Girl on the Verge

by Pintip Dunn

  She thought back to that afternoon, to Walt’s hairy chest, his jiggling butt, and the strategically placed Twizzlers box. She pressed a hand to her mouth, giggling. Shocked whispers had rippled through the athletic field. Students had shrieked gleefully, their eyes Blow Pop round. And afterward, they couldn’t get to their social media fast enough, to share their hastily snapped photos. All because of her.

  You couldn’t say she didn’t have power now.

  But that wasn’t even the best part of the afternoon. The best part was when the two of them walked away from the concession stand, and one of the cheerleaders had called, “Kan!” Simultaneously, they had both wheeled around, and the girl had done a second, and then a third take. Her eyes bounced between Kan and Shelly, as if she was caught off guard by the similarities. As if she couldn’t tell which was the real Kan.

  Kan hadn’t liked that, Shelly could tell. She had turned pale, and a muscle had throbbed at her temple. Shelly wanted to remember that image forever. Because when Kan turned pale, they looked even more like twins.

  Shelly dug into her newly purchased bag, with the brand new makeup. All paid for by the checks that were coming from Khun Yai. Oh, the old lady probably felt so relieved when Sheila Ambrose died. She probably thought her deep, dark secret had died with Sheila. Ha. Think again. The payments weren’t going to stop just because Sheila Ambrose was dead. Not if Shelly had anything to do about it.

  She dotted concealer over the scar and then covered it with half a bottle of foundation. In the dim light, you could hardly see the blemish anymore. At most, it looked like a shadow over her cheek.

  She found the thick black eyeliner. Leaning closer to the mirror, she drew a line on her eyelid, extending it past her lashes. There. Now her eyes looked just like Kan’s.

  She examined herself in the mirror. There was no doubt about it. She looked half-Asian, at the very least. She and Kan looked like sisters. She looked like she belonged in the family.

  She put on the outfit she’d taken from Kan’s closet earlier that day. The black skirt was pleated and flared, but it wasn’t short enough. Shelly rolled the waistband two times. Better. The white tank was more of a camisole—a “layering piece,” Kan had called it. The only thing Shelly would layer on top was a long silver link chain.

  Blowing her reflection a kiss, she grabbed Khun Yai’s car keys—keys the old lady was only too happy to hand over after being threatened with the alternative. She walked through the silent house. It was nearly midnight. Kan was probably in her bedroom, sleeping. She certainly wasn’t hiding under the covers, sending naughty text messages to her boyfriend.

  That was Shelly’s job.

  She got into the car. Following the directions she’d memorized, she drove to the next town and pulled up in front of a well-lit house. Rock music pulsed off the walls, people spilled off the porch, and red plastic cups littered the lawn. A frat party. One she had learned about by eavesdropping on the college girls at the grocery store.

  For a moment, she sat frozen, her hands clutching the steering wheel at two o’clock and eleven o’clock. She could hear the sixth grade boys jeering, see the spittle that formed at the tips of their tongues. You’re too ugly to live. Please die now.

  Please. Please. Please. Not the words of a bully, but a simple request from society.

  She flipped down the sun visor and looked at herself in the mirror. She wasn’t that girl anymore. She wasn’t.

  Three deep stomach-breaths later, she got out of the car and stalked up the sidewalk, swaying her hips. A kid was sprawled across her path, throwing up in the grass. His pants rode low on his hips, and she could see the top of his plaid boxer shorts. She placed a spiked heel in the middle of his back and vaulted over him.

  “Hello, beautiful. Where have you been all my life?” a guy said as she sashayed up to the porch. He had curly brown hair brushing his eyebrows and was wearing faded jeans and a dark T-shirt. If she squinted, he might be able to pass for Ethan’s brother. Or at least, a distant cousin. Good enough.

  She shook her hair so that it fell over her cheek and tugged at the hem of her tank. Like magic, the guy’s eyes drifted to her cleavage. Damn. Who knew it would be this easy?

  “Hi,” she said in her most seductive voice, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “My name is Kan.”

