His entire family probably reeks of stability and goodness. I bet his mother never cheated on his father. I bet his sister would never even consider shoplifting, let alone do it dozens of times. I bet none of them have ever had the cops called on them or been ordered to do mandatory community service. I bet they’d feel disdain for anyone who has.
Something my father said during our fight last week flits through my mind: I’m in way over my head here. I’m starting to understand the feeling.
Chapter Twelve
“MORGAN, I JUST WANT TO TALK.”
I should have known, when Dad knocked on the bathroom door a few seconds ago and handed me the house phone, that it was my sister on the other end. I’ve been ignoring her texts and calls to my cell. I know she’ll want to talk about my shoplifting charge, but I don’t want to discuss it with anyone, even her. It’s bad enough that Dad knows.
“I can’t right now,” I tell her. “I’m getting ready to go out.” It’s the truth. Eli is picking me up for the movies in fifteen minutes.
“This won’t take long.” She pauses to let out a long breath. “Why didn’t you tell me about the shoplifting?”
I set the hairbrush I was holding on the counter and shut the bathroom door, in case my father’s still lurking nearby. “Because it was a dumb thing to do and it’s over now and I don’t want to talk about it. The same reasons you didn’t tell Dad that you spent all last summer drunk and high. We all have our ways of acting out, right?”
“Okay, fine,” she says flatly. “I don’t have much room to judge. But I stopped doing all that shit ages ago, once I realized how stupid I was being. So why would I bring it up to Dad now? And why are you mad at me?”
“I’m not mad at you, it’s just . . .” Sighing, I plop down on the edge of the tub and check the time on my phone. Twelve minutes. “Don’t pretend to be the perfect daughter when you’re not much better than me.”
Rachel sighs too, causing the line to crackle with static. “Okay. I’m sorry. I’ll tell Dad everything, if that’s what you want.”
“No,” I say, straightening the hem of my sundress. “You’re right. There’s no point it bringing it up now. I don’t think Dad can take much more, anyway.”
“Yeah.” Her voice is softer now. Sad. “I just wish you would’ve told me that you were struggling.”
Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away fast. I don’t want to have to redo my makeup.
“I’m fine,” I say. I’m sick of talking about myself. “So what’s new? How are things going with Amir and work?”
“Work is great. I helped neuter a Yorkie today.”
I wince. “Rach.”
“What? You asked.” She laughs. “Amir’s good too. He’s taking me out for a late dinner after he gets off work. What are you up to tonight?”
“I’m going to the movies with this guy from work.” She doesn’t have to know which work.
“Really.” She draws out the word, a smile in her voice. “A date? I need details.”
“Later. I have to finish getting ready.”
“Okay, just let me say one more thing.” Rachel clears her throat. “I talked to Mom on Sunday.”
Just like that, the lightened atmosphere disappears. “And?”
“I told her I was coming to visit at the end of summer. She was thrilled. We talked for like an hour about school and her new house and stuff. She sounded . . . I don’t know. Like the same old Mom.” She pauses for a moment. “She asked about you. I told her you weren’t ready to see her yet. She understood, though she really wishes you’d come. She misses us, Morgan.”
Pain flares through my chest, swift and unexpected, and I grip the edge of the sink. Grip it hard, until more pain shoots through my hand, overriding the throbbing behind my eyes and in my throat. I will not cry. I will not feel bad about her missing me. It’s her fault she’s gone, not mine. She caused this.
“I really have to go, Rach,” I say once I’m sure I can speak without my voice cracking. “Or I’m gonna be late.”
“Oh, sure.” If she hears the slight tremor in my words, she doesn’t let on. “Talk to you later.”
I hang up and take a few deep breaths, waiting for the pressure to ease and the pain to fade. Finally, after I’ve exiled my mother to the far corner of my mind again—the only place it doesn’t hurt to have her—I pick up the brush and finish fixing my hair.
