The Liars

by Jennifer Mathieu

  And with that we race toward her front door, the keys to the Honda already clutched tight in my hand. Outside is muggy and dark, but I barely have time to register it before we are speeding down Esperanza Boulevard toward my kid sister and God knows what else.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  AFTER I FIND A PARKING SPACE, AMY AND I RUN TOWARD the beach. I catch a glimpse of the party by one of the rock jetties that juts out into the bay. There must be at least a hundred high school kids down here, playing music out of boom boxes, guzzling beer, and being obnoxious. It’s a wonder the cops haven’t come, but we aren’t near the more prime beach vacation real estate. This is strictly townie territory.

  “It’s the jock and douchebag crowd,” Amy mutters as we get closer and survey the scene. The sweet smell of pot lingers in the air, mingling with cigarette smoke. The fluorescent lights hovering over the nearby parking lot cast an unnatural brightness. On the perimeter of the crowd I see a shirtless surfer type crushing an empty beer can into his forehead, followed by the maniacal cheers of the apes surrounding him.

  “Do you see Miguel?” I ask, scanning the crowd. “Or my sister?” There are so many people it’s hard to tell.

  “Look,” Amy says, pointing. Out of the mob runs Miguel, looking young and out of place. He jogs up to us.

  “She’s over by the jetty,” Miguel says, nodding toward the black rocks that jut out into the still water. “She’s with that guy.” His expression turns sour.

  “Her friend Michelle isn’t around?” I ask.

  “I think she’s out of town,” says Miguel. “Anyway, she’s not here.”

  It’s too crowded for me to get a good look, and I can’t spot Elena yet. Amy slides her sandals off so she can move faster on the sand, but I just charge ahead, not wanting to slow down even to take off my shoes. I push past big-hair girls and pimply underclassmen I vaguely recognize from the halls of LBJ. I used to go to stupid keggers like this as recently as the spring. Now they just seem like juvenile bullshit.

  Finally I spot Elena. Balancing on the jetty, she’s dressed in blue denim cutoff s and a bright pink bikini top. Where the hell did she get a bikini top? A cigarette is in her fingers and a beer is in the other hand. She perches barefoot at the edge of a rock, staring out at the water. A few kids are seated on the rocks near her, nursing beers and sharing smokes.

  “Elena?” I say, approaching her, Amy and Miguel at my heels. “Elena?”

  Elena turns and looks at me, blinks once and then twice.

  “Brother!” she shouts. “Hermano!” A wild grin spreads over her face, so big, her pale pink gums peek out.

  “Hey,” I say, uncertain.

  “Hermano, have you ever really looked at the ocean?” Elena asks, tossing the cigarette away and setting the can of beer down by her feet. She stands up again and folds her hands under her chin like she’s praying. She stares at the Gulf of Mexico like it’s an apparition. A miracle. Then she speaks to me again, each word rolling in her mouth like a marble. “I mean, have you ever really, really looked at this water? This amazing water?” She flashes her eyes at me and smiles broadly again.

  “Yeah, I’ve looked at it,” I answer. “Why don’t you get down from there?” I scan the crowd for that dickhead J.C., but I don’t know exactly what he looks like. All the guys here seem like the fuck-up type that dates underage girls. So he could be anyone.

  “I can’t get down,” Elena says, each word moving lazily. “I’m one with the ocean tonight.” Then she squats down and touches the black rocks of the jetty. “I’m one with these rocks, too.” Her hand caresses one rock carefully, as if it’s the most interesting object on planet Earth. A couple of the kids seated around her laugh quietly to themselves. One guy rolls his eyes.

  “She’s tripping,” Amy says to me, her voice soft. “I’d bet my college savings she’s on acid.”

  At this, Elena turns and looks at Amy and me. “Hey,” Elena asks, her voice cut with giddiness, “are you xoxoAmy? Oh my god, yes, it’s you! It’s xoxoAmy! Hi, xoxoAmy!” She smiles broadly at Amy and reaches out for her, only her footing isn’t strong and she slips.

  “Elena, be careful!” I shout, reaching for her. My little sister grabs my hands, giggling uncontrollably as she tries to regain her footing on the jetty. “Why don’t you come down from there?” I insist. My mind is racing. I can’t leave her here like this. I can’t walk away. But I imagine trying to bring her home like this. What if Mami sees her? She’ll lose her shit. Elena will be done for.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Miguel asks, anxious. I’d almost forgotten he was there.

