by Nikki Godwin
“Everything’s fine, really,” I lie again. “I’m just tired.”
He watches me for a moment, probably trying to read my face and figure out why I’m lying to him. He knows I’m lying, but I can’t force myself to spit the truth out. It’ll come out all wrong, and then he’ll get the wrong idea, and I’ll lose him.
“What were you and Noah talking about earlier? Outside?” he asks, looking down at the blankets on my bed.
He tugs at a loose string on the top cover and avoids eye contact with me.
“Just about last night…and stuff.” I don’t even believe myself anymore.
Milo is right – I’m a terrible liar. I feel like I’m in an awful comic strip with a huge speech bubble in front of my mouth that just says, “Lie. Lie. Lie. Oh look, another lie.”
“Just stop,” he says. “Is this about me? Or us? You’ve been avoiding me all day, and don’t you dare say you haven’t because you know as well as I do that you’ve practically been running from me.”
He looks as confused and sad as Mom did when she lectured me about smoking cigarettes and how smoking wasn’t the answer to solving my problems. But Milo isn’t going to come to my rescue this time. Damn it. Why can’t I just be honest and spit out the words? You speak with words, Chloe. Words! Remember?
“So you are avoiding me,” he says in response to my silence. “That’s why Noah’s been holding me back all day. He’s the decoy, the distraction, right?”
He jumps up from my bed, like it’s suddenly poisonous and he can’t come into contact with it. He takes a few steps back. I’ve never seen him this mad.
“Let me guess,” he says. “Noah knows what’s going on, and he’s supposed to break it to me later. Let me down gently, right? You know, if you didn’t want to be with me, all you had to do was say it.”
Oh my God. No, no, no, no, no. This is not happening. This is all just a huge, massive, gigantic misunderstanding. This is a thousand times worse than mistaken nudity – and I thought nothing could be worse than mistaken nudity.
“No,” I finally say. Finally, words! “You’ve got this all wrong, Milo.”
“Oh really?” he shoots back. “From where I’m standing, it looks pretty clear. You know, this is why management doesn’t want us in relationships. Too much drama. Too much trouble. This was stupid. I don’t know why I thought I could actually make this work with you.”
He paces the rug, shaking his head, for a moment. And then he laughs.
“I’m so stupid,” he says. “I knew better than to ever let this happen. Don’t bother getting Noah to break up with me for you. I don’t need him to let me down easy. It’s okay. I can handle it. It’s over. We’re over. And I’m counting down the minutes until this lockdown is over so I can walk away from this for good.”
He slams my door behind him.
And I still have no words. No sounds.
Just a floodgate that bursts open and the river of tears behind it.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I check my face one last time in the mirror. The tears have subsided, but I don’t want any trace of them left on my face. I recoat my eyeliner before heading downstairs for Emery’s birthday dinner.
Benji sits at the end of the table with an empty seat next to him. I already know it’s reserved for Emery. Luckily, the seat directly across from him is empty. Noah sits next to the empty chair. I don’t look at anyone else as I make a beeline for the end of the table.
“Hey eldest one,” Dad says as I rush past him. “You feeling old now that Emery is six?”
“Are you feeling old now that I’ve graduated high school?” I ask in return.
Dad laughs. “Nice comeback,” he says. “You’re finally learning.”
“Benji taught me,” I say as I readjust my chair so I can’t see Milo on the other side of Noah.
Mom calls for Emery, who wanted to make a grand entrance. As usual, I held her up being late for her dinner. Everyone watches the archway for her to enter, but Noah looks over at me.
He mouths the words ‘what happened?’ and motions his head toward Milo as nonchalantly as he can. He sort of looks like he’s having a spasm.
I don’t have a chance to even semi-answer.
“Good news, everyone,” Dad interrupts. “We have a suspect in custody in regards to the shooting, and we believe he worked alone. We’re still in the interrogation process, but if all goes as planned, you guys should be able to get back on tour in a few days.”
Why is it that everyone seems to think that official government matters are clearly more important than the destruction of “Chloe and Milo” as we were?
