Xander turns down the music and starts telling Greg some story he’s read about a sixteen-year-old who’s changing the world—she’s fighting for women’s rights and was nominated for, but didn’t win, a Nobel Peace Prize.
Callie says quietly to me so they can’t hear in the front, “It seems impossible to be sixteen and doing something so amazing.”
I say, “Why do you say stuff like that?”
“I just look at the world and figure I can’t—”
“You need to unlock your potential.” I wonder if she’d be interested in some of my favourite podcasts.
She says, “I’m just so … stuck in my ways. I’m trying.” She adds, “Do I just chuck the cigarette butt out the window?”
“You’re picking up trashy habits from me.”
She giggles. “I’m trying to.”
Greg says, “What are you two whispering about?”
“Girl stuff,” I say.
“Tell us. We love that.”
I say, “I bet you do.”
Callie
We drive until the city is far behind us, and then turn up a long gravel road that trails into a cluster of trees surrounded by barns and silos. The sound of grit spraying up silences our chatter.
As I step outside the car, I can’t help but notice the fresh, warm prairie air. Although it’s past nine thirty when we arrive, the sky is alive with the setting sun: purples and pinks, oranges and blues. A line bursts into my head: When the sky is laid bare, put a hand on my skin, let me in, let me in.
Ivy grabs me. “See. Fun.” She moves away to look at the gigantic house. Our city doesn’t have a lot of houses as fancy as this and I’ve never been inside one like it before. I’m whirly-happy-dizzy from the cigarettes and the buzz of being here. Wow, my life just keeps looking up.
Kurt’s there, slapping Xander on the back, saying a cheerful hello to Ivy, the other guy and me. His eyes fix on mine and I try to read his expression. Ivy tilts her face up and he bends to kiss her. It’s a quick kiss, but I see her hand slip round his neck, comfortable and sexy. With shocking force, I wish for that kiss. I make a vow to myself: I need to find someone to kiss me like that. Maybe this party is the place to do it.
The house is full of people who are drinking and laughing and dancing. The entranceway is bigger than my whole downstairs floor at home, and it has a grand staircase leading up each side. The walls are papered gold and silver. There are a few large, awkward sculptures around—ugly black things. As we drift into the massive family room, I spot three TVs on different walls, heaps of trendy computer gadgets and speaker systems, and a fully stocked bar where the man who picked up Sam and Adrian from Artstarts is shaking a drink mixer with flare. No way. Kurt’s dad is the bartender.
He yells over the loud music, “Kurt? Your mom called. She and the boys are happy at Grandma’s. She says to have fun.” He calls to Xander, “Give up your keys, or promise not to drink.”
“Sure, Mr. Hartnett. Here they are. I’d like a beer.” He hands over his keys.
Two thoughts come to me at once: First, I have no way to get home. Second, Ivy knew we were staying over.
She loops an arm around my waist. “You figured out we’re staying the night? I brought you one of my T-shirts to sleep in.”
“Ivy, Mom’ll kill me. I can’t stay. They’re expecting me home after a movie. I told them I was with Rebecca. I said I’d be back at midnight.”
Ivy squeezes me. “Rebecca? Why? I told you to tell them you’re staying the night at mine. Come on, have a drink. Let’s enjoy.”
“You don’t understand.”
“What? Why lie about Rebecca?”
I can’t tell Ivy that Mom has forbidden me to hang out with her. I’m still stressing that Granny might tell Mom that Ivy came over earlier, even though I managed, when Ivy was in the washroom, to ask Granny not to tell. Granny gave me a long look and said, “Careful, Callie.”
Ivy repeats, “Why lie about Rebecca?”
A new thought sneaks into my head: Live a little, Callie, stop stressing. Have fun. I say, feeling giddy, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see what I can do.”
I text Mom: Becs wants me to stay the night. Is that OK? My heart is high in my chest. What if she says no?
But she texts back: You don’t have a toothbrush!
—She can lend me one.
—K then. Be good. Love you.
—Thanks!
