The thing that has always unnerved me most about Macy Petersen’s death is that the last time I saw her was the night she died. At that point I hardly ever ran into Macy anymore, except every now and then at Cove Club. I’d been out with Antonia at a random house party in Lattingtown or maybe Bayville—I don’t know exactly where, but I remember it was out of our typical bubble, toward the part of Nassau County that CJ deemed “trashy.” It was a Saturday night near the end of the summer, and I was especially sickened by CJ, by the mere sight of her and my father going through old photo albums on the couch. I was drinking vodka from a water bottle in my bedroom and trying to shut my brain off, and I wanted to go somewhere—anywhere—so Antonia said we could go to a party with her brother and his girlfriend. I snuck out the back door after my parents went to sleep and waited for Antonia’s brother’s car at the end of my driveway.
I don’t remember many specifics from the night—I got too drunk at a lot of high school parties in the years that followed the Unforgivable Thing. But I do remember my interaction with Macy almost vividly, a pocket of clarity amid the muddled blackness. Maybe it’s because I learned of her death the next day that I even remember talking to her at all—maybe memory works like that. I had been standing out by a fire pit and I must’ve had the spins or been falling, because the next thing I knew Macy Petersen was there, and she was holding my arm and walking me inside. She took me into the bathroom and made me pull the trigger.
“Just get it all out,” she said as she held my hair away from the toilet. “You’ll feel better.”
Afterward she handed me a glass of water and I asked what she was doing there, because it was late, and Macy wasn’t the kind of girl who snuck out at night, and there was no way she didn’t have a curfew. Mrs. Petersen was even stricter than CJ.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Macy said, crossing her long arms. “Because I just broke up with my boyfriend and I know it’s too soon, but I really like this other guy, and I’m sort of here with him. Well, not really. I’m just giving him a ride home, because I was babysitting nearby and he lives around here. But anyway, I came inside for a sec and I saw you on the terrace and you looked wasted. Like you might be sick kind of wasted.”
“Oh, jeez. Was it bad?”
“You were just stumbling. Nothing embarrassing.”
“I feel a lot better now.” I stared up at her from the bathroom floor and thought how beautiful and graceful she was, how her hair reminded me of the Little Mermaid’s. I remember thinking how nice Macy was and wanting to tell her about CJ and Gabe, but I knew it was unnecessary, and that it wouldn’t make any sense at all. “Thanks, Macy,” I managed instead. “Sorry you had to watch me puke. That couldn’t have been pretty.”
“Not a big deal.” She was putting on mascara in front of the mirror.
“So who’s the guy you’re with now?” I asked.
“He’s no one you know,” she said quickly. “He’s this older guy, from Bayville. And I’m not with him—it’s not like that. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’d really rather keep it quiet, for now. Since Zach and I just broke up.”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“The other issue is, this guy, he sort of has a girlfriend.” Macy’s round eyes landed on mine in the mirror. “He says they’re breaking up and that he’s not into her, but we’re keeping it really quiet for now. I was still with Zach when I met him, too. It’s shitty, I know. I wish I didn’t like him so much. I feel like a slut.”
“You’re the furthest thing from a slut, Macy.”
“I should go.” Macy tossed her mascara in her purse and helped me up off the floor, hugging me goodbye. “You’re okay getting home?”
“Yeah. My friend Antonia’s brother drove us.” Back on my feet I felt dizzy again. I picked up the beer I’d been drinking earlier.
“Don’t drink anymore, Lucy,” Macy said, unwrapping a piece of bubblegum.
“I know, you’re right. You take it.”
“Can’t,” she said from the doorway, her eyes glinting, the palest blue. “I’m driving, remember?” She popped the gum into her mouth and disappeared.
