by Amber Smith
Not that I enjoy the parties all that much. But I enjoy losing myself. And there’s always someone there. Ready, waiting. Waiting for something to happen. Just like me. I’ve gotten good at picking them out right away. Finding that someone. Not a bad person. Someone who just wants what I want. To disconnect. For a little while, anyway. From themselves, mostly. I think. I wouldn’t really know, though, because it’s not like we ever talk about these things. It’s not like I really care, anyway.
That’s what I’m thinking about, lying on this lumpy futon next to some guy. The bedroom window is open, and the winter air flows in easily, cooling my whole body. I can almost see my breath.
“You’re that girl,” he tells me, propping himself on his elbow as he lights up a joint. “I didn’t even realize it when we first started talking.”
I turn to face him, and see that he’s looking down at me with a grin.
“What girl?” I ask.
“Let’s just say people know who you are at our school,” he tells me as he exhales a cloud of smoke. “People talk about you,” he says, his words slowing down. “A lot.” He offers me a hit, but I shake my head. I haven’t smoked pot since the playground with Troy. It turns out getting high really isn’t my thing. This is my thing.
The smoke begins to fill the room, making me feel dizzy. I close my eyes, and try to sink down into this moment a little deeper—into my body, my mind—so deep I can come out the other side and forget how I even got here. I can hear the muted shouting and music on the other side of the door. But it can’t touch me in here, somehow.
“You know,” the guy says, reaching over to brush my hair back away from my face, his voice pulling me away from this feeling. I open my eyes and try to focus on him. “I can’t tell if you’re really pretty,” he continues so sincerely, a soft smile on his face, “or really ugly.”
It’s like when you’re falling in a dream and you wake up, shocked back into reality by your body hitting the bed with a crash. That’s what his stupid, clumsy words do to me.
And in that instant an image forms in my mind, quick and fleeting.
Josh. I see his smile. Feel his sweetness. His arms around me. For just a moment—just a flash. It disappears almost immediately. As soon as my consciousness kicks in, he’s gone. But he was there just long enough and just clear enough to jolt me, to shock my system with a surge of fresh heartache. It leaves me with this sick underwater sensation, something dangerously close to drowning. Josh would never, ever say anything like that to me, not even after the way I treated him.
I sit up fast. I find my shirt and my pants. I get dressed. This guy lies there, watching me, smiling at me.
“Where you going?” he asks, taking too long to realize what I’m doing.
“Where do you think?”
“I don’t know,” he says slowly.
“Look, I realize you’re stoned, but you don’t say fucked-up things like that to a girl you just had sex with!”
“What did I say? I said you’re really pretty, didn’t I?”
“No, actually that’s not what you said!” Leaving in a hurry was easier in the warmer months. Now I have layers to keep track of—I pull on my boot laces with force as I tie them in a double knot.
“Oh.” He laughs.
I look at him before I leave. He’s just lying there shirtless, grinning, and oblivious. “You know, I can’t tell if you’re really mean or really stupid!”
He cracks up at that. “You’re so funny,” he’s saying as I’m closing the door on him, stepping out into the noise again.
Fuck off.
There are too many damn people crammed into this house. As I squeeze through the bodies, people look at me and I wonder if they all know me as that girl too. I find Mara in the basement. She’s sitting between Troy and Alex on a dusty old couch. Mara’s talking. Alex isn’t listening. She acts like she likes him when we’re at these parties—lets him put his arm around her shoulder, and she’ll touch his leg with her foot, kiss him good-bye before we leave—but I think she’s just using him too. The only time she even mentions his name is when she’s around Cameron. Still, after all these months of partying, they’ve only kissed.
“Hey,” I call to Mara, barely able to find an empty place to stand. “I’m going outside,” I shout, pointing toward the door.
“Wait,” she says, peeling Alex’s arm off her shoulder, “wait, I’m coming with you.”
We push our way against the wall of bodies, weaving through the cases of beer stacked up on the floor of the kitchen like a maze. As I open the front door and step out into the cold, a welcome silence rushes over us, and I feel like I can breathe again.
