In Too Deep

by Amanda Grace

  Tears roll unbidden down my cheeks now, as I stand there alone, the circle of students not crossing the invisible barrier. I better get used to it, I suppose.

  Nick looks like he’s playing freeze tag—he’s not moving, not blinking, not anything. I feel like an actor in a Shakespearean play, giving my monologue to a shocked, captivated audience.

  This one is definitely a tragedy.

  “I had no idea what everyone thought had happened until halfway through Monday. It just … spiraled out of control.”

  I scan the crowd, and see a spot where one person has separated from the rest.

  “I’m sorry, Carter. I know sorry isn’t enough to make it up to you, but I am.”

  A sob escapes my throat, racks my shoulders, but I try desperately to stand tall, my cheeks burning hot. I turn to look at Nick, who’s standing in front of me, disgust on his face. I lower my voice, stare into his eyes. “I never wanted this. Any of this.”

  “But you lied to me,” he says, his own fury rising to match Carter’s just moments ago. “You’re my best friend and you lied to me.”

  “Because you never asked me!” My voice screeches. “You stormed into my house and decided you knew the truth.”

  “It was the truth!” he says, throwing his hands up in the air. “I knew it didn’t make sense. I knew it hadn’t happened. I was right!”

  “I know. I just didn’t know what to do because you stormed in so angry, and you only asked if I had lied, and I hadn’t. Not then—because I never said he did this. I didn’t start the rumor.”

  My voice cracks. “You don’t understand. I never meant for this to happen. I never created this lie.”

  He visibly blanches, takes a step back, wrenches his look away from me and looks back at Carter—who now has a second black eye to match the first. It’s swelling rapidly, and I can barely make out one of his blue eyes.

  And then Nick shakes his head and looks back at me. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t trust you.”

  My nose is snot-filled and my throat aches. “I know.”

  Whatever we had, whatever we could have had …

  it’s over.

  My heart has shattered, hollowed me out inside. I’m in love with Nick and now I can never have him, because he’ll never forgive me. The gentle kisses, the playful hair-tugs, the stupid jokes—it’s all over, and I’ve lost him.

  We stare at one another for a long stretch of a moment. It goes on for eternity, as his eyes bore into mine and I try to memorize the way he looks right now, this close to me. Because after this … he’s never going to look at me again.

  I’m wearing a scarlet letter, but this one is for liar.

  I stumble across the deck, pulling my shawl tighter around my shoulders as my tears shimmer. I find a place near the railings and sit, my legs stretched out in front of me, crossed at the ankles.

  And then I lean back and stare out across the midnight-dark water, some part of me wishing I could just jump in and watch the boat steam away without me.

  I played with fire, waiting so long to tell the truth, and I got burned. I never should have let Veronica, Macy and Tracey talk me into keeping the lie. I never should have let Nick think it happened.

  I never should have ruined Carter’s life like this.

  That’s what it really boils down to, in the end. Not me.

  I ruined Carter.

  I ruined him. It wasn’t Michelle, who started the rumor, or Nick, who freaked out on me, or Tracey, Macy, and Veronica, who talked me into keeping it. It was me.

  I sigh and lean my head against the railing, my eyes shut, as I feel the boat beneath me bob gently on the waves. A week was all it took to tear apart everything. Eighteen years living in this godforsaken town, and a week to tear it all down.

  I hear the clicking sound of shoes crossing the deck, and I open my eyes to see Veronica smiling tentatively down at me. “Room for me to sit?”

  I blow out a breath of air. “Yeah, go ahead. But I don’t know if you’ll want to be associated with me after this.”

  She plunks down near the next railing post, stretching her feet out so that ours nearly touch. For a moment, we just listen to the water slapping the side of the boat. “I’m sorry.”

  I blink. “What do you have to be sorry for? This is my mess.”

  “Maybe. But I feel like a bit of an idiot, leading the brigade against Carter. You didn’t like it from the start. And it’s obviously just made things harder for you.”