My mind spiraled into thoughts of Macy and that forever-ago night, and I missed her in a strange, distant way, because I never really knew her all that well except when we were little kids, and it had always struck me as eerie and sort of tragic that the most intimate moment we ever had was that night, minutes before she got in her car. I even felt like I’d played a role in Macy’s death in an odd way, though Lydia told me that was ridiculous. I don’t know. It just always seemed so senseless to me that Macy went and drove her car off the road, right after she dropped off that guy she liked so much. Sober as a judge. Just so fucking unfair. Maybe if Macy hadn’t died we would’ve become friends. Maybe I would’ve even told her about Gabe and CJ, eventually.
I was deep in thought when the door creaked open, light spilling in from the hallway of the suite. My heart quickened when I saw the shape of a male figure in the doorway, and then I figured maybe it was Stuart, maybe he and Jackie were home early and had decided to sleep in her room for a change.
“Lucy?” The voice was hoarse and low.
“Yeah?”
“Can we talk for a minute?”
I closed Catcher and sat up straighter, nerves prickling my spine.
“Who is that?”
The door opened farther and light filtered over the figure’s face, which is when I saw that it was Stephen.
“Lucy?”
“Are you drunk?” I became very aware of the fact that I was wearing my matching snowflake pajama set that my grandmother had given me for Christmas. CJ’s mom always buys tacky stuff, but the pajamas were warm.
“Can we talk for a minute?” He flicked on the overhead light. He was wearing a Baird College T-shirt and dark stubble covered his cheeks, his weak chin.
“How come?” Nerves were awakening all over my body.
“Nice jammies,” he said. “Isn’t it a little warm for flannel?”
“It got cold tonight.”
“Cold enough for flannel?”
“I wasn’t expecting company.”
“Or you would’ve worn something sexy?”
My stomach flipped. I couldn’t believe that he was in my room. “Why are you here?”
“How are you, Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds?” When he used the nickname, it felt like the greatest thing that had ever happened. His mouth curled itself into a slight smile. I noticed a faded ski-goggle tan around his eyes—probably from a ski weekend at Bear Mountain, an hour and a half east of Claremont. A lot of Baird kids skied at Bear Mountain, and I knew through the grapevine that Keaton Banks—Diana’s friend—was always inviting their senior crew to her family’s condo in Big Bear Lake.
“Are you drunk?” I repeated.
“Not really.” He sat down at the end of my bed. “Catcher in the Rye, huh? That book is overrated, in my opinion. A guy wanders around New York City doing nothing for three days? Cool story, Hansel.”
“It’s one of my favorites.”
“I like the digs,” Stephen said, looking around. “Adler’s sweet. I lived here my sophomore year, too.”
“How did you know I live here?”
“Most sophomores live in Adler.”
“You know what I mean. Here. This room.”
“Pippa told me.”
“She wouldn’t do that.”
“Well, she didn’t give me directions or anything. But she was talking about how you guys live in the same suite on the third floor of Adler, and there are only two suites on each floor. So, you know. Process of elimination.”
He was still grinning, his eyes fixed on mine. He smelled like beer and his usual Old Spice. I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I just stuck them underneath the covers.
“So you just barge into people’s dorm rooms in the middle of the night?”
“Only some people’s.”
“Creepy.”
“Why didn’t
you come to our party tonight? Your friends were there. I haven’t seen you at Slug in ages.”
“Because I have work.” I picked up Catcher.
“Lame. It’s Friday. You can SparkNotes that shit.”
“I’m actually trying to do well in this class.”
“Oh, right, because it’s English. And you want to get accepted on the French Riviera trip. Miss travel-journalist-in-training. Tough business to crack, but I have faith in you.”
“Why are you here?”
“Who sleeps in the other bed?” he asked, ignoring my question.
“Jackie.”
“Ah. The blonde who hates me. So how’d you guys land a suite? These are coveted.”
“I dunno. We had good numbers in the housing lottery. Seriously, what are you doing here? It’s almost midnight.” I regretted the question immediately, because I didn’t want him to leave.
“I just wanted to talk to you for a minute. Is that okay?”
