“I mean, you let these guys take advantage of you, and you are so much more than they are.”
“Who says they’re taking advantage of me?”
“Well, aren’t they?” he asked.
“No.”
“It just seems like you pick these guys who are totally not interested in a relationship. What do you get out of it?”
“Sex,” I said.
“Don’t you want more?”
“No.” Sex was what I was good at. Sex was where the high was. That first moment when I knew a guy wanted me made me feel powerful and special. Even if it was only for a few minutes and then it all sucked after that, it was worth it. What was the point of being with the same person all the time? Once that moment was over, the power was gone, that feeling of being special was gone. Who needed that?
“Even with the right guy? You wouldn’t want more?”
“No,” I said.
“Are you sure?” he asked. And then I got where he was going. And I knew that once he said something, there would be no turning back. I wanted to stop him, but I froze, and he kept talking. “Even if that person were say, I don’t know, maybe, me? You wouldn’t want something more?”
I laughed because I was nervous. I really didn’t mean to laugh. It was just what came out of my mouth.
“Oh, screw you, Macy,” he said. He sprang to his feet and got about ten yards away before I even registered that he was leaving.
“Wait,” I said. “At least help me clean up before you go.”
He came back, swiping at beer bottles and caps, sticking them in his pockets.
“I shouldn’t have laughed,” I said. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”
“Of course I do. We’re not kids anymore, Macy. We’re together all the time; we like hanging out; everyone thinks we’re together anyway.”
“So we should go out because everyone assumes we already are?” I asked.
Why hadn’t I thought of Chris as an option? Because Chris didn’t fit my mold. He didn’t just want sex. Chris was a good guy. He was relationship material. I’d always pictured him with some cute brunette with a neat ponytail and a perfect smile who was on the yearbook committee and would hang on his every word. I’d never pictured him with me. I was not relationship material. I was not a good guy’s girlfriend.
“No …” he said, like I was an idiot. “Not because everyone assumes we already are. But maybe we should try it because we want to.”
“How would that even work? What if it didn’t work? Then we would lose our friendship,” I said. I was warming up to the idea because I was starting to get that feeling: Chris wanted me and it felt good.
“We have to set ground rules. We have to be honest. And we have to promise no hard feelings if it doesn’t work.”
I let that sink in. But then a thought crossed my mind.
“Chris. Do you just want to get in my pants? Because you could’ve just asked. I’d be up for that. You don’t have to sugarcoat it with the whole ‘make an honest woman out of me’ thing.”
He picked up the battery-operated lantern we had for our night visits and held it up to look at me closely, searching my eyes for something.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” he asked.
I thought it was a rhetorical question.
“Are you, Macy? Are you serious? I can’t tell.”
“Yes,” I said, looking down at my feet.
“You are so fucked up.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Look. I’d rather hang out with you than with anyone else. Plus, you’re hot. I think about you naked all the time. You’ve never thought about me that way? Never ever?”
Of course I’d thought about sex with Chris. Many, many times. With his soft blond hair, bright blue eyes, chiseled features, and built chest and shoulders, there was no question he was hot. But he was Chris. And sex with Chris would mean having a real relationship. And I had never thought of having a real relationship with him, or anyone else, for that matter.
“Well, maybe not never ever, but I didn’t think it was cool, thinking about having sex with your best friend.”
“Maybe what they say is true,” he said. “Maybe guys and girls can’t really be friends.”
He put the lantern down, moved closer to me until we were only a few inches apart, and put his hands on my waist.
“Wait, so this is happening?” I asked. “Like, now?”
He pulled away.
“Only if you want to,” he said. “I don’t want to twist your arm or anything.”
“Okay. But serious rules. I don’t want to tell anyone for a while. Until we figure out if it works.”
“Got it.” He pulled me to him. “Is this okay?”
