by Amy Andelson
“Punch?” some dude offers.
“Yes, please,” Poppy says, reaching for the red Solo cup. I quickly intercept, grabbing it out of her hands.
“No punch, Poppy.” I spot an unopened bottle of Martinelli’s apple cider on the counter, and grab it. “C’mon. Let’s go outside.” We go onto the deck where the smokers and stoners are situated. I find a corner for us, pop open the bottle, and offer her the first swig.
“I’m going to pretend that it’s champagne,” she says. She takes another sip—a big one—and then lets out an involuntary burp—also a big one. She grins from ear to ear, and I do, too. I wonder how she’s been doing at school this year. I know it’s not easy for a kid like her. When she was really little, Louisa must have dragged her around to every specialist on the entire island of Manhattan, but it turns out there’s no exact diagnosis for a girl who’s crippled by anxiety, fear, and obsessive-compulsive disorder, and certainly no miracle cure. I know my mom fixates on all the ways Poppy doesn’t fit her vision of the perfect family. But what Louisa never sees is that it wasn’t until Poppy was born that we even became a family. She’s our glue. I watch as she takes in the scene.
Finally, she turns to me and says, “It’s no Disneyland, but it’ll do.”
“You know, you’re something else, Poppy.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“It’s the best thing.”
“I really missed you, Amos,” she says, and it almost sounds like she could cry.
“I really missed you, too,” I tell her.
“No one else gets me the way you and Flynn do. The kids at school think I’m weird.” She looks up at me, and my heart breaks for her.
“They think I’m weird at my school, too,” I reply.
“Yeah, right.”
“It’s true. But you have to remember that weird is good. Weird means you have personality. Weird means you’re not like everyone else.”
“But why can’t you be weird back in the city? Then at least we could be weird together,” she asks.
“I can’t come back, Poppy. I just…can’t. I’m really sorry I left. But you know it has nothing to do with you, right?”
“Was it because of Mom and Dad?”
“It’s kind of hard to explain.”
“Why is everyone always telling me that?” She deflates.
Poppy is looking at me like I have the power to fix everything. And I wish I could for her. But I can’t. So instead I put my arm around her and lift up the bottle.
“To us,” I say.
Just then, the girl from the bathroom line walks by. She takes one look at Poppy and smiles. How could you not?
“I like your necklace,” she says to her.
“Thanks,” Poppy replies, twirling Neel’s stepmother’s fake pearls. “I like your glasses,” Poppy tells her.
“Thanks. I’m Lucy.”
“I’m Poppy, and this is my brother, Amos.”
“Nice to meet you…officially,” I say, extending my hand to her.
Amos is making small talk with Lucy. She tells him she’s a freshman at Brown University, and still figuring out what her major will be. They’re going on and on about an “open curriculum,” whatever that is, and the crazy thing is, they don’t seem bored at all. I have to go to the bathroom again, but I can tell Amos doesn’t want to leave Lucy. So I offer to go by myself. He asks me if I’m sure, and I say, “Sure, I’m sure.” I walk back inside and tell myself that all I have to do is go right down the same hallway as before. Last door on the left. Lucky for me, there’s no line this time.
Afterward, as I walk back through the house, I stop when I see Flynn, sitting close to Neel on the couch. She looks strange, and it’s not the dress or her short hair. She seems like she’s busy, so I don’t go over and say hi. I look outside and see Amos and Lucy still talking—where am I supposed to go? I walk into the kitchen, take an empty plastic red cup, and help myself to some of the punch. It tastes sweet and kind of weird. I wait for a second to see if I feel any different. But I feel exactly the same. So I decide to take a few more sips. And then a few more. Slowly, things around me get kind of fuzzy. I start to sway back and forth, like I’m on a boat.
“Yo! Runaway!” I hear someone shout. I turn around and see Shappy. “What do you got there?” he asks, eyeing my drink.
“My brother said it’s okay,” I fib.
“Somehow I doubt that,” Shappy says, taking the cup out of my hand. “Come with me.” And because the room is really starting to spin, I let Shappy lead me away.
