Everything to Me

by Teresa Hill

  “Dana, I see every bit of it in your face. You have to stop, right now. You don’t want everybody to see how much you hate this.”

  “Do you think he really likes her?” I ask in a near panic.

  “He’s a guy. All guys our age like it when a girl looks at him like he can have anything he wants from her.”

  “God, don’t say that,” I beg her. “It’s all I can think about. If they’re like this in public, what’s she doing to him when no one’s around?”

  It hurts every time I see them together. Every time I see him with any other girl. My heart feels too full inside my chest and aches. My throat gets tight, and it’s all I can do not to cry.

  Worst of all, I have no idea what to do about it.

  “Have you heard if they’re actually dating?”

  “I don’t know,” Becca says. “You’re his friend. Ask him.”

  “I’m afraid to. I’m afraid of what he’ll say.”

  Coward, I call myself.

  He’s gone out with girls before, but he’s never seemed serious about any of them. I don’t know what I’d do if I thought he was getting serious about another girl. Curl up in a ball and die?

  “I hate being such a girl,” I say.

  Becca laughs sympathetically. “I know. It sucks.”

  What does she know? She’s in love, and the guy she loves actually loves her back.

  “He doesn’t even see me anymore,” I complain. “The only time he’s paid attention to me is when I was talking to Tripp.”

  “Hey, if he’s with Andie, he doesn’t get any say in what you do.”

  If he’s with Andie …

  I feel sick at the words, sick and desperate. It’s an ugly emotion, but that’s where I am. “Would you think I was awful for coming onto Tripp to try to make Peter jealous?”

  Becca’s mouth falls open, and she gives me that are-you-kidding-me look. “You are not that girl.”

  “I know.” I hate that girls play games like that, but I’m starting to understand why they do it. “I have to do something.”

  “You could always get Peter alone, wrap your arms around him and kiss him like you want to devour him whole.”

  I could. I dream about that, about how it would feel and what he’d do. About him kissing me back and telling me how much he’s always wanted me. He’d have a perfectly logical explanation about why he’s stayed away from me so long, and we’d be blissfully happy together. But all I do is dream about it.

  “I am such a coward.”

  “Only when it comes to him,” Becca says.

  “I … If I mess this up. Me and him—”

  “You two are already messed up. You have been for a while, and you don’t even know why.”

  “Things are already awkward. But, if I mess us up even more, school and all the family things could be so much worse.”

  “They could. But they could be so much better, too.”

  “I know.” I’m still trying to figure out what to do when I see Tripp walk out of the gym, surrounded by his posse of friends who are also on the team. He’s the starting quarterback this year and thinks he’s hot shit, even more than he did before. But a quarterback can’t just talk. He has to lead, and I’m not sure Tripp has that in him. He strikes me as one of those people who expects people to do everything he says because he says so, or maybe because he yells. It really doesn’t work that way, which I think he’ll find out this year.

  Tripp gives me a smug smile, and I think again about the stupid games some girls play.

  “There’s something about him I don’t like,” Becca whispers.

  “His arrogance?” I guess.

  “Well, that, too, but it’s not all. I’m not sure what.”

  He’s a man-whore. Girl are always hanging around him and seem willing to give him whatever he wants. That’s the consensus around school — that he gets what he wants from everybody.

  “Have you ever heard of him doing anything ... you know, really bad to anybody?” I ask Becca.

  “No, but I still don’t like him.”

  “Well, I don’t have to like him,” I say, as Tripp heads toward us.

  I put a smile across my face, hoping it doesn’t look too fake.

  Beside me, Becca groans. “Be careful. Promise me.”

  “I’m always careful,” I say.

  Tripp stands in front of me and says, “Hi,”

  I see Peter and Andie walk back into the building. Lucky me. One of them must have forgotten something. My smile is even bigger as I say, “Hi,” back to Tripp.

  Behind him, I see Peter almost stumble over his own feet because he’s not watching where he’s going. He’s glaring at us, looking like in the next five seconds, he might come knock Tripp down.