I nodded. He kissed me. Once, like a peck. I giggled. Then he pressed his lips on mine and started really kissing me. I cleared my mind and kissed him back. It felt good. And then I remembered it was Chris. I giggled again.
“Is it too weird?” he asked, his forehead against mine.
“I don’t think so. Is it for you?”
“It’s amazing,” he said. “I could do this all night.”
We kissed again. I reached for the button of his jeans.
“Whoa.” He took my hand. “What’s the rush?”
“No rush,” I said, and we kept kissing. But sex was always a rush with me. Trying to get it done before getting caught in a bedroom at a party, the woods, the backseat of a car, a bathroom with a long line.
For a second, I wondered if he was stopping because he didn’t really want me enough. That he’d come to his senses and realized I was not girlfriend material. But he kept kissing me and telling me how happy he was, so I had to believe him. I vowed I would let Chris slow me down. I would let him teach me to take my time.
We didn’t have sex that night, or the next or the next. It was two weeks before Chris finally allowed it. And even though we eventually came clean about being a couple, I was totally opposed to PDA, so we never kissed in public.
Fast-forward six months, and nothing much had changed. Chris was still my boyfriend. I missed the thrill of a new conquest occasionally, but Chris almost made up for it with his enthusiasm. Every now and then, I’d have eye contact with some guy at a party—someone I’d hooked up with before or maybe not—and for a moment I’d feel that tingling, the anticipation of possibility. And then, after a few minutes, I’d remember that sometimes Chris made me feel like the most important person in the world. And the idea of betraying him would make me clutch my heart as if it were breaking.
But since that Saturday on Rebecca’s porch with Sebastian, I was feeling that anticipation of possibility again, and this time, nothing could make it go away.
After Juice Paradise, I dropped Rebecca off at her house.
“Thanks for coming,” she said, glumly.
“Sorry, Beck.” The juice regimen was way too expensive—you had to pay to join and then pay each day for the six disgusting juices they’d give you.
“I just wish I hadn’t eaten that burger now.”
“Beck, you’re going to drive yourself crazy. You loved the shit out of that burger.” My fingers itched to put the car in gear and get home to my tree.
Rebecca gathered her things and looked at me curiously.
“Aren’t you coming in?” she asked.
“No, I’m gonna head home.”
“Come on,” she said. “Jordan just forwarded me a bunch of stupid videos. You can’t make me watch them alone.” She looked at her phone. “He says ‘I peed in my pants, then died. Can’t miss these, sis.’”
“Sounds promising,” I said. “Tomorrow.”
She looked at me with her pouty lips and sad eyes—the look she always gave me when I wouldn’t do what she wanted. I was so susceptible to those damn, lonely, pathetic, sad eyes, but I stayed strong.
“Too bad the juice place blows,” I said. “I saw something about that Master Cleanse diet all the whore starlets are doing. You make the nasty s
hit yourself. I’m on the case.”
“Okay,” she said. I waved as I drove away, and she walked slowly up the porch stairs to her empty house. I headed toward home where I could think about Sebastian under the quiet of my oak tree.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The breeze was warm in my hair, and the trunk of my oak tree was rough against the back of my neck, but I liked being able to feel it. I pictured sitting with Sebastian on the porch swing again, and in my fantasy, he’d take my hand and I’d put my head on his shoulder, and we would swing back and forth in silence. I held his letter in my hands. I’d already memorized practically every word, so I stared at his drawings. And then I closed my eyes, imagining his face, his lips, his raspy voice. I shivered the same shiver from that night at Rebecca’s when we looked at each other. How was it that I read this depressing letter from Sebastian and I felt excitement? It didn’t make any sense. But I knew why. Because Sebastian felt that connection—the same one I felt.
With my eyes closed, I wrapped my arms around his middle, holding him tight, whispering, “It’ll be okay. I’m here. Everything’s going to be okay.” It felt good, to hold him like that in my awake dream. To feel powerful and to know that I could make him better, help him fix this huge thing that had broken him. But why was I that person? I stared at the letter again, his handwriting, how he’d written my name and thought of me. And then I closed my eyes again.