  “It’ll wear off by tomorrow morning,” Amy says. “But she’s not sleeping tonight.”

  Fuck fuck fuck.

  Elena has wrestled her hands away from my grip and is back on her perch, watching the dark water. Party chatter and shitty music surround us. As I’m trying to figure out what to do, a figure cuts through the darkness, and immediately I know it’s him. Faded board shorts, no shoes, and a Grateful Dead T-shirt. I hate him already, if I didn’t before.

  “Hey, Elena,” J.C. says, wandering over to the jetty from wherever the hell he’s been. He’s fucked-up, too, obviously. “Elena, what do you see?”

  Seething with rage, I watch as J.C. attempts to climb up on the jetty, fails, and tries again, laughing the entire time. Finally he is balancing next to her, slipping his arm around her waist. I want to puke.

  “Hey, I think I need to take Elena home,” I hear myself saying. J.C. looks down, blinks a few times.

  “Who are you?” he asks. He smiles at me like he knows a secret. Enough with the goddamn smiling already!

  “I’m Elena’s brother,” I say. “I’m here to take her home.” I picture Mami waking up, leaving her bedroom, and finding Elena studying the refrigerator magnets for two hours. My stomach twists.

  “Dude, hey, chill,” J.C. says, smiling again. “It’s so cool. It’s awesome you’re here. It’s …” he searches, “it’s serendipitous.”

  Amy snorts, but I don’t see anything humorous about this situation. All I want—besides getting Elena somewhere safe—is to be back in Amy’s bedroom, just the two of us, alone.

  “Hey, Elena,” Amy says. “Can you come down and look at my nail polish? It’s so pretty. I think you’ll like it.” She reaches out her hand, confident. Elena drags her eyes away from the ocean and considers Amy’s fingers.

  “It is pretty, xoxoAmy,” Elena says, and she reaches for Amy’s outstretched hand.

  “Come on,” Amy coaxes her. “Come down here with us.”

  J.C. observes this exchange and then says, “Elena, I thought we were gonna go swimming. Swimming in this beautiful, beautiful nighttime ocean.”

  Miguel sucks in his breath but says nothing. I give J.C. a dirty look as Elena pulls her hand back from Amy, unsure of her next move.

  “Oh,” Elena announces, “that’s right. We were going to take acid and go swimming. That’s the best way to swim, you know. On acid.” She laughs like this is the funniest thing anyone on the planet has ever said.

  “Elena, don’t do that,” Miguel warns. “It’s dangerous.”

  “Stay cool,” Amy says in a low voice to Miguel. She reaches her hand out again. “Elena, you can swim in a minute, but please come down and look at my nail polish first. It would make me so happy if you did.”

  Elena frowns, confused. J.C. stands next to her, unsteady on his feet, staring out at the water, ignoring Elena. It’s taking everything in me not to haul him off the rocks and punch him in the face.

  “Well, okay, but just for a minute,” Elena relents, and she takes Amy’s hand and steps down carefully, before collapsing into Amy’s arms with a tidal wave of giggles. I breathe a little more easily once Elena’s feet are on the sand, and I watch as she takes Amy’s hand in hers to study her chipped black polish.

  “So pretty,” Elena announces. “Not as pretty as the ocean, but pretty.” She lifts her face up and stares at Amy. “You’re so
pretty, too,” Elena says. “I’m so glad, because that means you’re going to help my brother stay here and not go away to California.”

  Amy shifts uncomfortably and humiliation courses through me. I don’t know what to do, so I turn to J.C.

  “Hey, fuckhead,” I yell, not caring who hears. A few of the kids on the rocks exchange glances and drift over to get a better view of an impending fight. I haven’t been in a fight since junior high—I have no idea what I’m doing. But anger is coursing through me, hot and insistent.

  “What’s up, dude?” J.C. responds from the rocks. “Why so fucking hostile?”

  “You got my sister all fucked-up and you were going to take her swimming?” I ask, incredulous, my voice rising. I sense Amy trying to entice Elena to move farther down the shoreline, but Elena’s focused on us.

