She's the Worst

by Lauren Spieller

  I dig my fingernails into my palms. It’s one thing to not give a shit about what happens to me, but it’s another to act like I’m the one who’s hurting this family. She’s the one who’s abandoning us. She’s the one who doesn’t care what it’ll be like for me, being on my own with Mom and Dad. I thought things were bad already, but at least Jenn’s presence keeps them from tearing each other’s heads off. Without Jenn here to stop them . . . who knows what’ll happen?

  She can’t do this. I won’t let her.

  The truth hits me so hard and fast that I almost gasp: no matter what it takes, my sister has to stay in LA. Yes, she’ll be sad for a while, but there are other great schools besides Stanford. Like UCLA or USC, both of which are within driving distance. Or, if she’s really set on Stanford, she could defer her enrollment and then go a year from now, once we have everything figured out. Once Mom and Dad are more stable, or they’ve hired someone to help out at the store. By then I’ll have already met the USC rep, and hopefully secured a soccer scholarship. But until then? She can’t go.

  I won’t let her.

  My phone buzzes in my bag, and I grab it like a lifeline. I’d rather talk to a telemarketer than Jenn right now. Luckily, it’s far better than a spam banking call. It’s a text message from Eric, asking what I’m doing. Thank goodness. I didn’t ruin things between us by texting about my fight with Jenn after all.

  I’m floating in a pink boat on the canals of Venice, I answer.

  His answer comes right away. Pics or it didn’t happen.

  I’m not exactly in the mood to take a selfie, but I don’t want to disappoint him, so I shake my hair out and then snap a photo. I check the picture, and immediately notice I’ve got a weird shadow on my face and my cheeks look flushed because of the reflection of the sunlight off the pink bird. I take another and check the picture again—much better.

  When I’m finished sending it to him, I look up to see Jenn shaking her head. “I don’t know why you bother talking to him.”

  “Who?” I ask.

  “Eric Randall. That’s who that was, right? He’s a jerk.”

  I shove my phone into my purse. Is there anything Jenn won’t criticize me about today? “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve only spoken to him once, and it was in the middle of the night.”

  Jenn pulls the oars out of the water and lets us float. “I don’t need to talk to him for hours to know he’s a jerk.” She smirks. “I just need to look at him.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I say. “And super judgmental.”

  “You’re calling me judgmental? April, you are one of the judgiest people I have ever met. You and Nate both are.” She smirks. “That’s why you’re perfect for each other.”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  “I’m not stupid. I’m very smart. Which is why you should listen to me when I tell you that Eric Randall is a jerk and you’re better off without him.” She dips the oars back into the water and mutters, “If you even have him in the first place.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m just saying, I know you’ve been sneaking him into your room—”

  “Which I’m sure you find totally inappropriate and immature, right?”

  “I don’t find it immature, but I do think it’s ill-advised. Are you guys even dating?”

  “No,” I snap. “Not yet. But that doesn’t mean we can’t hook up. What are you, a nun?”

  “No! I just don’t want you to get involved in something you can’t handle.”

  I yank one of the oars away from her. I’ll be less tempted to smack her if my hands are busy. “I can handle myself just fine. I don’t need you telling me what to do. Or your holier-than-thou bullshit advice on relationships.”

  “Maybe you do, since I’m the one with a boyfriend and you’re the one sending selfies to a guy who’s probably texting with half a dozen other girls.”

  My breath hitches. “That’s—that’s not true.”

  “I mean, I don’t know for sure,” Jenn says, backpedaling. “But he’s got a reputation for going out with a lot of girls at once and not telling them about it. You know that, right?”

  I squeeze the handle of the oar. “Those are just rumors. He likes me and I like him.”

  “But does he really like you?” Jenn asks quietly. “Or does he just like having sex with you?”

  My mouth drops open, and the oar slips into the water and falls off the boat. “Shit!”

  Jenn and I both lunge to grab it. Her shoulder collides with mine, throwing me off balance. I scream and grab at the side of the boat. But it’s too late—I tumble into the water.