Now we’re separate. Just Chloe. Just Milo. An Earth girl. A Saturn boy. Unaligned.
In between the “hell yeah!” shouts and high fives, I completely drown in the realization that lockdown is about to end. The guys will leave, Noah won’t be my new BFF, Milo will never speak to me again, and Benji might say ‘hi’ on Twitter every few months. I’ll go on to college and return to a mundane existence, always wondering what could’ve been.
Emery emerges and silences everyone upon her entrance. She wears Benji’s SLUT T-shirt, which hangs to her shins. She holds a mask up to her face. It’s a mask of…Benji. Except she’s cut his eyes and mouth out of the magazine pin-up. And she’s glued his face to a giant popsicle stick. I’ve never seen Benji Baccarini look so utterly creepy. I can’t even laugh.
“It’s my birthday,” Emery says in a deep voice.
“Emery, what are you doing?” Mom asks. “Get that off of your face.”
“My name isn’t Emery,” she says. “I’m Benji Baccarini.”
Her typical fit of giggles explodes from her mouth and through the cut-out mouthpiece of her Benji mask. Her laughter bounces off the walls in the dining room.
She skips over to the empty chair next to the real Benji and climbs atop. She looks around at us and smiles the brightest of all smiles. Her teeth glisten through the hole in Benji’s face. This would be hilarious if it was two months ago.
Instead, it’s cringe-worthy because we’re on lockdown with Spaceships Around Saturn, and Benji is sitting directly across from me. And really, Benji is the last thing on my mind. I’d gladly replace the mental image of Milo with Benji if my brain and heart would let me.
Emery clears her throat while Mom grabs pizza boxes from the kitchen. Obviously Emery doesn’t go very high-class for her birthday dinner. Then again, I shouldn’t expect much from the kid who is wearing Benji’s SLUT shirt.
“This is the best birthday ever,” Emery announces. “I’m so happy that you guys got to be here with me. Lockdown has been the best time of my life. Except for when Milo was naked in Chloe’s room.”
Dad’s eyes bulge. “What is she talking about?” he demands to know.
“Oh God,” Aralie says. “Dad, it was a huuuuuuge misunderstanding. Milo had clothes on, and Emery was being a freak.”
Dad ignores Aralie and turns to Mom.
“She’s right, Scott,” Mom agrees. “Emery just misunderstood something and really blew it out of proportion. It was absolutely nothing.”
Dear creatures of Saturn, Hey, remember me? Chloe from planet Earth? Um, I’m still waiting on you guys to inject me with the infection that destroyed Jules’s face. I sort of need it right now. I can’t wait any longer. Sincerely, Chloe Branson
Dad doesn’t buy Mom’s casual attitude toward the mistaken nudity.
“How can…” Dad stops and shakes his head. “How do you mistake someone being naked in our daughter’s bedroom? How could Emery possibly misunderstand that?”
“Are you kidding me?” Aralie shouts. “Dad, really, this is Chloe you’re talking about. She’s the perfect daughter, remember? And Milo’s harmless. He’s the least likely of all of them to end up naked in anyone’s bedroom!”
“Aralie, I just asked–” Dad says.
But she cuts him off.
“Seriously, Dad,” Aralie says, pushing her chair back. “How c
an you even begin to think Emery knows what she’s talking about? Look at her!”
She slings her arm out, knocking Tate in the chest, and points at Emery.
Emery’s angry, squinted eyes pierce through the holes of her Benji mask. Her lips pucker up like she’s being forced to kiss the ugliest boy in the first grade and she’s pissed about it.
“Well,” Jules speaks up. “As interesting and dramatic as our time here has been, I can definitely say that I’m glad lockdown is nearly over. I’m ready to get back on the road, back on stage…”
“And back on Twitter,” Benji says, finishing Jules’s sentence.
Jules laughs. “Yeah, back to a life where people do my laundry for me.”
From now on, I think “laundry” should be the L-word. Forget about ‘love.’ Laundry should be a taboo topic or a curse word. It should be something that when talked about, everyone gasps and can’t believe someone would dare mention it.