  For talking to me?

  I’m embarrassed to admit how happy that makes me. It’s thrilling. I’m not quite rational anymore where Peter’s concerned.

  But that’s why I do it.

  Start playing those stupid girl games.

  I don’t like it, didn’t like myself for doing it, but I keep seeing Peter with Andie, and he keeps ignoring me. I can’t stand it anymore, and I don’t know what else to do.

  Besides, there’s a reason girls try to manipulate guys that way.

  Because it works.

  * * *

  6

  Dana

  The last Friday before school starts is the Back-to-School Bash. The unofficial, much more popular party starts after dark, with kegs of beer, loud music and a bonfire in a field somewhere.

  First, there’s an official school party, which used to be really lame, one hardly anybody liked or attended. But the last two years, we turned it into a carnival-like fund-raiser. The school’s clubs and teams always need to raise money for their activities. They set up and staff carnival booths. It’s silly, but fun. Tons of parents bring their whole families, especially little kids, and we rake in money.

  We have face-painting, clowns, a cake-walk, cotton candy, snow cones, a big bounce house and—the most popular of all—a dunk tank. The assistant-principal’s in it right now, and a huge line of kids want to send him into the water. There’s a huge crowd here, period.

  Student Council is in charge of the event, so I have a million things to do. I’ve been working through my long list all day, and nearly everything is checked off. I can relax a little, until it’s time to clean up and count our money. Dance Team has a face-painting booth. I spend some time painting sparkly fairies, mermaids and tiny hearts on little girls’ faces. They love it, and for the first time in ages, I feel like I can breathe. I’m actually happy and having fun, not thinking about Peter and Andie.

  Then I turn around, and they’re right in front of me. Peter’s in his football jersey, and Andie’s in a little bitty top and shorts that barely contain her various body parts. That’s bad enough.

  But the absolute worst thing of all? They have Lizzie with them! My baby sister, with her adorable blond curls and pink cheeks, is wearing the remnants of a blue snow cone on her lips and chin. She’s riding on Peter’s shoulders, grinning like crazy, while Andie’s super-glued to Peter’s side.

  I want to say something super-bitchy, like Please, not in front of the children.

  The three of them look oddly like a little family. Looks like that’s what Andie thinks too. It feels like a huge betrayal, because Peter and I take Lizzie out for ice cream or to the park. Sometimes, we just play with her at my house while I’m babysitting. The three of us have had great times together. He adores Lizzie. She adores him. I love seeing them together. I imagine one day Peter and I will be together and have a little girl of our own like Lizzie. He’s so good with her. He’ll be a great father.

  Lizzie cackles, leans over and reaches for me as she calls out my name. I’ve hardly seen her tonight, I’ve been so busy. I’ve missed her, and she’s missed me. Peter puts his hands above his head, holds Lizzie beneath her arms and lifts her straight up in the air. He spins around with her twice, then h
ands her to me.

  It’s impossible to hand a child from one person to another without body parts brushing against body parts. I close my eyes at the feel of Peter’s hands pressing against me for a moment as he hands over Lizzie. His hand gets caught between my body and her for a few seconds, and I want to stop time and keep him there, close to me. I think about tightening my arms around Lizzie to try to trap his hand there. Before I let him go, I could tell him that he’s mine, and he always will be, just blurt it out. Lizzie’s my baby sister and Peter’s mine, I’d tell Andie. She doesn’t get to play family with them. Then I’d tell her to never, ever get anywhere near either one of them again.

  Lizzie wraps her little arms around me and kisses me with sticky, blue lips. Peter gets his hand out from between us, and steps back, an odd look on his face. Not two seconds later, Andie’s practically wedging herself between us. Peter has to step back, and Andie gets up in Lizzie’s face and fusses over her as she tells Lizzie goodbye, like the two of them are suddenly the best of friends.

  I’m so angry, it’s all I can do not to snarl at Andie and tell her to get her slutty hands off my baby sister.

