The Catastrophic History of You And Me

by Jess Rothenberg

  Instead, I hopped up onto the counter and started kicking my feet against one of the bottom cabinets. Just loud enough that Dad looked up. When his eyes met mine, he smiled. Came over and gave me a big kiss on the forehead.

  “Evening, Miss Mozzarella.”

  I pulled away.

  Nice try.

  He looked confused and a little hurt at my chilly attitude. “What’s the matter?” He glanced at Mom. “Uh-oh. Do I detect boy trouble?”

  Oh, don’t you DARE go there. Don’t you even dare.

  She shook her head, rustling through the fridge. “Not sure, hon. She’s definitely acting a little strange tonight, though.”

  I did my absolute best impression of a Rebellious Teenager. “Am not.” I glared at Dad, angry at him in advance for what I knew he would eventually do to our family.

  And then the doorbell rang.

  I looked up and suddenly felt afraid.

  Mom made a move toward the hallway.

  No. Please don’t answer it.

  “I’ll see who it is!” I heard Jack tear through the living room over to the front door. “Cheddy!” he yelled. “It’s Jaaaaaaacob!”

  “I don’t think I should go,” I blurted out, feeling completely barfalicious. “I’ve got, um, too much homework.”

  Mom and Dad both looked as if I’d sprouted a third eyeball. “Honey, you’ve been talking nonstop about this date for the last week,” Mom said. “You’ll have a great time.”

  Um, not exactly.

  But then something came over me. My arms and legs started moving without me moving them, as if I’d turned into some remote-controlled gadget. I couldn’t stop myself from jumping off the counter. I couldn’t stop myself from moving through the living room, toward the front door.

  “No, no, no, no,” I whispered. I could see a familiar shadow through the pale linen curtains. He was standing on the front porch. Somebody I’d never expected to see again. Even in shadow-form, I could see him fidgeting. I could tell that he was nervous. Like maybe he didn’t want to go through with our date.

  I didn’t blame him.

  My hand touched the doorknob.

  Stop it.

  Slowly began to turn.

  Please, no. I want to stay.

  But when I finally pulled the door open—no matter how hard I tried to fight the feeling—I couldn’t help my breath from catching.

  His eyes were like the ocean.

  Right before a storm.

  CHAPTER 45

  how to save a life

  We drove to the restaurant in silence. The whole ride was so surreal I literally had to keep pinching myself to believe it was actually happening.

  I’m in his car.

  PINCH.

  Like actually In His Car.

  PINCH.

  He’s there. And I’m here. And we are here, together, in his car.

  PINCHPINCHPINCH.

  “Ow!” I yelped. That last pinch had been a little over the top.

  Jacob gave me a funny look. “You okay?”

  I nodded nervously. “Mm-hm. Totally good.”

  Except for the small fact that I was totally lying. My palms were sweaty, my heart was racing, my feet were tapping, and . . . I’m pretty sure my eye was twitching.

  “You sure? You seem weird.” He cleared his throat and darted a couple of glances at me as we drove toward Pasta Moon.

  I tried to steady myself. I knew what was coming, and I was scared.

  My one chance. My only chance. What if I say the wrong thing? What if he doesn’t want to hear it from me?

  I watched him carefully, noticing all the details I hadn’t noticed the first time around. Like the way he kept clearing his throat. The way he kept fumbling with the radio. The way he could barely even look at me. Finally, we pulled into the parking lot, found a spot, and walked into the restaurant. He didn’t hold my hand.

  The hostess led us to our table and I took the same seat as always, right in the corner of the room, where we had a view of the entire restaurant. We ordered some drinks and appetizers—fried calamari and mozzarella sticks, but I was so nervous I could hardly eat a bite.

  I wasn’t the only one.

  Jacob was shakier than I’d ever seen him. He made a total mess of himself, spilling balsamic vinegar all over his shirt and getting more marinara sauce on the table than in his mouth. When our main courses finally arrived, I watched him push his shrimp linguini around his plate for a full ten minutes before he finally spoke.

