These Things I’ve Done

by Rebecca Phillips

What the hell does that even mean?

  “It was great,” I say, staring down at my shoes. The left one has a scuff from when that girl trampled me. “You were great.”

  “Yeah?” He shifts closer as if he’s trying to hear me better, even though it’s not as loud over here and he can obviously hear me fine.

  “Yeah.”

  All night I’ve avoided human contact, but for some reason, standing this close to Ethan doesn’t bother me at all. I look up, meeting his eyes, but I don’t get the chance to say anything more, because at precisely that moment, a fistfight erupts in front of the bathrooms.

  It must have started in the men’s room, but now it’s spilled out into the hallway, where there’s a tiny bit more room to maneuver. A dark-haired guy has a grip on a blond guy’s shirt, and he’s using his free hand to pound on his face. The sound is dull and sickening. Blood spurts out of the blond guy’s nose, and the pain clearly enrages him, because he charges the other guy and knocks him to the floor. A girl screams. It’s total mayhem.

  “Shit,” Ethan says when the guys roll toward us, fists flying. “Come on, let’s move.”

  He takes my hand and attempts to pull me away, but I’m rooted to the spot. Frozen. There’s blood all over the floor, blood staining the blond guy’s shirt, blood on the other guy’s knuckles. I can’t tear my eyes away. I can’t move.

  Blood, oozing onto the pavement, soaking into the fabric of her skirt—

  Ethan squeezes my hand, trying to snap me out it. When that doesn’t work, he lets go and steps in front of me instead, facing me with his arms on either side of my head, locking me in. For a moment I’m distracted, wondering why he’s positioned himself like he’s guarding me from a bullet. But then I hear the two guys scuffle past, still grappling like they’re in a wrestling ring and not on a dirty community center floor. One of their flailing limbs bumps into Ethan, and I instinctively grab the front of his T-shirt, pulling him closer. We watch as the two guys tumble out into the main area, where they’re almost immediately intercepted by three big guys and a security officer.

  And as quickly as it began, it’s over. The spectators who’d gathered to watch the fight rush out to catch the rest of the action, leaving the hallway virtually empty. All that’s left is an extremely irritated man who’s grumbling about the mess on the floor, and Ethan and me.

  As the shock of the last several minutes wears off, I’m suddenly aware that we’re still standing very, very close together. And that I haven’t let go of his shirt. And that the horror I felt from seeing the blood is gradually being replaced by a different kind of fear.

  “You okay?” Ethan asks. His cheek is inches from mine, and I can feel his breath on the side of my neck.

  “I think so.” My fingers loosen on his shirt, but I still don’t let go.

  He pulls back to look at me, and I feel something shift. He doesn’t need to explain how he’s feeling—I already know. Just like I know the quickening of his breath isn’t because of his protesting lungs. It’s because of what he’s about to do, and because he knows, just by the way I tighten my hold on him, that I’m going to let him.

  Even so, I’m surprised when he actually does it.

  His lips are hesitant at first, testing, as if he’s waiting for me to change my mind and flee. But I keep as still as I’ve ever been, so still he probably feels like he’s kissing a mannequin. He lowers one hand from the wall and cups the back of my head, bracing me as his mouth becomes less gentle. And for a moment I get lost, a dormant part of my body waking up and taking over, making me forget where I am and who I am and even who I’m with.

  But when he stops kissing me and pulls back, either to take a breath or check in with me, I catch a glimpse of his eyes, dark and familiar, and the reality of what I’m doing hits me with a jolt. It should feel weird, kissing my dead best friend’s little brother in a creepy, bloodstained hallway. And it does, a little. Probably because it is weird.

  I know this, just as I know that kissing him is bound to complicate things even more, but I still don’t move or say a word. Ethan doesn’t say anything either. He just stares at me, helpless and maybe a little guilty, his hand sliding down to rest on my neck. A shiver runs through me.

  “Sorry,” he says, finally. His arms drop back to his sides. “I just—you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you.”