Five minutes later I’m in the elevator, debating whether I should hit L for Lobby or just walk right back out and go home. Ever since yesterday, when I found out about Eli’s dad, a banner with the words Out of Your League keeps blinking in my head. In eye-scorching neon. We clearly have very different family lives, and I’m not sure if I could ever fit into his.
It’s a just a movie, I repeat to myself. No one’s saying we have to trade life stories.
I smooth my hair off my face and press the L button.
Eli is here and waiting for me when I step outside into the humidity. He’s standing next to his black Jeep, gazing up at the apartment building like he’s expecting me to rappel down the side of it any minute. At the sound of my footsteps, he looks toward me and smiles.
“There you are,” he says, sounding relieved. “For a second, I thought I went to the wrong building.”
Not surprising, considering there are six of them on this street alone and they all look basically the same. “Sorry for keeping you waiting,” I say once I reach him. “I was . . . on the phone.”
“No worries. I just got here myself.”
Silence falls between us and we smile at each other awkwardly. His eyes stayed glued to my face, and for a moment I wonder if my skin is blotchy from holding back tears earlier. Then I catch his gaze pinging downward and I realize he’s trying very hard not to stare at my exposed skin on display in a short, strapless sundress. Just like I’m trying very hard not to stare at his biceps straining against the sleeves of his dark blue crewneck.
A car horn honks somewhere in the distance, popping the bubble of awkwardness surrounding us, and we turn to climb into his Jeep. Literally climb, in my case. I have to hold on to the door handle and pull like I’m scaling up the side of a cliff. If Eli notices, he doesn’t let on. He probably senses that I wouldn’t be very receptive to a boost.
“We still have about an hour before the movie starts,” he says after I’m settled in the seat. The interior of the Jeep is roomy and neat. I wonder if it’s usually like this or if he cleaned it just for me. “You want to walk around the mall or something while we wait?”
“Sure. Maybe we could pick up some snacks to smuggle into the theater.” I smile and hold up my purse, which is big enough to store multiple drinks and several boxes of candy.
“Lawbreaker,” he teases.
I shift uneasily in my seat. If he only knew. Sneaking outside food into the movies is frowned upon, but it’s not an actual crime like, say, shoplifting. And unlike shoplifting, a lot of people do it. “Yep,” I say, trying to laugh it off. “I’m a total rebel.”
The movie theater we’re going to is downtown in the South End Mall. I spend the entire drive there trying to force myself to relax and stay present in the moment. I really have to tell Rachel to stop mentioning Mom during our conversations. No matter how hard I try to stifle it, what she said tonight loops endlessly in my head. She misses us, Morgan.
My mother said she misses me.
“You okay?”
I snap to attention and realize we’re in a parking garage, the car is off, and Eli is looking at me. Oops. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
And I am fine as we walk through the musty garage toward the exit. It’s just beginning to get dark as we step out onto the sidewalk. The night air smells like a mix of food and beer and warm, damp pavement. As Eli and I hike the short distance to the mall, I do my best to put aside whatever thoughts are plaguing me and act like someone he won’t regret asking out. I think I’m doing a fairly decent job until we arrive at the mall.
Shortly after we s
tep inside, my body starts to tense and then the hyperawareness kicks in like it always does when I’m in or near stores. My paranoia was bad enough before I got caught; now it’s ten times worse. Of course I’m not going to shoplift—not with Eli right here—but my intentions don’t seem to matter. Every person I see is a potential LP officer, watching me and lying in wait for the right moment to strike.
“Is someone chasing us?”
“What?” I look over at Eli and realize he’s several inches behind me. Embarrassed, I slow my pace to match his. Even though his legs are way longer than mine, his knee prevents him from traveling at warp speed, like I was obviously doing. “Sorry.”
He grins and reaches for my hand, threading his fingers though mine. “There. This’ll help keep us in sync.”
