The Only Thing Worse Than Me Is You
Page 27
Then again, Mary-Anne had been in on the thought experiment from the beginning. She’d known that nothing Ben and I did was actually going unseen. Our rankings, our lunchtime behaviors, our conversations had been under a microscope all year.
Everyone who mattered already knew. My best friends were all here, telling me that they’d known all along. They hadn’t treated me or Ben any differently.
Which left Ben. Neither of us had ever said anything about what was going on because each of us assumed that the other was secretly harboring real feelings. But Ben had never been in love with me. And until that lie clicked into place, I hadn’t noticed that my anterior insular cortex was on Ben West overload.
Now, I couldn’t believe how obvious it had been. Staying up to pick fights or watch TV together, walking to class together, kissing and talking and being silent and wanting all of it all the time—that happy sickness had a name. I loved him.
Of course Meg’s paper was going to print. The Great Thought Experiment worked.
She was never going to let me live this down.
I looked over at Ben, expecting the raw feeling in my throat to give way to real tears. His lips were pressed together so hard they’d disappeared, leaving a scarecrow frown between his nose and chin. He took a deep breath and reached into his backpack again. He swiped his thumb over the screen of his phone and plugged something into it.
My messenger bag buzzed. I took my phone out, aware that Meg and Peter were both reading over my shoulder.
[4:17 PM]
Ben
Hey. Do you want to come sit over here?
[4:17 PM]
Me
Should I go sit over there?
His lips reappeared in scoff.
[4:18 PM]
Ben
Why would I ask you if I didn’t want you to?
I stood, moving across the living room slowly. Each footstep felt heavier than the one before. I sat down with my back against the TV cabinet. I looked at him sidelong, afraid that his face would show some sign of regret. He smiled at me and the freckle next to his left eye disappeared.
Harper gave an almost inaudible cluck as she made her way back into the kitchen. “Yes, Dr. Mendoza, I’m here. Yes, sir, it’s very nice to hear from you. My father said you had news.…”
“A fish?” I whispered to Ben, trying not to draw attention to us. “You would have made out with a fish?”
“It would have been a hormonal impulse giving way to a physical manifestation,” he quoted back sardonically.
“Right.” I giggled. “We really are equally dumb, huh?”
He looped his arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “Yeah. But at least it’s equal. I’d hate to be the smart one.”
“Luckily, that will never be a problem for you.”
epilogue
It was an uncomfortably warm Saturday morning. The combination of the TARDIS dress Meg had talked me into buying and the awful red polyester gown I was wearing over it didn’t help. I was glad that I’d doubled up on deodorant. I could feel tendrils of sweat pooling under my sunglasses.
Ben had carefully arranged his hair under his mortarboard so that each little spike touched the brim. He had already unzipped his gown, revealing the Spider-Man T-shirt I’d given him for his birthday.
The ceremony had been long and mostly boring, although Cornell’s speech had been oddly touching. He’d thanked the Mess for teaching him the value of hard work and making sure that law school would be a breeze by comparison. “I have learned the true value of our motto—fide et veritate. Truth and loyalty. We surrender our pride for truth. It takes courage to be wrong. It takes courage to be right. I have been awed by the loyalty of those around me and I have worked every day to be better because of them.” He’d nodded to where Mike was sitting with the younger members of the role-playing club. He must have taken a day off from work to attend the ceremony. He’d spent the last couple of months as an intern at a video game company. He looked happy in the stands. “I am a better person for having known my classmates. We are all better having been together.”
“I can’t believe it’s over,” Ben said, examining the melee on the cricket pitch down below. There were hundreds of people on the field. They’d spilled out of the stands the second Dr. Mendoza had pronounced us Messina Academy graduates. There were people hugging and crying, pictures being taken, yearbooks being signed. Ben and I had retired to the top of the bleachers to avoid the fray after Mary-Anne had tearfully embraced me and made me promise I’d keep in touch.
Graduation, it seemed, made people crazy. I hoped B was taking notes on what he observed. He could write a killer Chemistry of Emotions paper on this next year.
“I’m going to have to find my parents soon,” I said. “Eventually, my dad will realize that he’s been taking pictures of scenery that I’m not a part of.”
“Me too.” Ben sighed, leaning back on his elbows. He kicked his white high-tops onto the bleacher below us. “I left my grandparents as a buffer, but I shouldn’t let the parents stay alone too long. Mom’s been extra weird this visit. She still thinks it’s her fault that Mike broke into the homework portal. But at least you’ll finally get to meet Olivia.”
“I wonder if she’ll like me,” I said, thinking of the few pictures of Ben’s sister I’d seen. She had Ben’s large brown eyes and wild dark hair.
“She’s four, Trix. Say something about unicorns and you’re golden.”
“Gender normative,” I countered, poking him in the ribs with my elbow. “Haven’t you given her comics yet?”
“I’ve tried. But she only likes Superman. I don’t know what to do about being related to someone who doesn’t like Marvel.”
“Now you know how I feel talking to Harper.” I laughed, looking out at the field again. The spire on the math and sciences building loomed tall over the gym, the sun beating down on the brick.
“It’s weird that we’re never coming back,” I said. “I mean, I’m excited about college and everything but … it’s weird, right?”