  The breeze off the water ruffles my bangs. “I could have said no. I could have told the truth. I had a hundred opportunities to tell the truth, and I chose not to. I went along with your plan because it was the easiest way to avoid the problem.”

  She nods, but doesn’t speak. Moments pass, and I pull at the beads on my dress.

  She looks up at me. “It’s kind of hard to believe this is almost over, you know? So many of us are going to leave Mossyrock.”

  “There’s no reason to stay.”

  She nods. “I know. I guess that’s the point, really. There’s nothing for anyone in our town. But people

  still stay.”

  I nod. “Yeah. I’m ready to move on, though.”

  “You think?”

  I’m not surprised she’s surprised. Maybe she thought I’d be one to stay forever.

  “Yeah. Maybe a week ago, I wouldn’t have been. I mean, I had all the paperwork ready, but I wasn’t ready. But now, with everything … I don’t know. I’m ready to go somewhere, be someone. Make choices that are my own, for once.”

  “Where are you headed?”

  “UW. You?”

  “UCLA,” she says.

  I nod, staring out at the water.

  “It’ll be weird, going somewhere where no one knows you,” she says.

  “I think I need that. To just start over and be someone else. I want to try some new things, you know? Branch out.”

  She nods. “Me too. I’m ready for a whole new reputation.”

  I laugh, a quiet, under-my-breath sort of laugh. She’s not the only one. “It’s been nice, you know. Having

  you back.”

  She nods. “Yeah. You too. Kind of sucks that we had to have something so stupid happen in order to talk to each other again. Don’t be a stranger, okay?” She’s climbing to her feet, one hand on the railing.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  She glances at her watch. “You going to sit out here for the next five hours?”

  I smile. “Yeah, I think so.”

  She pulls off her little jacket. “Then at least take this.”

  I want to object, but a shiver trembles through me and so I just smile and pull on the jacket. “Thank you.”

  “Any time. You sure you’re really okay out here?”

  “Yeah,” I say, sighing. “I will be. Eventually.”

  “Okay. See ya,” she says, walking back to the party, her arms crossed at her chest.

  A breeze kicks up again and I pull Veronica’s jacket tighter around me. Behind me, as she opens the door, the sounds of a piano melody float out to me, before fading.

  Hours later, the boat slows, approaching the docks. I blink and readjust the way I’m sitting because my legs are numb. It may be June, but the water has cooled the night air and it’s like I’m slowly freezing.

  The boat glides to a stop and I sigh. The night is over, and I’m definitely not Cinderella anymore. My carriage is a pumpkin and my dress has turned to tatters, and the prince knows I’m a peasant. I want nothing more than to find my way home to my warm bed, climb in, and turn off the lights and hope the world outside just goes away.

  I get to my feet, giving one last lingering look out across the water. I’m going to have to call my dad, now. And explain why he has to drive sixty minutes to pick me up.

  “You have a cell phone, right?” I spin around to see Nick standing there, his hands shoved into his jean pockets, a cold look on his face.

  “You’re talking to me?”

  �
��What you’ve done is seriously fucked up,” he says. “I am not talking to you. Do you have your phone?”

  I gulp. Nick doesn’t cuss. Like, ever. I nod.

  “Good. Find your own way home.”

  He turns around and walks purposefully across the deck of the boat, and I scurry after him. “Nick!”

  “What?” he barks, whirling around. “You think you have the right to expect something?”

  I stop, blinking.

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Just don’t. Don’t even think about it.”

  He twists around and strides away, and it’s all I can do to keep up in these stupid little heels that pinch my toes and rub my ankle.

  I follow him to his car, desperate for him to turn around, to just listen to me. His car sits in darkened shadows in the quickly emptying parking lot. He slinks to the Mustang and slams the door. I blink, hard, against the tears. For a long second I stand there, shivering, feeling as if the door slammed in my face. When he fires it up and the deep exhaust rumbles through the silence, I finally scurry after him, heels scraping along the broken concrete, and then yank open his door.

  “Stop! Please, just stop.”