“What’s wrong?” Mara asks.
“Nothing.”
She eyes me closely. “No, there’s something.”
“It’s nothing. I was just hanging out with this idiot—he said something kind of mean to me. It’s okay, though. I mean, whatever. I’m fine. I don’t care.” I shrug, taking in a deep breath of icy air, allowing it to fill me before I release it.
“What did he say?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell her, looking up at the sky.
“Let’s go,” she says.
“Really? You don’t want to stay? What about Alex?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she says with a laugh. “I don’t think he’ll even notice, honestly.”
We drive to this twenty-four-hour Denny’s that’s right in between our town and Troy and Alex’s. It’s only ten thirty. I order a big breakfast and Mara gets an enormous banana split.
“Tell me what that guy said to you?” Mara asks me again as she picks the cherry off the top of a swirl of whipped cream. “I really wanna know.”
“Fine. It’s kind of funny, actually. He said he couldn’t tell whether I was really pretty or really ugly,” I finally admit.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me, right?” Her face is caught between a smile and a frown.
“No. Those were his exact words, Mara.”
“That’s heinous!”
“Yeah.” I laugh. “But what’s worse is the way he said it—so sweetly—like it was a compliment or something! Not exactly the kind of thing you want a guy telling you right after you sleep with him.”
“No, I guess it’s not,” Mara agrees, her laughter fading. “Do you—do you do that a lot, Edy?” she asks me awkwardly, looking down at her banana split, like she’s counting the scoops of ice cream over and over: vanilla, strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, strawberry. “I mean, with guys you don’t know?” she finishes.
“Sometimes.” I shrug. “I mean, it depends, I guess.”
“Do you think—I don’t know, do you think that’s such a good idea? I mean, that’s kind of dangerous, isn’t it?”
I bite into a warm buttered toast triangle. I don’t know how to have this conversation with Mara. I don’t know how to explain it. “Is it any more dangerous than getting wasted with a bunch of strangers?”
Her mouth drops open slightly. She’s obviously insulted that I would even attempt to compare the two.
“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that—you know I’ve done that too—I’m just saying it’s kind of the same thing, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t think it’s the same thing at all,” she says, sinking her spoon down into the softening mound of strawberry ice cream. “Isn’t sex,” she whispers, “supposed to be special? You know, with someone special?”
“Says who? A lot of things are supposed to be special that really aren’t.”
“I guess, Edy,” she says, not convinced.
“Besides,” I continue, “it’s not like there are all that many special people just hanging around anyway.”
“Still, I feel like I should tell you I’m concerned or something, tell you to stop doing that.”
“I know what I’m doing.” I reach across the table and steal a spoonful of her chocolate ice cream. “No cause for concern, I p
romise. It’s honestly not a big deal. Really.”
She shakes her head and shrugs, returning her attention to her banana split. “Do you think Alex and Troy are ever not high?” she asks, trying to change the subject.
“Not that I’ve ever seen,” I say with a laugh.
“They’re nice though, at least,” she points out.
I nod. I take another spoonful of ice cream. “I did something kind of not nice to Troy, Mara.”
“Oh no, did you have—you know—with him?” she asks. “When?”
“No, not with him. I kind of slept with his older brother,” I confess. “At that party way back, at his house—it was really his brother’s party. I’ve been feeling guiltier and guiltier about it every time we see him.”
“Why did you do that?” she asks.
“Well, I didn’t plan on it, or anything. It didn’t mean anything. I never even spoke to him again after that. What—why are you looking at me like that?” I ask her, her face more horrified with every word I say.
“Sorry. I’m not judging. I’m just surprised—I just didn’t know that had happened. That’s all.”
“Well, it did happen. But it didn’t mean anything. I don’t even know why I’m telling you, actually.”
“No, I want you to tell me. I don’t want you keeping all these secrets from me.”
“I don’t keep secrets from you,” I lie.
