I glide in a daze past couples making out and girls dancing in little groups and what appears to be a pretty intense game of flip cup and search for a place to sit down. All the couches are taken. I stop in front of a love seat where a guy from the JV soccer team is sitting with some girl I’ve never seen before. She’s got braces and huge boobs.
“Hey, Ryden!” the guy says. I have no idea what his name is. “Great game tonight!”
“Up,” I say, jerking my thumb over my shoulder.
He looks at the girl and back at me. “Uh. Okay.” The two of them leave.
Nice to know I still have some power.
I collapse into the love seat and work on beers four and five. Or is it five and six? Whatever it is, I’m not anywhere near drunk enough yet.
My phone buzzes with a text from Joni: How’d the game go???
I put the phone back in my pocket.
Time goes by, and it’s like I’m in one of those movies where the guy’s at a party but he’s really depressed or on drugs and the camera is focused on him sitting, unmoving, staring at nothing, while the rest of the party happens in blurred fast motion around him.
I must ask someone to get me another drink at some point, because one minute my cups are empty, and the next they’re full again.
I’m vaguely aware of people talking to me, sitting beside me, but I’m pretty sure whatever they have to say is not worth the energy it takes to engage. Because engaging equals effort and effort equals cognizance and cognizance equals pain.
Then Shoshanna comes over. She stands right in front of me and doesn’t move until I make eye contact. Her eyes are glassy, her cheeks flushed with a boozy glow. But her lipstick and ponytail are as perfect as ever.
“This is a party, Ryden,” she says. “The point is to have fun. So cheer the fuck up or go home.”
“S-sorry, Sho,” I slur. Hmm. Guess I’m drunker than I thought. Excellent.
She sighs and sits next to me, her thigh against mine. “Here.” She hands me an orange Fanta bottle.
I shake my head. “That shit’s gross.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Just try it.”
Whatever. I unscrew the cap and take a sip. The liquid bites my tongue and scorches the back of my throat. I look at Shoshanna. “Is this vodka?”
She smiles. “You know I don’t like beer. But don’t tell anyone—that’s my parents’ one rule: beer only. It’s like they think there’s a limit to how drunk beer can get you or something.”
I laugh. “You know what? They might be right.” I take another long swig of the vodka. It tastes better now that I’m prepared for it.
We sit there, sharing the “Fanta” until it’s all gone and I’m wasted out of my mind. My face feels hot and cold at the same time, and my hands feel like they’re made of pipe cleaners and putty. I move the empty bottle around in front of my face, trying to make my eyes focus. The conclusion of my very scientific experiment is that four inches away from my nose is the sweet spot. Any closer or farther and the bottle becomes a jumbled blob of orange.
Shoshanna rests her head on my shoulder and drapes a leg across my lap. Her hair smells like hair spray.
I run my putty hand over her leg. She’s wearing a skirt, and I’m able to travel all the way to the top of her thigh without touching any fabric. When I get to the bottom of the skirt, I keep going, underneath, and cup her ass. She rolls into me so she’s almost on my lap and presses her mouth to mine.
Oh yes. This is exactly what I need. The best feelings in the world, without having to feel anything emotional. Shoshanna’s a nice person, but, you know, she’s not someone I’ll ever fall in love with. We make out like crazy people for a while, then Shoshanna grabs my hand and pulls me up off the love seat. “Come on.” She leads me in the direction of her bedroom.
When we get there, she pulls her shirt over her head, pushes me down onto the bed, and crawls on top of me. It may not be very manly, but I’m perfectly okay with her taking the reins on this whole thing. My brain synapses are so delayed that it seems like it takes about a year for my body to respond to anything my brain tells it to do.
Shoshanna presses her body against me and kisses me again. “I’ve wanted this for so long, Ryden,” she whispers against my lips. “I’ve missed you so much. I knew we’d get back here eventually.”
She pulls my shirt off and unbuttons my jeans, leaving a trail of kisses down my chest, going farther and farther south. Good feelings. Only good feelings.