“Okay, I can’t do this,” Aralie says, standing up. “I’m so sick of you doing this to me. It’s not funny, and you’re not cute, and all it does is piss me off.”
“Hey, you know I was just kid–” Jules only gets half of the word out of his mouth.
“No!” Aralie yells back. “You weren’t kidding! You love to throw it in my face that 6.9 million girls want you and that I should be so damn grateful that you give me the time of day. But you know what?”
“Don’t,” Jules says, sliding his chair back. “You said we’d wait to do this.”
Aralie slams her chair back into its place under the table.
“We would’ve waited if you hadn’t mentioned your godforsaken laundry again!” she screams. “You’re the one who comes begging me to watch movies with you all hours of the night. Or what about ‘Babe, just one more sunrise, please?’ Do you know how much sleep I’ve given up to spend time with you?”
Oh. My. God. Aralie and Jules?!
“Hey,” Tate says, reaching out and grabbing Aralie’s arm. “It’s okay. Just calm down.”
“Oh, I know you didn’t just go there,” she says. “You – you, Tate freaking Kingsley – were supposed to be on my side. I should’ve known as soon as this came out, you’d run to defend Jules. You’re such a coward, and if I find your head on my door one more time, I will end you!”
Holy Saturn, I am dying here. I can’t even get my brain around this. Have I seriously been that wrapped up in Milo Grayson that I missed out on everything? Milo was right – it was Jules the entire freaking time. So Tate was a decoy? Oh God. Tate is her Noah. He was in the loop. He probably played it up and acted all friendly with her so no one would suspect that she was really sneaking around with the bad boy who smells like crushed ladybugs. Jules isn’t a third wheel – Tate is.
Benji leans his chair back and opens his mouth, but Aralie is a line of nuclear bombs, exploding one by one.
“Don’t speak,” she demands. “You’ve bitched and moaned enough for everyone during lockdown, and you’ve covered the fridge with your pointless ramblings.”
“You gave me the note cards,” Benji shoots back.
“Yeah,” she agrees. “To shut you up. And it didn’t work.”
Noah cracks up beside me, and Aralie turns her attention to him.
“Oh God, “ she groans. “Jules may be a jerkoff, Tate may be a traitor, and Benji may be a diva, but you are the most annoying person I’ve ever met, and that says a lot with Chloe’s bitchy backstabbing friends.”
“What did I ever do to you?” Noah asks.
He tries to do that whole offended and hurt bit, but he looks just like he did the day that I pushed him into the pool. His dimples show through, and it’s just enough to piss you off even more when you’re already ill with him.
“What don’t you do?” Aralie asks. “You’re a drama queen over your stupid milk, and you think you’re hilarious with all your sarcastic comments and inside jokes with Chloe.”
Then she points at Milo.
“And I don’t know what you’ve done, but I’m sure you’ve done something!” she shouts at him.
Ohhhh yes, he’s done something. He’s completely shattered my heart. Get him, Aralie.
Noah sighs. “Don’t trip on Milo,” he says. “He doesn’t even talk to you.”
“Shut up!” Aralie shouts. “I don’t give a damn if you’re hooking up with my sister. I don’t like you, and you’re annoying, and hopefully she’ll see it too so she can dump your ass.”
She runs toward the kitchen, jerks the patio door back, and takes off in a dash outside. She disappears behind the privacy fence that surrounds the pool.
“Ms. Shelly, Mr. Scott,” Noah says next to me. “I’m not hooking up with Chloe. She’s great and all, and we’re friends, but that’s it.”
“Yeah,” Emery agrees through her Benji mask. “Noah doesn’t sneak out with her at night. Milo does.”
I’m certain my heart just ruptured into little pieces of broken planets and dying stars. Why haven’t those stupid Saturn creatures put me out of my misery yet?! They clearly aren’t going to come through for me any time soon.
So I do the only thing I can.
I jump up, run through the kitchen, slam the patio door, and chase after Aralie.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The dew clings to my flip flops as I rush through the grass toward the treehouse. Of all places, Aralie just had to choose my and Milo’s late night spot to escape to. I thought she’d be rebellious. I figured she would leave the house and crash some party. Instead, she hides here.
