by Mary Strand
“Did—” She broke off, grabbed a few Oreos, and stuffed two in her mouth, swallowing hard. “Did Jeremy get out okay?”
Ahh.
I shrugged. “I’m guessing anyone who wasn’t drinking got out okay. Would Jeremy have been drinking?”
She shook her head, but the pinched look didn’t go away.
Long pause. I almost grabbed a few Oreos, too, before remembering that they were mint and I wasn’t desperate.
“So you weren’t with Jeremy.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why would I be with Jeremy? Last time I checked, he liked you.”
Although, okay, maybe not lately.
She stuffed a few more Oreos in her mouth, nearly choking on them. I didn’t leap up to thump her on the back.
“I . . . broke up with him.”
No shit, Sherlock. “Why?”
For a long moment, or maybe a million of them, I didn’t think she was going to answer. No surprise there. At least, not since I got home from Shangri-La.
Finally, she mumbled something.
It didn’t used to be this hard. “What?”
“When Kirk asked you to be in the band, I figured you might want to add Jeremy to your list.”
“My list? What list?”
She waved a hand. “You know. Your list of guys. Guys who want you.”
My list. Before everything changed. Before Shangri-La. I would’ve laughed if it wasn’t so stupid now. Or maybe if Justin’s name hadn’t been on the list before I left with the circus for Wisconsin Dells and one long nightmare.
I tipped back my Coke only to discover that I’d already drained it. “I never slept with any of those guys. And you had a list, too.”
This time, she did choke. “Mine never had more than two or three names on it, and I made them up. Yours had ten or twenty.”
“So?” Pulling my knees up to my chest, I studied her. She’d lost weight in the last few weeks, most of it from her face. Her cheeks looked hollow, her eyes lost. “I never slept with any of them. Or, you know, did anything. I mean, not really.”
Cat knew that, didn’t she? She’d been the only one who knew. Plus, as it turned out, maybe Zach.
“What about Justin?” She sucked in a deep breath. “You bragged so much when you came home from Milwaukee.”
Looking out the window, I blinked hard against even the possibility of tears. “I’d rather brag than dwell on the bad stuff.”
Cat stared at me, obviously puzzled. Totally unlike the Cat who’d known me so well, or so I thought.
Finally, she tossed aside the package of Oreos and shot me a snotty look. “No matter what, you’ve always come out on top. What could be so bad?”
A lot of things. Things that, remembering, still made my skin crawl. Things a lot worse than whatever made Cat dump and then pine over her drummer boyfriend, but I didn’t say that.
Instead, I bit my lip until I tasted blood.
After turning to wipe it with the back of my hand, I glanced sideways at Cat. Could I trust her? Doubtful in the extreme.
But what the hell.
“The short version? My so-called wild sexual escapades consist of being raped by two guys. One in ninth grade.” I stared at her until she pursed her lips and nodded. “Then when I screwed up with the circus—” Understatement, but Bunny’s husband did egg me on and hadn’t been quite so pure of heart as I let Bunny keep believing. “I didn’t have anywhere to go, and I knew Dad would be pissed. And Justin seemed safe.”
He’d also told me he loved me.
Unlike all the times that guys in high school had said that to me, when I’d laughed and told them to find another sucker, I’d believed Justin.
But I still wanted to wait. As it turned out, he didn’t.
Next thing I knew, Cat was next to me, on Mary’s old bed, hugging me to within an inch of my life. I almost couldn’t breathe. Vital organs were probably being pulverized.
It felt good.
“Justin raped you? Did you tell Dad? Or the judge?”
I laughed, somehow managing not to choke on it. “Dad, who’d already decided to ship me out? The judge, who told me he’d seen too many girls just like me, who never turned out well? Why waste my breath?”
“Because it was your life?”
Honest to God, I had no idea whether Cat was being supportive, or telling me I was an idiot, or even if she gave a rat’s ass about anything other than mint Oreos. Which, let’s face it, bordered on putrid.