  Chapter 28

  I don’t know what to do. I’m not sure where to go. The image of Walt’s naked butt is imprinted in my brain, and the last thing I want is to be under the same roof as the girl who caused his humiliation. This incident with Walt should tip my mom over the edge—but it’s my word against Shelly’s, and I’m afraid that the story alone won’t be enough. It’s not the concrete proof that my mom wants.

  It’s weird. Shelly seems to have this hold over my mom—and even Khun Yai. I have no idea what, but I’ll bet anything it’s got to do with this secret they’ve been keeping for seventeen years.

  At a loss, I told Khun Yai I was staying over at Ash’s and passed the evening driving around Foxville, in my own pathetic version of dragging Main Street.

  I end up in the parking lot of the community college, next to Ethan’s Toyota Camry. He left his car here in order to travel with the ballroom team to a dance competition, and he should be back sometime tonight.

  Or so he explained during the tense conversation we had this morning. A conversation in which he looked at me searchingly, trying to peer under layers that might or might not exist, and I blushed and stammered and tried to figure out how things could’ve gone so wrong.

  I check my watch. Five minutes after midnight. Ethan left school shortly after lunch, and the competition was in the late afternoon. The team would’ve gone to dinner to celebrate; add two or three hours for the drive. That would make them due back . . . any minute now.

  Which is still too long. I alternate between blasting the radio and counting the stars. I prop my feet on the dashboard and dream up new dress patterns. My phone beckons with its array of social media apps, but I don’t dare touch it. I don’t dare see what everyone’s been saying about Walt Peterson. Instead, I twiddle my thumbs—actually swirling one thumb around the other—but that doesn’t make Ethan arrive any faster.

  After what seems like an eternity, two navy vans pull into the lot, and college-aged guys and girls spill out. They carry armfuls of sequined costumes and kiss each other on the cheeks to say good-bye.

  I get out of my car just as Ethan steps under the streetlight, his eyes sleepy and his jeans riding low. I’ve probably seen him looking this adorable. I just can’t remember when.

  “Kan? Is that you?”

  For the first time all week, I don’t think. I run to him and fling myself into his arms. Instantly, the awkwardness that’s kept us at arm’s length evaporates. We return to the Kan and Ethan on the swings, the ones who pumped their feet higher and higher to kick the moon.

  “It’s good to see you, too,” he says, his breath rustling my hair.

  Keeping an arm around me, he walks me to his car and tosses his duffle bag in the backseat. Then, he turns and captures my lips with his.

  My brain sizzles, and my heart shoots into overdrive. I’m just as surprised—just as slayed—as I was a week ago.

  His mouth moves against mine, and the pavement under my feet tilts, so that gravity pushes me forward and I’m leaning into him. Or maybe that’s not gravity at all. Maybe that’s just a magnetism that’s specific to Ethan.

  The force keeps pushing. I continue tilting. So this is how we get back on track. This is how we erase the confusion and misunderstandings. I wish someone had told us a week ago.

  I also wish this were why I waited in the car for so long. Just because I missed him. The kiss alone would’ve been worth it.

  I pull back a fraction of an inch. “How did you do? In the competition, I mean.”

  “Not bad. We got second in the Latin category, but we’ve got another competition tomorrow, another shot at gold.” He brushes a kiss on my forehead, on
e on each cheek, another one on my nose.

  My knees go weak. It would be so easy to let his kisses transport me to a place much more magical than this parking lot, with its flickering street lamps and crumbling parking blocks.

  “You’ll miss the spring carnival,” I manage to say.

  “I’ll miss you,” he says. “The spring carnival isn’t really my scene. It never has been.”

  “Me neither,” I admit.

  “You know, I’ve never had anyone wait for me in the parking lot after an out-of-town competition before.” He sighs. “Jules’s girlfriend comes almost every week. Brynn’s had at least three different guys here since the start of the season. And I always go home alone. Uncongratulated. Unloved.” He pushes out his lower lip in such a realistic imitation of a little boy that I burst out laughing.