Her mouth is just at the top of my boxers when the door to her bedroom opens.
I don’t look to see who it is. I don’t care at this point. I’m so blasted the house could be on fire and the only thing I’d be able to focus on is the feel of Shoshanna’s tongue on my skin.
“I can’t freaking believe this,” Dave says. I finally cut my eyes to the doorway. He’s silhouetted in the dim light of the hallway so I can’t see his face—and let’s be honest, I wouldn’t be able to focus on his face right now even if this place were lit up like Times Square. But his voice sounds pretty messed up. Like, half heartbroken and half wasted and half pissed as all hell. Wait, I think that’s too many halves.
“Dave, shit.” Shoshanna climbs off me and puts her shirt back on. “I…we’re really drunk. I’m sorry…I didn’t mean…” She starts walking toward him, but he backs away.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure you knew exactly what you were doing, Shoshanna,” he says. “I want to speak with Ryden.”
I’ve managed to sit up, but it’s the staying upright part that’s giving me a problem. Forget about trying to put my shirt back on. Why are shirts so complicated, anyway? So many holes for your arms and your head.
“Dave, don’t…” I hear Shoshanna say, but he pushes past her and marches over to me.
“Stand up,” he commands.
“Uh…”
“Stand up, Ryden.”
“Not…sure…I can,” I say.
Dave sighs. “Fine.” And he punches me. Actually punches me, right in the fucking face. My cheek explodes, and I fall back on the bed, clutching my face, but my putty hands aren’t doing a damn thing to ease the pain.
“Dave!” Shoshanna screams and tries to pull him away.
“Get off me, Shoshanna. Ryden and I have some stuff to work out.”
“Well, can you at least do it outside?” she asks. “Leave my poor room out of it!”
Gee, thanks for the support, Sho.
“Be out front in three minutes,” Dave tells me.
The one eye that’s not radiating in excruciating pain follows him out the door. Oh look, there’s a crowd hovering around the door and in the hallway. Fantastic.
“You don’t have to go out there, you know,” Shoshanna whispers to me once he’s gone. But the way she says it, I’m pretty sure she’s all kinds of elated that two guys are fighting over her.
What she doesn’t get is that we aren’t fighting over her. Well, maybe Dave is, but I’m not.
My face hurts like a bitch, but it’s actually kinda good.
I thought sex was what I needed—only good feelings—but it turns out pain is way better. It’s like whatever’s happening to me on the outside finally matches all the shit that’s on the inside.
Okay. New plan.
“Pull me up,” I tell Shoshanna.
She helps me to standing, and I stagger out the door, followed by the crowd of people in the hallway. Somehow I make it out to the front lawn. My eye must be swelling because I can’t see out of it too well.
It’s cold out here with no shirt. Even with a shirt, I guess. It’s almost October.
Dave’s pacing the lawn, waiting for me. “Wow, look at that,” he says. “Ryden Brooks actually keeping a freaking commitment for once.”
“Just say ‘fucking,’ Dave. Be a man.”
“Be a man? Okay
, how’s this?” He punches me again.
I don’t know how the hell I manage to stay standing, but I do.
The crowd has grown, and they start chanting, “Fight! Fight! Fight!” What a cliché. I wonder if people chant that during fight scenes in movies because that’s what people do in real life, or if people do it in real life because that’s what they’ve seen in the movies.
Anyway.
“You think you can do whatever you want,” Dave says, his voice and face—what I can see of it—wild. “You think that because you’ve had some bad luck that gives you the right to treat everyone else like crap.”
That makes me laugh. Or at least I’m laughing in my head. I’m not sure what my face is doing. Bad luck. It’s a bit more than that, buddy.
“You don’t show up to things,” he continues, “you’re late to practice, you only put in an effort during games when it’s convenient for you, you don’t call anyone anymore, and you almost have sex with my fucking girlfriend!”
“Good job,” I say, egging him on. “You said a grown-up word.” Hit me again, Dave. Do it.
