Cassidy and Gemma spot us right away.
“You made it!” Cassidy exclaims, brushing a strand of hair from her shiny forehead. She’s swaying a little, and I don’t think it’s because of the music.
I can feel Gemma staring at my Spider-Man shirt like she’s trying to understand why I’m wearing it. Eventually her eyes find mine. “I like your hair today,” she says.
I laugh and glance at Emery, but Gemma’s attention has already moved on to someone else. Pretty soon she and Cassidy are talking rapidly to some other girls about people I don’t know.
Someone must have lost the Xbox gunfight because there’s a series of angry groans near the television. The girl with the guitar starts singing another song. I feel painfully out of place.
Emery says something next to me, but I can’t hear it over all the noise.
“Do you want a drink?” she repeats, louder this time.
I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
“I’ll be right back,” she says, and as soon as she disappears into the next room, I feel like someone has yanked my social crutch out from under my arm. I’m floundering. All I can think about is Emery coming back so I can have someone to hide behind.
I look back at Cassidy and Gemma, but they’re still deep in conversation. I feel weird just standing there listening. Do other people do that? Move from circle to circle, socializing with everyone like they all know each other? It seems invasive. I don’t know the rules.
I want to leave. I don’t belong here. But I can’t go home—Uncle Max is probably still there, eating dinner at our family table, talking to everyone like he’s the favorite relative they’ve all been missing. It’s making me feel so distracted. Thinking of him being so close to my family makes me feel like he’s too close to me.
I wish Mom would make him stay away for good.
I feel myself still looking around anxiously for Emery. I need my friend right now.
I realize it’s probably been only a matter of seconds since she left, but it honestly feels like hours. I don’t think I can stay here all night. Not with everything closing in on me because there are literally people everywhere who I don’t know and they are having such a good time and, oh my God, what am I doing here?
I spin around toward the door, but before I reach the handle, a voice stops me.
“Kiko?”
It’s a smooth voice. A sweet voice. Like a glass bell or melted caramel. And it knows my name.
My stomach feels light and foreign. I know this voice. I know bells and caramel. I remember the way he says my name.
I’ve never forgotten.
CHAPTER FIVE
Iturn around. Even though he’s shot up by at least a foot and his skin looks baked by the sun, I know it’s Jamie Merrick. With scruffy dark hair that hangs above two aquamarine eyes, a sturdy runner’s build, and a partially unbuttoned shirt that’s drawing attention to the area between his neck and chest, he’s completely different from the way I remember him and exactly the same all at once.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi,” he says.
It feels like two comets have just collided headfirst into each other, and the aftershock of two hundred earthquakes rolls through my chest.
I’m not listening to the guitar cover songs or the video game explosions or the plastic bounce of Ping-Pong balls leaping from the table. I’m staring up at him like I haven’t seen him in years.
Actually, I haven’t seen him in years. Just in my daydreams, and in the handful of blurry photographs from Taro’s eleventh birthday party. I stole all the ones of Jamie from a box in Mom’s closet because I didn’t think she’d miss them, and also because I’m the one who was always in love with Jamie. I deserved them.
“You got taller,” he says with a harmless smile.
“You too,” I reply, but it comes out in more of a harsh whisper.
Jamie looks at his drink. After a pause, he asks, “How’s Taro? Is he here with you?”
My heart plummets. Of course he would ask about my brother. I’ve never been just Kiko—I’m Taro’s sister, or Emery’s friend, or Angelina’s daughter, or the weird girl from government class.
“He’s not here,” I say. “But he’s fine.” At least I think he is. Taro and I don’t usually talk unless we’re arguing about something, but I don’t tell Jamie that. If he remembers me at all, he’d remember my relationship with my brothers.
Jamie raises his brow. “I hope he’s being nicer to you these days. I still remember that time you punched him right in the face. Over a song, wasn’t it?”
I feel my face flush with an overwhelming amount of heat. He remembers. “I punched him because he wouldn’t stop turning off my stereo,” I correct nervously.
“You broke his glasses.”
“Yeah. I did.”
We both laugh at the same time. His laugh is soft and gentle, while mine is awkward and loud.
I quickly clear my throat, and my cheeks darken.
“I thought you moved to California,” I say. “I mean, I know you did. But I didn’t know you were back in town. I mean, obviously, because we haven’t talked in years.” God, Kiko, stop talking.
He shifts his feet and taps his finger against his cup. “I’m back visiting family. My semester ended last week, so I’m already on my summer vacation.”
“Oh, right. That’s cool.”
It goes quiet.
I have a million questions in my head I want to ask him. What have you been doing for the last eight years? What are you majoring in at college? What’s California like? Have you thought about me at all? But I don’t ask any of them. I just stare up at him like I wish he would do all the talking.
But he doesn’t seem interested—he seems like he’s in a hurry.
He holds up his cup. “I’m going to get something to drink. Do you want anything?”
I stare at the shiny red plastic. “No thanks. I don’t drink alcohol.”