Neel and I are crammed on a couch, but I don’t mind the proximity. He’s chatting with his friends, and I’m just sort of sitting here, trying not to think about what’s going to happen later. But of course it’s all I can think about. Someone else tries to squish onto the sofa, so I scoot even closer to him.
“Maybe I should sit on your lap,” I suggest. I ease myself onto Neel’s lap and put my arm around him like it’s something I do all the time. He smiles at me, and I realize that after tonight, everything will be different. Neel Khan will always be my first. He’s a good candidate—he’s cute and sweet. The buildup has been there for a while, and because of the geography, I won’t have to worry too much about the aftermath. It’s low stakes. And most of all, it will be over with, which, according to the girls at school, is the most important part.
A guy in a Santa hat approaches and says, “Feliz Navidad, motherfuckers.” He opens his palm, revealing a handful of pills.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Who knows? That’s the point,” Santa says.
Neel grabs a pill, and so I grab one, too. I swallow it quickly—if I give myself any time to deliberate, I know I’ll back out. And I’ve already come this far.
“Barlow, you continue to surprise me,” he says.
And I stand up and grab Neel’s hand, pulling him off the couch. We start dancing closely, and I don’t care who’s watching. Maybe it’s that I’ll never see anyone here again; maybe it’s the dress; maybe it’s the unmarked mystery pill. But right now I’m willing to take the leap.
Lucy’s pretty cool, for an LA girl. We’ve been talking about random shit for a while now—like how she recently got into transcendental meditation, and how her roommate at Brown is some born-again who eats Kraft Mac & Cheese every morning for breakfast. Usually the more time I spend talking to a girl, the less I like her, but Lucy’s smart and she knows it. Maybe it’s the weed kicking in, but I’m starting to think that I should make a move.
“You should come to Providence sometime—check out campus,” Lucy says with a slight smile as she interlocks her fingers with mine. I agree too quickly, sounding like the high school kid I am. And why not? I don’t need to play games with this girl. One thing’s for certain, I am sick and tired of playing games.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Poppy teeter outside, with Shappy trying to hold her up.
“Dude, think you better take her home,” Shappy says.
“Amos…I don’t feel so good,” Poppy mumbles as I rush over to her. Her eyes are unfocused, and she looks out of it. Is she drunk?
“I found her by the punch bowl,” Shappy informs me.
“Thanks, man,” I say, and turn to Poppy. “You need water.” But it’s too late. She throws up—everywhere. “It’s okay…you’re okay,” I tell her as I hold her hair and stroke her back. “That’s good. Get it all out.”
“Are you mad at me?” she asks as she lifts her head up, her voice sounding so small.
“Of course not. Come on, let’s get you home.” I lift her up and carry her inside. I nod to Shappy, grateful. Lucy follows, which I’m fine with. Girls usually know what to do in these kinds of situations, and it’s not like Flynn is anywhere to be found.
I push through the crowds with Poppy in my arms, and try to igno
re the inane “party foul” comments as we pass. We make our way through the house and nearly bump into Flynn—or, rather, she nearly stumbles into us. Neel’s got his hands all over her, and they look high as hell. As we stand in the foyer, all the chaos of the party quiets, and Flynn and I just stare at each other. Finally her eyes fall on Poppy, who looks pale and weak, and like she may throw up again.
“Poppy, are you okay?” Flynn cries out.
“I think I had too much punch,” Poppy says to Flynn.
“You gave her punch? What the fuck, Amos?” Flynn yells at me.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I say to her, seething.
“Yo, man, she didn’t do anything,” Neel says in Flynn’s defense, getting a little too close to me.
“Exactly! She didn’t do anything. Where have you been, Flynn? You’ve been so busy following this clown around that it didn’t occur to you to check in on our little sister?”
“It looks like you got a bit distracted yourself,” Neel says, gesturing to Lucy.
I swear, I can’t handle this guy anymore. “Why don’t you stay out of this, pal.”
“I’m just trying to help you guys out here,” Prince Freaking Charming says.