  “Brie?”

  Here it comes.

  “Yeah?”

  “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  I stared at him, not saying a word.

  His voice wavered and I could see the fear growing in his eyes. Watching this scene play out for the second time, it was incredibly obvious he’d been afraid to hurt me.

  But there was more to it now—a whole other side to his fear that I hadn’t noticed the first time around.

  As I saw him twirl one nervous bite of pasta after the other, I couldn’t help but wonder if Sadie already knew the secret he had planned to confess to me over dinner.

  Something told me the answer was yes.

  And honestly, that’s what hurt most of all. Knowing that Jacob, one of my best friends in the whole world, had not been able to confide in me.

  Because my old stupid heart had gotten in the way before he’d been able to get the words out.

  Well, not this time. Tonight was not about me. It was about him.

  And this time, I was going to listen.

  Who knew if there was anything I could do or say to change the future or the past. Larkin hadn’t been able to revise her history for the better. And clearly, neither had Patrick.

  But I still had to try.

  I reached across the table and put my hand on his. “What is it?” I asked quietly. “What’s going on with you?”

  He looked up at me, his hand cold and clammy, and I could almost see words hanging there like smoke.

  “Huh?” he said. “What do you mean?”

  I stared into his eyes and tried to focus. Tried to let him know everything would be all right. That he was safe.

  It’s okay. You can tell me.

  He paused for a long moment. His face had started to turn red and I could see his palms begin to shake. “Brie?”

  “Jacob?”

  Here it comes. Here it is.

  “I don’t love you.”

  I closed my eyes, letting the words wash over me. They hurt, but not in the same way I remembered. This time, it was more of a bittersweet ache than a crushing blow.

  I felt myself relax as I realized that, in fact, the world hadn’t ended.

  I opened my eyes.

  “I mean,” he caught himself, “I do love you. I really, really do. Just not . . . not the way you think.” He looked down at his plate. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m not in love with you.”

  I took a deep breath and did my absolute best to get the words right. The way they should have been the first time around.

  “I know, Jacob. It’s okay. I’m not in love with you either.”

  His eyes widened in shock. “What?”

  “Just that. Just what you said. I’m not in love with you either.”

  “I don’t get it.” He was staring at me like I’d suddenly started speaking Japanese. “Is there somebody else?”

  “Yeah,” I said, unable to hide my smile. “There is.”

  For a minute, he wouldn’t look at me.

  “Hey?” I leaned in closer. “You okay?” I lifted his chin softly with my hand.

  Our eyes met; I saw that he was on the brink of tears.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I ruined everything.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “You didn’t.”

  “I’m a horrible person.”

  “You’re not.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I do.” I squeezed his hand. “You can tell me anythi
ng. I’m your friend. I’ll always be your friend.”

  He sniffled and wiped his face with his napkin. “I don’t know how to say it.”

  “Say it however you want to say it.”

  He lowered his head, gazing down at his sneakers to gather his courage. “I think . . . I think I might be gay.”

  Then I did something I should’ve done a long time ago.

  I scooted my chair back across the tiled floor. I made my way to his side of the table, sat down next to him, and put my arm around his shoulder. “I’m really glad you told me.”

  He shook his head a few times like he didn’t believe me. Or like he didn’t understand. “You are? Really?”

  I nodded. “Really.”

  “You mean . . . you don’t hate me?”

  “Well . . .” I did my best to sound annoyed. “Maybe a little.”

  His face grew worried. “Oh.” He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “That makes sense. I’ll go—”

  I grabbed his arm and gave him a smile. “I mean, seriously! You ate the last bite of your pasta without even offering any to me.”

  He looked at his empty plate, confused. Finally, he let out a big laugh. “Okay, you got me. Good one.”

  I giggled. “Buy me a Frosty after this and we’ll call it even.”

  His blue eyes met mine and I saw how grateful he was. And how relieved.