I nodded, relieved that he wouldn’t be leaving. I felt so weak, like his presence had slowed every cell in my body.
“Not in here,” I said.
I climbed out of bed, grabbed my bathrobe and led him to the living area. It was small, but we’d managed to squeeze in a couch, one armchair, a coffee table, and Pippa’s TV.
“Cute robe,” he said.
“Stop making fun of everything I’m wearing.” I sat down on the couch.
“I said it was cute, Luce.”
I felt my face flush. I loved that he was still calling me Luce.
“What is it you want to talk about?” I folded my arms.
He sat on the other end of the couch and took his time observing the walls, which we’d decorated with Bree’s old tapestries from boarding school.
“I wanted to say that I’ve been thinking about you,” he said finally, his grass-green eyes landing on mine. “A lot.”
“You have?” I was too excited to care that I’d let such a pathetic response slip. He and Diana had finally broken up. I knew it. After his apology at the Gatsby party with its flirtatious undertones, I knew he would come back to me.
“I do, Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.”
“But I thought you were with Diana.”
“Yes. I suppose I am.”
“Oh.” My gut tightened, disappointment quickly pooling where the hope had been.
“I fucked it all up. I’m a royal jackass.”
“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”
He shifted on the couch. He placed his ankle on top of his knee, which was awkward because he wasn’t very flexible. He placed it back down on the floor.
“I still have feelings for you, Lucy. I wanted to make it work with Diana but it just isn’t working. I miss you.”
I miss you. He missed me. He was still with Diana, but he missed me. I relished the words. They were all I had wanted to hear for months.
“But you’re still with her. You just said it.”
“Graduation is right around the corner.” He shrugged. “We may as well wait till then to break up.”
“It’s not really right around the corner. It’s in five months.”
“Right.” He looked down at the carpet.
“Do whatever you want.” I shifted my gaze to the window, to the inky-black sky. There are certain rules you learn to abide by, certain games you learn to play when dealing with guys like Stephen, guys who never want things too easily. I remembered that things worked better between Stephen and me when I gave him something to push against.
“I didn’t mean it to come out like that,” he said. “I sound like an asshole.”
“What else is new?”
“Come on, Lucy.”
“What? What are you trying to say?”
“I meant that Diana will make my life a living hell if I break up with her now. We have the same group of friends. It’s hard to explain.”
“No, I get it.” I did get it. Parker’s friends, some of whom had been my good friends, more or less stopped talking to me after I dumped him the night of spring formal.
“You are so beautiful. It gets me every time I see you.” He pinched my chin with his thumb and forefinger.
I knew I should tell him to stop, to get up and leave, but I couldn’t. My head felt as heavy as a rock. It felt so good to be close to him again, I could hardly think.
“Are you going out to Bear Mountain next weekend?” he asked. “I’ll be there. It’ll be mostly dudes. But sophomore girls can come.” He grinned.
“Maybe,” I said, already filling with excitement. A bunch of Chops guys were staying at a kid named Jared’s house near Bear Mountain for a ski-slash-party weekend, and Pippa and Jackie had been talking about going. It suddenly seemed like the best idea.
“Although,” I added, remembering Keaton’s condo, “I’d rather not hang around your posse of senior girls.”
“The senior girls to which you refer will not be in attendance next weekend.” Stephen winked. “I would tell you otherwise.”
I nodded, a mysterious force lurching low in my gut. Subconscious acknowledgment of self-betrayal, maybe.
“I miss you a lot.” Stephen’s small green eyes latched to mine.
“I miss you, too.” Saying it back was like dipping into a warm bath.
“I don’t know exactly what it is, Luce. We just always . . . got each other. Emotionally. And physically.” One side of his mouth curved. He slid closer to me on the couch.
