by Anna Cruise
He unzipped his backpack and took out his textbook. “Wanna quiz each other?”
We spent the remaining fifteen minutes of lunch taking turns asking and answering questions and sharing my package of chocolate chip cookies. If Carter and Logan continued their murderous glares, I didn't see them.
I told Aidan about it that afternoon. We were in his room. “I don't know why Logan and Carter are so mad at me.”
“Maybe they're jealous.” He trailed his fingers down my bare back.
“Of what?”
He stared at me. “Of this,” he said, his eyes roving over me and the bed.
“No. It's definitely not that.”
“How do you know?”
“For Logan, it's always been Jada. At least that's what he says. And Carter...” I tried to imagine him being interested in me and smiled. Carter wasn't interested in anyone except himself. “No, he's not jealous, either.”
“What about the other guy?”
There was a knock on the door then and my hands flew to the sheet, pulling it tight around me. I looked at the torn foil wrapper on his nightstand—a condom he'd produced of his own accord—and the ashtray next to it, the shriveled stump of a joint squashed in the center. A pile of discarded clothes—mine and his—littered the floor next to his bed. Glaring evidence of how we'd spent the last hour surrounded us.
“Aidan, honey?” His mom's voice. “I'm running out. You guys need anything?”
He grinned, his eyebrows raised and I shook my head. “Nope, we're set.”
“Alright.” There was a pause. “You two be good.”
I swallowed a horrified laugh. His mom was either totally clueless or in complete denial. Today was the first time she'd been home when I was there. I saw immediately where Aidan had gotten his coloring, that white blond hair and those cool blue eyes. Like me, she was tiny and thin. Dressed in white pants and a silvery, cloud-like blouse, she'd looked like an angel. Aidan had breezed past her earlier, planting a quick kiss on the top of her head as he led me back to his room.
“Is this OK?” I'd whispered as he led me down the hall. “Is she going to freak out?”
He'd smiled at me. “About what?”
“About me? Us? In your room?”
He'd nudged me into his bedroom and locked the door behind us. “Nah. She's cool.”
And she'd left us alone.
“So the other guy,” Aidan prompted, bringing me back to our conversation. “Brown hair...”
“Case?” I shook my head. “He's the only one who's acting normal. Besides, Jada has the hots for him.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Really? Little Miss Virtuous? I thought she was headed for the nunnery.”
I frowned at him. “Why would you think that?”
His hand moved lower, to the small of my back and I shivered. “Stories,” he said. “Lots of guys who've crashed and burned, who haven't even made it off the tarmac with her.”
I knew I should be upset. I should spring to the defense of my former best friend. But I felt something else stab at me. Jealousy.
“Including you?” I knew the answer, of course. Jada would have told me in a heartbeat if he'd ever expressed interest.
He wrinkled his nose. “Not my type.”
“Oh?” His hand moved lower still and I was suddenly having a hard time remembering to breathe. “What is your type?”
“You,” he whispered.
THIRTEEN
Aidan rescued me the next day, an unlikely knight in ripped jeans and a black Rancid t-shirt. He intercepted me on my way to the bench.
“What are you doing?” I asked. Jada and Case were already sitting down. Jada was bent over her backpack, rummaging for something, but Case's eyes were on me, watching.
“Finding a nicer place for you to eat.”
Holding my hand, he led me past groups of students sitting on the grass, weaving through the maze of bodies and backpacks to one of the senior benches.
I held back. “Here?” I whispered. I'd been hoping for a smaller, secluded spot, a place for just me and him.
He pulled me forward and sat me down on the bench. “Why not?”
He made quick introductions. Most had been at Scotty's party and they greeted me with reserved smiles and tentative hellos. I didn't blame them. I was just some random sophomore barging in on their territory. If Aidan noticed, he didn't let on. He sat down next to me and positioned his arm on the back of the bench behind me, so his hand could brush my shoulder every so often. I knew what he was doing. Laying claim. And telling his friends to be cool.
