by Cat Patrick
The door opens and Tricia pauses at the entrance, her normally slicked-back hair loose around her face. I’m surprised to see the embarrassment in her eyes, the way she looks at her shoes as she walks to her seat. The tough girl I remember from the bathroom is smaller now, even if only in presence.
“Heard her parents freaked,” the girl behind me says. When I turn to her, she smiles. “I’m Darcy, by the way. Sorry I was a wench before. I’m not exactly a people person.”
“She usually hates them,” the other girl chimes in.
“Anyway,” Darcy says as we wait for Mr. Powell to show up. “Tricia’s suspended from the cheerleading squad for the rest of the season for”—she uses finger quotes—“‘unbecoming behavior.’”
“What about the chick with the boots?” I ask, still able to feel their weight.
“Rita? Oh, she doesn’t care about you. Probably doesn’t even know your name.” She turns to her friend. “She’s cool now, right?”
The girl nods. “Yeah, she said she has no beef.” They smile as if I should be happy, but I’m not. Not exactly.
“Thanks,” I say, twisting in my seat. I check my phone, knowing that normally I could text Chris—let him cheer me up. But there are no missed messages. No calls. We really are over.
Almost immediately after I put my phone away, Darcy taps my shoulder with a note. I unfold it, checking the clock to see we still have another minute or two before class. I’m stunned to see it’s from Tricia. Her pretty handwriting curls down the page in what can only be described as an apology letter without an actual apology.
She tells me that she’s been forbidden from dating Aaron ever again, that she’s been banned from cheerleading, and the best part—her parents made her write this letter. I try not to laugh, knowing it will seem cruel, even if it’s out of disbelief. By the time I get to the end, I think about saving the paper to show Simone because there’s no way she’ll believe the nerve of this girl.
I decide to be the bigger person and hand Tricia back her humiliation. But first I scribble “TRUCE” at the top.
“Linus,” Simone says as she turns to look up at me from the chair. “I want it to be a deep red, so put tons on.”
I roll my eyes and squirt more dye into the pile of hair on top of her head that I’ve already saturated. We’re in the bathroom at my father’s house, spending a makeover night, a night without guys. “If I add any more dye,” I tell her, massaging in the color, “you’ll end up like Ronald McDonald.”
“Sexy.”
I finish and cover her scalp in a clear plastic shower cap. I hop on the sink counter as Simone sets the timer on her phone.
“So listen,” she says. “We need to brainstorm who else to bring on Friday.” She folds her hands in front of her. “So far it’s just you, me, and Joel.”
“What?” I ask with a laugh. Joel Ryder—now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.
“I offered it to him as a present to you,” Simone says. “I got the tickets online the day they went on sale two months ago. I wanted to shove you two in the right direction. How was I supposed to know that you’d fall madly in love with someone else?” She stops and looks up at me apologetically. “Oh God, I’m sorry.”
I shrug like it doesn’t matter, pulling off the soiled gloves to drop them in the box of hair dye along with the used bottels.
“Still haven’t heard from him?” Simone asks, her voice softer. When I told her what had happened, her first instinct was to find Chris and knee his privates. She settled on trying to find me a rebound instead. She said it was therapeutic.
“Nope. I guess he didn’t love me all that much, huh?” Even though I try to sound resolved to the thought, it’s killing me.
“He’s an idiot,” she says seriously, pain behind her own eyes. I smile, glad that she’s always here for me. Sorry that there was ever a time when I wasn’t there for her. “Have you told Teddy about what happened?” she asks.
“No,” I say. “I’m lying low. I haven’t told anyone but you and Natalie.”
Simone scrunches her nose. “Your sister Natalie? Where did this come from? Did she trade in her pitchfork and horns?”
“She’s not so bad,” I say. “She came over and hung out with me the day I saw Chris . …” I stop. “She’s been great lately,” I say instead. “Did you know she hasn’t been on a date in nearly a year?”
“No wonder she’s so bitchy all the time,” Simone says before making kiss lips at herself in the mirror and checking her right, then left profile. “Maybe she needs to be set up or something.” She widens her eyes at me. “Let’s bring her to the concert! We’ll give her an I’m-single-and-looking makeover and reintroduce her to the male species.”
