Hey, Rach. Call me?
I know from experience that it can take forever to hear back from Rachel, so I crack open my English notebook again. I’m skimming through some Lord of the Flies worksheets when my phone buzzes.
“What’s up?”
My sister’s voice is almost drowned out by what sounds like a dozen barking dogs. Either she’s still at work or she adopted a litter of puppies.
“Nothing’s up.” I lie back on my pillows. “Just wanted to see how you are. I haven’t heard from you in days.”
“Awww,” she coos. “You miss your big sis?”
I snort like this is the silliest thing ever, even though I miss her like crazy. Last year, when she got accepted into her top-choice university, I tried to be happy for her even though it meant she’d be moving a thousand miles away. She’ll be back for holidays, I reasoned at the time, and summers. I was half right. She did come back for Christmas, but she landed a job in the spring and decided to stick around there for the summer, so I haven’t seen her since.
“Did I catch you at work?” I ask.
“Yeah. Just finishing up.” Another series of barks punctuates her sentence. Rachel works as a veterinarian’s assistant at an animal shelter, which she says will help her chances when she applies to veterinarian school. “What have you been up to?”
“Studying.”
“How’s Dad?”
“He’s fine. Working a lot.”
The barking ceases as she presumably leaves the shelter. “Well, that’s good, right?”
For a second—a very quick second—I have the urge to lay everything out to her. Dad’s bad months. The way his shoulders sag, like he’s being bowed by an invisible weight. The stolen bikini secreted away in my drawer. But Rachel left partly to get away from all the mess here, so I let it go and change the subject. “So what’s new with you?”
“Nothing much. I’ve been working a lot too. Like six days a week. I haven’t had time to do laundry or clean in weeks, and I’m pretty sure my apartment is about to be condemned by the Board of Health.”
I laugh, remembering the state of Rachel’s bedroom at our old house. Mine was always neat and organized, while hers looked like the aftermath of a tornado. When she lived here with Dad and me last summer and slept on the pull-out couch, her mess spread to every room. “Like you’d clean even if you did have the time,” I tease.
“Oh, shush,” she says. “Hey, speaking of laundry, you haven’t seen my black peasant top around, have you? I could have sworn I had that.”
I look down at my torso, clad in her missing shirt. It’s one of my favorites. “Um, I think I’ve seen it.”
She snorts. “Mess it up and you’re buying me a new one.” There’s a short pause, and I hear a car door slam. “Anyway, I’m glad you asked me to call, because I have some news,” she says, her tone brightening.
“Yeah?”
“I’m coming home for a week at the end of summer! Booked my plane ticket last night.”
I sit up, knocking half my notes on the floor. She’s coming home. My chest suddenly feels a million times lighter. “Really? That’s awesome.”
“I was going to bring Amir, but he couldn’t get the time off work.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” Amir is her boyfriend. She met him four months ago in microbiology class, and I don’t know much about him other than he looks cute in the pictures Rach sends me. I do want to meet him, but I’m also kind of glad I’ll have my sister to myself.
She lets out a sigh. “I should probably let you go now. I’m meeting some friends for dinner.”
“Okay.” Bitterness rises in my throat, but I swallow it back. Rachel turned her life around. She has goals now, a hot boyfriend, a job she loves. I should be happy for her, not resent her for leaving me back here to deal with everything alone.
“Say hi to Dad for me, okay? And Fergus.”
“Sure. Bye, Rach.”
“Bye, Morgan.”
I end the call and lie there, staring at the ceiling. TV voices filter under my closed door, signaling that Dad is waiting for me in the living room, ready to fire up Netflix. Still feeling zapped from earlier, I consider telling him that I want to skip it tonight. But then I think about the lines in his face, the apprehension in his eyes whenever he looks at me. Like he’s wondering if I’m going to end up leaving him too.
I get up and make my way to the kitchen, where I dish up two big bowls of double chocolate chunk ice cream.
Chapter Three
“I’M TOTALLY GOING TO FAIL THE EXAM FOR THIS class,” Alyssa says as we walk out of English together on Monday. “I hate essay questions.”