“Macy!”
“What?” I yelled, startled. I stared at Gavin, not really registering he was coming toward me. For a second, I was in two worlds at the same time, and I didn’t want to pull away from Sebastian yet.
“Mom’s looking for you,” Gavin said.
He held his hand out to pull me up. Even at only fourteen, he towered over me—super tall, super skinny. I noticed some dark peach fuzz above his upper lip. He had to start shaving soon. Dad hadn’t been around to show him how, and Gavin would never ask Scott. Who knows what Mom was thinking? Poor guy was forced to have his big sister teach him how to be a man. He was in for it.
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing at the letter.
“Nothing.” I stuffed it in my pocket.
“Doesn’t seem like nothing.”
“Watch it,” I said as we entered the house.
“Mom?” I shouted, my voice echoing through the two-story entranceway.
“In here,” Mom called from the kitchen. She was leaning over the center island, flipping through the mail. Could there be something from Sebastian?
“There was a message for you on the machine,” she said. Sebastian? Was he allowed to use the phone? Was he home already?
“It’s from Darren.” Mom studied my face. I looked at her blankly. “Something about Avery and babysitting. He couldn’t find your cell number.”
“Oh, okay,” I said, a little disappointed that it hadn’t been Sebastian.
“You’re babysitting?” she asked.
“Sure, why not?” Scott can take her for every dime, but me? I get judged for trying to make a little money.
“Well, I’m just so surprised. I didn’t even know you liked kids. And now you’re a camp counselor and a babysitter.”
“So, now you know. I like kids.” Well, I seemed to like one kid, anyway.
“Why do you always have to be so nasty, Macy?”
“Because you’re constantly being nasty to me, Mom.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gavin duck into the family room. He always disappeared when Mom and I fought.
“I don’t see it that way. I’m just trying to have a conversation with you, but fine, Macy, forget it.”
She chucked the mail on the counter and left the kitchen.
I took some loose strands of hair and twisted them into a dreadlock.
Gavin slunk back into the kitchen.
“What was that all about?” he asked.
I shrugged.
“Why are you guys always fighting? She’s not that bad, you know. She just asked a question.”
“Coming from her, it’s always more than just a question.”
He nodded as though he understood, but I knew he didn’t. My relationship with Mom was complex. His wasn’t.
I looked Gavin in the eye.
“Gavin. I’m going to tell you something very important. Are you listening?”
“Yes,” he said, staring back at me.
“Seriously, listen carefully.”
He nodded anxiously.
“You look like a freak with that mustache. We have to shave it off today.”
He picked up a magazine from Mom’s pile and threw it at me. I ducked just in time.
“Screw you,” he said, his voice cracking.
“I’m serious. Go get your wallet. We’re going to CVS.”
He stood still, staring at me.
“Go!” I shouted, and he loped off to his room, his body bearing a close resemblance to a skeleton in a science classroom.
I listened to the voice mail.
“Hi, Deb,” Darren’s voice said. “I know we haven’t talked in a while. I’m actually looking for that sweet, blond, dreadlocked girl of yours. You know the one. I can’t find her cell number. She said she’d babysit Avery and Ben. Have her call me, would you? Thanks.”
Gavin came back into the kitchen. He’d brushed his hair and changed his shirt.
“Oooh, handsome!” I said. “Who are you dressing up for? Gotta girlfriend at CVS?”
“Shut up!” he shouted and blushed. The blush gave him away. Now that he was hormonating, he was discovering the feminine mystique. Without a doubt, Gavin had a crush.
In the car, the air felt good blowing through my hair.
“What’s the latest on Bot Boy?” I asked. Gavin was writing a novel about a boy who’s half robot and has to make a difficult decision—whether to be a robot and have the knowledge to save the world or be human and have the love of the girl next door.