I picked at a ball of lint on the bedspread. My old bedspread. I left it behind when Dad moved me to Mary’s old room. I had my pride, yeah, but I also had a revulsion for the hot-pink daisy print Mom had bought without asking during one of her manic phases.
Avoiding Cat’s gaze, I shrugged. “As it turns out, my life doesn’t matter to a lot of people.”
Including, lately, my own twin.
She didn’t exactly disagree. “Not even to you?”
More than I’d admit, but less than I’d wish upon my worst enemy. Okay, except for Amber and Chelsea. I’d wish the fires of hell upon them . . . and throw in some gasoline for good measure.
Head down, I pulled at a thread on my old bedspread, tugging at it until I unraveled an entire seam. Oops. “I don’t think it much matters what I want.”
Or, despite Zach’s kiss, who I maybe want.
Because maybe he was with Lauren. Or wished he were. Or, in any case, didn’t wish he was with me. Maybe he’d kissed me to win a bet or a dare or something.
He wouldn’t be the first guy who had.
“So you’re not with Jeremy?”
My head flew up, my gaze shooting to Cat’s face. It wasn’t angry anymore. It looked . . . bleak.
What had happened to Cat? “If I still had a list, and I don’t, he’s not on it. Not now. Not ever. But I’m pretty sure he’s on your list, and you’re on his.”
Getting up, Cat retrieved the Oreos and waved them under my nose, then started mainlining them. Mint Oreos. Ugh. “His list is probably a mile long.”
Right. The guy who once dyed his spiked hair black and yellow, reminding me of a bumblebee, and dyed it an especially revolting mix of pink and orange for a few days last week. Yeah, girls were lined up all along the halls of Woodbury High to go out with him.
In Cat’s case, love was blind. Or at least color-blind. Which was kinda sweet, actually.
I grinned at her. “I’m pretty sure he has exactly one name on his list.”
Her hands twisted so tightly in her lap, I half-expected a few fingers to break off. “He doesn’t even speak to me.”
“Weird. Last time I checked, you weren’t speaking to him.”
“I-I didn’t want to lose him to you.”
“So you threw him away before you could lose him to me?” I rolled my eyes. “Not your brightest move ever. And to think Mr. Fogarty gushes over you so much.”
Her lips twitched, almost reminding me of someone I used to know. Cat. “I shoveled for him last winter when it was a million degrees below zero.”
“Give or take.”
“Give or take.” She grinned. For the first time since I returned home, it didn’t remind me of piranhas at feeding time. “So maybe I should talk to Jeremy?”
I snorted. “Unless you’re a total idiot, yeah, and you’re not a total idiot. Except, of course, in your love for mint Oreos.”
Her grin faded, taking mine with it. “The thing is, I don’t want to be your sidekick.”
I blinked. “My sidekick?”
“You know.” This time, she picked at my mangy old bedspread. At this point, nothing could make it much worse. “I’m your twin, but somehow I always came in second.” Her lower lip quivered, which stung more than if she’d screamed at me. “Everything we did was always your idea and what you wanted to do, like I didn’t exist. Everyone followed you. They worshipped you. Blindly.”
They’d definitely gotten over that while I’d been gone.
I sighed. “I don’t want a sidekic
k. Or a follower or a worshipper or whatever.” I bit my lip, wondering why I’d ever wanted that. But Cat was right: I had. Totally. “Truth is, I’d really just like one thing.”
Cat eyed me, but for the first time since I got home, not with contempt. “What?”
“A friend?”
Saturday came and went without a word from Zach. Not that I expected anything. If Shangri-La taught me anything, it was to keep my expectations low.
Like, at zero.
Social media lit up, though, with big news: the police had busted Kirk and his parents for the party. Even better, they’d busted Amber and Chelsea for vandalizing the Jeep and planting the drugs in it, for making false claims against me, and for possession.
They hadn’t charged them with being worthless human beings, but like Liz said, that would be piling on after the tackle.
Why Liz makes sports analogies to anyone in our family other than Dad is beyond me.