  “Thanks, Brie.” He leaned over, kissed me on the cheek, and flopped back down next to me with a giant sigh of relief. “I’ve been so afraid to tell you. I was positive you’d never talk to me again. That you’d hate me forever.”

  I shook my head. “Not possible.”

  He smiled and took my hand in his. “You really are the best girlfriend ever.”

  “No,” I said softly, the memory of Patrick creeping in. “I’m not.”

  Right then, a sudden pain shot through my chest and I fell back against my chair.

  Wait. No. What’s happening? This isn’t supposed to happen.

  I felt my heart beginning to race out of control.

  But I fixed it. I did things differently this time!

  “Brie?” Jacob’s voice grew worried. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  Out of nowhere, the pain became so intense I could hardly speak. My vision went blurry and the restaurant began to turn a squeamish black. Strange voices began to echo all around me—like the beach at Angel Island—and I felt his hands on my shoulders, trying to call me back.

  “Brie?” Jacob cried. “Tell me what to do. What the hell should I do?!”

  “Be yourself,” I whispered, squeezing his hand one more time. “Just be yourself.” Another stabbing, searing pain ripped through me, and Patrick’s face flashed through my mind.

  Don’t you know I love you? Don’t you know I’ve always loved you?

  In an instant, the whole world went quiet.

  I opened my eyes.

  The restaurant was gone.

  Instead, I was standing in a lush green field right on the edge of the highway, overlooking the breezy, sparkly ocean. The sun was shining directly overhead, warming my shoulders, and the sky was the bluest I’d ever seen—only two or three cotton-ball clouds as far as the horizon.

  A perfect summer day.

  What is all this?

  Was I back in my slice of heaven? I had to be. A day this beautiful couldn’t possibly exist in real life.

  “Angel?” a guy’s voice called out from behind me. “Your chariot awaits.”

  I turned slowly and saw a boy sitting on a beat-up, well-loved motorcycle. I recognized his short, chestnut hair. That worn-out gray T-shirt. The soft, faded leather jacket.

  “Hiiiighwaaaay to the daaanger zone,” Patrick sang, miming an electric guitar. Then he tried to rev up the engine, but a cloud of smoke shot out of the muffler, engulfing him. “Shoot,” he coughed, waving the air clean. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  I burst out laughing. “I hope you don’t think I’m getting on that thing. Because I’m definitely not!”

  “Come on, lil’ lady,” he said. “Just once down the highway. You’ll love it!”

  Lil’ lady.

  Then I got it. Lil’ for Lily.

  He smiled and his eyes crinkled a little at the edges. Oh, that smile. I felt myself beginning to cave.

  “No,” I said. “Nuh-uh. No way. I refuse to set foot on that death-mobile.”

  “Come on,” he said, spotting his chance. “Just one ride and I’ll buy you a milk shake.”

  “What do you think, you can bribe me?” I shook my head. “Not going to work.”

  “On second thought”—his eyes twinkled—“I’ll buy you a Frosty.”

  That was all I could take. Talk about a pushover.

  I ran over and threw my arms around him, laughing. I pulled away and looked straight into his eyes—more green today than brown—and gave him a kiss right on the nose.

  “Oh, all right,” I said. “I’ll ride down the highway once. But that’s it!”

  He beamed. “You won’t regret it, Angel.” He handed me a small black helmet, and I jumped on board, wrapping my arms around his waist as tightly as I could.

  “You’d better go slow, Patrick Darling. Or else.”

  “Or else what?” he teased.

  I teased him right back. “Or else I’ll find a new boyfriend.”

  He turned and looked at me over his shoulder, flashing the most adorable grin ever. “Sorry, Angel. I’m not letting you get away that easy.” Then he kick-started the engine, and I felt the bike come to life beneath me, lurching forward.

  “Slow!” I yelled, smacking him. “I’m serious!”