  “Joaquin, no,” Elena begins, breaking away. “Joaquin, J.C. is a really great person. I want the two of you to be friends. I want you to be best friends!” She cracks a grin again, only it’s lopsided and uncertain.

  “Well, that’s never going to happen,” I spit, angry. At this, Amy places a hand on my arm. “Joaquin, let’s go for a walk. You, me, and Elena.” I feel bad for Miguel—his crush on my sister has always been so obvious. But Amy is right. It would be best if he stayed behind. Hopefully, J.C. will, too.

  And, of course, J.C. does. He’s not interested in keeping an eye on my sister. He’s only interested in getting fucked-up and fucking around.

  I thank Miguel for his help and promise to update him later. Then Amy and I lead Elena down the shoreline, pausing every few seconds as Elena stops to examine a shell or a piece of seaweed washed up on the beach. At least she’s still in a good mood. She runs ahead of us for a moment. Amy slips her hand into mine.

  “I’m sorry,” I manage, embarrassed.

  “For what?” Amy asks. “Your sister isn’t the first person to drop acid.”

  “Have you?” I ask, curious.

  “No, that’s not my thing,” Amy says, shaking her head. “But I was with Nico a few times when he was tripping.” I nod, trying to be cool at the mention of her old boyfriend. I wonder if Nico ever forced Amy to chase after his little sister on a night that was meant to be just for the two of them.

  “I can’t take her home,” I say, “but I’m worried my mom is going to wake up and find out she’s gone. I can’t decide which is worse.” I watch Elena trotting ahead of us, every so often turning to smile like a demented kindergartner on a scavenger hunt. I want to be angry at her. But she’s so vulnerable, all I can do is protect her.

  “We could bring her back to my house,” Amy says, her voice uncertain. “I mean, like I said, if she took it recently, she’s going to be wired for the next couple of hours at least.”

  I shake my head no. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “Yeah,” says Amy, “but what if you take her home? Your mom … what would she do if she found out?”

  My mind flashes on Elena’s scar on her chin. My heart starts pounding.

  “It wouldn’t be good,” I say. I can’t bring myself to say anything else.

  “Would your mom flip?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” I answer. “She would definitely flip.”

  We walk in silence for a little while longer. I glance back over my shoulder, looking to see if J.C. is coming after us, if he’s at all worried about Elena. But he’s never there. Finally, after about half an hour of our walk up and down the shoreline, dodging drunk partiers and couples making out way too aggressively in public, Amy starts guiding Elena back toward my car.

  “Hey,” Amy says to Elena, “you want to go back to my place and get something to eat?”

  Elena stops, screws up her face, and stares at Amy. “Can J.C. come?”

  Amy and I exchange glances.

  “J.C. had to go home,” I say. “He had something important he had to do.” Why the hell am I covering for the asshole?

  “Well,” Elena says, screwing up her face again, thinking hard. “I guess we can go to your place. It might be fun to see your bedroom, xoxoAmy.” She smiles like she’s having some sort of religious experience.

  “Okay,” Amy says, and Elena follows us without a struggle, sliding into the back seat of the Honda, giggling the whole time. I drive us back to Amy’s place, not saying anything. Elena keeps up a steady stream of patter from the back, commenting on how amazing the stoplights are at night and how incredible it is that we live by the ocean. Amy and I just nod in response.

  “We’re here,” Amy says, as I pull into the driveway.

  “Amy, I can’t ask you to do this,” I say.

  She shrugs, and I think I see a flicker of irritation cross her face. Oh god, she’s going to dump me tomorrow.

  And suddenly my uncertainty shifts to rage. I’m so fucking pissed off. At Mami. At J.C. And at Elena, too. Maybe her most of all.

  “Let’s go in,” Amy says, and soon Elena is in Amy’s den, watching the test pattern on the television like it’s Saturday morning cartoons. It’s well past midnight. I think about Mami back at the apartment and immediately start chewing on my thumbnail.

  “I should go home just to make sure my mom isn’t wondering where the hell we are,” I say, praying she’s still asleep or passed out in her room. Then something occurs to me. “Shit, tomorrow’s Sunday.”

  “So?” Amy asks.

  I flush. “Usually we have to go to Mass.”

  “Oh,” says Amy, surprised.