  “But that’s not why you’re here,” he continues. “You’re not here to congratulate me on a job well done.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  He drops a final kiss on my lips. It is so sweet it almost hurts. “So what’s this about?”

  I swallow hard. Sometime between seeing Walt’s Twizzlers box and this moment, the vague thoughts that were chasing each other around my brain have coalesced into a concrete suspicion. And now, I have to say it out loud.

  “You know our miscommunication about the text messages?” I wince. I can’t help it. The entire week, any time I so much as saw the message icon, my jaw would twitch. “I think . . . um . . .” I take a deep breath, and then the words rush out. “I’m almost positive Shelly stole my phone and texted you, pretending to be me.”

  For a moment, he goes perfectly still. And then, he pushes off the side of the car. “Oh my god, I knew there was something wrong with that girl.”

  “You sense it, too?” I rub my arms. “She’s creepy, right?”

  He paces the length of the car. “Super creepy and freaking inappropriate.”

  “Yeah, I saw how she was with you. What she said, the way she jumped into your arms. It’s like she was trying to flirt with you, but it came across all wrong.”

  “That’s not all,” he says slowly. “You know that night we were at your house for dinner? Remember, at one point, I jumped up and excused myself to use the bathroom?”

  I frown. “I thought you were just getting bored with Khun Yai’s interrogation.”

  “Not at all. I’m happy to talk to your grandmother, about anything. She wants to make sure I’m trustworthy, and can you blame her? I’m interested in her granddaughter.”

  The simple admission takes away my frown, and I lean against the hood. “You can call her Khun Yai. All my friends do. Culturally, it’s a sign of respect.” I pause. “So why did you leave?”

  “You were sitting on one side of me at the table, and Shelly was on the other. And she . . . she put her hand on my, um, crotch.”

  My eyes about bug out. “She did what? Are you sure it wasn’t an accident?”

  “That’s what I thought. I thought she must’ve been going for your leg or trying to pick up her napkin . . . or . . . or something.”

  He pounds his fist against his forehead. “But now that you tell me she was the one texting me . . . I don’t know.” He shudders. “When I think about the things she said . . . the things we did . . .”

  I go perfectly still. “What did she say? No, more importantly, what did you do?”

  He flushes. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Oh, believe me. I do.” I walk toward him. “Come on, Ethan. Hand it over.”

  “What?”

  “Your phone!” Frustrated, I push the hair out of my face. “I thought she had stolen my phone, but I didn’t know you were doing stuff with her! You’re supposed to be my boyfriend. She’s my . . . extremely dysfunctional so-called foster sister. I think I have a right to know exactly what you said and did.”

  Two bright spots appear on his cheeks. “You’re not thinking about this clearly. Now that I know it was her, I’d happily stab a knife into my brain if it would erase the memory. But it won’t. You don’t want the details, Kan. Trust me on this.”

  “How am I supposed to get past this if I don’t know what you did?”

  “You’re just going to have to try. Please, Kan. Please try.”

  “I don’t know if I can.” I huff out a breath. And then another. And another. “At least tell me this: How far did you get?”

  “Pretty far,” he says miserably.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. Images rush through my mind. A waterfall of black hair. Ethan’s bare chest. The two of them, in their respective beds. Under the covers. “You . . . you enjoyed it,” I say, my voice weak with betrayal.

  “I thought it was you.”

  “How could you possibly think it was me? We had just kissed for the first time that night. What kind of girl do you think I am?”

  “I was surprised,” he says. “I tried to stop several times, and you—she—insisted. I thought it was harmless, and since I thought it was you, it was sexy as hell. I . . . I guess I just went with it. I’m sorry.”

  And then, something occurs to me, and I’m light-headed and swaying. “That’s why you said you had fun, when we talked on the phone. That’s why you were thinking about me all morning. You were talking about her. Maybe we wouldn’t be here right now if you hadn’t . . . sexted with Shelly.” Damn it, I can’t even say the word without blushing.

  “Listen to me, Kan. That night has nothing to do with our relationship,” he says, his eyes bright. “I liked you before. I like you after. That incident doesn’t change my feelings one bit. I don’t care about her; I’m not attracted to her. Not even a little bit. The only reason it was hot was because I thought it was you. I swear it.”

