Wrong in All the Right Ways

by Tiffany Brownlee

  “Thanks.” The word comes out a little rougher than I want it to, but she either doesn’t hear my tone or is ignoring it out of pity.

  “That’s what best friends are for. Plus, it’s not healthy to keep things bottled up. Stress like that causes acne, and hair loss, and … dark circles.” She swipes her thumb under my left eye and frowns. “You sure you’re okay?”

  My stomach bubbles at her words. Just tell her, my inner voice commands. Rolling my eyes, I pull her into a niche on the side of the building. “What I’m about to tell you is the biggest secret I’ve ever kept in my entire life. And you have to promise me that you’re not going to tell a single soul, living or dead.”

  “Oh, dear God. Are you pregnant? Dammit, Emma. All you had to do was ask.” She opens her dance bag, pulls a condom from it—I’m not exactly sure why she keeps her stash in there, but whatever—and hands it to me, the silvery foil wrapper glittering in the sunlight. With sympathetic eyes, she says, “I guess you wouldn’t really need this now, but…”

  “What? Karmin, no!” Frowning, I knock her offering away and rub my hand over my flat belly. Am I getting fat or something? “I’m not pregnant.”

  “Well, I had to ask. You never know these days.” She laughs obnoxiously, as if she’s trying to impress an eavesdropper, and I bury my head in my hands, the color red rising in my cheeks.

  “I need you to be serious for a second. This is important.”

  “Okay, okay, okay. I promise.” She traces an X over her heart as if to say Cross my heart and hope to die.

  “All right.” I take the deepest breath I can before saying, “Dylan and I sort of have … a thing.” I feel the weight of a million elephants lift from my shoulders when the words exit my throat.

  “What, like, you guys kissed?”

  I bite my bottom lip, revealing the truth without saying a word. More than that. This sends Karmin into a fit of giggles so deep that I have to grab her by the shoulders and shake her to quiet her down. “That’s it? That’s your big secret? I was imagining so much worse in my head.”

  “Well … yeah. Foster siblings aren’t supposed to be … involved.”

  “Duh, Emma.” She drags out her words as if this is common knowledge, but she isn’t in my situation, so she can’t see the gray area as clearly as I do. “So … did you guys…?”

  “No. We only ever made out, but I think … I think I was starting to fall for him. Like, hard.”

  “Well, he is quite the charmer.” A thought occurs to her, and her thick eyebrows draw together in a straight line. “Wait, is that why you broke up with Keegan? For Dylan?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. I mean … it’s complicated. There’s so many layers to the story, it’ll take several days to get through it all. But I really did like Keegan, if that’s what you are wondering. And it broke my heart to have to end things with him.” She doesn’t speak, and I imagine her fretting about whether it’s against their Twin Code to keep this from him. “And it gets even more complicated.” I walk her through the details of Dylan’s current state, and tell her about the doctor’s prognosis on his memory if … when … he wakes up.

  “So, what are you gonna do if he wakes up and doesn’t remember that you guys were involved?”

  “I don’t know.” I open my dance bag and pull a white envelope from the inside pocket. It’s a response from Stanford. I’m still not sure if it’s my first choice, but it was the only one of my reaches with early action. “Him not remembering will make opening this a whole lot easier, though.”

  She winces. “Early action? That’s a small envelope. Never a good sign.”

  My breathing picks up, the nerves taking over. “I know.”

  “Why haven’t you opened it yet?”

  “Well, I was supposed to open this with Dylan. I made a promise to him that we’d find out about my future together, but now, I’m not too sure if that’ll happen anytime soon.” I pause for a moment, and eyeball the envelope. “I’m not too sure about anything anymore. Dylan? Keegan? Whether I’m staying or going? Even the tiniest decisions throw me for a loop. And, obviously, Dylan wants me to stay close to San Diego, but—”

  “But that’s not what you want,” she finishes for me. “God, Emma. And I thought I had problems.”

  “You have no idea.” We laugh it off for a second before reality sets back in, bringing us both back to silence.