I send the text and then my phone dies. Out of battery. Crap. Mom’ll hate that, but it’s done now. I push away my nerves and turn to smile at Kurt’s dad.
He says, “Who are you two lovely ladies?”
Kurt says, “This is Callie. From Flat Earth Theory, remember?”
Ivy reaches out her hand. “And I’m Ivy. I’d love one of whatever it is you’re making.”
At some point during the party, the crowds have thinned out. Kurt’s dad, who vigilantly checked every kid before they left, gives Kurt a high-five and retreats upstairs. A couple of guys who drank loads are passed out in various bedrooms. Ivy is sitting on a huge leather sofa playing some race-car computer game with Xander and Greg. I head to the kitchen and start clearing up, filling the sink, letting the soapsuds warm my hands as I wash glasses. Music comes from a speaker somewhere, strange high-pitched music, like nothing I’ve heard before. Alien. I think of worlds other than our own, alternative universes, faraway planets. And then I think of Kurt. The way he caught my eye earlier.
The way he kissed Ivy at BEneath.
The reckless way I’m feeling.
There’s a scream. I spin round. It’s Ivy and she’s standing on the couch, play-fighting with Greg. I turn away and dip my hands back into the suds.
Kurt enters the kitchen, carrying a trash bag. I stop washing glasses and look at him. For a moment he doesn’t notice me because he’s emptying a dirty plate and then watching Ivy and Greg, who collapse shouting and laughing. A tall brunette wearing a skimpy outfit drapes herself over Xander. She’s giving Ivy death glares, but Ivy’s way too caught up in the game to care about anything. She yells, “Don’t even try it” at the screen.
I sense Kurt looking at me and I think about him and Ivy. A secret feeling crawls through my chest.
Kurt says, “You don’t need to be doing this. I’ve got it.”
“It’s no problem. I’m enjoying myself actually. It’s weird but I like clearing up and this music is cool.”
“It’s my dad. It’s an mp3 of him playing the saw.” Kurt explains, “If you take a regular saw and then pass a special bow over it, it sounds like that.”
“A regular saw,” I repeat. As I do, the sound takes on a new intensity. Alone, I would close my eyes and enjoy it fully. Instead I say, “Your dad seems pretty cool.”
“Yeah. He knows how things are.”
I step back a little so my back is pressed against the sink. Warm water seeps through the waistband of my jeans. I say, “My mom and dad had a baby recently. My brother. He cries a lot.”
“You like having him around?”
“Um … honestly? He makes me feel jealous. Stupid. I’m jealous of a baby.”
“You’ll get used to him.”
“I might do.”
He laughs. “Probably. Aren’t babies supposed to be kinda adorable?”
“You’d think.”
Ivy yells over at us, “Don’t work so hard, guys—we can do it later.”
Kurt turns to pick up another beer can, heaves up the trash bag and says to her, “We’re nearly done.” Then to me, “Better get to it.”
Ivy shrieks with laughter at something Greg’s said. She yells, “When you two are finished being boring, come party with us. I’ve got a great idea.”
I head to the empty front area, that echoing space, tidying a few last things before joining the others.
Kurt walks back into the house. He bumps into me and says softly, “Callie?”
In the semi-shadow, I say, “What?”
A drunk girl appears at t
he top of the stairs and says, almost to herself, “Which way again?” then disappears through a different door.
Kurt says, “So, we’re friends. You and me?”
“Sure.”
“I just … I—”
Ivy yells out, “Callie, where are you?”
I say to Kurt, “Course we’re friends. What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re allowed to relax a little,” I say. “It’s your party, after all. Come on—we’re done cleaning.”
I head to the living room, thinking he’s going to follow, but he doesn’t. It’s smoky from cigarettes but there’s another smell underneath, sweet and exotic. Pot. Xander and Greg are both sitting on the leather sofa, and Ivy has moved to sit on a nearby loveseat. She shoots me a look. I sit next to her and she hands me a bottle; it’s some blue, sweet cooler. I take a few sips then hand it back to her.
“Yuck.”
She says, “I can’t believe you cleaned everything.”
“You know what I’m like.”