His hand is surprisingly soft, and holding it heightens my awareness in a different way. Suddenly, all I can notice is the warmth of his skin and the way his thumb brushes against my palm. Our fingers stay linked as we stroll down the mall to the drugstore, one of the only places to get chips and candy. We don’t let go until we need both hands for loading up on snacks.
By the time we get to the theater, I have to switch my purse to my left shoulder because my right one is aching from the weight of all the junk food crammed inside. Eli and I find this highly amusing and start laughing right there in the ticket line.
“It’s a good thing they don’t randomly search bags here, like at the airport,” he says, taking my hand again. “Or else you’d be arrested for sure.”
Again, I feel a twinge of unease. The purse I’m carrying is the same one I slipped those expensive sunglasses into at Nordstrom. The same one mall security searched through while I sat there watching, my face hot with shame. It happened at a different mall from the one we’re in now, but still, being here makes me feel like I have Shoplifter branded on my forehead. Every time I manage to relax even a little bit tonight, something happens to remind me what a mess I’ve made of things.
To get my mind off it, I try to focus on Eli instead and how much I like having him beside me. He keeps his fingers wrapped around mine until he has to let go to pay for the tickets, then immediately reaches for me again. Even with the waves of anxiety rippling through me, holding his hand feels natural, comfortable, like we’re characters in a movie and this has been in the script all along.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Eli asks after we’re settled into our seats in a middle row.
“Yeah, why?” I dig into my purse and hand him a bottle of water and a package of Twizzlers.
“I don’t know. You just seem a little off.”
I lean over to place my bag on the floor so I don’t have to look at him. He’s right. I am off, and it’s not just because of my conversation with Rachel or my paranoia over being at the mall. This date, sitting here with him, doesn’t feel as easy and straightforward as I’d expected. It feels like the beginning of something more, and I’m not sure I’m in a good enough place for something more right now. Maybe this was a bad idea.
“I don’t think we know each other well enough yet for you to determine whether I’m on or off.” I say it in a light, teasing tone, even though I really mean it. He doesn’t know me. All he’s seen so far is the sarcastic, cries-alone-in-her-car-and-hates-creepy-dolls Morgan.
“True.” He opens his water and takes a drink, keeping his gaze on the preshow commercials. “I do know you well enough to determine that you intimidate the hell out of me, though.”
I almost choke on a sip of iced tea. “What? Why on earth would you be intimidated by me? I’m five foot two and you’re like, what, six three?”
“Six three and a quarter,” he corrects, like this is a significant distinction. “And I’m not talking about size.”
“What are you talking about, then?”
He puts his water in the cup holder and angles his upper body toward me, resting his arm on the back of my chair. A nice piney scent rises up between us, and I lose my focus for a second.
“Well, let me see if I can explain it without sounding like a total knob.” He takes a deep breath. “Okay, not only are you smart and funny and obnoxiously cute—”
“Obnoxiously?”
“—but you’re also this, like, really decent person. Most of my friends spend their Saturday mornings nursing hangovers, and you spend yours volunteering at a charity.”
“So do you,” I point out.
“Yeah, but Rita’s my aunt. And to be honest, it was my parents who suggested that I help her out. But you’re doing it because you’re thinking about the future and getting into a good college. So yeah, putting all that together, I find you very intimidating.” The lights go down and the previews start playing. Eli faces forward again, his arm sliding off the back of my chair. “Okay, I’m done complimenting you for now.”
I give him the smile he’s looking for, even though it feels plastic and strained. Everything he just said is wrong. All of it. If I were thinking about my future, I wouldn’t have risked it by doing something stupid that could follow me forever. It’s appalling, when I really stop to think about it, how horribly I’ve misrepresented myself to almost everyone in my life, even my own father.
I’m not a decent person.