  It’s not that I don’t believe him. I do. He’s as much a victim as I am. But I can’t stop the movie reel in my head. The shirt falling off Shelly’s shoulders. Ethan leaning back on his elbows. Shelly licking her lips. Ethan moaning.

  I fall to my knees and press my hands against my temples. Stop it. Stop it! Stop. It.

  The real Ethan kneels in front of me. “Don’t let her do this to us,” he pleads. “This is what she wants. She wants us to break up. We can’t play into her games like this.”

  Somehow, his words pierce through the endless loop in my head. “You’re right. She definitely has some kind of agenda.”

  I tell him everything then. How I feel like she’s been stealing my identity. How she locked Walt naked in the concession stand. I even tell him about the strange hold she seems to have over my mom and Khun Yai.

  “First you, and then Walt,” I say. “Who knows what other vicious pranks she’s planning? We have to stop her before she hurts anyone else.”

  “How? Can we go to the police?”

  I chew on my cheek. “For starters, I’d just like to get her out of my house. I need proof, Ethan. Concrete proof that will make my mom see I’m right. Something more than just my word or yours. I sure as hell don’t think we’ll be able to get Walt to confess. And my mom will write off the hair style as Shelly looking up to me. For some reason I can’t understand, she’s brainwashed herself into thinking that Shelly is this sweet, innocent girl. I need to find out more about Shelly.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  I stand and pull him to his feet, the answer as clear to me as the round orb in the sky. “Easy. I’m going to start with her hometown.”

  Chapter 29

  The inside of Shelly’s mouth tasted like ash, as though she’d eaten a carton of cigarettes. Or kissed a horde of boys—and a handful of girls—who had eaten a carton of cigarettes. She’d thought victory would taste better than it did.

  Finally, she’d gotten what she’d always wanted. She was the center of attention. When she talked last night, people listened. People cared. So what if they called her by a different name? It didn’t matter who she was on the inside. It only mattered what they saw.

  She lay flat on her bed, breathing deeply. She hadn’t chang
ed her clothes, so she was still wearing the short skirt and white tank that fit her like a second—newer and better—skin. She’d never dreamed she would have the body to wear something like this. She was nearly as straight up and down as her and Kan’s hair. But all she needed was a push-up bra, and suddenly, she had all the cleavage she’d coveted.

  She felt, once again, like she had made the biggest discovery in the universe. She could be somebody. She could be Kan. All she had to do was pretend. They all faked it, every last one of them. Nobody actually fit in any more than she did. Some of them were just better at pretending.

  Her eyes were wet. Did it count as crying if she didn’t make any noise? It was like that saying about the tree that fell down in the middle of the forest. If nobody saw her, if nobody noticed, did it constitute sadness?

  Through the walls, she heard Kan arguing with Khun Yai. They went around in circles, saying the same things without really listening to each other. Shelly felt like she alone could pierce through the bullshit, the half truths, to what they were each feeling underneath.

  Kan was being Kan, headstrong, independent. She thought Khun Yai was hopelessly old-fashioned, entrenched in a world that had changed without her realizing it.

  But the truth was, Khun Yai was just scared.

  Kan was the girl she had raised because Dr. Som was too busy working. Kan was her precious baby, who was now even closer to her than her own daughter. When Khun Yai had been a new mother, she’d worked outside the home, too. She’d had other stresses, too. But now, as a grandparent, she could focus on one thing alone: the girl.

  Khun Yai was scared to lose Kan to other people, to other things. To this culture she didn’t understand but in which she had to live. The one that threatened to swallow her little girl whole. Piece by piece, it was taking Kan away, a little more each day, and Khun Yai was terrified that this blond, blue-eyed boy would be the last straw.

  Khun Yai’s voice thundered through the walls. Shelly couldn’t understand the words, because Khun Yai spoke in Thai, but she knew exactly how the older woman felt. She felt Kan slipping away from her, too. The wet sand had dried now, and it was only a matter of time before it crumbled.