“Yeah, you’ve been real helpful,” I reply, taking an aggressive step toward him.
“Whoa, dude. You’ve been a dick since you got here,” Neel says. “And you’ve been treating Flynn like shit, too.”
I swear, if I didn’t have my little sister in my arms I would punch this kid in the face right here. But instead we just stand there. Staring each other down. I’m apoplectic, and Flynn can feel it. “I’m taking Poppy back to the house,” I announce coldly.
“I’m coming with you,” Flynn insists.
“Don’t bother.”
“Amos, I want to—” She tries to follow, but I turn around.
“I mean it, Flynn. I got this. We don’t want you there.” I glance at Poppy, tears welling in her eyes. Lucy’s disappeared, and that’s probably for the best. This night has turned into a disaster of epic proportions, and I have a feeling it’s not even close to over.
“Come on,” Neel says, taking Flynn by the hand. “You don’t need this.”
Flynn just stands there frozen, while I take Poppy and head toward the door without looking back.
“Did that just happen?” I ask, taking a seat on the steps behind me.
“Yeah, your stepbrother’s kind of the worst,” Neel answers, even though it was really more of a rhetorical question.
I put my head in my lap and curl my knees into my chest, turning myself into a ball and hoping that makes everything disappear, even though it doesn’t. Neel puts his hand on my back and gently rubs it in a sweet effort to console me.
“It’s going to be okay. Don’t worry,” he says. I want to believe him, but in this moment I realize how little Neel really knows about me. I know he’s just genuinely trying to be nice. He’s been nothing but great since we got to LA and shat all over his winter-break plans, so when he asks if there’s anything he can do, I tell him that I’d really just love another drink.
I know I’m messed up from whatever that pill was, but it’s beyond that—it’s like nothing feels real. I look down at my hands, my legs, my feet, but everything seems distorted, fuzzy. I want to run back to the house to see Poppy, but Amos’s words won’t stop echoing in my head. We don’t want you there. And I know he means it. Maybe they’re better off without me. Somehow I’ve turned into an emotional hurricane—destroying everything around me. I glance around the party full of strangers, and everyone blurs into one confused mess. I need to hold on to something—anything.
Neel comes back with a beer. It tastes cold and bitter, and it actually makes me feel a little better. “Your sister’s going to be all right. There’s nothing you can do now anyway,” he says. And I guess he’s right. He leans into me, and we kiss. It feels good to be touched. To feel wanted.
And so I look at Neel and say, “Do you wanna go somewhere quiet?”
I’m sitting on the cold floor of Neel’s sister’s bathroom, cradling Poppy in my arms. Fortunately, she’s gotten all the alcohol out of her system, but I can tell she’s still fighting sleep. How did we get here? I’m sure we must look a little ridiculous—after all, Poppy is approaching the point where she’ll be too big for me to hold. She’ll be ten on her next birthday, and then she’ll be a preteen. It’s hard for me not to always imagine her as a baby. But not just any baby. The baby who brought us together and made us a family.
Before Poppy arrived, Flynn and I still felt kind of like distant cousins. People who were allegedly tied, but the relation seemed forced, or just too abstract to feel any true connection. Then Poppy was born. And suddenly we were siblings. When Flynn visited from California, we would take turns doting on our new baby sister as if she were our own personal doll. We would make believe we were her parents, a game that continued for years.
Holding her in my arms now, I can’t help but feel like I let her down. Her breath is heavy, and her body is limp. She’s finally found her way to sleep. I tuck her safely into bed and head downstairs. There’s something I have to do. I go into the kitchen, pick up the phone, and dial one of the only numbers I know by heart.
This isn’t real. Except that it is. It’s happening, but it’s not happening. Or, rather, it’s happening to someone else. Because even though I was the one who wanted to go upstairs, and it was my dress that Neel Khan took off, and my bra he unhooked, and, as much as I can see, those are most definitely my Converse lying next to the bed, it’s like it’s all happening to someone else. I know that it’s me lying here with a boy I’ve had a crush on since last summer, but somehow it’s like I’m hovering off in the corner someplace, watching it all.