The movie is one long, disjointed blur. I spend the majority of it forcing myself not to jump up and run from the theater like it’s on fire. I shouldn’t have agreed to this. I should’ve backed out while I had the chance. I shouldn’t have been so stupid as to think I had anything in common with a guy who plants flowers and does his aunt’s heavy lifting and was raised by a parent who devotes his life to improving the lives of needy children.
This was definitely a mistake.
“What did you think?” Eli asks after the lights come up. We stay in our seats while everyone around us files toward the exit, murmuring about the movie and where they’re going next.
“I liked it,” I say, because I probably would have, if I’d paid attention for longer than two minutes.
“Me too.” He stretches his legs as far as they’ll go in the cramped theater seating and glances at his phone. “It’s twenty to midnight. Do you want to walk around the city for a bit?”
“Sorry, I can’t. My dad wants me home by twelve.” For once I’m not lying. Dad recently relaxed my strict eleven thirty curfew, with the condition that he knows exactly where I am at all times. I’m kind of grateful for the excuse to leave, because I’m not sure I can walk in the dark with Eli without wanting to kiss him. And kissing him would just make it harder to shut down whatever this is between us, which is really what should happen.
Eli’s cheerful expression falters a bit, but he rallies quickly and nods. “Sure thing. No problem.”
We don’t speak much on the way back to Maple View Apartments. I can tell Eli is confused by my sudden mood change, but neither of us mentions it. He probably thinks he did something wrong, but for some reason I can’t seem to find the words to set him straight.
“Thanks for tonight,” I say as we pull into the parking lot of my building. “You can just drop me off here.”
He doesn’t argue or make any comment at all, even though he’s probably baffled by my desire to get away from him as fast as possible. He just stops in front of the main doors like I asked him to.
“So . . . we should do this again sometime,” he says. His tone is sincere, but I can hear the uncertainty and hurt layered underneath.
I nod vaguely and get out of the Jeep, careful not to fall on my face as I hop down. Because a broken neck would be the perfect topper for tonight. “See you Saturday,” I say as I shut the door behind me.
He waves at me through the window and then sits there, idling, waiting until I’m safe inside. Even though the building is lit up like Vegas at night and no one has ever gotten mugged in the parking lot, as far as I know. Still, I appreciate the gesture, especially after I basically just blew him off. The same guilt that coils in my stomach whenever my father blames himself for my actions star
ts doing the same thing now. It’s not Eli’s fault that I’m a two-faced mess.
He waits until I’ve passed through both sets of glass doors before he hits the gas and drives away.
Chapter Thirteen
USUALLY, I DREAD THE SEVEN-TO-ONE SHIFT AT work, but this morning it feels like a blessing. The early bedtime plus the scrambling to get ready at dawn gives me an excuse not to answer the series of late-night texts from Sophie and Alyssa, asking me how my date went. It’s hard to discuss something when you still haven’t fully processed it yourself.
There are no texts from Eli, which doesn’t surprise me. He’d have to be stupid not to feel the weird vibes I was throwing out last night, and despite looking like the stereotypical clueless jock, he’s clearly got a lot more going for him than muscles and charm.
I try not to think about him as I make smoothie after smoothie for morning runners and groups of stroller-pushing moms. But even the constant whir of the blenders doesn’t drown out my memories of last night. The warmth of his fingers as he held my hand. The sincerity in his voice when he called me a decent person, like he truly believed it. I’m thinking of nothing but him by the time my shift ends and I’m able to get back to my phone. Even though I know it shouldn’t bother me, my heart still sinks when I see that he hasn’t texted.
“I’m pathetic,” I mumble to myself as I pocket my phone and shove through the door.
The sky opened up about an hour ago, unleashing fat raindrops and rumbles of thunder, and it hasn’t let up since. In my haste to get to the dryness of my car, I almost miss hearing my name being called as I’m zipping down the sidewalk. I turn to see Sophie’s mom’s blue minivan and Sophie sitting in the driver’s seat, Zach beside her.
The Girl You Thought I Was Page 9
