Elin leaned back in her seat, shoulders sagging against the cracked upholstery. She sipped her soda, the bubbles soothing her stomach, which was slowly unclenching as they got closer to school. For a week, she’d dreaded an argument from Rosie, a thousand reasons why she shouldn’t quit cross-country. Jenna, if she’d been there, nagging her about being well-rounded. Teddy and Ket interjecting, trying to get Rosie and Jenna to back off. Ben, puzzled and torn between agreeing with Rosie and Jenna or Teddy and Ket.
But in hindsight, she should have expected this result.
Her friends tended to take her at face value.
5
Ket West-Beauchamp
April 18, 4:30 PM
Elin tugged on my hand. “Help me get into my dress.” She gave me her best Secret Secrets smile and I grinned in return. She was back to normal—happy, laughing, mischievous. I grabbed another Red Bull and Jenna yelled something after us.
Elin and I ran down the hall, Elin glancing over the landing to check for Will. “You brought them, right?” Elin whispered.
“Duh, of course,” I replied.
Even before the suicide thing, Mom Kim gave me and my friends serious side-eye. She read a lot of Jodi Picoult—you know, those books where teenage girls are always getting themselves into some situation that’s half Lifetime Original and second-cousin to a very special episode of Law and Order: SVU?
Mom Kim was constantly wondering if I was pregnant, if I was convincing Elin to get pregnant, if I was cutting myself, if I was bulimic, if I had cancer and needed a kidney transplant. They really shouldn’t let parents read those.
My older brother Adlai had been the perfect son—star soccer player, Eagle Scout, college scholarship. Pretty much the kid you’d want as the poster boy of gay parenting. He had never gotten the Jodi Picoult Stare of Soul Searching. I, on the other hand, was the kid the religious right would have you believe is the inevitable result of same-sex parents.
But was it really so bad that I’d stayed out too late, gotten caught copying bio homework, or flirted with Rosie’s stepdad? Most of my bad behavior was usually just a joke taken the wrong way.
But being me has its benefits. Since Elin came back, I’d done my best to counter Rosie and Jenna’s Special Brands of Crazy. Rosie hovered, Jenna overscheduled, but I brought the fun. Elin and I skipped class, went skiing, rented movies. My parents cut me a lot of slack, though if Mama Leanne’s blowup about my calc grade was any indication, the Suicidal Friend Pass was running out of punches.
Elin shut the door to Rosie’s room and pulled her dress out of her sleeping bag. “You think I can pull this off, right?” she said, her forehead crinkling with worry for the first time as she stripped off her tee shirt.
I snorted—not my most ladylike move—and unzipped my hoodie. “Ben has worshipped the ground you walk on since eighth grade. Yes, I think you can pull this off.”
Elin grinned, shimmying out of her jeans. “I just want everything to go back to how it was,” she said as she pulled her dress over her head. She smoothed the material down, twisting around to pull up the hidden zipper. “Just move on, you know?”
“Definitely,” I agreed, stepping into my own dress.
I hadn’t asked Elin why it had happened, figuring she’d talk about it if she wanted to. But she’d tossed enough vaguely loaded statements my way that I had a basic understanding.
We’d been sitting on a ski lift a few days after she’d come back to school, just us floating over a white expanse, snow-dusted black trees clinging to the mountainside marking the boundary between the ground and the stormy sky. Our skis knocked together, chunks of ice clinging to the sides, and my cheeks were numb.
Have you ever done something on a whim, and realized right away that you’d screwed up big-time?
Elin had looked small and impossibly young in her parka, two blond braids sticking out from under her hood, her blue eyes refusing to meet mine. Like I wouldn’t get it.
I’d grinned and asked her if she’d like to meet this girl I knew, her name was Keturah West-Beauchamp. Doing things on a whim that I later regretted was my entire modus operandi. And Elin laughed, relieved.
I knew, intellectually, that downing a bunch of pills and cutting your wrist was not a whim, but I understood more than most the momentary comfort of a terrible idea. Rosie was convinced that Ben was to blame, and Jenna refused to speculate, but to me, it was super obvious.