“Okay.” She pushes the banana split across the table. “You have to help me finish this—it’s melting.”
“IT’S BEGINNING TO LOOK a lot like hmm-hmm,” Mom half sings as she stands on top of one of the dining room chairs holding a string of tinselly green garland. “Edy, hand me that thumbtack,” she calls over to me as I fidget in my seat, gnawing on my fingernails, counting down the minutes until Caelin gets here. I take my phone out of my pocket. Nothing. No calls, no texts, no distractions.
I’m desperate.
I text Troy: can we meet up in a while? need a little help *relaxing*
“Edy!” my mom calls again. “Bring me one of those.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. Here,” I say, holding out a palm full of metal tacks.
“Thanks.” She smiles, catching my eye. “You know, it’s nice to have you around for a change. We never see you since Mara started driving. You girls always have something to do, somewhere to be.” She sighs.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Troy: no prob. for u . . . anytime
“That reminds me,” I tell her, thinking fast. “I know Caelin’s coming home tonight, but I have to go do some last-minute shopping at the mall. Mara’s picking me up,” I lie.
“Edy!” she says, pursing her lips, hand on hip. “You have to plan better than this.”
“I know, I just forgot a couple of things.” I text back: thx. 6:00 @ playground?
“Well, you’ll be hard pressed to find anything decent two days before Christmas.” She tsk-tsk-tsks her tongue at me, shaking her head. “Why don’t I just take you now before Caelin gets here?”
Troy: can’t wait :)
“Mom, you hate the mall. Besides, Mara needs to go too. And you’re in the middle of”—I look around at the mountains of decorations and fuzzy snow—“you know, all this,” I finish.
“Fine.” She relents. “But let’s take it easy for the next couple of weeks, huh? Your brother doesn’t get to make it back here as often as we’d like—as often as he’d like—we need to all make an effort to spend some quality time, okay?”
“Why are you telling me this? He’s the one who’s going to be spending all his time with Kevin.”
“Well, Kevin won’t be joining us this year, so you don’t have to worry about that.”
I shove my phone deep into my pocket. “What do you mean? Did hell freeze over?”
“Edy, stop.” She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know. Caelin just said Kevin would be staying there, at the Armstrongs’. That’s all I know,” she says, throwing her hands up.
“That’s good,” I tell her.
“Well, it’s not good. But, I suppose, it’s normal. I mean, they are technically his family,” she says.
“That’s what I’ve been saying forever.”
“Well,” she begins. But that’s it. Just “well.”
I consider texting Troy back and telling him to forget it. But then I feel this tightness creeping up inside my chest at the thought of seeing Caelin, even without his other half.
I text Troy again: how’s 5:30?
Mara gave me her extra car key in case of emergencies while she and her mom are at her grandmother’s house for the week. Her mom would flip out if she knew. My parents would flip out if they knew. Mostly because I only just got my learner’s permit and I’m not supposed to be driving any car. But this is the most legal thing I’m planning on doing tonight, so I really don’t care.
Troy’s already there when I pull in the parking lot. “Hey,” I yell to him as I’m getting out of Mara’s car. “Have you been waiting long?”
“Naw,” he says quietly, batting at the air. “No big.”
I walk up to him. He looks different to me, standing here with the sun going down, still daylight barely. I’ve never seen him in the sunlight. But even the way he stands, the way he looks at me, everything feels different, somehow.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, standing in front of him. I never realized we were the same height. Although, I don’t actually think we’ve ever stood face-to-face like this before. He’s always sitting down, on a couch, a floor, somewhere, slouched, smoking.
“What? Nothing’s wrong,” he tells me, shrugging as he tucks his hair behind his ears. A terrible thought crashes into my mind: He found out, someone told him about me and his brother.
“Why do you seem like that, then?” I ask.
“Like what?” he asks, looking around, confused.
“Like—not normal. Are you mad at me for anything?” I pry.