  But before long, as we began to pick up speed, I felt myself starting to relax. I felt my shoulders loosen, and allowed myself to close my eyes and imagine that we were flying. The mix of sunshine and ocean air was completely intoxicating. I leaned in and kissed Patrick between the shoulder blades, feeling like the luckiest girl in the whole world.

  Because in that instant, I was.

  I’d gotten the best of both worlds. I’d gone back and fixed things in one life so Jacob would be okay. And now I’d get to be the girl I was born to be, holding the boy I was born to love.

  But then I had a thought.

  The sunshine. The air. The ocean road, stretching along for miles and miles. The storm clouds moving in from the north.

  Wait a second.

  My eyes flew open.

  Please, not storm clouds.

  But there they were. They’d quietly snuck in over the mountains, ominous and gray, looming over us like monsters.

  Just like in my nightmare.

  No. Please, god, no.

  The truth washed over me like a ton of crushing steel. I had been foolish to think I could get away with reliving just one death.

  Because I had lived twice.

  “Patrick!” I cried out over the rush of the wind. “Turn around! We’ve got to go back!”

  “What?” he shouted. “I can’t hear you!” He turned toward me for a fraction of a second, trying to understand what I was saying.

  Unfortunately, one second was all it took.

  I heard the blare of a horn and the sound of screeching tires before I saw the van hurtling toward us across the median. I felt my blood freeze inside my veins as I watched the whole world crash into us in slow motion. A storm of glass and heat and metal on fire as the bike was torn out from under me.

  And then I was flying through the air, the smell of the bike’s burning fuel, and my burning hair, and our burning dreams.

  “Angel,” I heard him call to me from a thousand miles away. “Where are you? Please don’t go.”

  As the burning slid over my mouth and around my throat—as I braced myself for the end—my thoughts turned back to Patrick’s list of words.

  To the very last word he had written down.

  Acceptance

  I saw Larkin’s blade flash in the moonlight, inches from my skin.

  “. .
. ashes to ashes . . .”

  Please.

  “. . . dust to dust . . .”

  No, please, stop.

  “. . . give her peace . . .”

  I saw the lightning strike down hard into the only thing I’d had left. My heart.

  My soul.

  I felt the old wall of flame shoot through me and I cried out, begging for the end—begging for someone to please, please make it stop.

  Then, from somewhere far off in the distance, a shrill, terrible siren began to wail. Louder and louder and louder until it became so intense I thought my eardrums might explode.

  Until I felt someone’s hands wrap around mine. A lifeboat sent to rescue me from the searing, mind-numbing heat.

  Warm, safe, familiar hands.

  Once again, I opened my eyes.

  Dad.

  He was crying. “You’re going to be all right, kiddo. You’re going to be all right.”

  I could hear the ambulance blasting its shrill WARNING-WARNING! as we sped through the streets of San Francisco. I could see the fear in my dad’s eyes, and hear the urgency in the driver’s voice as it crackled over the radio, letting the hospital know we were on our way.

  Female. Fifteen. Acute stress cardiomyopathy.

  “Dad?”

  “I’m here, Brie. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I’d been so angry with him for so long. So incredibly angry. The thought of him picking another family over ours broke my heart all over again. It broke for Mom and Dad and Jack and Hamloaf and me; for everything we’d ever been and everything we were going to be.

  But staring up at him from the back of the ambulance, I had a better sense of why he had done what he did. I still didn’t like it—I still didn’t agree with it—but thanks to Larkin, I finally understood.

  Sometimes remembering hurts too much.

  Seeing my dad like this—seeing how much he cared, and how much he loved me, regardless of the mistakes he had made—I couldn’t help but to forgive him. To forgive him for not being perfect.

  Because really, who is?

  I decided then that if I deserved a second chance, so did he.

  I squeezed his hand back as best I could. Felt a final tear roll its way down my cheek, landing right along the groove of my collarbone. And as the beeping of my heart monitor began to fade, I looked into my father’s eyes and dared to make one last wish. I knew it probably couldn’t change anything.