Although I not-so-secretly cheered the news about Amber and Chelsea, I had no idea how the cops had gone after them so quickly. And apparently, based on the gossip, with a ton of rock-solid evidence.
Sunday morning, as Cat and I both slumped over Mom’s questionable scrambled eggs after a long night spent watching old Star Wars movies and catching up, our doorbell rang.
Neither of us moved. No one moved.
Finally, with a loud sigh, Dad set down the sports section of the newspaper and groaned to his feet.
Half a minute later, he returned to the kitchen and pointed at me. Period.
Zach? Had he actually stopped by?
Before I’d even showered?
Damn!
I ran a hand through my hair, remembering too late that I no longer had enough of it to mess up, let alone snarl.
Still, I was wearing sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt and no bra. As my mind scrambled for traction and got none, Cat tossed one of Liz’s hoodies at me. I threw it on and zipped it all the way up to my neck.
Okay, not quite all the way. Maybe Zach wouldn’t notice my bare face if he saw a little skin, right?
Except that we’re talking Zach. Who’s impossible to read.
Finally, I stumbled to the front door. On a positive note, Dad had left it open. On a not-so-positive note, he hadn’t bothered to invite Zach inside.
“I’m so sorry you had to—”
My heart racing, I skidded to a halt when I looked outside. Zach wasn’t at the door.
Tess was.
After what she’d done to Cat last spring, no wonder Dad hadn’t let her in. But let’s get real: he probably wouldn’t have let Zach in, either.
Tess’s back was to me as she stared across the street, where Mr. Fogarty was outside, pushing his manual lawnmower around his yard and, based on his purple face, likely to have a coronary any minute. I groaned, psyching myself up to go over and mow it myself as soon as I got rid of Tess.
“Uh, Tess?” I paused, waiting for her to turn and face me. Finally, she did. From the look on her face, reluctantly. “What brings you here?”
She wasn’t wearing makeup, either, which was startling for Tess, who’d always tried to look perfect. Basically, like my sister Jane, even if Tess had gone back to her natural brown and wavy hair from her dyed version of Jane’s blond and straight.
She stared at me, obviously noting my lack of makeup, my slobby attire, and the fact that I maybe hadn’t washed my hair since Friday.
Actually, we looked pretty similar.
“I’m . . . sorry.”
I frowned. Had Tess done something to me, too? Shouldn’t people at least take turns?
“Sorry? Why?”
“A million reasons.” She laughed, but not really. Okay, that was like Tess. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
I was still holding the screen door open, which meant Mom would start shrieking at me any moment. Pulling our front door closed behind me, I stepped outside and plunked down on the steps. After a long pause, Tess sat next to me.
We’d been friends once. Close friends. Tess had always been the third wheel to the Lydia-and-Cat show, which had probably driven her crazy. No, based on the crap she pulled on Cat last spring, it had definitely driven Tess crazy. But the three of us had been tight. Super tight.
Before my life went all to hell.
Before Tess tried to send Cat’s life to hell right along with mine.
Still, we had been friends. Close, tight, share-everything-but-guys friends. So I didn’t just spit in her face and stomp back inside my house.
But, yeah, I was tempted.
Instead, I stretched out my legs and wiggled my toes and didn’t look at her. “Whatever it is, just say it. Even if you helped Amber and Chelsea with their little stunt Friday night. Believe me, nothing anyone does to me shocks me anymore.”
Not after a year dealing with the nasty pieces of work I met at Shangri-La.
Instead of answering, Tess gnawed on her lip. From the chewed-up, swollen redness of it, she must’ve spent the last twenty-four hours treating it the way a dog goes after a bone.
“Tess? Seriously. Tell me.”
I looked out at the street, finally realizing that her cherry-red Firebird wasn’t parked at the curb. God knows Tess wasn’t the type to bike. Or run. Or even walk.
She swallowed hard. Opened her mouth. Swallowed again. “I was a total jerk to Cat last year.”
I shrugged. “So I hear. But you should apologize to Cat for that, not me. I wasn’t even here.”