  The thing is I think I do know, even though I’ve never admitted it to myself until right this second. Maybe I’ve always known.

  A deafening screech of feedback filters into the hallway, reminding us there’s still a concert going on just a few feet away. I unclench my fingers from Ethan’s shirt and he steps back, his eyes still fixed on mine.

  “We should probably get back out there before we end up missing the whole thing,” he says, offering me his hand.

  I look at it and feel a rush of affection for him so intense, it literally hurts. But there are other feelings now too, layered in between. Exhilaration. Hesitation. Desire. All the things I felt when he kissed me.

  I take his hand and together we slip back into the crowd.

  twenty

  Sophomore Year

  THE DAY AFTER PAIGE’S PARTY, AUBREY SHOWED up unannounced at my door with her arms loaded down with baking supplies.

  “The auction, remember?” she said when I gave her a blank look.

  Right. Our school was having a pie auction the next day to raise money for a local children’s charity, and Aubrey had signed us up to make lemon meringue. I’d completely forgotten we’d made plans to bake at my house today.

  My stomach tightened as we hauled everything into the kitchen. I was counting on not hanging out with her again until after I spoke to Justin. Or until after he told her himself. I didn’t want to talk about it now, when my brain was still muddled about what happened in the garage and what it might mean. I’d been feeling sick ever since, wondering if Ethan had said anything or if Justin had said anything or if Aubrey had somehow figured it out on her own. But she was acting the same around me as she always did.

  “Here.” Aubrey pushed a carton of eggs toward me. “Can you separate the eggs? Four should do it. Put the yolks in one bowl and the whites in another.”

  I nodded and got out some small bowls. We worked in silence for a few minutes, me separating and her mixing the dry ingredients. The radio was on, tuned to our favorite pop station, and normally I would have been relaxed and content, there in the warm kitchen with my best friend. But everything felt tainted now, secrets rising up between us like a brick wall.

  I could tell her right here. She’ll probably get mad and maybe even hate me—or worse, blame me—but at least she won’t continue to give her heart to a guy who doesn’t deserve it.

  “Aubrey,” I said as I handed her the bowl of egg yolks.

  “Hmm?”

  I watched her as she stood at the stove, whisking the pie filling until it reached the perfect consistency. One dark curl had escaped her ponytail, and she used her wrist to push it off her face. She looked so peaceful, humming along to Beyoncé as she worked. It reminded me of old times, back when our friendship still felt safe and uncomplicated.

  “Um . . .” I looked away and grabbed the hand mixer. “You want me to whip these egg whites for the meringue?”

  “Sure.” She gave the filling one last stir and glanced at me. “Is something wrong? You’re never this quiet.”

  I focused on the eggs, whipping them into frothy peaks. “I’m fine, just . . . tired from the party.”

  We finished the pie together and stuck our creation in the oven. While it baked, we tackled the kitchen mess.

  “So,” Aubrey said as she peeked in the oven at the pie, checking its progress. “Justin called me this morning.”

  I froze in place, heart leaping into my throat. Oh God, he’d told her. He’d told her, and she wanted to wait until I’d helped her with the pie before she stabbed me in the heart with a butcher knife. “Okay,” I said, willing my voice not to shake.
>
  “I didn’t answer it. I was in the shower.” She shut the oven door and turned around, her gaze focused on the floor. “What if he called because he wants to work things out?”

  “Is that what you want?” I asked carefully. “I thought you were mad at him.”

  Last night during the walk home, she’d told Ethan and me what had happened when she went downstairs to talk to Justin. Minutes before he’d followed me into the garage, he and Aubrey had gotten into another argument about her parents and she’d stormed outside to get away from him. And instead of following her and trying to make things right, he’d followed me and made everything wrong instead.