“Hiatus,” he said, frowning.
“Why?” I tried to push some more loose hair behind my ear. Now that I’d washed my dreads a few times, they’d started to come untwisted. I’d have to do some work on them.
“Will you get my sunglasses?” I asked. “I think they’re on the floor.” I heard a crunch. “Yeah, that’s them.” He picked up the mangled glasses.
“Maybe if you weren’t such a slob …” he said. I grabbed the glasses from him and used them to push back my hair.
“Maybe if you weren’t such a tool,” I said, punching him. He just stared out the window. It was too close to home. One of the jock boys’ favorite things to call him. “So, why haven’t you been writing?” I asked.
“Writer’s block, I guess.”
“What do you do all day then? You’re just in your room farting around?”
“Yeah, pretty much,” he said.
“That’s beyond lame, Gavin. It’s summer. Where’s Jonathan?”
“Camp in Maine.”
“Eliza?” Eliza was Gavin’s friend since preschool.
“Um, I don’t know. Working, I think?” I detected something. I snuck a peek at him. Some pink on the neck. Yes, that was it. Eliza worked at CVS. Gavin had dressed up, brushed his hair, and blushed for her. While she was the frizzy-haired, braces-wearing, plain-Jane type, Eliza was smart and had a sarcastic vibe that I liked.
“Hmmm,” I said. “Well, you have to get out of the house more. I can take you to Marwood if you want. You can hang by the pool, get some chow and stuff. Then I can take you home after camp.”
He rolled his eyes. “Just what I need. Jeremy Lent and Brent Chase and the boobsie twins.”
“The boobsie twins?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Sadie Brown and Lila Patino. We call them the boobsie twins, because we know Jer and Brent only hang out with them ’cause of their big boobs.”
“Huh.” I got the best insight into boys’ minds from Gavin, now that he was going into high school.
“Hey, do you think Mom and Dad are okay?” Gavin said. “I mean, do you think
they’re like separated or something?”
I’d been avoiding thinking about that, and I was good at avoiding thoughts. But I knew Gavin hadn’t learned that trick.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “But it does seem like Dad’s been away more than usual lately. Given the recession and everything, you’d think an investor would have less work, not more. And Mom seems extra bitchy lately.”
“I think she seems sad,” he said.
“Whatever.”
“Is it weird that I miss him?”
“No,” I said. “I can’t believe he missed first-day-of-vacation breakfast. Let’s call him now.” I pressed DAD CELL. We heard one ring and then his voice mail.
How long had it been since I’d seen him—or even talked to him? A week? More?
“Hi, Dad, it’s us,” I said after the beep.
“Hi, Dad,” Gavin said.
“We’re just calling to say hi. Give us a call.”
After I hung up, Gavin and I were silent. I pulled into the parking lot at CVS and caught Gavin checking himself out in the side mirror before we walked in.
The automatic doors slid open.
“The stuff is back here,” Gavin said and made a beeline for aisle six.
“Oooh!” I said, staying by the front of the store. “Smarties are on sale.”
And there she was. Just as I knew she would be.
“Eliza!” I exclaimed. “I’m so surprised to see you here.”
She was leaning her elbows on the counter, reading a magazine. She stood up.
“Holy amazing hair, Macy! How’s your summer? Hotter than balls, huh? I’ve got fifteen more minutes on this goddamned infernal death shift.”
I did a double take. Even though I knew she’d been declared a serious loser by the middle school popular patrol, she was looking good. Braces off, frizzy hair in a braid. Cute little boobs in a tank top with pink bra straps peeking out. The red CVS apron cinched tight around her little waist. If Gavin didn’t claim her now, for sure the hormonal boy vacuum would suck her up this fall.
“Watch your language, little missy,” I said. “These virgin ears of mine.”
She stuck her tongue out at me, and I smiled.
I walked toward the middle of the store and found Gavin studying shaving lotions.
The Fix Page 7