I crinkle my nose and start laughing. “Now I’m scared for her. Okay, so who else? Are any of Joel’s other friends coming?”
“I’m not wasting a ticket on those losers,” Simone says.
“Wait,” I say to Simone. “How many tickets do you have?”
“Six—minus the one I gave Joel.”
“How did you get so many … never mind,” I say, shaking my head. “I probably don’t want to know. But I might have someone to set my sister up with. It’s almost creepy but at the same time—sort of awesome.”
Simone’s timer goes off on her phone. “Creepy doesn’t sound promising,” she says, sitting up straighter.
I hop down from the counter and lift the cap to check her color. “You’re fully cooked,” I say. After I give her a towel and start the water for her rinse, I smile. “I need a favor.”
She groans and I spray her in the face on accident. “I need you to drop off those extra tickets at my brother’s,” I say. “I think he and Phil have a concert to get ready for.”
Natalie and Phillip—how have I never had this stroke of genius before? They’re both attractive, overachieving know-it-alls bent on making the people around them feel inferior. It’s perfect, and honestly, I can’t believe they’ve never seen it either.
Simone agrees to go to Teddy’s, mostly because I think I’ll have an anxiety attack if I step on the Clinton State campus so soon after dumping Chris. When she’s gone, I go downstairs, but Dad and Debbie are out on a date night. The quiet, although peaceful at first, starts to close in around me. I call my sister.
Natalie sits next to me on the couch, passing the half-filled bottle of wine we still haven’t finished in my direction. I take a sip, wince, and then tell her she can finish it. She laughs and sets it on the coffee table instead. When she rests back on the couch, Gram’s initial necklace flashes at her throat. Turns out Gram had told her that she could have it. So when my sister saw me with the necklace, she burst into tears, thanking me for finding it. Considering how much I’d already lost and that I was finally on speaking terms with my sister, I let her keep it. If Gram wanted her to have it, then she deserves it.
“Natalie,” I start in a quiet voice. “Do you think he’s with her right now?” She doesn’t ask who “he” is.
“Doubt it,” she says. “If he ran after you like a madman, I’m guessing he feels pretty terrible.”
“Good.”
Natalie bumps her shoulder into mine and offers me the remote—the ultimate in pity. When I turn to her, I notice how much she resembles our mother. They have the same features, the same softness. For a second my sister fills the void I hadn’t realized was there. I lay my head on her shoulder and stare blankly at the television.
“Have you ever loved anyone?” I ask. She swallows hard, then I feel her shake her head.
“No. I don’t think I could ever let myself trust anyone enough to let them get that close. Maybe it was watching the brutal divorce, or maybe I was always this way. But believe it or not, Coco, I sometimes take myself a little too seriously.”
I smile. “You don’t say.”
She’s quiet but then turns to me. “Did you really love him?” she asks. “Not high-school-crush stuff—but bottom-of-your-heart, you-complete-
me, rainbows-and-unicorns love?”
I laugh at the silliness of her definition, but after thinking it over—I decide that it’s a fairly accurate description of how I felt about Chris. Still feel. “Yeah,” I say, looking down. “That pretty much sums it up.”
Natalie nods and then puts her arm around me, snatching the remote back from my hand. When she finds an old episode of Project Runway to watch, she sighs. “Then I really am sorry, Coco. I’m sorry he broke your heart.”
I sniffle. “Yeah,” I say. “Me too.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and despite my vow to stop hoping, it wells up in my chest anyway. But the text that has popped up isn’t the one I’m waiting for. It’s my brother.
WHY DID SIMONE JUST GIVE ME AND PHIL CONCERT TICKETS?
I smile, knowing that Teddy and I will work out our problems eventually. He doesn’t know about what happened with Chris, and I choose not to tell him now. Maybe I just want to bask in my denial for a little bit longer.
I hide the screen from my clueless sister next to me and write back, NATALIE + PHIL = AWESOME.
WHAT?!? I’M OPPOSED TO THIS IN SO MANY WAYS. BUT IT SHOULD BE ENTERTAINING TO WATCH. LIKE TWO SHAKESPEAREAN MONKEYS AT THE ZOO.