“No, of course not,” he says, grinning slowly. “Been smoking already? You’re paranoid, girl,” he says with a laugh. And even that sounds different.
“No, you just seem like something’s . . . different?” I tell him.
“Well, I’m straight—that’s probably why I don’t seem normal!” He laughs again. “This is not my natural state! I was waiting for you.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t even thought of that. I hadn’t even considered he could exist while not under the influence. “Oh.” I laugh. “Okay. That makes sense.”
“You do need help relaxing, don’t you?” He smiles. Then he reaches forward and places one hand on each of my shoulders, kneading the muscles up to my neck, gazing at my face with a concentration I’ve never seen in him before. He steps in. I back away. I can’t let him kiss me. Not right now. I look down. Then back up. He looks down too, embarrassed.
“Let’s get in the car,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “It’s freezing out here.”
“Thanks for meeting me,” I tell him as I turn the heat on.
“Course.” He shrugs, placing one of his expertly rolled joints between his lips. He lights it, then inhales. “What’s got you all tense there?” he asks, looking at me sideways, still holding the smoke in his lungs as he passes the joint to me.
I inhale shallowly, still a little bit afraid of what might happen. And exhale. “Family.”
“Hear that.” He sighs. He turns the radio on, adjusting the volume perfectly.
We pass the joint back and forth several times, not speaking. He reclines the passenger seat so he’s almost lying down. He stares out through the windshield at the sun setting behind the wooden castle. I follow his gaze and watch as the colors bleed and mingle like something out of a dream. This is not the black-and-white world I once thought I was in. This world is alive and vibrating. And I’m alive in it—and that feels amazing.
He nudges my arm. I look down. He’s passing me the joint. And I hear his words, their pace slow, as I inhale and pass it back to him. “Do you always look like that?” he’s asking.<
br />
“Like what?” my voice echoes on some kind of delay. He takes one last deep drag, letting it nearly burn down to his fingers before he throws it out the window.
“Pretty like that,” he says, looking up at me, his eyes wanting to close.
I feel my mouth smile at him. Then I lean over slowly, everything moving slowly, and kiss him. His hands gently touch my face, in a way that makes me think too much of Josh. It seems like we kiss and kiss, forever. He does it softly, slow like honey, nothing like that brother of his. He whispers, “I hope I can remember this,” and then we both start laughing and laughing.
The next thing I know, a soft dim light wants my eyes to open. The next thing I know, I feel movement all around me. And someone takes my shoes off. Someone pulls my arms out of my coat. Footsteps surround me. I open my eyes. I’m looking up at my bedroom ceiling; my desk lamp casts a warm golden glow over everything.
My eyes close again. Then I see a flash of me parking Mara’s car in her driveway. Me trudging through the snow in the dark. Me putting my key in the door. The TV in the living room flashing.
They open again. Caelin stands over me.
“Caelin?” I hear myself mumble.
“You’re fine,” he tells me. “You reek of weed, Edy,” he whispers, his hands firmly planted on his hips.
“Why am I in my bed?” I ask him, pushing the blankets off. “I don’t wanna be in my bed.”
“Shhh,” he says, jerking the covers back up. “I don’t even want to know how you got home or where you were or who you were with or what the fuck you were doing!” he whisper-shouts over me.
“Stop,” I tell him, covering my ears. At least, I think I say the word.
“You walked in the door and passed out, Edy! Mom and Dad don’t know. They’re in bed already.”
“Go away,” I moan.
“Sleep it off.”
Then dark.
“HEY, MARA,” CAMERON SAYS, walking up to our table in the library. He glances at me as he sits down. I have my headphones in, so he doesn’t bother speaking to me. I nod at him, though, and turn the volume down all the way so I can listen in on their muffled whispers. I absently thumb the pages of an enormous SAT study guide that Miss Sullivan brought over when she saw that I was reading a magazine instead of studying. Ever since we got back from winter break, it’s been SAT fever around here. Suddenly everyone’s deadly serious and slamming energy drinks and overthinking the importance of their entire lives.