  And I hate that word — sluts. I object to the whole slut-shaming thing. It’s completely sexist to say a girl who has sex is a slut, when a guy who has sex is not. The only thing I can say in my defense is that I didn’t actually call her a slut. I just thought about it.

  Becca must have been watching, must have known how hard this is for me, because she’s there by my side, telling me about some urgent problem at the dunk tank that I have to take care of. A made-up problem I’m sure, and I’m grateful.

  I try to breathe again and tell Lizzie, “I have to go fix something at the dunk tank.”

  “I wanna go,” Lizzie says. “I wanna swim.”

  “It’s not for swimming, Lizzie. It’s ... ” How to describe it to a three-year-old? “It’s a game—”

  “I wanna play a game.”

  “A game for grown-ups,” I say. “You have to be in high school or older to get in the tank.”

  She starts to pout, and I know she can come up with another dozen questions, at least, about why she can’t play. She’s a never-ending stream of questions, wants to understand everything.

  “Lizzie, come to me,” Andie says, reaching for her. “You and Peter and I will get a fairy painted on your face.”

  I think I might have snarled at Andie. Inside my head, I know I did, but out loud? Not so sure. Maybe, because Becca laughs and reaches for Lizzie herself.

  “I’ve got her,” Becca says, pulling that same move Andie did, except wedging herself between me, Lizzie and Andie. “Want me to paint a fairy on your cheek, Lizzie?”

  “Yes!” says Lizzie, who knows Becca well and likes her.

  Becca shoots me a warning glance. She knows I’m about to lose it. She also takes her time getting Lizzie situated in her arms before stepping back and leaving me once again face-to-face with Peter and Andie.

  “Don’t forget the problem at the tank,” Becca says.

  It’s a good thing, too, because I’d forgotten the out she’d given me. I think I tell everyone I’ll see them later, and then I’m afraid I practically run away from the whole awful scene.

  * * *

  Peter

  I watch Dana hurry away. Andie’s whole body is pressed against my side, the way it has been throughout the carnival, for most of the last two weeks actually. It’s like I’ve grown another appendage. I never quite had the talk with her, the do-me-a-favor, pretend-to-be-into-me talk, because what could I tell her about why I needed her to do that? She already thought something was going on between me and Dana. I’m not telling any girl how crazy I am about Dana.

  We did have the I-don’t-do-the-girlfriend-thing talk. I can practically recite that from memory. She took it just fine, like girls always do. And still, she’s made it clear she’ll do anything I want, any time I want. She demonstrates it every chance she gets, thinks nothing of wrapping herself around me and kissing me like we’re half-naked and the only two people in sight. So, I feel like a jerk, despite having the talk with her, but the only thing I’m really thinking about is how, so often, as I ease away from her, there’s Dana, staring at us and looking hurt.

  Or even worse, laughing and flirting with Tripp.

  What the fuck?

  I keep asking, and everybody keeps saying they haven’t gone out, just the two of them. Andie keeps telling me I promised to keep her secret about what actually happened between her and Tripp. I don’t want to put her in his line of fire, but I’m not about to let him hurt Dana, either. Every time I mention wanting to warn Dana away from Tripp, Andie reminds me of the promise I made her. She also claims that what Tripp did to her at that party was no big deal, that I overreacted and she did, too. That Tripp would never really hurt her. But he might hassle her, which she doesn’t want. He’s leaving her alone now, and she wants it to stay that way.

  Then she starts kissing me, making out with me, and I have a fight with myself about what or how much I’ll let her do. Sometimes, it feels like she’s trying to pay me back for helping her get away from Tripp that night, for not saying anything about it to anyone. Paying back a guy with sexual favors is wrong on so many levels. I hate that she thinks she needs to do that. And sometimes, it feels like she might be manipulating me to keep me with her, and away from Dana. Like she knows I’d be with Dana if I could.

  I don’t know what to do about any of that.

  Andie and I spend another hour or so at the carnival. We close the place down, and she wants me to take her to the keg party right away, but I glance over at the dunk tank and see Dana and Tripp. They’re sitting on the little bench side-by-side, him in his football jersey and her in her Dance Team uniform, both of them laughing and heckling the crowd gathered around waiting to see them get dunked in the water.