  He doesn’t look at me, but he doesn’t yank the door closed either. All I can do is hope it means something.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, desperation leaking into my voice.

  He grinds his teeth, his eyes narrowed in an expression I barely recognize.

  I sniffle. “Are you never going to talk to me again?”

  He doesn’t speak, just squeezes the wheel harder.

  “Nick?” I chew on my lip, begging him with my eyes to just look at me, as my fingers grip the cool metal of his car door. “Please?”

  He twists around and gives me a look that freezes my heart. It’s pain, and anger, and betrayal, and a thousand things mingled together.

  “How? Huh? How could you do that to him? To me?” He tears his eyes away and looks out the windshield again, his jaw set.

  I open my mouth and snap it shut. “I don’t know,” I finally say.

  He lets out an angry, bitter bark of laughter. “You ruined his life and you don’t know how you were able to do it?”

  I look down, at the dirty concrete beneath my heels. “No. I do. I didn’t start the rumor, but I kept it going because it was easier.”

  He shakes his head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” He glances over with a look that slices through me. “It was easy to lie to me? To let me believe someone raped the only girl I’ve ever really loved? Do you know how many times I wanted to fucking kill him for what I thought he did?”

  My lip trembles. “I’d give anything to undo it all.”

  “I guess it’s too bad that you can’t, then, huh?” he

  says, furiously.

  “Do you hate me?”

  He throws his hands up in the air. “No, Sam, I love you. But you know what? I’m not sure I really like you all that much.”

  I swallow, because it’s the only thing I can manage, and turn back to the brightening skyline, trying desperately not to cry and mostly failing. Tears slide silently down my cheeks. Time passes in stifling, suffocating silence while Nick stares straight ahead, refusing to even glance my way. Finally, he reaches out and unpeels my fingers from his car door before slamming it shut and backing his car out of the parking spot.

  Then I sit down on the curb and cry, texting my father while wiping the tears from my cheeks.

  Although it should take my dad over an hour to arrive, he pulls up in approximately five whole minutes. I furrow my brow and stare as his Charger crosses the lot, the tires squealing. Before I can stand up from my space on the cold concrete curb, he’s out of his car, striding across the lot so fast I want to jump up and flee.

  “What the hell has been happening to you?”

  I feel the blood drain from my face as I stand, staring back at my dad as he turns red, whirls around, and paces a second before coming right back to me. “I’ve been circling this goddamn parking lot for two hours, fuming. I talked to Nick’s mother hours ago because she heard an … interesting story from the neighbor.”

  I sink back to the curb and bury my face in my knees. Oh. That kind of story.

  “How could you not tell me?” he asks, his voice rising. And it’s not even all anger, like it normally is. There’s fear laced into it. “How could you let me hear this from someone else?”

  Of course. Yet another thing I should have done, another way this all went wrong. I should have realized my dad would hear of this.

  “It didn’t happen,” I say.

  “What?” he says, bounding over.

  “It didn’t happen,” I repeat, raising my face to look at him. His expression is frozen somewhere between relief and fear. “It was a lie. Not mine … ” My voice trails off. “No, yes. I lied. People thought that it happened, and I didn’t tell them no, so it’s my lie, but it didn’t happen. Not really.”

  My father is like a balloon deflating. At once, he’s sinking onto the curb beside me, leaning into me, breathing deeply. For the first time in a long time, I feel the heat of his body against mine, can smell the Old Spice scent of him. “So you’re okay,” he says.

  “Mostly,” I reply, but my voice sounds so sad and empty. “Physically, anyways. I screwed up some things. But that … what you heard … it didn’t happen.”

  He heaves the biggest sigh I’ve ever heard, and for a second, it almost makes me feel warm, wanted, appreciated. I think he might just lie down on the concrete in some kind of weird euphoric daze. I stare up at the twinkling stars for a long moment, listening to my father’s laborious breathing.

  “Thank God,” he finally says.

  I don’t know why, but I giggle. I shake my head, knowing everything is over and gone, but still, I giggle. I’ve lost everything and in the end my dad is so relieved, it’s comical.