There’s a glimmer in his eyes, and when he leans closer to me I can smell his aftershave. He smells like ocean and sandalwood, even though we’re miles away from any coastline. It makes my limbs feel like licorice. “I don’t either. I’m on Sprite, but don’t tell anyone. Otherwise they’ll spend the rest of the night trying to get me to do shots.” His laugh is deep and has sort of a hiccup at the end, but in the cutest way imaginable. I bet even guys secretly find him charming. He’s like Captain America and Batman had a baby—he’s polite, and cool, and mysterious all at once.
He holds up his cup again like he’s giving me one last chance to make any requests. I shake my head, but as soon as he turns for the kitchen I realize now he doesn’t have a reason to come back.
You should have taken a stupid drink, Kiko. God.
Jamie doesn’t come back.
But Emery does, and she’s holding two red plastic cups. She forces one into my hand. “It’s soda. Even if you don’t drink it, it’ll make you feel more comfortable holding it. Trust me.”
Strangely enough, it doesn’t take me long to realize she’s right. The red cup is like magic—I feel like I blend in more. I feel like I look like everyone else. I feel normal.
But then I see Jamie again. He’s in the dining room, walking toward the sliding glass doors, with two girls in ankle boots and cutoff shorts. He looks right at me, maybe because he wasn’t expecting me to be looking back, and as soon as our eyes click together, he hesitates. He looks at me with something I don’t understand—something that makes me feel small.
When he disappears into the backyard with the two girls, it occurs to me his priorities at a house party might not revolve around reconnecting with his strange childhood friend.
And just like that, I feel out of place all over again.
I don’t tell Emery about Jamie. I was going to, when less people were around. But the way he looked at me makes me want to keep it a secret. He looked at me like I shouldn’t be here, and now I feel like he’s right.
Emery tries to help, bringi
ng me into random conversations now and then, but she mostly lets me blend in beside her as best as I can.
I don’t know how to act at a party, or where I’m supposed to plant myself to stay out of the way of constant traffic. When Emery says she has to go to the bathroom, I find a space in the living room, pretend to melt into the wall, and wish I had the legs and self-esteem to pull off ankle boots and cutoff shorts.
“Kelly!” Adam Walker’s hands are spread wide like he’s about to give me a bear hug. He doesn’t follow through with it, maybe because I glue myself to the wall, or maybe because he’s really drunk and forgot what he was doing.
He leans next to me, his breath sour and smoky all at once. “You having a good time?” he slurs.
I want to tell him my name isn’t Kelly, but to be honest I don’t really care. I feel like my energy is rapidly depleting. I’m thinking about Uncle Max, and being socially awkward, and how Jamie looked at me like he was making a conscious decision to avoid me. It’s draining thinking about so many things all at once, and even more draining to be around so many people. I don’t know how other people do it—don’t they ever feel like they need to recharge? Doesn’t talking to people for so long wear them out?
Adam is still waiting for an answer. I decide he’s drunk enough that I don’t have to lie in order to preserve anyone’s feelings. “Not really.” I shrug.
He tilts his head back and groans. “I know, right?” He drags out each word like his speech has become slow motion. “There aren’t even any girls here.”
I look around. There are literally girls everywhere. Pretty ones, too, and they all look like their wardrobes came straight out of an episode of The Vampire Diaries.
When I look back at Adam, he’s staring across the room. Caitlyn is leaning against the wall, her face buried in Marc’s neck, and his fingers are hooked through the belt loops on her shorts. Something tells me Adam was expecting the night to go a different way.
Blinking back to life, he looks around at the floor and then at his hands. “Oh, man. Where did I put my drink?” He looks at me like I should know, and then he’s smiling. I feel like he thinks we’re sharing a secret, except I have no idea what that secret is supposed to be. “So you’re friends with Emery, huh?”
I nod.
“How come I never see you at any other parties?” He grins in a way that I guess is supposed to be charming, but his eyes are so glassy and tired that I can’t see what any of the other girls at school seem to.
“I don’t really like being around so many people. I find it kind of overwhelming,” I say truthfully. It’s surprisingly therapeutic talking to someone so drunk.
Adam pushes his mouth forward like he’s sneering and nods. “I get that. It gets boring after a while, the same old thing. It’s just, like, every day is the same and it never changes.”
I’m not sure he got me at all, but his loopy train of thought makes me smile.
He notices. “You’re different. I like that.”
Different. The word makes me feel jittery and nervous, like there’s suddenly a spotlight glaring down on me, announcing to the entire room that I’m not like everyone else. It doesn’t matter how many red cups I hold—I’ll always be different.
“Thanks,” I say, my arms tightening into my rib cage. Do people always get so overfamiliar when they drink?
I look around again for Emery. What’s taking her so long?
“Are you waiting for someone?” he asks.
“Just Emery.”
“I’m pretty sure she’s out back.” He throws his thumb over his shoulder, even though the backyard is in the opposite direction. “Do you smoke?”
“No. I don’t drink either,” I say, cringing. I don’t know why I just admitted out loud how completely unfit I am for a house party. I guess I don’t know what else to say. Because I’m not the cool, carefree, fun person who plays beer pong and dances to all the songs on the radio. I don’t know the right words to say to sound cool, because “being cool” does not fall within my skill set.
