,” he repeats. “I hope you don’t think it’s too weird.”
I pause, taking a moment to think about it. I look at him; I mean, I really look at him. Renee was wrong about Ethan; he’s not boring. He’s kind and concerned and intelligent. He loves music, just like I do. He is honest. He feels calm. He feels safe.
“No,” I say, “I don’t think it’s weird. I think it’s kind of wonderful.”
He smiles again. “When we got back to school last year, I’d been waiting to ask you out all summer. Then my parents split up, and you and Del got together, and everything got all screwed up.” His grin turns into a scowl. “I could have killed Del for what he did. Sneaking off all the time behind your back. Getting kicked out the way he did. I watched you cry, you know? I just wanted to hug you, to tell you there were better guys out there, but you were so heartbroken, I didn’t know what I could possibly say to make you feel better.” Then he asks, “Are you over him?”
“Um. God, Ethan, this is a lot of information you’re giving me! I mean, what about Stephanie? Have you thought about her? You know she’s furious with me, don’t you?”
He shrugs. “She’s my sister. And you’re her best friend. She’ll get over it, trust me. She’ll be happy for us.”
But I’m not so sure. And as worried as I am about what Stephanie might think, all I can really think about is DelDelDel. Aboyaboyaboy. My boy. The mess that’s been left behind in his absence. The fact that I have no idea where he is feels painful. The fact that we never got to say good-bye, that I never got to tell him how angry I was, and that our child is out there somewhere, is too much to think about right now, sitting on the pier with Ethan.
“We never had any real closure,” I explain. “He was just gone.”
Ethan seems surprised. “You haven’t heard from him at all?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Wow. You’d think Boy Genius would have figured out a way to contact you.”
The words sting; he’s just said out loud what I’ve been thinking all summer. Del is the smartest person I’ve ever met. If he wanted to ge
t in touch with me, I’m sure he would have found a way by now. So that’s it. It’s over. All I have to do is forget. But is that what I really want? It’s all so emotionally messy, so difficult to think about with any clarity. If only a normal boy had fathered my illegitimate child, things would be much easier.
“So come on, Emily,” Ethan says. “What do you think?”
The truth is, I’ve always had a little crush on Ethan. I just never considered it was possible that he’d like me back.
A boy! Aboyaboyaboy! “Okay.” I smile. “But you have to promise that we can take things slow. I have a lot going on in my head right now.” I feel stupid just saying the words. I’m practically a solid C student, and Ethan is head prefect. I almost expect him to laugh at me—I mean, he must figure, how much could there possibly be going on in my head?
But then, so gently and with such warmth that I shiver, Ethan leans forward, brushes the hair from my eyes, and gives me a soft kiss on the forehead. “I know you do,” he says. “That’s what I like about you.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Really. Emily … I’m going to treat you so good, you’ll forget all about Del Sugar.”
I close my eyes. I let him kiss my forehead again, and then my nose, and finally my lips. All I can think is, You go ahead and try, Superman.
chapter fifteen
The dream is violent: pounding rain, rain so hard that I can barely breathe in it, and I wake up to a weak slap in the face, a brittle arm shaking me, Franny sitting beside me while Grace and Stephanie stare down at me.
I try to gasp. I need air, and nothing is coming.
“What’s the matter with her?” Franny asks, her voice almost a shriek. All the lights are on in the quad, my roommates looking disheveled in their pj’s, Grace’s hair in its usual set of curlers for the night, dots of zit cream in Steph’s T-zone, and Franny’s cheekbones looking painfully prominent as she leans in and says, “Breathe, Em, breathe!”
I try to gasp again. I feel air rushing into my lungs, and I fall back onto my pillow. Tears come to my eyes, my roommates’ faces suddenly blurred. I begin to breathe deeply, frantically, grateful for every breath.
Where the Truth Lies Page 17