Her eyes are a little bloodshot. “Do I?”
“Course you do.”
She squeezes my hand. “Course I do.”
“So, what’s the great idea—remember, earlier you said you had a great idea?”
She raises her voice. “Xander, Greg, turn that squeaky crap off. Let’s play a game. Where’s Kurt?” She looks around then presses close to me. She says, “No problem, we’ll start without him.” As she says this, Kurt comes into the room. “Yay, baby,” she says. “Come sit next to us.”
He obliges, so now I’m squashed with the whole left side of my body pressed against him and Ivy against me on my right.
Ivy says, “Let’s play the game.”
Greg stares at Ivy like he wants to eat her. She doesn’t seem to notice. I realize that he’s just rolled a joint. He lights it.
“Sure,” he says. “We could play a game. Why not?”
Ivy giggles, stoned. She reaches forward and Greg passes her the joint.
“So,” Ivy says, “you have to confess something.”
Greg says, “This is a girl’s game. What, confess what? Like, I think Ivy’s hot?”
Ivy laughs like Greg has said something really funny. I feel Kurt tense beside me. She reaches over me into Kurt’s shirt pocket to pull out his cigarettes. Her voice slurs. “Cute, Greg. Callie’s turn. Come on, Callie. You must have things to confess.”
I think about Granny and how I feel bad that I wasn’t there when she fell. Is that the kind of thing to confess? I wonder what the others are thinking. It’s exciting to be like this: unsure of what’s going to happen next. And a little scary.
Ivy cuts in. “Okay, God, you guys need to get into this. I confess that I like Kurt.”
Greg says, “Big news.” He adds, “I confess that I stole this pot from my big brother.”
Ivy nods. “That’s more like it.”
Everyone goes quiet again.
Very quietly, Ivy says, “I guess it has to be my turn again. I confess that I killed someone.”
Greg says, “You’re funny.”
Ivy half closes her eyes. She murmurs, “I’m serious. Her name was Isabel Cabezas. It was an accident, of course, but it never felt like that. It felt like murder. It’s so hard to live with what I’ve done.”
My stomach clenches. Isabel Cabezas. Isabel’s ID card is in my jacket pocket, my jacket that’s hanging in the closet in Kurt’s hallway.
Kurt says, “Are you serious?”
God. She’s serious.
Xander says, “What happened?”
Ivy widens her eyes, leans forward a little, spools us all in. “Izzy was older than me. We were best friends. Like sisters. She was driving her motorbike. I was on the back …” Ivy is speaking in a soft voice, and it’s as if all of us have ceased to exist. “Isabel was going fast. She was angry about something that I’d told her. I had my arms around her waist. When she took a corner, we hit the curb and both of us flew through the air. I landed on the grass but she … just … I crawled over to her, screaming her name. She died in my arms. It’s why Mom and I came back here, why we left Kansas City—we had to get away.”
We’re all silent. I try to imagine Ivy lying on the ground, her best friend dying in her arms. “God, Ivy,” I murmur.
Ivy says, “If I hadn’t made her angry, she wouldn’t have been driving so fast. She wouldn’t have died. It’s my fault.” She sits as still as a porcelain figurine, her eyes glassy with tears.
I come to my senses. I have to do something. I have to get her out of here before she says any more. If I were a better friend I would have stopped this earlier. I stand. “Ivy, let’s go.”
The three guys stare at me. I say, “Kurt, which room can we sleep in?”
To my relief, Ivy gets up and follows, quiet and distracted, moving like she’s walking through deep water.
Kurt leads us up to one of his brothers’ rooms on the second floor. He mumbles a good night and I shut the door. There’s a small lamp on in the room and it’s cozy, so different from the cavernous living room with its dark shadows of Ivy’s story.
Ivy collapses onto the bed, grabs my hand and tugs me down. I fall next to her. “Callie,” she says, and giggles. The mood shifts. She runs a finger from the corner of my eye to the edge of my mouth. “Let me kiss you.”
“I’m …” My tongue touches my top lip.
She smiles. “You know you want to.”