  “I don’t know what I would have done if it was true,” he says, his voice quiet, solemn, so different from his normal voice. “Other than shoot him.”

  I put a hand up to silence him. The lines in his face seem deeper than they did just a few hours ago. I open my mouth, as if to refute what he said, but I find myself just sitting there. So instead I say, “It’s not true. But it is a long story.”

  I scrunch over and bury my face in my knees, inhaling the scent of our laundry detergent, the only comforting thing I can think of right now.

  Then I sit up and stare into my father’s eyes. For the first time in a very long time, they’re concerned, solemn, and he’s ready to listen instead of dictate.

  “It started a week ago … ”

  Twenty

  I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, staring across the yard into Nick’s room. The curtains are wide open, fluttering in the warm late-July breeze. The walls of Nick’s room are shockingly bare, and even his small flat-screen is gone. There’s just one box left on his bed, and I watch as Nick steps into his room to retrieve it. I knew he was leaving for the East Coast early, to settle in, find a part-time job and all that, but I wasn’t prepared for this day to come so soon.

  I lean forward, an elbow on my windowsill, begging him to turn and look at me. Begging him to remember who I am, to care, even the tiniest bit, about how I’m doing. To somehow find the forgiveness he’s brushed aside. The forgiveness I don’t deserve.

  I miss him. So fiercely it hurts.

  Four weeks of silence. I’ve texted him, emailed him, and called him, and he refuses to speak to me. My voicemails are pathetic, pleading, tear-filled, but it never matters, because what I did isn’t forgivable. The silence is what I deserve. But it still aches, a bone-deep sort of pain that never leaves, haunts me, follows me everywhere I go. He’s been my best friend for over a decade, and now I’m alone.

  I stare across the expanse of yard, into the bedroom I always wished was mine, as Nick bends to pick up the box and catches me staring.

  The moment is caught somewhere, suspended. He stops, and my hea
rt picks up to a gallop as he stares back, meeting my eyes for the first time in weeks. The seconds stretch on and my heart climbs into my throat, hope swelling in my chest. He hasn’t so much as acknowledged my existence for the last month. And now, for the first time, he’s looking right at me.

  I try to smile. I attempt to, but I don’t know that it’s real, that it matters, because it feels awkward—stiff and unnatural. I don’t even know if smiling is okay with him, is okay with me. Is it normal, or acceptable, to be smiling and pretending I deserve him, given everything that’s happened?

  He walks to his window and I sit up straighter, gripping the windowsill, still smiling softly, timidly at him.

  Then he pulls the drapes shut.

  Everything inside me plummets to my feet, and tears spring to my eyes as I realized he’s rejected me yet again.

  I lie back on my bed and, moments later, I hear his car fire to life. I listen with a hollowed-out feeling as he shifts into gear. I strain to hear any hint of his car turning around … until the sounds of it die away, the last time I’ll ever hear that car of his.

  He didn’t even say goodbye.

  Twenty-one

  Iwander down the aisle of Mossyrock grocery, my ballet flats shuffling across the ugly tiles as overly bright fluorescent lights shine down. My eyes roam the packages stacked six feet high, and then I turn back to my shopping list. I feel lost inside this store, a store I’ve shopped in all my life. It’s amazing how quickly you can forget the most basic things, how easy it is to distance yourself from another world, another life. A previous life.

  I pass the seasoning packets and pause, plucking two packages of brown gravy from the shelf.

  I don’t like gravy, but my dad does. So does his new girlfriend.

  Girlfriend. The mere thought of it sends simultaneous butterflies and uncertainty through me. I can’t remember my dad ever having a girlfriend, and I definitely can’t remember him ever saying such puke-worthy, cutesy things about how wonderful a woman is. He’s never done that. She’s the new town clerk or something. I haven’t met her yet, and part of me wants to beg off, go back to my dorm, pretend it’s not Thanksgiving weekend. I could eat at the cafeteria for the next four days. Catch up on homework and marathons of The Real World.