  “My first kiss was with my cousin. I was thirteen, and we were playing a game of spin the bottle.” I’m not sure if she thinks she has to pay for my secret by telling one of her own, but I let her continue anyway. “I mean, he was my aunt’s second ex-husband’s son. So, we weren’t blood relatives, but technically, we were cousins at the time.”

  Three years ago, I wouldn’t have even thought that Karmin and I lived on the same planet, even though we went to the same high school. She was a part of the exclusive elites at Cedar Pointe. Pretty, popular, perfect. And I was a nobody. But now I see that we’ve had more in common than I initially thought. We could have been each other’s cushion to fall on all this time, but we didn’t because I was afraid. So much lost time.

  “And not even Keegan knows that,” she says. “So you better take that to your grave.”

  “As long as you take mine to yours.”

  The apples of her cheeks rise as her lips form a pursed smile, her promise hidden within it.

  “Well, I better get going. I’ve got a ton of work to catch up on.”

  “Emma,” Karmin says, grabbing my arm before I turn away. “I know you’ve got a lot going on at home, so none of us would be upset … you know, if you didn’t come to the competition. We’ve reblocked the routine to work with or without you, so if you want to sit on the sidelines until you figure things out, you can.”

  Practice the dance routine. I think, making a mental note to rehearse as much as I can before the big day. You worked so hard for this, and you need the distraction. “I’ll be there. Don’t worry.”

  * * *

  The benefit seemed to go viral over the next two days, because by Saturday, it’s expanded to a county-wide benefit to raise money for the medical bills of Dylan and the other crash victims.

  I’m not sure how we were able to secure Balboa Park for the fund-raiser, but I’m glad that we got it; it’s the only place that has been able to bring me peace since that fateful night of the art showcase. Something about the sound of the flowing river that they built a few years ago brings me serenity like no one else can—now that Dylan is in a coma, I mean.

  When we arrive—and by “we,” I’m talking about my parents, Matthew, and me; I had to drag them all away from Dylan’s bedside to attend, but that’s beside the point—I see rows of big tents lining the walkways and tons of purple balloons. There are purple balloons tied to the bases of trees and purple balloons attached to the arms of benches. There are even purple balloons attached to some of the sculptures littered throughout the park, which I’m sure we’ll get in trouble for later.

  “It’s not purple, it’s mauve,” Karmin reminds me once again, rolling her green eyes. “There’s a difference.” Purple. Mauve. Lavender. Violet. It’s all the same to me. I didn’t inherit the color classification gene that Karmin’s so proud of.

  “How much have we raised so far?” I ask her as I blow up yet another balloon and hand it to a small girl not much older than Matthew. “Do you know?”

  “Can’t see the money meter from here, but the last time I checked it, we had just hit four thousand.” Karmin came up with the idea to sell T-shirts in the same ugly purple as the balloons, and the sea of noxious pity-purple—I mean, mauve—swimming around me is almost enough to make me puke up everything I had for breakfast this morning. “Might be up to five or six by now. I was over by the food booths earlier, and they had to send Keegan to get more steaks, hot dogs, and hamburgers. I’m not sure what they’re doing over there, but they need to keep it up.”

  Her mention of Keegan’s name brings a smile to my face; it’
s been a while since I’ve seen him, and with Dylan knocked out in the hospital, I just want someone to wrap their arms around me, and tell me everything is going to be okay, like Dylan used to do. If I were still with Keegan, he would have been there, but seeing as we’re still not speaking, I can’t expect him to comfort me.

  “Man the balloon station for me. I’m kind of hungry.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Karmin must only be half listening to me now because my mention of going to get food doesn’t elicit the response I expect from her. But I don’t have time to dwell on it. I’m hungry, and I want to see Keegan without making a big deal out of things. I grab a few dollars from my wallet, and, after shoving them into my back pocket, start toward the cluster of purple shirts gathered by the grills a few booths down. I’m barely out of our booth, when a piercing “Oh my God!” escapes Karmin’s mouth. “OH MY GOD!” she says again, this time running toward me like I’ve just kicked the winning goal at the Women’s World Cup. “You’re getting back together with Keegan!”

  “Um, no. I’m just going to get a burger. I swear my insides are going to start eating my outsides any minute if I don’t get some food in me.”