  “Yeah, I’m mad, but . . . this is my fault too, you know. Most of our problems are because of my parents. Which is really stupid, when you think about it.” The timer went off and she turned back around, sliding oven mitts over her hands. “Maybe we just need to try harder to make it work,” she went on as she set the pie on a cooling rack. “No more hiding. My parents will just have to deal with it. I’m sixteen . . . they can’t keep me locked up in a tower like a princess.”

  I sat down at the table, my stomach churning like I’d eaten that entire perfect-looking pie in one sitting. If working things out with Aubrey was what Justin had in mind, there was no way I could let that happen. I could no longer ignore the fact that she’d given her heart and trust to a guy who had treated those gifts like they were nothing.

  Sometimes I feel like she’s way too good for me, he’d told me in the tree house back in November. He was right—she was.

  “Are you sure, Aubrey?”

  “Am I sure about what?”

  “About Justin,” I said, hesitant. “Do you really want to get back together with him?”

  She pulled off the oven mitts and tossed them on the counter, her eyes never leaving mine. “What do you mean?”

  I bit at a hangnail on my thumb. “I just think you could do better.”

  She continued to stare at me, her forehead scrunched in confusion. “You’re the one who said he’d come around. Remember? You’re the one who said you’d do whatever you could to help us be together.”

  My brain was begging me to shut up, but I couldn’t seem to help myself from adding more kindling to the fire. “I know, it’s just . . . maybe you’re not meant to be with him. What if you’re having all these problems for a reason?”

  “So you’re only meant to be with someone when it’s easy? When it’s hard, you should just give up?” She shook her head and looked at me like I’d suddenly grown horns. “Do you really believe that?”

  I didn’t, usually, but obviously this was a special case. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” I told her. “I want you to be happy.”

  “That’s exactly the point, Dara,” she said, her tone sharp. “I’m trying to be happy. For once, I’m thinking about what I want. You don’t like Justin? Fine. You don’t need to. In fact, since you obviously have such a low opinion of him, we’ll make sure to steer clear of you if we decide to get back together. Will that help?”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “No, it’s fine. I get it. You think he’s a loser. I’m glad it’s finally out in the open.” She picked up the pie, supporting the bottom with her palm. Even though it was obviously still hot from the oven, she didn’t even flinch. “I think I hear my mom’s car outside. I have to go.”

  I stood up, my eyes stinging with tears. “Aubrey, wait.”

  She lifted her chin and walked out of the kitchen, pie balanced securely in front of her. I didn’t follow. A few seconds later, the front door slammed shut behind her.

  I stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen, wiping my eyes with my sleeve as the radio played upbeat songs that only made me want to cry more. When I could no longer stand it, I shut off the stereo and went to my room, wondering how I’d managed to make things even worse.

  twenty-one

  Senior Year

  I DON’T SEE ETHAN ALL WEEKEND. HE TEXTS ME once on Saturday morning, letting me know there’s no band practice until next week so they can recover from the showcase and catch up on other things. That’s the extent of our contact. I assume he feels conflicted about what happened in the community center hallway, like I still do. Afterward, we’d gone back out and listened to the rest of the bands, both of us acting like nothing happened. But it did happen, and I can’t think about anything else. I spend most of the weekend in my room, alternately reliving the kiss and beating myself up for it. When I imagine Aubrey asking me to look out for her brother in her absence, I doubt this is what she’d have had in mind.

  Monday morning, Ethan is waiting for me at my locker. My throat goes dry while the rest of me breaks into a sweat. I have no idea what I’m going to say to him.

  “Hey,” he says as I approach. He attempts a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Uh, how are you?”

  I concentrate on my combination lock so I don’t have to look at him. Here, in broad daylight, that kiss feels like it happened to other people. People who aren’t us. “I’m fine.”

  He lets out a sigh and leans in until his face is inches from mine. “About what happened the other night . . .”

  He smells so good, like soap and fresh mint. My fingers fumble on the lock and I have to start over.

  “I wanted to apologize to you,” he presses on. “It was—I didn’t plan it or anything.”

  “You’ve already apologized.” I finally get my locker open and start gathering what I need for my morning classes.