  She’s going to get wet in that little costume?

  With him?

  No way.

  I tell Andie I have to help clean up after the carnival. It’s an absolute lie. I can’t have her hanging onto me for one more second, and I’m not leaving Dana in that stupid tank with Tripp. I ask Andie to get a ride home with her cousin and promise I’ll pick her up later and take her to the party.

  She clearly doesn’t like it, but she leaves anyway. I head for the dunk tank. One of the cheerleaders is taking her turn, flinging a ball at the target to dump Dana and Tripp into the water. She’s laughably bad. I think the only reason she’s taking a turn is to try to catch Tripp’s attention.

  Please, I think. Make him forget about Dana.

  The cheerleader isn’t nearly as pretty. She’s silly and giggly and annoying as hell, but maybe Tripp likes his girls that way. I can hope, right?

  I hear more giggling as the cheerleader throws twice more and misses. One of the teachers calls out that it’s past time for the carnival to end. Game over. But before Tripp and Dana can get out, one of Tripp’s football buddies rushes the target and hits it with his hand.

  There are cheers all around as the bench beneath Tripp and Dana disappears and they fall into the water. Dana gasps. It’s gotten late. The sun’s gone down and the air is cooling off. I bet the water’s chilly.

  The tank’s deep enough that Dana goes completely under. She surfaces drenched, water pouring off her. Her Dance Team outfit, which used to be thin and flowing, might as well be body paint now, for all it covers of her.

  Tripp grabs her and pulls her to him, holding her against him with one hand while he does some stupid cheer, his other hand fisted and pumping in the air. She smiles and pushes her long hair back, takes her time about moving away from him.

  I need to be very, very careful here. Tripp can’t stand me, and if he figures out that I hate the idea of him and Dana together, he’ll try even harder to get her. That’s the last thing I want. I turn my head away until I can get a better handle on my emotions, until all of this doesn’t show on my face.

  She can’t be into him
. She can’t. I try to never imagine her with any other guy, but if I ever did, he’d be a nice guy. A great guy. She’s too smart and too perfect not to end up with a great guy, one who’s nothing like Tripp and who had a childhood that was nothing like mine. So this is killing me.

  Dana’s laughing. Tripp’s friends tell him they’d love to be stuck in that tank of water with her. He acts like she needs help to get out of the tank, as if she isn’t perfectly capable of climbing up and down the ladder herself. His hands are on her side at first. The higher she climbs, the lower his hands are, until they end up nearly on her ass. He makes a show of exaggerating the touch and his reaction. His asshole friends cheer him on, as if it’s funny to grab a girl just because he can, whether she wants him to or not.

  Fuck, tell me she doesn’t want that.

  I want to tear him apart. I don’t care who sees me. I don’t care what kind of shit anybody gives me for doing it.

  She climbs down to the ground, and that wet costume she has on ... God. She has the gorgeous body of an athlete, strong and sleek and perfect. I want to put my hands everywhere Tripp did, as if my hands could erase the fact that he ever touched her. Maybe if I do that, I won’t beat the crap out of him right now.

  Tripp’s still showing off up on the ladder, cheering with both arms raised, like he’s done something incredible by being in the dunk tank.

  I’m not waiting for him to come down here and try to have his hands all over her again. I go pick up Dana’s towel and hold it open in front of her. Her eyelashes are wet and sooty, her big brown eyes finding mine. I see her ever so slightly back away from me, and it nearly makes me even crazier than seeing Tripp grab her ass.

  Yeah, I know, it’s the exact damned thing I’ve been doing to her. And it’s not fair. I damned well know that, too. I fucking know the world is not a fair place, so it’s ridiculous that I let that thought —fairness?—even get into my head.

  Nothing is fair.

  I can’t think about that this minute. So, I hold her towel out to her. She takes two steps forward, and I wrap it around her. Her hands settle over mine as I start to tuck one end of the towel into the other at her right arm.