  “But you just heard me mention that Keegan’s there.” Her statement feels suggestive.

  “Correct. And?”

  “And you’ve been avoiding him since the breakup.”

  “Again, correct. And?”

  “And Dylan’s unavailable right now.”

  “So?”

  “So you’re getting back with Keegan!”

  “I think your logic is flawed somewhere in there,” I say, which helps me understand how she has a C minus in Mr. Paloma’s logic and reasoning class right now.

  “Say what you want, but if you guys end up married six years from now, I expect you to let everyone know that I called it way back when.” She hands two balloons to a little girl with pigtails and looks my way. “I also expect to be your maid of honor.”

  “Okay, Karmin. Whatever.” To be completely honest, I’m not sure if I want to get back together with Keegan. I mean, I still do like him, but after confessing my love to comatose Dylan a week ago, it would seem wrong to go after Keegan now, though his company would distract from this emptiness inside me.

  The barbecue area is the most crowded part of Balboa Park. But I guess that shouldn’t surprise me; people love food. Period. Especially barbecued food. Exclamation point. It’s every vegetarian’s worst nightmare out here; everywhere I look, there are people chomping and chowing down on hamburgers, hot dogs, ribs (pork and beef), chicken, and, of course, steaks.

  I spot Keegan immediately. He’s wearing a bright red apron and a backward baseball cap, a pair of metal tongs in his hand. The smile on his face helps one to appear on mine. It’s been a while since I’ve seen that crescent shape frame his perfect set of teeth. It’s as if he senses my presence, because as soon as I get in his line for burgers, his crisp green eyes find mine, and stare back with a tender softness only he can pull off.

  There are four people in front of me, all wearing the ugly mauve shirts Karmin tried to get me to buy earlier. I have to assume that they all go to my school because I keep hearing Dylan’s name spout from their mouths. After eavesdropping for a while, I realize that they are sharing memories of him.

  “When I first broke my leg, he saw me struggling to hold my books and work the crutches, so he promised to help me to third period every day that he could. He was such a sweet guy,” I hear one girl say.

  “Yeah,” another guy I’ve never seen before chimes in. “One time, he saw that I didn’t have enough money to pay for my school lunch, so he bought me one. He told me that no one deserved to go hungry at school. He was a pretty generous guy.”

  As I listen to their stories, fury engulfs me. Why are they talking about him in the past tense?

  “Excuse me,” I say, tapping one of them on the shoulder. “You guys do know that he’s not dead, right?”

  “He isn’t?” a girl behind me asks. She must have been eavesdropping on their banter, too.

  “He’s lying in a hospital bed, not a coffin, you idiot.” My words come out louder than expected, and in an instant, all conversations around us stop, and twenty pairs of eyes are on me, including Keegan’s.

  “So, what’s the benefit for? Isn’t that for dead people?” She doesn’t look dumb, but clearly appearances can be deceiving. I turn around, ignoring her, and move up in the line.

  “That’s called a memorial fund-raiser. But, this”—Keegan Vanna-Whites his barbecue tongs around in a circle—“is a benefit. We’re raising money for the medical bills of everyone involved in the accident.” As usual, he’s come to my rescue, shielding me from anything and anyone who could cause harm. “And for the record, that’s Dylan’s sister that you’re talking to.”

  Embarrassed, the girl jumps in front of me to grab a burger and scurries off into the crowd. Obviously, she had no clue who I was. Keegan starts to chuckle to himself and when a laugh unexpectedly escapes me, he looks in my direction. We haven’t talked since that day at the batting cages, and I can feel the awkwardness pass between us.

  “Hey,” I say in a quiet voice.

  “Hey, Emma.” He hands the tongs to a bald guy standing next to him and grabs a hamburger without taking his eyes off of me. He nods in the direction of a vacant bench nearby, and I follow him to it. “I see you finally found your glasses again. You look good.”

  “Thanks.” His compliment throws me a little, and we sit, awkwardly staring at each other for ten silent seconds before I speak again. “And thanks for that back there. You didn’t have to … you know.”

