More Than Each Other (More Than Best Friends Book 2)

by Sally Henson

  The sound of rushing water fills my ears, and it’s getting harder to catch my breath.

  Cam’s and Haylee's faces are covered in shock.

  “What the hell was that about?” Cameron asks.

  I have to wrap my arms around my middle to hold myself together. Everyone in the cafeteria is still looking at me, snickering, laughing, whispering. A rolling wave of vomit comes over me. I have to get out of here.

  Without a word, I dart down the aisle and out the doors, speeding past the freshman lockers. If I had my own car, I'd leave school. I’d be so gone.

  I don’t even have a phone to call Lane to come get me.

  Nothing, that's what I have.

  I grab my coat out of my locker and make a bee line out the south doors and cross the gym entrance. Hot tears stream down my face. I crumble to the cold ground next to the brick façade and hidden behind the evergreen shrubs. My stomach lurches, and I rush to the last bush to hurl. I hear a car door shut close by, but I can’t control the vomiting to save myself more humiliation.

  “Regan?”

  There's nothing left of my lunch, but my stomach continues to dry heave. And now I have an audience.

  I spit and raise my eyes to see who's called my name.

  Miss Braun caught me at a time I don’t want to be seen. “Are you feeling ill?” she asks.

  I laugh bitterly. Duh. My hands wrap around my stomach. It hurts to even stand, so I sit back on the cold ground against the building. “I'm fine.” The tears won’t stop flowing.

  She strides my way and squats down beside me. “Do you need to call home?”

  I keep my eyes averted and shake my head.

  “Why don’t you come sit in my office for a bit?”

  I sniff and shake my head again.

  At the beginning of lunch, I thought things were getting better.

  I was wrong.

  Everything is wrong.

  44

  Regan

  Thursday

  Mom’s at the table working on Viper girl’s homecoming dress when I walk in from the school bus. Stacey may not have been the reason for whatever happened today, but she nudged it in that direction.

  The smell of chili simmering grabs my stomach. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going to lay down.”

  Mom glances at me. “What’s wrong?”

  Oh, nothing. My friends hate me, and Lane is going to be gone all weekend. And I’m pretty sure my parents wish I were never born. “I have a bad headache. Night.”

  I keep moving through the house, to the bathroom, and then my room in hopes she doesn’t start asking questions.

  In the safety of my room, I strip off my clothes and slide Lane’s sweater out from under my pillow. It takes all the energy I have to tug it over my head and crawl under my covers. I don’t know how, but my body has refueled my tear ducts. Salty liquid leaks out the corner of my eyes.

  After the day I’ve had, I’m not sure I can handle two weeks without Lane. He’s all I’ve got now. If I had a car, I’d take off and drive to Eastern—stay the weekend with him. Watch him play if I could or even just wait in his room while he’s gone.

  God, I need him.

  Friday

  “Regan?” Mom calls, opening my door. “You’re going to be late for the bus if you don’t get moving.”

  “I’m sick.”

  “Oh.” She steps closer to my bed. “Do you have a fever?”

  “No. My stomach hurts.” Which is not a lie. My stomach does hurt. So does my head, and my heart.

  “Okay. I’ll call the school,” she says before shutting my door.

  I lay in bed and stare out my window.

  Alone.

  Saturday

  Mom comes in my room Saturday morning with some chores for me to do. I tell her I’m still sick.

  I lay in bed, only getting up to use the bathroom.

  Time stands still. I pull out the iPod Tobi gave me and rub my thumb across the screen. It was so thoughtful.

  I close my eyes and hug it to my chest. She may have written me off two days ago, but we haven’t been the same for a long time. If I ever go to school again, I have to give this back.

  Hours go by before the door to my room opens. I close my eyes, pretending to be asleep. The back of Mom’s wrist presses against my forehead, carrying the light flowery fragrance she wears. It reminds me of the time Linc was sick and I thought he was getting all the attention, so I pretended to be sick too. Mom picked me up and carried me to the rocking chair and sang me a few songs, hugging me the whole time. It made everything better.