I laugh and then text that I’ll see him later. Natalie glances over just as I erase the message. “Who’s that?” she asks.
“Simone. Oh, hey. So do you want to go to a concert this weekend? It’s Electric Freakshow… .” My sister’s cheeks start to redden and after a scream, giggle, and clap, she tells me that she loves Electric Freakshow (go figure). She starts to talk about what she’ll wear, how her friends will trip out because the show has been sold out since tickets went on sale.
But as she talks, I sneak another look at my phone. I scroll though all my old messages, looking for one. And when I find it, the feeling is painful and at the same time soothing: I ONLY HAVE EYES FOR CAROLINE.
EIGHTEEN
STAY
There’s a moment in Joel’s mom’s Suburban on the way to the Electric Freakshow concert when I have an out-of-body experience. I mean not really—I’m being dramatic. But as close to one as any sane person can get.
I see myself riding shotgun, Joel’s hand resting a little too north of my knee. I should feel comfortable with it, but I don’t. I swallow down bile that four antacids earlier couldn’t fix. His other hand hangs over the steering wheel, James Dean style (without the cigarette), as we speed down the highway toward the city. In the middle seat behind me are Natalie and her friend Emma—gabbing away about recently posted tabloid photos of River Devlin and some supermodel—and Joel’s friend Rod, who keeps sneaking glances at my sister’s legs. Behind them are Joel’s other friends Eric and Mike—they’re chugging beer like it’s water and they’ve just run a marathon.
I see all of us, heading to watch a band I’ve been obsessed with forever, out on a Friday night, young and alive. I see me with the guy I’ve pined for since before I was in a training bra and spending quality time with the sister I lost for so long. On paper, it’s perfect.
But the thing about paper is: It burns.
Rod, Eric, and Mike force us to tailgate until the opening band starts its sound check; I sit on the open back of the truck people-watching, wishing I was with the strangers instead. All around me, laughter floats through the air. I feel like I might never genuinely laugh again.
“You seem out of it,” Joel whispers into my ear. “Want to take a walk and talk?” He says “talk,” but he licks the bottom of my earlobe. I want to shove him away, but I just sit there.
“I don’t want to leave my sister,” I say, looking over at her. She’s sitting in a camp chair between Mike and Emma, laughing her face off. She feels my gaze and looks at me, beaming in a way I haven’t seen from her since before our parents split.
“Hi, Coco!” she says loudly, waving.
“Hey, Nat,” I say back, trying to make my voice sound … human.
“She looks all right to me,” Joel whispers. He pulls back my hair and kisses my neck. “She’ll be fine if we take off for a bit.”
She might, but I won’t.
“Get me a soda?” I ask in response. He pulls back and looks at me hard for a moment before shoving off the truck bed.
“At your service,” he mutters under his breath as he walks away. “Wouldn’t want to actually relax and have fun tonight or anything.”
Finally we go inside and take our seats. Joel says he’s going to buy us beer—that he thinks I need one. The comment makes me want to hit him. When he’s gone, Natalie slides up next to me.
“Is everything okay?” she asks, genuinely concerned. “I mean, I know it’s not—I can see it on your face. You’ve been gloomy the whole drive. What’s happening?”
I love my sister for knowing, for caring about me even though I’ve been nothing but selfish toward her. I don’t deserve her devotion.
“I lost Gram’s necklace,” I say, barely loud enough over the noise of the crowd. “I lied about not seeing it that day—I had it the entire time.” I lower my eyes, unable to watch as her expression falters. “But then I lost it. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
Hate me, I think. But instead my sister grabs me and pulls me into a hug. “Thank you for telling me now,” she says into my ear. “I hope this isn’t the reason you’ve been avoiding me, Coco.” She pulls back to look at me. “You’re more important than a necklace.”
A small smile tugs at my lips, relief breaking my chest in a tidal wave. I’m about to tell Natalie about my regrets with Joel, but then Emma comes running up and grabs Natalie’s arm. Electric Freakshow is taking the stage.