  “I know, but I wanted to do it again. I also wanted to tell you that the reason I stayed away from you this weekend is because I was afraid I’d screwed everything up.” He pauses to take a breath. “But I had to see you today so I could make sure we were, you know, still good.”

  The thought of him giving me space almost makes me smile. I turn and meet his eyes. The way he’s looking at me, so earnest and concerned, feels like a fist around my heart. The last thing I want to do is hurt him. “We’ll always be good, Ethan.”

  His entire body relaxes, and I know I’ve said the right thing, the exact words he needed to hear today. Like me, he spent the weekend wondering if we’d ruined the connection between us that, despite everything, still exists. Apparently, it’s stronger than we thought.

  “I also wanted to ask you a question.” He tries for another smile, and this time it sticks. “Do you want to do something after school? Go grab a hot chocolate or a coffee or whatever? Just us this time.”

  Everything in me wants to say yes, even the tiny, freaked-out part that’s wondering if “just us” is another term for “date.” The idea of dating Ethan seems improbable to me, but for a second I find myself wondering what it would be like. At the same time, I’m relieved to have an excuse to say no. I don’t feel ready to define whatever it is we are now.

  “I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon,” I tell him. It’s not exactly a lie. Dr. Lemke is a doctor . . . of psychology. “Another time, maybe?”

  He nods, his eyes never leaving my face. “Definitely. Another time.”

  We continue to stare at each other, the air between us thickening with a different kind of tension. The kind that warms my stomach and makes my heart flip painfully in my chest. The kind that makes the rest of the world, or at least the rest of the school, fall away.

  But not for long. I catch a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye and it suddenly dawns on me that we’re being watched.

  Travis and Paige are walking hand in hand past my locker, alternately looking at us and whispering to each other. I’ve gotten used to people staring at us, so it barely even registers for me. Ethan’s not as immune though, because the moment he realizes we have an audience, his eyes go flat and his mood darkens like someone flipped a switch in his brain.

  “Is there a problem?” He turns slightly toward Paige and Travis, shoulders squared and arm muscles tensed.

  Travis laughs like Ethan said something funny. Paige’s cool gaze bounces back and
forth between us, her eyes widening as she takes in our nearness. Ethan shifts until he’s slightly in front of me, shielding me like he did Friday night.

  “Nope,” Travis says with a smirk. He tugs on Paige’s hand, and the two of them continue down the hallway without another word. I watch as they pause to join a cluster of people waiting by one of the classroom doors. Travis says something to the guy standing beside him, then he looks back at Ethan and me, a half smirk still on his lips. Is he talking about us?

  It hits me then. All those nasty rumors going around about what happened between Aubrey and me . . . what if Travis is behind them? He and Aubrey were close, and he knew at least a little bit about the mess with Justin. What if he actually thinks—?

  “Dara?” Ethan’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Don’t let them bother you. They’re just being idiots.”

  “I’m fine.” I quickly turn back to face him. His features have returned to their normal, nonthreatening state. “So,” I say, forcing a smile as I go back to sorting through my notes. “When did you become so intimidating?”

  He laughs. “Sophomore year, I guess, when school started up again and everyone was scared to talk to me because they didn’t know what to say. Oh, and the fights may have had something to do with it too.”

  “Fights?”

  “What, you didn’t hear about that?” A muscle twitches in his jaw. “First thing I did when I walked into school last year was punch Justin Gates in the face.”

  My math book tumbles to the floor, followed by everything else on the top shelf of my locker. I ignore it. “Ethan, you didn’t,” I say, even though I know he did. I wouldn’t have believed it two years ago, or even last year, but I believe it now. “Did he hit you back?”

  “No, but Wyatt Greer did.” He touches his eyebrow. “That’s how I got this scar.”

  “Wait. You picked a fight with Wyatt Greer?”

  He stoops down and starts gathering my things off the floor. “He was harassing some freshman kid in the parking lot one day. I wasn’t going to let him get away with that.”