This is pretty much the last place I want to be, but I steady myself and climb the ladder. Okay, scratch that. I’d rather be here than in our dining room facing Milo right now.
Aralie looks over her shoulder at me when I climb up.
“Thank God it’s you,” she says. “If you’d been Tate Kingsley, I’d have decapitated you and really stuck your head on a door.”
“You weren’t the one putting his head on my door?” I ask. “Emery said you put it there, so I just stuck it back on yours.”
“No,” she says, sitting on the black beanbag. “Why would I do that? Emery said you started it because Tate was always hanging out with me.”
I’m starting to get the feeling that Emery is more involved in the Saturnized shenanigans than I thought to give her credit for. Tate’s head was probably her idea from the beginning.
Aralie leans back and stares at the wooden ceiling. She looks defeated, which is so rare for her. She never lets anyone get under her skin. Maybe that’s why she likes Jules. He can get to her even if she doesn’t want him to.
“We used to come out here every morning,” she says. “I swear, I’ll never be able to step into this thing again without imagining sunrises and smelling cigarettes.”
I’ll never be able to come up here without thinking of fireflies and hearing Milo’s guitar. I’d have never thought that Aralie would be in this very treehouse with a Saturn boy too. She watched the bleeding butterflies with Jules while Milo sang about them to me.
“All that time, I thought it was Tate,” I admit. I sit on the lime green beanbag next to her. “I just figured it couldn’t be Jules with the way you guys fight.”
Just as I think she’s about to spill her guts about Tate, Jules, and all things Saturn, the ladder creaks and little footsteps follow. Emery’s head pokes up into the treehouse, minus her Benji mask. She crawls in, and Mom’s voice floats up into the room.
I get up and walk over to Emery, who is still looking down at Mom. I see why – Mom’s arms are full with a pizza box and six-pack of Dr. Pepper. I reach down to gather our dinner, and Mom climbs up to assess the emotional damage.
“Are you girls okay?” she asks.
Her sympathetic-mom-voice is back, but this time, it’s not just aimed at me. In fact, Aralie doesn’t even know that I’m included in the sadness yet. She still thinks I’m hooking up with Noah, and all is well in my world.
I just nod my head because I
don’t want to talk about the guys. Aralie must feel the same way because she nods and cracks open a Dr. Pepper can.
“Emery wanted to join you guys,” Mom says. “She said she spends every birthday with her sisters, and she wasn’t going to stay with a bunch of jerkfaces who were mean to them.”
“Yeah,” Emery says, pulling her rug over then sitting next to me. “I even left Benji. Stupid jerkfaces.”
“Well,” Mom says. “If you’re all okay up here, I’m going to get back to the house because your dad was refereeing when I left, and I may not have a dining room once I get back.”
As much as I want to question her, I don’t because Emery is here, and I haven’t had a chance to tell Aralie about Milo. I’d rather not have her hear it from Mom.
Once Mom is gone, Aralie continues our conversation over Dr. Pepper and pizza.
“But yeah, like I was saying,” she says. “I adore my orange scarf. It’s really cute and fun, but it’s kind of loud and can get on my nerves at times. You know, itchy fabric and all. It’s the scarf you wear when you’re hanging out with your best friend.”
I shoot her a smile over my Dr. Pepper can. Tate was completely a decoy.
“So you prefer your black scarf then?” I ask, bringing the topic back around to Jules.
“Definitely,” she says. “I mean, it’s dark and sort of moody, but it matches everything. It fits me so well. I know it clashes with my band tees because they’re black too, but it’s like that scarf just gets me and my style, you know? I can wear it anywhere, kind of like your red scarf.”
That’s my cue. I don’t imagine Noah’s essence as red, though.
“Um, not exactly,” I say. “My red scarf is like your orange scarf. It’s good for best friend days, but it’s not the one I’d sneak out of the house wearing at midnight.”
Aralie’s eyes widen. “Which scarf would you wear at midnight?” she asks, leaning forward in total serious-mode.