“Same,” I say, though neither of us has gotten below a B on a test in our lives, let alone failed. “Luckily it’s only worth twenty-five percent of our final grade.”
“Remind me again why we took AP English this semester?”
“Because we hate ourselves?”
She flicks her dark hair over her shoulder. “Clearly.”
As we shove through the sweaty crowd to our lockers, Alyssa’s phone buzzes in her pocket. She digs it out and looks at the screen. “Sophie texted. Everyone’s waiting for us outside.”
We drop our books in our lockers and head down the stairs to the north door, the exit closest to the student parking lot. As we step out into the sunshine, we spot Sophie and her boyfriend, Zach, seated close together on a picnic table. Dawson, Zach’s best friend, is beside them, sitting on top of the table with his feet on the bench part. Alyssa and I make our way across the lawn.
“Finally,” Zach says when we reach them. “What took you so long?”
Alyssa squints through the sun at him. “Class ran a bit late. You know how Blackburn likes to hear himself talk.”
Sophie scoots even closer to Zach to make room for me to sit. As I do, Dawson scrambles off the table and brushes away some invisible dirt before offering the spot to Alyssa. She smirks at him and sits on the opposite bench instead, making me laugh.
My friends have definitely been my bright spot this year. Alyssa and I have been tight since middle school, but we didn’t start hanging out with Sophie, Zach, and Dawson until last fall, when the five of us were grouped together for a Global History project. After that, we were together all the time. We’re what our parents call “good kids,” meaning we generally take school seriously and none of us drink, smoke, or do drugs. We’re probably a little geeky, by some people’s standards, but we’re all fine with that.
None of my friends know about my dirty little habit. They’d never suspect it. I think they’d fall over in shock if they found out about the bikini, or the mascaras and lipsticks, or the dozens of other things I haven’t paid for in the past year.
“Are we getting lunch or what?” Sophie says. “I’m going to, like, pass out from hunger.”
“Shocking,” Zach says, flicking his longish brown hair out of his eyes. Sophie’s enormous appetite is well known in my circle of friends. She’s five foot one—an inch shorter than me—and weighs about as much as my cat, but she eats like a truck driver. She’s an interesting visual contrast to Zach, who’s almost six feet tall.
“Beacon Street Diner?” I say as the five of us head for the parking lot. I’m not sure why I bother asking—we always end up there when we leave the school grounds for lunch. The food is plentiful and cheap, and the service is so quick that we’ve never had any issue making it back for our afternoon classes.
Everyone agrees and we all pile into my car. Since I’m the only one with my own wheels, it’s usually me who carts everyone around. I don’t mind, but I did give my friends two rules: pay me gas money once in a while, and no fighting over music. They follow the first rule only sporadically, and ignore the second one altogether.
“You are not playing that twangy country shit.” Dawson grabs Zach’s phone as he’s attaching it to the auxiliary cable that’s dangling between the front seats.
“Hey,” Zach says, lunging over Sophie’s lap to s
natch it back. “Hands off my phone, asshole.”
Sophie squeals and pushes him away. My seat rocks forward as Zach’s long legs collide with the back of it.
Alyssa raises her eyebrows at me from the passenger seat, like she’s waiting for me to control these animals. I love my friends . . . love them enough to make the long trek into the city every day to Nicholson High, even though I’m in a different school district now. Love them enough to sit in congested lunchtime city traffic for who knows how long just so we can eat together at our favorite diner. But if these boys don’t behave, I swear I’m going to make them walk.
I disconnect the aux cord and turn on the radio. A catchy old eighties song comes on and the scuffling stops. For now.
At the diner, we claim our regular booth by the kitchen and take our usual places—Alyssa and Dawson on one side, and me, Sophie, and Zach crowded in on the other. We’ve tried various other seating combinations over the past few months, but Zach and Sophie always wind up side by side, Dawson gravitates toward Alyssa in most situations, and I’m compact enough to fit pretty much anywhere.
“Are we all going to Jasmine’s pool party on the eighteenth?” Sophie asks while we’re waiting for our food.