Each passing day was easier. After a week, I could stroll right past my old lunch spot, usually without so much as a glance in that direction. Aidan was always waiting for me with a smile on his face and, pretty soon, his friends were, too.
One week turned into two. And then another. Jada and I didn't talk much anymore. The only time we did speak was in English class. At first, our conversations were friendly. We tried to feign a sense of normalcy, to pretend that our friendship was the same despite the fact that we never spent time together and that our phone calls and texts had become nonexistent. I'd come to class and she would ask about my weekend and I'd ask her how her latest meet had gone. But even that began to change. More often, she would turn the other direction, toward Emma O'Rourke, and chat about practice and time trials. Emma was on the track team, too. I tried not to care. After all, it had been my decision to cut her out, to not share with her. She wasn't the one to blame for our withering friendship.
Logan and Carter acted as though I no longer existed. They stared down at the ground as I passed them at lunch, whispering loudly as soon as I ambled by, still within earshot. Words like “stupid” and “slut,” words intended to hurt me. So much for a kind, Christian attitude, I thought. They were never rude to my face; Logan would even smile at me in Geometry if I glanced in his direction. But our friendship was gone. Finished.
At least Case remained friendly. Even though I didn't sit with him at lunch anymore, he always managed to chat for a couple of minutes in class, before Mrs. Lopez arrived, spewing rapid-fire Spanish at us. I was glad we'd become friends and that he still treated me like one. None of my other friends did.
He was waiting for me by my desk a few weeks after my lunch defection. I noticed his hair was growing out a little; soft brown wisps flirted with his eyebrows and curled over his ears.
“Hey,” I said as I slid into my seat. “Where were you yesterday?”
“Some doctors appointments,” he said. “I texted you. I wanted the homework assignment for today.”
I frowned. “I didn't get a message.”
He nodded. “Yeah, 'cuz I couldn't send it. I tried to call, too, but it said your phone was disconnected. Not in service or something.”
I pulled my phone out of my backpack. I'd spent the night at Aidan's—had told my mom I was at Jada's—so I hadn't used it. I punched through my recent calls, clicking on Aidan's number. The line stayed dead.
“What the hell,” I muttered.
“Bueños dias, mis estudiantes.” Mrs. Lopez stormed in, her black hair swirling around her as she plowed up the aisle to her desk. She didn't waste a second of class time. “Phone away, Miss Calloway.”
I shoved my phone back in my backpack and headed to my seat. I'd have to deal with it later.
There was a message blinking on the answering machine when Aidan dropped me off later that evening. I poked around in the refrigerator, searching for something—anything—to eat. We'd munched on a bag of chips and some salsa while we hung out in his room but that felt like hours ago.
A carton of milk sat on the top shelf. I opened it and sniffed and quickly wished I hadn't. Sitting below this was a wilted head of lettuce and a bag of shriveled grapes. I opened the deli drawer and found a package of dried-out veggie hot dogs and a block of cheese covered in fuzzy white mold. Disgusted, I slammed the fridge shut and opened the pantry cupboard. This was where my lunches came from most days�
�chips, granola bars, pudding cups. But we hadn't been grocery shopping in a while and the pickings were slim. I shook my head as I scanned the half-empty shelves. What the hell was wrong with my mom that she couldn't even get herself to the store to go shopping? I'd have to do it, I realized. I knew Aidan would take me if I asked; I just didn't want to.
I grabbed the last granola bar and hit the play button as I tore open the package.
“Megan.” My dad. Stern. Angry. “Call me. You'll have to use the house phone. I canceled your cell service.”
The granola bar slipped from my hand, breaking into pieces, crumbs scattering across the kitchen floor as I played the message again. Disbelief gave way to anger as I listened again. I slammed my fist down on the machine and the blinking light died.