Her mouth is very close. She smells of alcohol. Of pot. Those things she said, those awful things. “You’re high, and upset,” I say pulling away. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Her eyes glitter. She says, “Did you miss me?”
“You know I did.”
She closes her eyes. She’s asleep within seconds. I switch out the light, my mind a tornado. Ivy. Isabel. I’m left in a too-warm bedroom with nothing but the image of two girls flipping through the air, one of them to her death.
SEVEN
JULY 31ST
Kurt
Xander gets up from the waiting room sofa and walks off down the corridor without looking back at me. There’ll be a story about this car accident for Flat Earth Theory, but it’s one I could never write. I’m too close to this. I think about Callie and Ivy again, the party at my house, the things Ivy said when she was high.
There’s something about getting high that I love. I should say loved. I don’t do it anymore. I was about fourteen when I first got into all that, started being the guy at every party. I was younger than most of them, but I’ve always looked older than I am. One party sticks in my head. A bunch of seniors, drinking, some college guys. I got myself a beer and worked on getting fucked up. Two beers, three, four. A few shots. I was staggering drunk. Then I took a pill, began rushing. I was feeling great until I saw my birth-mom. At the party. Holding hands with an older guy, deep in conversation. She saw me as I saw her. The moment that changes your life. Changed mine. It was the look in her eyes—sure there was shame, guilt, anger, remorse—but the biggest emotion I read on her face was resignation. Resignation because her kid was just like her.
Xander returns. Sits on one of the couches, tips his head back, falls asleep. Wish I could sleep.
EIGHT DAYS EARLIER
Ivy
I hear dogs barking but ignore them. Christ, there’s a banging in my head like a fist against a door as the dogs break into another frenzied round of barking. I swear, if I had a gun, I’d shoot the hairy dumbasses. Shut up, shut up, shut up. I doze off. I’m a little girl again, watching my mom. She’s covering a bruise on her cheek with concealer. Putting on red lipstick. “Men. Can’t live with ’em. Can’t live without ’em. You’ll learn.”
She holds me. Whispers to my hair, “Don’t ever leave me.”
I wake as if I’m coming up for air. Where the hell am I? Callie isn’t in the bed. The clock on the wall reads eleven. There’s Callie, shaking me, saying, “Oh my God, my parents. They’ll expect me back, like, earlier. Get
up, Ivy.”
She’s hopping about, throwing on clothes. It would be funny if everything didn’t hurt. “Screw it, calm down, it’s not even noon,” I say.
She won’t even look in my direction. “Just hurry up, Ivy. Please.”
“What’s really wrong?”
“I told you, I’m late.” She still avoids my gaze.
“Are you being like this because I tried to kiss you?”
“No.” She’s blushing.
“Get over yourself.” I say this gently, trying to joke, clear the air. “It’s no big deal.”
“It’s a big deal for me,” she says. Then she bursts into tears. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I just really need to get home. My phone died and now we’ve slept in. Mom’s going to be trying to get hold of me.”
I get out of the bed. “She treats you like a little kid.”
“I know.”
I say, “It’s not a bad thing. Growing up fast blows.”
“Yeah— can we just go? Please, Ivy?”
I’m still dressed from the night before. I grab sunglasses from my bag. We head downstairs. I mumble, “I was only fooling around.”
“Do you even remember?”
“Remember what?”
“What you said last night.”
“What did I say?”
“About Isabel?”
“Oh, shit.” What did I say? I put on my sunglasses.
Callie says, “Later. Everyone’s already getting in Xander’s car.”
Xander nods a short hello to us. We’re all quiet in the car. Callie watches out the window as we drive off. There’s a stormy gathering of clouds on the horizon. We pull up at Callie’s and she jumps out, hurries up the path. I get out my side of the car and watch her.
Her mom yanks open their front door. She’s red in the face as she yells, “Where were you?” Uh, full on. She glances at me.
I hear Callie say, “I was … um.” She’s not making it any better. She just got out of Xander’s car. If you’re caught lying, it’s time to switch to the truth.
The Death of Us Page 8