“I am,” I say. I think of the bikini, still folded up in my drawer.
Alyssa slaps her hand on the table. “Oh, that reminds me! I need a swimsuit cover.”
Dawson’s gaze flicks down to her curvy body, like he’s wondering why she’d ever want to cover it up. Maybe it’s because I’m used to studying surroundings and reading certain vibes, but I seem to be the only one who’s picked up on the massive crush Dawson has on Alyssa. Then again, maybe Zach and Sophie have noticed, but like me, they’ve decided not to mention it because they’re afraid of messing up the group dynamic.
“I saw cute swimsuit covers at Forever 21,” Sophie tells her.
Alyssa bumps my foot under the table. “Maybe Morgan will take us to the mall after school.”
“Sure,” I mumble around my straw.
“Count me out,” Zach says. “Dawson too. We’re going to my house to study for physics. And play some Doom.”
Dawson grins, teeth bright against his dark-brown skin. “First I’ve heard of this, but okay.” The two of them fist-bump over the table.
“You’re playing Doom without me?” Sophie whines, but then gets distracted when the waitress appears with our food.
As we eat, everyone starts discussing Jasmine’s party and who might be there. I focus on the conversation, trying to ignore the way my heart speeds up at the thought of going shopping later. Instead, I let myself imagine the summer ahead and all the fun I plan to have with my friends.
The mall is dead, even for a Monday afternoon. Alyssa, Sophie, and I ride the escalator up to the third floor and go directly to Forever 21. The store is virtually empty.
Sophie leads us to where she saw the cover-ups and immediately pulls one out. “How about this?”
Alyssa and I laugh. She’s holding a white crocheted dress that wouldn’t cover anything.
“Um, no,” Alyssa says, taking the dress from Sophie and putting it back on the rack. “My mother would freak.”
I used to tease her regularly about her overprotective mother, but not anymore. Since Alyssa’s father died a year and a half ago, her mother’s gotten even more clingy and smothering. Alyssa tolerates it because the thought of telling her mom she needs space, after all they’ve been through, makes her feel like a horrible daughter.
I wonder what it’s like, having a mother who values you that much.
“This,” Sophie says, pulling out a rose-colored maxidress, “is super cute.”
Alyssa frowns. “Don’t those usually look better on, um, smaller-chested women?”
“Says who?” I ask. “You can wear whatever you want, Lyss.”
“That’s right.” Sophie holds the dress up to Alyssa’s front. “You’re gorgeous.”
She sighs. “Let’s keep looking.”
After fifteen minutes of scouring the racks, Alyssa finds a simple black dress with spaghetti straps. She presses it to her body so we can see how it looks with her dark hair and coloring.
“Perfect,” I say. Sophie agrees.
Alyssa buys the dress without trying it on and the three of us leave the store. My body tenses as we pass through the door, even though I know we’re fine. I’d never take something with my friends around. If I got caught, they’d probably go down with me, and I’d never risk that.
“Let’s go get some frozen hot chocolate,” Sophie suggests.
“Sure.” Luckily, I still have five dollars or so left from the twenty Dad slipped me last night. Chocolate anything sounds good.
We head to the food court, which is located on the bottom floor, two escalator rides down. On the way, we pass a brightly lit electronics store. Just outside the entrance are two wire bins piled high with discounted movies, mostly the straight-to-DVD kind that few people have heard of or ones that were semipopular decades ago. I pause to look through them.
“You and your cheap Blu-ray obsession,” Alyssa says as she and Sophie come to a halt beside me.
I dig around in the pile, moving aside the top layers of cases so I can see what’s hiding underneath. “You never know what kind of gems you might find in these clearance bins.”
“Yeah, like”—Sophie picks up one of the movies I’ve discarded and looks at the cover—“Maximum Punishment Three. I didn’t even know there was a one and two.”
“Aren’t most of these on Netflix, anyway?” Alyssa asks.