  “Listen,” I tell her, trying to formulate a plan, “I’ll go home, check on my mom, and then, like, at dawn I’ll come back and pick up Elena. By then do you think she’ll be … normal?”

  Amy nods. “She probably won’t be a hundred percent, but she shouldn’t be that spaced out.” At this she motions toward Elena, who is still staring at the bright blocks of color frozen on the screen, grinning like a clown.

  “Okay,” I say. And then I get brave and reach for Amy’s hands, smaller than mine but not too small. Amy isn’t a tiny girl, which I like. You don’t feel like you’re going to crush her every time you hug her.

  And I want to hug Amy right now. Feel safe with her. Disappear with her.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” I manage. “I can’t fucking believe our night turned into this.”

  Amy leans over and presses her lips to mine, sure and steady. My chest swells. She pulls back. “Don’t worry about it,” she whispers. “Just go.”

  Back home, I creep into the living room, certain that Mami is going to be stewing on the couch, that she’s going to start yelling about how she’s called the police and the hospitals. Instead the house is still. Dark. I rip up the note I left saying I was going in for an unexpected shift at the restaurant and bury it at the bottom of the trash can. Then I make sure Elena’s bedroom door is closed tight and press an ear against Mami’s until I detect light snoring. She’s been asleep this whole time, certain that I’m in my bedroom and Elena came straight home after her babysitting job at the Callahans’.

  The goddamn Callahans. I remember when Elena and I first dreamed them up, picked out the kids’ names. I was young and gross and horny, and I used to imagine Mrs. Callahan as some foxy blonde with all the right curves. Early on, I even fantasized about subbing in for Elena on a night when she couldn’t make her babysitting job, only I would imagine biking over to their fancy house on Point Isabel and it would just be Mrs. Callahan who answered the door in her lace bra and underpants. It’s embarrassing to remember that, but that’s all the Callahans are for me. Just some stupid memory from our childhood.

  For Elena, the family is still very much alive.

  I brush my teeth and change into a clean T-shirt and boxers and lie down on my bed, my mind running over everything that happened tonight—from being with Amy to rescuing my sister to that J.C. asshole. It’s my job to protect Elena, but I haven’t been able to keep her from Grateful Dead fuckups. I’ve been preoccupied with Amy.

  Guilt surges through me, an
d I toss and turn in my bed. If this is what happens to Elena when I’m at a house across town, what could happen to her if I’m in a different city, a different state?

  Then, not more than an hour after I start to drift off, I hear Mami’s bedroom door open with a creak. I sit up.

  “Elena?” croaks a voice. “Elena, are you home?”

  I freeze for a moment before racing out into the hallway, panic filling my body.

  “Mami, Elena’s sleeping,” I say, my voice low. “She came home from the Callahans’ with a headache, so she took some Tylenol and went to sleep.”

  Mami frowns at me, her face ghostly and strange from the porchlight streaming in through the front windows. She’s a full head shorter than me but still manages to give the impression that she’s looming over me. Her face looks stripped and naked without her ever-present makeup, and her dyed hair is in loose scraggles around her face. She scowls and peers around as if I’m lying. Which I am.

  “You’ve been home all night?” she asks, looking at me.

  Maybe she got up while we were gone and saw my note about working at the restaurant, so now she’s trying to trip me up. I take a chance. “Yeah, I’ve been home.”

  She says nothing, just stumbles toward Elena’s door. “She’s asleep?” she asks. “Maybe I should check on her.”

  I seize up. Of all the nights for Mami to wake up before the sun to check on us. I can’t remember the last time it happened.

  “Maybe you should just let her sleep,” I say. Please God, don’t let her go in there. Please, please, God.

  “What’s with you?” Mami whispers, frowning. “Why are you even awake?”

  Why are you? I want to ask. Maybe I can provoke her with my fresh mouth, distract her from my absent sister.

  “I had insomnia,” I answer instead. “I watched a scary movie on television.” I sound like an elementary school idiot. Elena is so much faster than me at making up off-the-cuff lies, but of course she’s had more practice at it.

  Mami shrugs, already bored by my answer. She stares past me at Elena’s door again, then finally, fortunately, she heads back to her room. At the door, she turns and announces, “We’re going to eight o’clock Mass, so you’d both better be up and ready.”