“Very.” He nodded. “But we don’t leave for school for another three months. We could always break into the cafeteria if we get nostalgic.”
“We aren’t breaking into the cafeteria,” I said with a snort, scooting closer to him. He wrapped his arm around me and I rested my head against his shoulder, carefully avoiding hitting him in the eye with my cap. Both of us had become adept at ignoring the fact that it was too hot to sit this way. It was worth the extra warmth.
“I got you something,” he said.
I snatched off my sunglasses and had to squint to see him as my eyes adjusted to the blinding light. “Is it the newest Saga?”
“You know they took a hiatus for the summer.” He frowned, reaching into the pocket of his jeans.
“A girl can dream.” I sighed. “Maybe you became really good friends with Brian K. Vaughan and convinced him to…” He held out his hand and I paused. “Oh. Wow.”
Cupped in his palm was a Dalek statuette cast in pewter. I immediately recognized it as part of the set we’d been drooling over at Busby. I picked it up delicately, admiring its miniature plunger arm.
“I couldn’t afford the whole set,” he grumbled. “But you really wanted the Dalek, so I figured … Anyway, I hope you like it.”
“Try ‘love it,’ you doof,” I squealed, throwing my arms around his neck to kiss him. Our caps collided and we both laughed.
“Are we interrupting?”
I twisted around and saw Cornell grinning at us, his yellow valedictorian sash sliding down his shoulder. Harper, Peter, and Meg were following him up the stairs toward us.
“Aren’t we always?” Meg asked. Even in dangerously high heels, her gown was at least three inches too long. She held it daintily over her ankles as she climbed.
Ben chuckled, reaching up and making sure that our hat incident hadn’t ruined his hair. “Generally, yes.”
“Look at my graduation gift,” I said, holding the Dalek
up for the group to admire. “Isn’t it perfect?”
“Duh,” Harper said, adjusting her glasses. “We were there when he bought it.”
“We’re very sneaky.” Meg beamed.
I stuck my tongue out at them.
“Did you give Ben his gift yet?” Peter asked innocently.
“Gift?” Ben asked, turning to me with unmasked excitement. “I get a gift?”
“What kind of heartless demon doesn’t get her boyfriend a graduation gift?” I asked, clutching a hand to my chest with false injury before scrambling to find my messenger bag. Meg had tried to talk me into using a purse, but none of them was big enough.
“I feel like I shouldn’t answer that,” Ben said. “But I’m not sure.”
“Hush it, you,” I said, pulling the small pink box out of my bag. I carefully undid the tape on the lid. It had taken a lot of planning—and bubble wrap—to make sure that the cupcake stayed intact. I held it aloft, pretending not to notice as everyone retrieved their cell phones. The frosting was perfect, a fluffy red buttercream, with a giant yellow number four emblazoned on the top.
Peter nabbed the first picture, perfectly capturing the moment just before Ben realized that there was a cupcake being launched into his face. Harper took the picture of the icing smearing across Ben’s mouth and cheek. Cornell got me laughing and shouting as Ben wiped his chin on my hair, successfully getting a smear of frosting on one of my hair-sprayed curls. Meg was too busy falling over giggling to take any pictures at all.
Amid the chaos, Ben pried the smashed remains of the cupcake out of my hands and took a bite.
“How does fourth place taste, Benedict?” I asked.
“Like red velvet. My favorite.” He grinned, his teeth perfectly white beneath the swirls of red and yellow frosting painted across the lower half of his face. “You know that this means that I’m going to grow the mustache back this summer?”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I breathed.
He leaned forward until we were nose to nose. Or as close to nose to nose as we could be given we were both wearing silly hats.
“It will be bigger and better than ever.”
“You’re gonna look gross.” I reached up to scrape some of the frosting off his chin with my thumb. “Hey, West?”
“Yes, Beatrice?”
“I love you.”
“I know.”
“Hey,” said Peter, shaking Meg’s shoulder. “That’s from Empire Strikes Back!”
“Oh, Cornell, our little athlete is growing up to be a real geek.” Harper giggled.
Cornell braced his fist to his mouth, faking a sniffle of pride. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry.”
Ben threw his head back with a laugh. I moved to shove him, but he caught my hand. “Love you, too, Trix.”
He leaned forward, kissing me soundly. As I wrapped my arms around his neck, I could feel frosting creeping up my nose and my mortarboard smashing into his. I heard everyone complaining that we had pictures to take and people to say goodbye to and a pool party at Peter and Jack’s house to get ready for.
But I was too frakking happy to care.
about the author
LILY ANDERSON is an elementary school librarian and Melvil Dewey fangirl with an ever-growing collection of musical theater tattoos and Harry Potter ephemera. She lives in Northern California. The Only Thing Worse Than Me is You is her debut novel. You can sign up for email updates here.
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contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE ONLY THING WORSE THAN ME IS YOU. Copyright © 2016 by Lily Elena Anderson. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Elsie Lyons
Cover photographs: man and woman © karelnoppe/Shutterstock; background patterns © Brosko/Shutterstock; bubbles © Fourleaflover/Shutterstock
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-07909-1 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-9172-2 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781466891722
Our e-books may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by e-mail at MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.
First Edition: May 2016