“If you’d been here, you would’ve taken me down even more fiercely than your sisters did.”
Hard to believe, since Liz was one of the sisters in question, but I nodded, acknowledging her compliment. If it was a compliment.
She waved a hand, almost as if erasing her remark. “Okay, I maybe deserved it. But it didn’t make me feel like stopping Chelsea and Amber when they went after you this semester. Including—” She straightened her spine, as if she was gearing up for battle. What battle? Not mine. “Friday night.”
Despite myself, my gut twisted when I remembered the broken glass and other damage to the Jeep. Not to mention the look of grim acceptance on Dad’s face when he assumed that, yeah, I had gotten caught with drugs.
But I didn’t say anything. What was there to say? The cops had caught Amber and Chelsea, but half the school would still think Lydia Bennet was guilty as hell. As always.
“But I turned them in.”
One of Tess’s feet tapped against the step so hard and so fast, it mesmerized me. So much so that I almost didn’t hear what she said.
I frowned. “You—”
“I turned them in.” She nodded. “They came upstairs from the basement at Kirk’s house, bitching about you. Loudly. Next thing I knew, Chelsea whispered something to Amber, and they both laughed and went out to Amber’s car together.”
Amber had her own car? Did everyone I know own a car? When I no longer had even a battered old Jeep to fight over?
“I mean, her mom’s car.” Maybe Tess did still know me. “I had a bad feeling, so I followed them. When they got some stuff out of the trunk and headed toward your Jeep, I slipped behind a tree across the street.” Tess looked at me, but her eyes didn’t meet mine. “You saw me there, but they didn’t.”
My jaw dropped. Tess and Amber had always been as tight as Cat and I used to be. Rule number one of friendship: no ratting your friend out, no matter what.
Okay, that’s actually rule number two. After no stealing your friend’s guy.
Tess was shaky, so I touched a hand to her arm. “Did you tell the cops what you saw?”
A tight nod. “I even shot a video and gave it to them. You know, just in case Amber’s dad tried to talk his way out of Amber getting busted.”
I almost laughed. Tess’s mom might not pay much attention to her, but she was the reigning queen of getting Tess out of trouble. Or she had been until the school suspended Tess last spring for what she’d done to Cat.
I gave her a soft smil
e. “Thanks.”
I almost said I owed her, but the debts were piled so high on both sides that I didn’t feel like adding another one to the pile.
She shook her head. “You didn’t deserve that.”
“No.” I hesitated a moment, then broke down and hugged her. To the extent her rigid spine allowed it. “But I sure hope college doesn’t suck this bad.”
She laughed, the sound more than a little rusty. “If we get in.”
“I guess we’d better start praying, huh?”
Her lips twitched. “I have a feeling prayers won’t be enough to help Amber and Chelsea.”
I offered her a high-five. “Works for me.”
Chapter 20
She began to comprehend that he was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her.
— Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume III, Chapter Eight
Monday morning, the whole school buzzed with the news of what Amber and Chelsea had done. Kirk got the usual cheers and slaps on the back for throwing a party wild enough to earn a police raid, but Amber and Chelsea were missing in action. If the rumors were true, they’d been suspended indefinitely with little hope of returning to school. Ever.
I should really tell them about this great school I knew in Montana.
Oh, wait. With any luck, I’d never see them again.
I walked into Speech Communications class, saw Drew sitting alone in the back of the room, and almost grabbed a desk in the front. He looked so sad, even though getting rid of Chelsea should make any rational guy wildly happy. After hesitating a beat, I headed to the back and sat next to him.
When he leaned toward me, reeking of cologne, I cursed myself.
“I’m sorry.”
That’s all. No flirty twinkle in his eye, no not-so-secret glance down my shirt, definitely no touching or panting or drooling.
I almost patted his arm, like I’d done with Tess yesterday, but I didn’t want to give him false hope. Okay, based on the kicked-puppy look on his face, that was pretty egotistical of me. But still. Drew had gone out with Chelsea until about two seconds ago, which had to be the definition of stupid.