Elin had never actually wanted to kill herself-kill herself. She’d just come up against the reality of a year’s worth of Senioritis-induced bad grades and the fact that she never should have dumped Ben. She’d gotten drunk and done something stupid, but if she’d really wanted to kill herself, she would have waited until her parents had left for their weekend getaway.
It was total drama-llama, of course, so I could see exactly why she just wanted to pretend It Was All A Dream.
I checked out my reflection in Rosie’s mirror. Elin came up beside me and sighed dramatically. “Promise that when I talk to Ben, you’ll make yourself scarce?”
I rolled my eyes. “Like Ben would even glance at me with you in the room.”
She giggled, slipping on her shoes. “Hey, don’t forget my special delivery,” she said, eyebrows raised.
“Oh, duh.” I rifled through my bag until I found the condoms I’d snagged from Adlai’s dorm. I tossed them in her direction.
She caught them and frowned. “I didn’t bring a purse.”
“Stick one in your bra,” I advised. “Heck, stick two in there.”
Did I know that if Jenna or Rosie caught wind of Elin’s plan to woo back her ex-boyfriend tonight by looking amazing and putting out, they would literally have kittens? Yes.
But that’s why it’s good to have a friend like Ket in your corner.
I didn’t judge.
6
Rosie Winchester
April 18, 4:45 PM
Elin burst into the bathroom, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Tada!” she cried, throwing her hands in the air. My eyes went involuntarily to her forearm. Her wrist was encased in a wide silver cuff bracelet.
Ket whistled, appearing beside her. “That dress is amaze, Elin. Seriously.”
“It really is,” Jenna agreed, finally cracking a smile as I pinned her last curl in place.
Elin smiled, twirling in a circle. Her dress was a flowing Grecian cut gown, white with silver beading, toga-like straps over her shoulders. “Will you do my hair next, Rosie?”
“Sure,” I said, putting down my drink. “Pull up a seat.”
“Can you even believe that in four months, we’ll be gone?” Jenna said, smacking her glossy-sticky lips together. “Have you decided yet where you’re going, Ro?”
I squirted product onto my hands and ran my fingers through Elin’s hair. “Not yet.”
“I can’t believe you’re leaving,” Ket said wistfully. “Can’t you just stay and go to the U with me?”
I smiled faintly. “No can do. I can’t wait to get out of here.” (Only sort of true.)
My dad taught literature at the University of Utah, my mom was a big deal lawyer, but their real talent was hating each other. They divorced when I was two after my mom’s affair with Will, whom my dad still calls “the intern” even though he’ll turn forty next summer.
Over the years, Dad had gotten offers from different universities, but by court order neither one of them can move more than fifty miles from the other until I turn eighteen. So Dad lives in Salt Lake City, Mom lives in Park City, and they hate from a comfortable distance.
Part of me wished I could stay. Ket (and Teddy) were starting at the U in the fall. My dad’s job would get me half-off tuition there.
I loved Utah. But if I moved to Eugene, or Tempe, or Boulder, or Austin, then we’d all—me, my mom, Will, my dad—be free.
I really loved the idea of freedom.
I zoned out as I wove Elin’s hair into a messy braid. If my dad was right about my lack of literary tale
nt (he called the only story I ever showed him “a touch juvenile” and followed up with, “Writing isn’t for everyone”) maybe I could go to hair school. Both parents would flip in unison then.
(That would actually be refreshing…. )
“You’re wearing contacts tonight, Ro,” Jenna said suddenly.
I looked over at her. She was rubbing some sort of shimmery lotion onto her face, refusing to meet my gaze. “What are you talking about?”
“Contacts,” Jenna said, staring at her reflection, head tilted. “Can you see shadows under my eyes?”
“Shadows? No,” I said. “What do you mean, contacts? I hate contacts.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jenna said, tapping a brush against a pot of pink blush. “That dress deserves contacts if I have to hold you down and shove my finger in your eyes myself.”
“I’ll help her,” Ket said cheerfully, teasing up the back of her perfectly straightened hair.
“Seriously?” I said, twisting a lock of hair around the end of Elin’s fishtail braid.