“You were my best friend once, Ryden.”
“Yeah, well. Shit happens. Not like you ever called me either, you know.”
He ducks and charges at me, ramming his shoulder into my stomach, tackling me to the ground. He backs off pretty quickly when he realizes I’m not fighting back, but his last few blows are enough. I’m shattered in every possible way.
I keel over and puke into a pile of leaves. And then I just stay there, curled in the fetal position, waiting for my breath and my sanity to return. My eyes are closed—one swollen shut and the other just trying to shut out the light—but I can tell by the drifting noise that most people are filtering back into the house. Dave must be gone. Good riddance.
Someone kneels beside me. “Are you okay?” It’s Shoshanna.
“Go away,” I mumble into the grass.
After a few more seconds, I feel her leave.
Finally, I’m alone.
So, so alone.
The tears start before I know what’s happening. I don’t know if it’s because of the physical pain or because everything that’s happened today—and over the last year—is finally catching up with me, but I’m officially in breakdown mode.
I should hide or leave before I embarrass myself any more, but I’m sobbing and dry heaving and tearing up clumps of the earth with my stupid, useless drunk hands, and I need to get it out. I can’t hold on any longer.
I force air into my lungs and scream into the dirt like it’s a sponge that will soak up all my misery and carry it far, far away.
I scream until my voice is shot, and then I cry and cry and cry like I never have before. Not even when Meg died.
A few minutes or hours or seconds later, I feel the ground pulsing as someone runs toward me. Unless it’s Meg, back from the dead to tell me “Ha! Just kidding!” I don’t want them here.
“Ryden!”
“Go away,” I force out, my voice hoarse.
“Ryden, it’s me. It’s Alan. We just got here—what happened?”
“Everything happened.”
“Did you get into a fight? Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”
“Dave. Shoshanna.”
“No, it’s Alan. Alan and Aimee. Ryden, open your eyes.”
“No. Shoshanna took my shirt. Dave hit me. I wanted him to.”
“Why the hell would you want him to hit you?”
“Because. Hurt is good.” The fragments inside me ache. “She did it on purpose. She blamed me and she wanted to punish me and said she loved me but she really hated me. And I hate her too. I hate her. She ruined everything.”
Alan hesitates for a minute. “I’m calling your mom.”
“No.” I force my good eye open. “No. Don’t.” I try to sit up, to show him I’m fine, that he doesn’t need to call my mother, but the whole world tilts and the ground meets my face with a crash.
“Ryden, it’s Aimee,” Aimee says. “Let us help you.”
“Aimee Nam. Did you know Alan here was in looove with Meg Reynolds? She made everyone love her.”
I hear the sound of someone pushing buttons on a phone. “Deanna? It’s Alan Kang…I’m fine, how are you? Listen, I’m calling because of Ryden. I just got to this party at Shoshanna Harvey’s and he’s here and got in a fight with Dave, and he’s really upset and I don’t really know what to do…yeah, I think so…yeah…I can try to get him in my car, or maybe you can come—”
“No!” I shout, stopping him.
“What?”
“No way.” I shake my head. It hurts like hell. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here.”
“Ryden, you can’t stay here. You’re hurt. And you’re going to freeze to death.”
“Tell my mother she is abslo…I mean absolutely not allowed to come here.” I turn my face into the ground. Smells like dirt. “Hope can’t see this. And she better not leave her with that Deckland guy.”
“Did you hear that?” Alan says into the phone. “Yeah, so…oh. No, I think he’ll be fine. He’s conscious, obviously… What? Who…? Okay…okay, I will. I’ll call you back.”
Alan grabs my phone from my pocket. This time he walks away to make his call. He’s probably calling an ambulance and doesn’t want me to hear. Or the mental institution people to have them take me away and lock me up.
“Aimee?” I ask. “You still here?”
“Yeah,” she says.
“Can you go away please?” Everyone, just go away.