  The canal is warm and murky, and my mouth floods with brackish water. I spit it out as I struggle to my feet. “What the hell!” I yell at Jenn.

  “I’m sorry!” she says. “I didn’t mean to!”

  I wade over to the side of the boat, and Jenn immediately scoots away from the edge, her face fearful.

  “Oh, please,” I say. “I’m not going to pull you in.”

  She nods, but I can tell she doesn’t really believe me, which makes me even more furious. If one of us should be suspicious of the other, it’s me.

  “Give me my purse,” I demand, and she hands it to me. Then I turn and start to wade the other way, back toward the bank of the canal. Nasty water drips down my curls into my face. I wipe it away, but it doesn’t do any good. I’m completely soaked.

  I hoist myself up onto the bank and stand, water pouring off of me. “I want to go home. I’ll meet you back at the car.”

  “Okay, but wait for me,” Jenn says, struggling to turn the boat around with just one oar. “I just have to . . .”

  But I don’t listen to the rest of what she says. She’s hurt me enough for one day.

  CHAPTER 10

  JENN

  I screwed up. I screwed up bad.

  I didn’t mean to hurt April’s feelings, and I definitely didn’t mean to knock her into the canal. I just wanted to help. She thinks I’m some kind of prude, but I don’t care if she has sex. That’s up to her. But I do care if she’s having sex with someone who doesn’t give a shit about her. I may have only spoken to Eric Randall once, but I already knew him by reputation, and one thing is very clear: He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. He didn’t care about Donna from our AP Bio lab, or Kristen from Homecoming, or Keisha from camp when we were fourteen. He’s a player, pure and simple, and my little sister deserves better than that. Everyone does.

  But that doesn’t mean what I said was okay. Not even a little bit. So as soon as I get back to the car, I’m going to apologize. But first I need to get this stupid bird back to its owner.

  I retrieve the lost paddle, which has luckily resurfaced, then turn myself back the way we came. But after a few minutes of paddling, I realize hurrying back to the car might be the wrong move. It might be a good idea to give April some time to cool—and dry—off.

  Instead, I rest the oars and text Tom for the fourth time this morning. I haven’t heard from him, but I’m trying not to worry. Sometimes he likes to take a walk in the morning to clear his head before he starts his day. Maybe he lost his phone along the way. Or maybe he forgot to charge it, and now it’s sitting forgotten by his bed, the screen lit up by my texts.

  But a voice in the back of my head has been whispering that something might be wrong, and now that I’m sitting alone in this boat, I can’t help but listen to it.

  I pick up my phone and dial. It rings once, and I settle in to wait, but instead the call abruptly goes to voicemail in the middle of the second ring.

  Hello, you have reached Thomas Albert. I can’t come to the phone right now—

  I hang up and try again, just in case the connection is bad, and the same thing happens. Except this time it rings twice. Hello, you have reached—

  A sinking feeling comes over me, and I drop my phone on the seat next to me. Everyone knows that when a phone only rings once or twice before abruptly going to voicemai
l it means the other person is screening their calls. My friend Katie calls it “hitting the fuck-you button.” But there must be another explanation. Bad service? Maybe it’s not a good time to talk? I look at my phone, resting quietly beside me, and wait for a text message to arrive saying he’ll call me back. But the seconds turn to minutes, and as I continue to row the boat back to the dock, a new possibility occurs to me.

  Is Tom mad at me?

  I pick up the oar and try to channel my worries into rowing. But I can’t help going over the problem in my head. Why would he be mad? We disagreed last night, but it was hardly worth giving me the silent treatment over. But he didn’t say “I love you” after you hung up last night, that voice whispers again. Maybe you did something and you just don’t know it.

  I reach the dock, haul myself out of the boat, and lock up the bird. There’s no sign of the owner, so I leave the key inside the boat then hurry back toward Venice Beach. I’m going to drop April off, then immediately go to Tom’s house. I might not even drop her off first. Maybe she can—

  My phone rings. I stop walking and scramble to answer it. “Tom?”

  “Um, no,” Katie says. “Not Tom.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Hi.”