“Seriously,” Jenna and Ket said simultaneously.
I pursed my lips but said nothing. When Jenna and Ket were agreeing (which was rare), there was nothing I could do to fight them. I focused on putting the final touches on Elin’s hair, loosening strategic pieces.
One night. I could do this for one night.
For Elin.
“We’ve got to hurry if we’re going to get to Fisher’s by six,” Elin said, adjusting the bracelet on her wrist.
I paused. “Fisher’s?”
“Yeah, she invited us to her pre-party and after-party,” Elin said, tugging her braid out of my frozen hand and leaning back from the mirror to inspect her reflection.
I glanced over at Ket, who raised her eyebrow less than a millimeter. Fisher? As in Fisher Reese?
Jenna stared at Elin. “Like, at Fisher’s condo?”
Fisher Reese was probably the most popular girl in our class. Unlike the stereotypical teen movie villainess, she was not a bitch. She was genuinely friendly to most people, but she could hold a grudge, and she and Ket had disliked each other since freshman year.
Which meant none of us had ever been friends with her.
“Yes,” Elin said patiently. “She invited us and it would be rude to be late.”
This time, Ket, Jenna, and I all exchanged a glance.
Was it possible that Fisher knew why Elin had disappeared for two weeks? Elin’s parents had told the school she had been sick. Jenna’s parents had wrecked that excuse when they blabbed to the administration, but the Angstroms had upped the ante by threatening to sue any school employee who breathed a word other than “mononucleosis.” And now Elin’s parents weren’t talking to Jenna’s at all.
Still, rumors swirled, encouraged partially by Ket’s jokes and innuendos. If Elin doesn’t want anyone to know the truth, it will be better that no one believes anything, she reasoned. At this point, kids at school probably thought that Elin had an eating disorder, drug problem, dead grandparent, boob job, modeling gig, or none (or all) of the above.
Jenna cleared her throat. “You’re being extra quiet, Ro.”
Elin leaned over the sink, applying an additional layer of mascara to her lashes. “She’s upset because she’s not going with Teddy.”
I glared at Elin. Tragic or not, that was uncalled for. “I am not.”
Elin leaned back from the mirror, studying her reflection critically. “I didn’t mean in the romantic sense. Like the, ‘why hasn’t Teddy gotten over it yet’ sense.”
Ket coughed. (Faker.) Elin glanced over at Ket, who raised her eyebrows meaningfully. Elin snapped her mouth shut.
Jenna sighed. “You shouldn’t feel bad. Just because someone likes you doesn’t mean you’re obligated to like them back.”
My cheeks flushed. “I know. I don’t feel bad.” (Lie.) “I just hate dances. The only reason I ever went before was because Teddy was there, hating the dance with me.”
“Then why are you going to this dance?” Elin asked tartly.
Jenna, Ket, and I glanced at each other guiltily. The pause went on one nano-second too long. But finally Jenna cleared her throat and said, “Because I’m making her, duh. I didn’t plan prom so one of my best friends could sit at home, moping about the boy next door.”
5:20 PM
The four of us traipsed down the stairs. Elin and Ket were giggling. Jenna was being strangely silent again. I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were better off just hanging out at home, watching trashy romantic comedies and ordering pizza.
For a second, I hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. I could suggest it—Will would buy us dinner. He’d probably even make us dinner. I opened my mouth, wondering how they would take the idea.
“Hey Ro? Could you come in here for a sec?” Will called from the kitchen.
I turned to the girls. “Just one minute,” I promised as I walked into the kitchen.
Will was sitting on the counter, bare feet banging lightly against the cabinets, a bottle of beer in his hand. “So, you’re going to be out all night?” he asked.
I shrugged. “That’s the plan. We’re going to end up at Ket’s after the after-party, and then go to brunch. I’ll probably see you sometime tomorrow afternoon.”
“I’ll make sure I’m home.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” Awkward pause, then Will cracked a smile. “I feel bad you won’t let me take any pictures of you by the mantel.”
“We don’t have a mantel.”
Will shrugged, dropping the smile. “I want to hear about how it went.”