There’s a pause. “Sure, Ryden.” She walks away. “I’m going to wait in the car, Alan.”
“I’ll meet you there,” he calls back.
Hallelujah. Now I can wallow in my self-pity without interruption.
It’s quiet. Or as quiet as it can be with a rager inside the house a few yards away. But this little spot on the ground near the bushes is peaceful. I have nothing left—no more tears, no more words, no more booze or food or puke. I’m done.
It’s cold, but cold is nothing. I wrap my arms around myself and drift off to sleep.
• • •
I wake to someone’s hands on my face. Someone’s speaking, but I can’t make out the words. My good eye flies open, and the whole left side of my face pulsates with agony. Damn, Dave really got me good. The cool hands on my cheek feel nice though.
I try to focus through the dark. I don’t think I’m drunk anymore. I blink a few times, and the face in front of me becomes clear. Her nose ring is a tiny gold hoop today.
Joni.
Chapter 31
“Joni?” I sit up.
Her fingers graze lightly across my bruises. “What happened?” she whispers.
For the time it takes me to suck in one long, deep breath and let it out slowly, everything’s okay.
And then the situation becomes real.
Holy shit. Joni cannot be here.
I glance to my left, where Alan and Aimee are standing a few feet away, watching. I thought they left. But no, of course they didn’t. My mom told Alan to call Joni. That’s why he needed my phone. They were just letting me sleep while they waited for her to show up.
“How did you get here?” I ask, stalling.
“I borrowed Elijah’s car. What’s going on?”
“It’s a long story,” I say, grabbing her hand and removing it from my face.
“Well, lucky for you, I’ve got nothing but time,” she says. She sits on the ground next to me and rummages through her giant bag, producing an oversized scarf. She wraps it around my shoulders. I’m instantly warmer.
“What did Alan say when he called you?” I ask.
“He said you were drunk and got in a fight and wouldn’t leave. He said your mom said if anyone could talk sense into you, it would be me. I
don’t know why she thought that; she doesn’t even know me.”
“She was right though,” Alan says. “He’s already acting more normal.”
I sigh. “Joni, this is Alan. And that’s Aimee.”
“We met,” Joni says.
“Right.”
There are a few moments of silence.
I wish I could stand up, take Joni’s hand, and transport her far away from here without saying a word. But there are three pairs of eyes on me, and they want answers. Joni wants to know what’s going on, and Alan surely wants to know who the hell Joni is and why my mom thought she would be the answer to all my problems. I don’t know what Aimee wants. Probably to go home.
Okay, easy part first.
“Joni and I work together at Whole Foods. She goes to Clinton Central. We’re…uh…friends.”
Joni’s eyes are flat. “Friends. Sure. We’ll go with that.”
“You know what I mean,” I say to her, trying to lower my voice but knowing Alan and Aimee can hear every word. I lace my fingers through hers. “We never talked about…”
“You guys are going out?” Alan asks. He doesn’t sound amused. “Isn’t that, you know, kind of soon?”
I close my eyes. Guess we’ve come to the hard part already. “Alan, please, shut up.”
“Soon?” Joni asks. “Soon after what?”
I open my eyes to find Alan staring at me like I’ve got salamanders crawling out of my ears. “She doesn’t know?”
“Ohh, is he talking about your ex?” Joni asks, trying to catch up. “I guess I knew about that. How long ago did you guys break up, anyway?”
“Jesus, Ryden,” Alan says. “Does she even know about Hope?”
“Who’s Hope?” Joni looks back and forth between us. “Is that your ex?”
Alan groans and looks to the sky in exasperation. “I can’t believe this. No,” he says. “Meg is his ex. And she’s not his ex, she’s dead. Hope is their daughter. Come on, Aimee, we’ve wasted enough time here. Let’s go.” He drops my phone at my feet.
The whole time Alan is giving his rather succinct little speech, I watch Joni. Her eyes don’t leave mine, so I have a perfect view of the betrayal taking hold with each revelation.
What You Left Behind Page 21