I shift my weight to my other leg, my eyes still scanning the room for Emery. She’s trying to enjoy the party—I should just go. I don’t want to ruin her night by making her feel like she has to keep checking up on me.
Adam nods too slowly, like it’s too difficult to comprehend everything I’m saying. “I want to show you something.” He grabs my hand and pulls me away from the wall. “You’ll like it. I promise.”
We turn down the hall and into one of the rooms. I try to pull my wrist away. “I don’t think we’re supposed to go in here.”
But he pulls back insistently. “It’s cool. It’s cool.”
It doesn’t feel cool—it feels intrusive and like I’m going to get yelled at by the owner at any minute for being in their bedroom and oh my God why are we in a bedroom?
All my joints go stiff, like they’ve been fused together with liquid iron. Every part of me wants to object to this—especially when he closes the door—but I am paralyzed with the fear of making Adam uncomfortable. Confrontation of any kind is my nightmare.
He flicks the switch on the wall, and a rainbow-colored chandelier made of uneven pieces of sea glass lights up the room. An unlit candle near the door makes the room smell like lilac. It itches my nose and reminds me of my grandma’s house. Maybe I should tell Adam about my grandma—how she lives with three cats and how she once tried to feed me a can of crushed sardines and fed the cats macaroni and cheese. I think maybe it will distract him enough to make him let go of my arm. Maybe it will even make him forget why he brought me in here in the first place.
Adam wanders to the side of the bed, pulling me along behind him like a mindless puppet, and shuffles his hand around the end table.
“This room smells like my grandma’s house,” I start, but Adam turns to me and waves a remote control in my face.
“Do you like Family Guy?” he asks, turning the mounted television on, releasing my hand, and throwing himself onto the patchwork bed. He pats at the space next to him. His eyes are half closed, like he’s about to fall asleep.
My eyes dart from the edge of the bed, to the flashing images on the TV, to the door separating us from a herd of loud strangers. And Jamie Merrick.
But Jamie is with his friends, and his friends are the strangers that are giving me an anxiety attack.
I sit on the bed, a foot away from Adam, with my feet dangling over the edge.
Only ten minutes pass before Adam starts to snore. I contemplate leaving, but with Adam asleep, I almost feel alone. Alone is good. Alone feels safe.
Something else is on TV that isn’t familiar or particularly funny, so I look for the remote. It’s still in his hand, draped across part of the mattress like a body part on a mannequin.
Adam’s chest rises and falls, and there’s a deep rumble starting in the back of his nose.
I reach across him; I’m sure I can grab the controller without waking him. Just as my fingers clutch around the plastic, his eyes open and his hand closes around my wrist.
Startled, I pull back, but his body lifts toward mine like we’re magnetized somehow.
His eyes are heavy and bloodshot. The night has weakened the product in his hair, so the blond waves have gone wild and soft. When he opens his mouth, he smells sour.
“Has anyone ever told you that you look kind of like Princess Jasmine?” He grins—the grin that is supposed to be charming but isn’t. “I don’t know why I never noticed before. You’re really pretty, you know that?”
His words trigger something.
I am eight years old.
The oxygen empties from the room. My eyes won’t focus on anything for very long. They jump from faded paint on the wall to frayed edges on the quilt cover to a David Letterman bobble-head on top of a stack of magazines, on top of an old record player.
Adam runs his fingers along my arm. My mouth is twitching.
There are stars on the ceiling.
My eyes search more of the room.
Keep looking around. Keep thinking.
The blinds are bent in the left corner. There’s a half-empty container of orange Tic Tacs on the nightstand. An unopened package of peppermint candy next to it. A receipt behind the trash can.
He’s closer to me now. His breath makes my eyes water.
I want to reach for my stuffed rabbit, but I’m frozen.
I’m frozen now, too. I can’t move. I can only think.
Think. Think. Wrappers. Blinds. Triggers. Bed.
Oh. The bed.
The stars shake, the rabbit shakes, the bed shakes.
I’m remembering what I don’t want to.
I need to keep thinking about anything but the bed.
Adam puts his lips against mine. I feel sick. It feels sick. He tastes like ash and rotten fruit. He’s trying to shove his fat, slobbery tongue into my mouth, but I pin my lips shut because I don’t want to do this at all.
But why can’t I move?
Everything is shaking but me.
My breathing quickens, and Adam mistakes it for enjoyment. He grinds his teeth against me like we’re supposed to mold together, but it feels like two pieces of metal that are shaped all wrong for each other. His fingers close against my head like he’s squeezing my skull. Is kissing supposed to feel this aggressive?
I don’t know, because I’ve never been kissed before.
I’m too scared. Everything is shaking and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
I’m too scared to move. I’m scared of the embarrassment. I’m scared of what acknowledging any of this says about me. I feel completely out of control, and my body feels like it’s made out of lead. I don’t know how to change this.
I’ve felt like this before.
I melt into myself, my limbs stiff and my mouth closed, and when Adam is finished trying to smother me with his alcohol breath, I watch him lean away from me.
“Man, I’m so hungry right now.” He half chuckles and stares off into space, probably imagining a sandwich. He lets himself fall back to the bed, our magnetic pull severed.
Starfish Page 3