“You good?” Neel asks me as he brushes my hair back and looks down at me sweetly. I respond with a kiss, because all I can think really is, So this is sex? And I can’t help but feel massively misled. Because it’s not at all what it looks like in the movies. And I don’t feel at all like how I thought I would feel, but maybe that’s the pill talking. Because now that I think about it, I really don’t feel much of anything. Except for maybe a little discomfort, and mild impatience for it to all be over. I wonder briefly if Neel’s doing it all wrong, or, more likely, maybe I’m all wrong, because this certainly doesn’t feel…right. There are no sparks flying, no fireworks, no all-encompassing passion. The whole thing is clumsier and more mechanical than I think it’s supposed to be.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m not here against my will. This is what I wanted. Or what I thought I wanted, anyway. Especially after the blowout with Amos downstairs. But now that I’m here and it’s actually happening, I don’t really want it at all. Still, when Neel smiles at me like this is the best thing ever, for some reason I smile back. I’m starting to seriously question what all the fuss was about, and why I was in such a rush. Do I get a take-back? But even though I know pretty much nothing about sex, I know enough to know that I don’t.
The door bursts open, and two tipsy teenagers I don’t know topple in. They tear at each other’s clothes for a good ten seconds before they realize the room is already in use. Neel valiantly attempts to cover my bare body. “Dude! Get out!” he shouts, scaring them away. He turns back to me. “Sorry about that,” he says as he catches his breath. “Do you want to stop?” I partly wonder if Neel and I can just call it quits and be done. But instead I shake my head, because the last thing I want to be is a tease. “You know, I’ve thought about you a lot,” he says as he kisses my neck and gently runs his fingers through my hair, and I know he is trying so hard to do everything right.
Thankfully, it’s all over pretty quickly, and then we just kind of lie there. I suddenly feel so naked, and all I want is to put my dress back on and run home. But the thing is, my dress is all the way on the other side of the room, and I don’t even know w
here home is anymore. I feel my eyes welling with tears, and I try my hardest to swallow them. I cannot be the girl who cries after she loses her virginity.
“What are you thinking?” Neel asks, breaking the silence.
“Nothing,” I lie. I’m thinking I want my clothes. I’m thinking I need to be alone. I’m thinking I’ve made a mistake. “I’m just going to use the bathroom—freshen up.”
“I’ll wait for you,” Neel says, slipping back into his jeans.
“You don’t have to—really. I’ll be down in a few.”
“All right,” he says, somewhat reluctantly. He kisses me on the cheek and then looks at me, trying to get a read, but it’s no use. “You sure you’re okay?” he asks. I nod, encouraging him to leave already.
Once I’m alone, I look for my dress in the dark and find it balled up on the floor. I zip it back up and sit on the edge of the bed. You are not going to cry, I tell myself as tears silently stream down my face. You are not crying.
The sun is coming up, and she’s still not home. I’m sitting here at Neel’s kitchen table, and I’ve been up all night. I feel like such a fool for letting her get away with this for this long. I mean, if she wanted to live out some Bonnie and Clyde fantasy with that bozo, that’s one thing, but I shouldn’t have let Poppy and me get dragged along for the ride. And now this little charade of hers has gone on long enough. I don’t know what she was trying to accomplish, but running away from a family vacation, going off grid, and staying out all night with a delinquent surfer dumbass is taking it too far. If it was a cry for attention Flynn was after, I’ve heard it loud and clear. Congratulations, Flynn, we’re all watching now.
And then there she is. Flynn stands at the glass door in last night’s dress, barefoot with her shoes in her hand. I know how crappy she must feel from her walk of shame. Call me cruel, and maybe I am, but I want to let her sit in it. The girl standing at the door is not my Flynn. And maybe that’s the problem. She was never my Flynn. Never could be my Flynn. We don’t belong to each other. None of us. Clay could up and leave for California, just like I up and left for school. Jack and Louisa can split this family apart. The divorce is sure to be a real shit show—once all is said and done, there’ll be nothing left of the family we thought we were anyway.