I squirmed, staring at my feet. Will had never pulled the “protective parent” act on me before. I really wish he’d never seen that email.
My therapist used to say that parents must exhibit two traits for children to feel secure: reliability and responsibility. Most people think those are synonyms. The difference is that you can count on parents who are reliable for your emotional well-being (Will) while parents who are responsible provide for your physical well-being (Mom, Dad).
It’s not like Will had ever been a bad stepdad, honestly. He was a million times preferable to either of my ex-stepmothers. Before I got my car, he’d take me to the library whenever I asked and he would drop anything if I wanted to play video games. But he’d never enforced a rule and couldn’t care less that I knew he smoked pot nearly every day.
Or he used to, anyway. All this suicide business had Will attempting to actually step-parent me.
He waited patiently for my answer. I sighed. “Sure, whatever.”
Will slid off the countertop and straightened his posture. I could almost see him thinking, Look fatherly, and I felt a pang of affection for him. He didn’t inspire fear, but I didn’t want to disappoint him either. “Do you promise to call if you need anything?”
“Yup.”
“Do you promise you won’t … do anything crazy?”
I tried not to smile. The fact that Will couldn’t even bring himself to get specific was why he scored so low on the responsibility side of the parenting rubric. “Yes, of course.”
“No getting in cars with anyone who has had even one drink.”
“I promise.”
“Will you promise to call me if you need anything? Anything at all.”
“Yes,” I said. (Never going to happen.)
Will hesitated for a moment and then pulled me into a hug. I was surprised—my stepdad was not really a hugger. But after a fractional hesitation, I wrapped my arms around him. He rested his bearded chin on the top of my head. “I love you, Ro,” Will said, his voice thick. “Please be safe, okay?”
“Of course,” I said, blinking against an unfamiliar stinging in my eyes.
Will let go of me and took a step back. He flashed his usual wide smile. “You look damn cute, kiddo. Go break some hearts.”
7
Jenna Sinclair
April 18, 5:30 PM
My pre-pro
m to-do list went like this:
1. Assign Hannah Larson a menial task she’d be incapable of screwing up.
2. Fill purse with emergency party supplies.
3. Buy snacks.
4. Pick up Elin.
5. New addition: Steal Mom’s migraine prescription.
My headache hadn’t gone anywhere all afternoon. I dug through my purse until I found my mom’s pills. I swallowed one, closed my eyes, and resisted the urge to gag. Elin looked at me with a raised eyebrow and I forced a reassuring smile.
“Jitters,” I lied, setting my purse down on the credenza in the foyer.
Elin smiled, flipping her braid over one shoulder. “It will be awesome,” she said. “Everything you do is awesome.”
I smiled, the words thank you rising to my lips automatically, but before I could speak, something in Elin’s expression shifted, stiffened. Like she’d put on an Elin mask. I swallowed the words and put on a mask of my own. “Yeah, well,” I said, shrugging and smiling.
Everything you do is awesome. Once upon a time, I would have deferred politely but secretly agreed. I knew I had no capacity to be chill, that I was too into everything I did, but I was usually good at pretending to be humble. Today, with Elin being fake, I was at a loss.
I leaned against the banister at the bottom of the stairs, closing my eyes. Ket and Elin were giggling about some stupid reality show and I could feel the throb of my headache behind my eyelids.
Interlocutor: noun, one who takes part in a dialogue or conversation.
“You okay?”
I opened my eyes. Ket was staring at me, eyebrows knit together. My gaze wandered to Elin. She resolutely avoided looking at either of us, fiddling with her silver cuff.
I forced a grin. “Good. I think my headache is almost gone.” Indefatigable: adjective, incapable of defeat, failure, or decay.
Ket smiled and I felt a pang of pride. Ket and I were prone to bickering, but we hadn’t even had a spat since … since. I’d done her makeup—“Just this side of high class politician escort,” she said, and I laughed—painting on dramatic cat-eyeliner, deftly applying long fake lashes, and dusting shimmery blush on her cheekbones. Ket’s style might out-do mine any day of the week, but it took my special brand of OCD to properly wield liquid liner.
When the Truth Unravels Page 3