I listened to him shit-talk his relationship with Diana a bit longer. He said that he loved her but that he wasn’t in love with her, that he didn’t think he ever had been. I watched him while he spoke. His face possessed that self-assured smugness that people like Jackie loathed, but that for some reason I’d never been able to. I knew he thought I was gullible and easy—it wasn’t like I didn’t know that. And I was both of those things, or at least I’d driven myself to be them. I didn’t have to accept what he offered, but I did, because I had known from the moment he opened my bedroom door that night that I was going to let him sleep with me, regardless of the circumstances. There was no way out. I’d imagined this scenario in my head a million times. There wasn’t anything I wanted more. I didn’t know if I was addicted to the pain or if love was pain that you had to push through in order to access something greater, a final result you didn’t understand but stored your faith in.
There are girls, like Georgia, who never let stuff like this happen to them. It’s only when you do let this stuff happen to you that you realize your morals and actions are not as aligned as you’d hoped. Maybe things would have been different if I hadn’t seen CJ and Gabe that day, but I did, and I know what I know. Lust and love erase ethical parameters, and that’s just the way it is.
We went back to his house to do it. I couldn’t risk the girls coming home, and there was no chance of Diana walking in at Slug—she was away at Keaton’s ski condo for the weekend. I changed out of my snowflake pajamas into normal clothes beforehand, his hands already all over me as I undressed and redressed, his beery breath heavy in my ear. We snuck in the side entrance of Slug, since the party was still in full force. His room was messy and smelled like sweat. I watched his face go slack as he slid himself inside me. On top of him, I savored each grunt below me, each hungry thrust, feeling satiated with something for the first time in longer than I could remember. I didn’t even come—I was too distracted by the excitement and relief of being with him again. He shut his eyes in bliss and groaned as he came, gripping my hips. There was almost nothing I loved more than watching him get off. I found it so privately empowering, the knowledge that his paramount pleasure was mine alone. It was the same feeling I got when I made it a whole day without food and woke up the next morning to the churning in my gut.
Stephen had to get up early for a meeting with his adviser.
“I’ll see you soon.” He leaned down to kiss me goodbye, his three-day stubble scratchy against my chin. “And I’ll be thinking about you nak
ed all day.”
I murmured a goodbye, already miserable that he was leaving.
“Oh and, Luce?” he called from the doorway. “I hate to say this, but maybe use the side staircase when you leave. You know, be stealthy. Charlie and Wrig are cool, but if Evan sees you, well, the kid has a giant moral compass up his ass.”
I nodded, absorbing the implications of what he’d just said but knowing that it would be unfair for me to react. I knew what I was doing. I had conceded to my part in this, and the way I felt now was infinitely better than sitting alone in bed or pretending to have fun at parties or tolerating Topher Rigby’s clammy, inexperienced fingers on all the wrong parts of me.
“I’ll text you when I get back,” he added, before closing the door behind him. He was going out to Bear Mountain later that day to meet Diana and their crew.
I didn’t bother trying to go back to sleep after he left—I knew I didn’t belong in Stephen’s bedroom anymore. On the way out I saw a red bra on the floor that was undoubtedly Diana’s. I picked it up and held it inside my coat down the side staircase and out the door until I was far enough from Slug, then threw it in the nearest trash.
24
STEPHEN
APRIL 2012
I stared at the piece of paper in front of me.
Thank you for your interest in and application to the University of Virginia School of Law. After careful consideration of your application and all supporting documents, regrettably, we are unable to offer you admission.
I felt the shock of another rejection letter press my chest more heavily this time, because UVA was the last school I would hear from. It followed rejections from Stanford, Harvard, Berkeley, Yale, Penn, and Northwestern, after my initial rejection from Columbia early-decision back in December. The career counselor had told me I was crazy not to apply to safety schools, but screw her. Not only did I receive an A on my thesis “International Regulation in the Financial Services Sector: Systemic Risk and the Search for Precision,” but my LSAT scores were in the ninety-fifth percentile, and I deserved Ivy League. It was the fucking DUI that was fucking me in the ass.
Tell Me Lies Page 18