What was he thinking? Wasn't it enough that he'd already left me and my mom, that he'd moved in with his girlfriend and was selling my house from under me? Now he'd turned off my goddamn phone? What was next—did he plan to start pawning off my possessions, sneak into my room and strip me of everything I owned, everything that belonged to me? Would he shut down the bank account, too so that, even if my mom wanted to buy groceries, could actually get herself together enough to restock the cupboards, there wouldn't be any money to do it? I stalked the kitchen. I wanted something to smash, to rip apart, to destroy. I wanted to destroy him.
I stormed down the hall to my mom's room and pounded on the door. I didn't know what I expected her to do but I needed to vent to someone. And she was the closest target.
“Mom?” I knocked louder. “Mom!”
She didn't answer and I barged in.
Her bed was empty. Made. The blue comforter was smoothed over the mattress and the pillows, a pile of pretty blues and browns decorated with embroidered flowers, were artfully arranged. The blinds slanted downward, allowing the dusky twilight to seep through, throwing pink and orange rays against the walls.
“Mom?”
“In here.” Her voice was faint. It was coming from the bathroom.
A tiny sliver of fear edged out my anger. “Are...are you OK?”
The door to the bathroom clicked and opened. She came out dressed in her navy blue robe, the belt tied loosely over her ample stomach. She'd wrapped a taupe-colored towel around her head, turban-style. All cleaned up, her face scrubbed and her hair hidden, she looked even more fragile, even more breakable.
Her eyes were clouded with worry and sadness. “Is everything OK, Meg?”
My mouth hung open. It was the first time she'd asked about me—about how I was doing—since my dad had left. Probably longer than that, I realized. She'd been a mess for months. I tried to think back to a time when she'd been a normal mom and realized that I couldn't remember. She'd always drank, but usually it was at night, after dinner. A bottle of wine as she sat on the couch, watching TV, a bottle of wine that disappeared as the night progressed.
I studied her. I had a hard time remembering the last time I'd actually seen her upright, much less take a shower. Probably when Aunt Sara had come by to break the news about the house. I didn't know what she did when I wasn't home but when I was here, she never seemed to leave her room, much less move off of the bed. I wondered what had motivated her to do so today.
“Megan?”
I remembered her question. “Um, yeah.” Then I stopped. “I mean, no. Dad turned off my cell phone.” The anger resurfaced. “Did you know anything about it?”
Her face tightened and her eyes welled with tears and I wanted to kick myself. Damn. She was still just as fragile as she looked.
But she kept it together, at least long enough to mutter, “No. I don't know anything about anything.”
She pressed her lips tight and, without another word, closed the bathroom door. Something clattered to the floor—a brush, I thought—and she let out a heaving, gasping sort of cry. Her recovery had been short-lived, thanks to me. Just the mention of him could reduce her to tears.
Emotions twisted inside of me, anger and guilt and sadness swirling into a noxious, toxic stew. For the first time in a long while I felt myself sinking, falling into the same vortex that held my mother captive.
I turned to go, anxious to leave before it swallowed me whole. The fading sun streaked into the room, igniting the dust motes that floated in the air, transforming them into sparkling crystals. It glinted off something on her bookcase, a blinding flash of amber light. A bottle. Rows of bottles—wines and brandy, rum and vodka. My mother's personal stash.
Quickly, before I could change my mind, I crossed the room and grabbed the bottle closest to me. I unscrewed the lid and brought it to my lips. The liquid burned my throat but I didn't care. I drank more, swallowing huge mouthfuls. The heat coursed through me, seeping into every pore, melting some of the anger and sadness that had almost consumed me moments earlier. I took one last swig, wiped my mouth, and put the near-empty bottle back on the shelf.
I needed someone. I ran to the kitchen and picked up the phone.
“Miss me already?”
He was still in his car. I could hear the music blare and the engine sputter in the background.
“Come back.”
“What? Like right now?”
“Uh-huh.” I didn't want to be alone. I didn't know what I'd do if I was. “I need you.”
There was a soft knock at my door fifteen minutes later. I opened it and he thrust a Wendy's bag into my hands as he peeked into my house. The brandy had worked its warm magic, calming me down, settling my nerves. I greeted him with a smile and a kiss and I wondered absently if he knew I'd been drinking.