  “Don’t sound so excited,” she says.

  “Sorry. I’ve just been trying to reach Tom all morning, and he’s not answering.”

  “Weird,” Katie says. “I’m sure he’s fine, though. Probably just busy packing or whatever. Which brings me to why I’m calling you. Actually—hold on. Shruthi wants me to put you on speaker.”

  There’s a shuffling noise, and then Shruthi’s voice comes through, clear and determined. “Katie and I have decided that you need a proper send-off before you leave for Stanford.”

  “We just had a party last week!” I say. “I don’t need another one.”

  “Not a party,” Katie says. “Lunch. Just the three of us. What do you think?”

  I bite my lip. Technically I agreed to have lunch with April, but it’s only eleven, and she did just say she wants to go home. But then I think about all the packing I still have to do, not to mention the fact that I still haven’t told my parents I’m leaving. “I don’t know, you guys, I have a lot to do today. . . .”

  “I told you she’d say no,” Katie mutters.

  “Jenn, please consider the facts,” Shruthi says. “You are leaving tomorrow, and will be gone for at least six months. We haven’t seen you since last week. Lunch is only going to take an hour, plus the ten minutes it will take to drive to and from your house to the restaurant, and you have to eat anyway—”

  “Fine, fine,” I say. “The defense rests! Stop lawyering me.”

  “Oh my gosh,” Katie says, “you should see how happy Shruthi looks right now.”

  “Shut up,” Shruthi says, laughing. She’s wanted to be a lawyer for as long as I’ve known her, and spends every free moment watching Law & Order reruns. I told her that show isn’t even real, but she insists it’s still based on case law. I also think she has a crush on the young cop with the good hair, but she won’t admit it.

  “When should we meet?” I ask. “And where?”

  “It has to be a little bit late,” Shruthi says. “I promised I’d take my sister to the mall at one o’clock to buy party favors.”

  “What is she getting?” Katie asks. “Candy?”

  “I wish,” Shruthi says. “She wants to hand out neon yellow fanny packs. I tried telling her they’re lame, but she said the nineties are back and I need to get with the program.”

  “Hold up,” I say. “Isn’t your sister turning, like, seven?”

  “Uh-huh. But she reads Teen Vogue when my mom isn’t looking.”

  “Focus!” Katie says. “How about In-N-Out at two? The one on Washington?”

  “Perfect,” I say. “See you guys then.”

  We hang up, and I immediately check to see if Tom texted me while I was on the phone.

  He didn’t, but Grandma did.

  Did you tell them yet, sweetheart? I don’t want to be a pain, but please don’t forget our agreement.

  I grip the phone so hard I almost drop it. Not yet, but I will!

  Okay. Let me know when it’s done, please.

  “Will do,” I mutter. Then I slip my phone into my bag and head back toward the beach.

  CHAPTER 11

  APRIL

  I squish my way toward the car, my waterlogged shoes leaving wet footprints on the sidewalk. I can’t believe Jenn expects me to give up soccer to work in the store even though she knows I hate it there. And all that bullshit about sacrificing for the family? Jenn’s never sacrificed a thing in her life. Mom and Dad would sooner lie down in the middle of the road than ask her to give up something that’s important to her.

  She also has no right to say Eric is only interested in me for sex. It’s true that we don’t talk a ton in person, but we text all the time. He says he misses me sometimes, and I hear from him almost every day. He also remembered my birthday last month without me having to tell him it was coming up, and he’s been hinting hard lately that he has something to tell me. It’s gotta be that he wants to be my boyfriend. What else could it be?

  The mural of Jim Morrison’s skinny chest comes into view up ahead, and my pace quickens. I want to go home, change my clothes, and forget today ever happened. Except when I get closer, I realize that’s not going to happen. Not any time soon, anyway. Because the car?

  It’s gone.

  I spin in a slow circle, as if maybe the car just moved a few spots away. A group of tourists pass, eyeing me like I’m some kind of sideshow. I know what they must be thinking—Look at that soaking-wet idiot who lost her car. That would never happen to me. I plop down on the curb. What am I going to do? If Jenn were here—

  No. I don’t need Jenn. I can handle this by myself. I unlock my phone. Normally, I would call Nate and ask him for help, but I have something better in mind.