I glance over toward the beer garden and Joel’s not there; just before the lights go down, I see him, Rod, and Mike making their way toward the half wall that separates standing room from the seats. When a guard’s not looking, they all hop it. Then it’s black in the arena and he’s gone. A few moments later, my phone buzzes. DOWN IN THE PIT—SO COOL! I’LL BE BACK UP FOR SECOND HALF.
NO WORRIES, I text back, relieved. ENJOY IT. I’VE GOT NAT TO KEEP ME COMPANY.
YOU’RE THE BEST GIRLFRIEND EVER, he writes back. I put my phone away without answering.
I know most of the playlist by heart, so I can’t help but get lost in the music, and without Joel to remind me how much I hate myself, I even start having fun. Nat, Emma, Eric, and I sing at the top of our lungs and dance in the aisles as best we can in the sold-out stadium. I take off my jacket and pull back my hair. I’m parched and sweaty and for the first time in what feels like forever, I am alive.
But just when the night’s done a one eighty, they play “Flannel,” the song Joel and I were listening to in his room that day. Visions of his hands where I wish they’d never been crash into my brain.
“I need water!” I shout over the music to my sister. “I’ll get you some too!”
She nods. “Want me to come with you?”
“No, I’m good!” I shout back. I squeeze by a half row of people and rush up the aisle to the concession stand, trying not to listen to the song that’s rattling my bones. The opening song on the sound track to the biggest mistake of my life.
I step into the light and the music fades away; my ears still echo from drumbeats past. I move toward the nearest concession stand, but they’re out of water, so I walk around the arena to the one on the other side. I get in line behind a blond guy wearing an inside-out red T-shirt—there are at least five people in line in front of him. I dig in my pockets to make sure I have money. The sound of fighting makes me look up.
“I saw the way you were looking at her,” the woman in front of the blond guy says loudly to the man next to her. They’re my parents’ age; I guess Electric Freakshow appeals to a wide demographic.
“Who?” the man says, looking at her in disbelief. “Sasha, you’ve had too many of those blender margaritas. Let’s get you a pretzel to soak up some of that crazy.”
I hear the guy in front of me snort quietly jus
t as I cover my mouth with my hand to stifle a giggle.
“Me crazy?” the woman says, her voice gaining in volume. “No, YOU crazy. I saw you looking at that fine young thing with the Madonna boobs and the Whitney hair.”
Blond guy mutters “descriptive” under his breath, which makes me laugh out loud. I cover it up with a cough; the couple doesn’t notice, but the guy turns around.
My eyes widen. “You,” I say. “I’ve seen you before.” He’s cute, with bright blue eyes and messy hair that he tries to flatten now that I’m talking to him.
“Hopefully not on America’s Most Wanted,” he says. “It’s been a few years, but they still run that one during hiatus. Or maybe it was my cameo on All My Children?”
“No, I think it was Jeopardy!” I say easily, smiling without thinking about it. “You lost because you didn’t know who composed Swan Lake.”
“Tchaikovsky,” he says with a twinkle in his eyes. He points at himself. “Music major.” Then he points at me. “Girl at the stop sign on campus last week?”
I nod, kind of thrilled that he remembers. And then suddenly I know where I’ve seen him before. “I also saw you at your friend’s house after dropping off his hookup sweatshirt,” I say.
“You hooked up?”
“No, my friend Simone.”
“I know,” he says. “My cover’s blown. I’ve been stalking your Facebook page for weeks. Hope that’s not too weird.” He pauses. “Yeah, of course it is. Sorry. My buddy Ed helped me track you down through your friend. I’m Chris, by the way. Your official stalker, I guess.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Chris,” I say, taking a dramatic step back. He laughs, and when I look up to tell him I’m just joking and that it really is nice to meet him, the cashier interrupts our conversation.
“May I help you?” she calls impatiently like she’s asked twice already. There’s a huge space between Chris and the counter; all of the other patrons are done and gone except the fighting couple, now making out in the corner. Sick.
Chris blushes a little and says to me, “Hold that thought.” He steps up, orders water and a pretzel, pays, and steps aside. I notice him lingering by the condiments, waiting for me as I pay for two waters.