“You sure it's cool I'm here?”
We always went to his house. Mostly because we could lock ourselves away in his room but also because my house was on the market. We never knew who was going to be dropping by. Or when.
“Yeah. It's too late for showings. And she won't be coming out tonight.” I held up the bag. “What's this?”
“Dinner. I'm starving.”
He followed me into the kitchen.
I set the bag down on the table and he unpacked it while I searched for glasses and something to drink. There were a few cans of Coke in the pantry. I fished some ice cubes out of the freezer and set the glasses and cans down on the table. There was a burger and fries for him and a salad and baked potato for me.
Aidan looked at me. “Vegetarian, right?”
For some reason, tears filled my eyes and I had to look away. “Yep. Perfect,” I said, blinking rapidly. “Thanks.”
I told him about my dad's message while we ate. I didn't mention the grocery situation.
He tore open a package of ketchup and squirted its contents on to his opened hamburger wrapper. “When was the last time you talked to him?”
“The day he left—a couple months ago.”
He shook his head. “How many times has he called? Tried to get a hold of you?”
“I don't know. A lot,” I admitted. “Two or three times a week, maybe.”
“That is so not cool.” His voice was filled with disapproval. “He's still your dad.”
I balled up the foil from the baked potato I'd just inhaled. “But he's an asshole.”
“So? He's your dad. You can't avoid him forever. I mean, he's probably really pissed about the whole wedding thing.”
He and Cheri had done the deed a couple of weeks ago, some sunset ceremony on the beach at the Hotel Del. I hadn't gone.
He finished his burger. “He's just doing this to get your attention.”
“Well, it worked.” I ate another forkful of salad. It had been ages since I'd had one. “So you think I should call him?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes. And not just because you want your phone turned back on.”
“Fine. I'll call him.”
He smashed his paper wrappers back into the bag. “Good. Do it now.”
I knew he was going to say that. I picked up the phone and hit redial. My dad answered on the first ring.
“Megan.”
<
br /> “Dad.”
Our conversation was stilted, halting. He asked questions and I answered them. Nothing more. He told me a little about the wedding, their new condo. I stayed silent.
“I want to see you,” he told me. “Will you come up this weekend? I can pick you up after work. You can stay the night and I'll bring you home the next morning.”
The thought horrified me. Spend the night with him and his girlfriend...or, rather, wife?
“No.”
“Megan. This is your house, too. At least come for dinner. If you don't want to stay, you don't have to. But I want you to come. I expect you to come.” He paused. “Hang on a sec, hon. Someone's on the other line.”
Probably my new stepmom, I thought bitterly. I leaned against the counter and waited.
“Well?” Aidan mouthed to me.
I made a face. “He wants me to come up this weekend. Dinner. Spend the night.”
He pushed his chair away and joined me at the counter, wrapping his arms around me. “Do it. Just get it over with.”
“I don't want to go.”
I leaned up and kissed him. I didn't want to be away from him.
His mouth moved to my neck. “Just one day. One night.”
“I don't want to,” I repeated.
He laughed. “Don't I know it.”
His mouth traveled to my collarbone, then to the subtle V made be the neckline of my shirt. He lowered himself, lifting my shirt as he kissed my stomach. His fingers fumbled with the button on my shorts.
“Aidan,” I murmured, tucking the phone against my shoulder as I clutched his head next to my stomach.
“Tell him yes and get off the phone,” he whispered as his mouth moved lower.
My dad clicked back over then and I managed to answer. “Come get me Friday.”
I hung up and let him pull me to the kitchen floor.
FOURTEEN
It was Friday. My bag was packed but I wasn't ready. I didn't want to go to my dad's new house and I didn't want to see Cheri, the person holding the winning numbers in the Dad lottery. Aidan came inside with me when he dropped me off that afternoon. To keep me company, he'd said, but I knew better.