  “Hi,” I say when Eric picks up. “Do me a huge favor?”

  • • •

  “We could have just called a Lyft, you know,” Jenn says for the second time. “Or Tom. He would be here by now.”

  I grit my teeth and continue to play games on my phone. “Eric said he’d be here in twenty minutes. It’s only been twenty-five. Just relax.”

  “Don’t tell me to—”

  A car honks. “Aww,” a voice calls, “I was hoping I’d get here before you dried off.”

  I smile and hop up. Eric is leaning out the window of his dad’s bright blue Audi. His blond hair looks almost white in the sun. I run over to the car. When I reach him, he whispers, “Can I kiss you in front of your sister?”

  I glance back at Jenn. She looks skeptical, like she’s not sure Eric is actually going to help us even though he drove all this way. I turn back to him and nod.

  He hooks his finger into the belt loop of my jeans and pulls me toward him. I bend over and he kisses me. It’s fast but deep, like he wants to have as much of me as he can while he can, and I shiver despite the sun on my back. When we part, he looks past me to Jenn. “Hey, Jennifer,” he calls. “Are you coming or should I send someone else to pick you up?”

  I swat at him. “Be nice.”

  He grins. “Nope.”

  Jenn comes over to the car. “Thank you for picking us up,” she says in her best polite-despite-your-rudeness voice. “Please take us to the impound lot on Lincoln and Ocean Park Boulevards. That’s where the car is.”

  He makes a mock-serious face and salutes her, and I’m reminded of Nate doing the same yesterday in the kitchen. Except when he did it, it didn’t feel sarcastic so much as playful. If he was here, he’d probably be extra nice to Jenn even though she’s the one who chose the dumb not-a-parking-spot that got the car towed in the first place. He insists she’s not that bad once you get to know her, like working with her at the antique store has given him insight into my sister that I’ve somehow just missed during the sixteen years I’ve lived with her. It’s swee
t that he can see the best in everybody, though. It’s one of my favorite things about him.

  Jenn and I climb in, and Eric starts the car. “Ready for the best part?” He pushes a button on the dash, and the roof starts to move.

  “I didn’t know this was a convertible!”

  “Of course it is,” Jenn mumbles from the back. I turn around in my seat to face her. “This is Eric’s dad’s car,” I say meaningfully. “Isn’t it nice that he let Eric borrow it, especially at the last minute?”

  She purses her lips. “Yes. Very nice.”

  Satisfied, I turn back around. Eric reaches over and laces his fingers through mine and starts to drive. But the moment he takes a turn, Jenn leans forward.

  “This isn’t the way to Lincoln Boulevard,” she says.

  “We’re taking the freeway to get there,” Eric explains. “There was an accident, so the streets are practically a parking lot. Plus, sitting in traffic in a convertible is lame. You’ll just get hot baking in the sun. Trust me.”

  Jenn sits back. “Fine, but please don’t speed. The last thing I need is to have this thing flip and kill us all.”

  I cringe, but Eric laughs. “You’re the boss.”

  Eric navigates the car onto the freeway, and soon we’re heading east. We turn on the radio and KROQ blasts out of the speakers. Eric lets out a whoop that’s immediately swept away by the wind, then grabs my hand and kisses it, sending a rush of warmth through me. This is what I like about Eric. When I’m with him, I don’t have to think about what’s going on with my family, or school, or anything else. I can just get swept up in his world and how good it feels to be wanted.

  “Put your hands up!” he calls over the radio. I disentangle my fingers from his and reach up into the wind. Someday I want to have a convertible, and since it never rains in LA, I won’t ever have to put the top up. I’ll drive around like this all the time, carefree and alive like Eric. And maybe he’ll even be there by my side, just like he is now.

  Something touches my stomach, and I jerk my arms back down. Eric’s warm hand is on my side, just underneath my shirt. I push him away. “Not in front of my sister.”