“No.” I give up on the first bin and start on the other. “Besides, you know I like to own copies of my favorites.” She’s probably figured out why too, even though I’ve never said the reason out loud. But Alyssa knows that watching movies was something I always did with my mother. She’s a huge film buff—everything from classics to indie to popular mainstream—and she had me watching things like the Lord of the Rings trilogy while other kids my age were watching Disney. My father and sister both have limited attention spans and prefer their entertainment in sixty-minutes-or-less chunks, so movie time with my mom always felt special. Something that just the two of us shared.
But that was before. Now I mostly watch movies alone, in my room. Or with my friends, even though they gravitate toward whatever is current and popular and can’t understand my desire to watch stuff that was released before we were even born.
“Yes, we know about your favorites,” Sophie says, grabbing my hand and slowly tugging me away from the bin. No one stands between Sophie and her quest for sustenance. “We’ve seen your movie collection.”
“And your penguin collection,” Alyssa adds with a grin. They both think it’s adorable that I like to collect things. You don’t have a normal amount of anything, they like to say when they’re in my room. It’s true. I have stockpiles of stuff all over the place—shoes, scented candles, perfumes, pens. Not to mention the penguin-themed items, which I collect simply because I think penguins are cute.
“Okay, okay,” I say, letting them lead me away. There’s nothing of interest in the bins anyway, and even if there were, my last five dollars is destined for that frozen hot chocolate.
Arms linked, the three of us continue to the food court. When we reach the bottom of the first escalator, I feel a twinge in my abdomen and realize I haven’t peed since the two Cokes I downed at lunch.
“I’ll meet you guys there,” I tell my friends. “Gotta hit the bathroom.”
“Want us to come with?”
I wave them off. “I’ll just be a minute.”
Alyssa shrugs. “Okay.”
We go our separate ways and I make a beeline for the closest bathroom, which is inside Nordstrom. By the time I wash my hands and step out into the store again, I feel a lot better. As I make my way to the exit, the only thought in my head is getting to the food court, where my friends and cold, chocolatey goodness await.
Then I walk past the sunglasses secti
on.
Dozens of them sparkle at me from rows of mirrored display cases, each one illuminated by a backdrop of soft, white light. Normally, I avoid bright, highly visible areas, but for some reason I’m drawn to that light like a moth.
I pause for a moment, my eyes reflexively scanning the vicinity for cameras. None that I can see. Maybe this is a blind spot. My gaze lands on the twenty-something woman behind a counter nearby, who’s ringing up a customer. She doesn’t look up or acknowledge my presence at all. I casually move toward the sunglasses and immediately spot the perfect pair, right in front, at my eye level. The frames are the same color turquoise as the little beads on my new bikini. It’s like they’re here just for me.
I risk a glance at the saleswoman. She’s still with the customer, talking and laughing. Has she even seen me? Probably, but she’s not concerned. She’s too busy gabbing about the vacation she just got back from, how big the waves were on the beach. Then the customer, an older woman, starts talking about her recent vacation. I’m practically invisible over here.
My movements smooth, I reach up and free the sunglasses. The price tag makes my heart thump. One hundred and eighty-five dollars. For sun-blocking eyewear. They’re designer, but still.
I go to put them back, then think about how perfectly they’d go with my bikini. How awesome I’d look in them at Jasmine’s party. How I really need a decent pair of sunglasses, even though I only wear them when I have contacts in, which isn’t often.
I promised myself on the way here that I’d look but not touch, and certainly not take. But I’m alone, at least for the moment, and I’ve lifted from this store before without getting caught. I can do it again. Plus, I really want these sunglasses.
Aware, always aware, of the two voices behind me, I transfer the sunglasses to my other hand and then lift my right arm, pretending to reach for another pair up top. When my purse gapes open with the movement, I quickly slip the sunglasses inside.
“Thanks! Have a great day.”
“You too!”
The two women’s voices feel incredibly loud in my ears. My heart’s gone from thumping to galloping, and I know I have to get out of here now. I wouldn’t dare do my go-through-the-checkout trick here. Too brazen. It’s best if I leave as quickly as possible.
The Girl You Thought I Was Page 2