  “People can be so clueless sometimes.” He shrugs, handing me the hamburger that he apparently swiped for me, but not before pulling the pickles from the top of it. He still remembers that I hate them. “How’ve you been?”

  I’m not sure if he’s talking about how I’ve been since we broke up a month ago or how I’ve been since Dylan’s accident, so I lie for both. “I’m fine.” From his empathetic look, I realize that he’s not talking about us, but rather Dylan, and so I add, “You know, besides the frequent hospital visits and all.”

  “Completely understandable. So, Dylan, he’s doing all right?”

  “Yeah. He’s wrapped head-to-toe in casts right now, but aside from that, he’s holding up. We’re just waiting on him to wake up. Should be any day now.” I’m not sure if this is a lie or not, because I really don’t know when he’ll wake up, but according to my mother, “positivity breeds positivity,” so I’m trying to stay as optimistic as possible.

  “Well, that’s good. And, hey, at least you guys don’t have to plan a funeral. That’s worse than any hospital visit.”

  “I’ll bet.” Another silence passes through the space between us, and I take a bite of my burger while I have the chance.

  “I just wanted to say that I’m here if you need anything. Someone to talk to, somewhere to escape to, or something to distract you from it all. Anything you need, just let me know.” His speech sounds oddly similar to Karmin’s and I marvel at the strength of their twin telepathy. Hopefully, she won’t send him signals of my Dylan secret, though.

  “Thanks.” I look past him at the barbecue lines. In the pit, the bald man he handed the tongs to seems to be having a meltdown of sorts. “Your barbecue buddies are looking for you. I think that line is too much for that guy to handle by himself.”

  “You’re probably right. I should get back.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got to get back to the balloon booth, too, but I’ll see you around.” He lingers as if waiting for me to hug him, but when I don’t, he nods good-bye and returns to the pit.

  I finish my burger in record time (for me, anyway) and start for the bathroom; I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get another break from the balloon booth. I lock myself in the tiny room and instantly reach underneath my shirt to unhook my bra and reconnect it on the middle hook, allowing me to breathe a little easier. I’ve been trying to
break in the new bra I just bought, and I haven’t been able to decide if I like it better on the third or second hook yet. Or maybe I’m just looking for something else to focus on and stress over to distract me from the fact that my boyfriend—or ex, if he doesn’t remember me when he wakes up—is lying in the hospital, unconscious for God knows how long.

  I stumble over to the sink area and after splashing some water onto my face, run my fingers through my hair. I notice a purple—mauve—balloon bouncing in the background. Nothing—not even the bathrooms—was spared by the benefit decoration brigade. Using one of my earrings, I pop the balloon and a deafening bang fills the room for half a millisecond, helping me breathe even easier than my middle bra hook allowed a minute ago. With the reminder of Dylan out of the way, I glance back at the mirror and groan. I don’t even recognize the girl looking back at me.

  This isn’t fair. Everyone else is having a great time here today. Everyone but me, that is. I bang my hands on the sink until I feel them start to bruise. It’s not that I’m upset with Dylan, because I’m not. He just left so many unresolved things behind for me to deal with. Alone. This wasn’t the plan that should have played out, and everything’s messed up because of Dylan.

  He was the one who mixed up his pills. He was the one who fell asleep at the wheel. He was the one who put himself in that coma. But now, I’m the one who has to sit here, waiting for him to wake up so my life can get back on track. I’m the one who has to hold it all together and stay positive, when all I really want to do is break down and cry at the fact that there’s a possibility that the only boy I’ve ever loved may not remember me when—if—he wakes up. It’s not fair. This wasn’t what I signed up for when I gave him my heart.

  “I love you, Dylan, and I need you right now,” I whisper as if he’s standing there and can hear me. I take off my glasses, lean over the sink, and put my face in my hands. “I’m so unhappy without you.”

  Over the past five months, Dylan stirred up some major strife in my life. He was complicated. One minute, I had to play his sister, and the next, I had to play his girlfriend. All of it made me dizzy and overwhelmed and a little resentful. But right now, there is nothing I want to do more than to curl up in his complications. He makes me feel safe and limitless. Now that we’re apart I’m a ghost in a human shell, lurking in his shadow.