  Nothing can make it better this time.

  Sometime later, when it’s dark out, Mom brings me a cup of chicken noodle soup and some crackers. “You need to eat something.”

  “I’m not hungry”

  I don’t know why she bothered. She doesn’t sound like she even wants to be around me.

  She places the mug and saucer on my nightstand. “Why didn’t Lane come home this weekend?”

  My voice is rusty. “He’s playing in a band.”

  Her eyebrows knit together. “A band?”

  I nod without taking my gaze from the darkness outside my window.

  She sighs and leaves my room.

  I don’t bother getting up to shut the light off.

  Sunday

  I’m still sick. Or whatever.

  My whole body feels like it’s made of concrete, and I’m exhausted just by going to the bathroom. I’ve been crying, wishing Lane were home, wishing my life was different.

  Mom cracks the door open and peeks in. “Are you still feeling sick?”

  I nod.

  “Okay,” is all she says before my door closes.

  While they’re gone at church, I lay down on the sofa in the living room and turn on the TV. Maybe the change of scenery will make me feel better. I flip through every channel we have—there’s nothing worth watching. And then it dawns on me to call Lane while my parents are gone.

  I have a tiny burst of energy as I dial his number. It rings and rings and his voicemail picks up. At the beep, I say. “Hey, it’s me. Uh, Regan. I miss you and wanted to hear your voice. I’m home from church. Sick, I guess. Call me before my parents get back.”

  Monday

  Lane never called me back. He’d told me he was going to be busy, but I didn’t think he’d be so busy he couldn’t talk to me. Maybe he’ll try this evening.

  After I stop at the bathroom to pee, I wobble down the hallway looking for Mom. She’s pouring a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

  I clear my throat. “Mom, I’m still sick. I’m going back to bed.”

  She knits her eyebrows together, causing a crease above the bridge of her nose. “You didn’t eat all weekend. Have you had vomiting or diarrhea?”

  “No. I’m just tired and weak now.” I know I look bad, because I caught a glimpse of the shadows under my eyes in the bathroom mirror.

  Her lips pull into a tight line. “If you don’t feel better by tomorrow, I’m going to take you to the doctor.”

  I don’t answer as I turn and make my way back to my bed.

  The stench from not taking a shower is starting to get to me, but I’m too tired right now. I lay in my bed for the rest of the day, changing positions when my body gets sore. My brain has thought about nothing except the pounding in my head.

  45

  Regan

  Not only do I feel like a zombie, I look like one too. I don’t care. It’s not by choice I came to school today. Mom said if I didn’t, she was taking me to the doctor. Things have gotten really bad if I’d rather stay at home in the pit of nothingness than go to school.

  Avoiding the gym, Haylee, Cameron, and Tobi like the plague is top priority. After Tobi’s blow up, the plague doesn't sound that bad. I stop at the doorway just inside the room for first period. “Ms. Faun, can I wait in here for class to start?”

  She glances up from her computer screen and then goes back to typing. “Sure. I’ll be in an
d out.”

  Even though she’s not looking at me anymore, I nod and drag myself to my seat. Why am I so tired? Sleeping and laying around was the only thing on my agenda since Friday. I fold my arms on top of my desktop and lie my head down, closing my eyes.

  Minutes tick by before Stacey's loudmouth enters the room. “Good morning, Ms. Faun. Isn't it a wonderful day?”

  I’m glad my head’s down so I don’t have to see her face. No doubt she already has blood dripping from her fangs this morning. My stomach’s not ready for that yet.

  “Good morning, Stacey. I'll be right back, girls.” Ms. Faun scurries out of the room.

  “Regan, there you are.” Stacey's perky, and obviously fake, voice bears a hint of “I’m about to destroy you.”

  What more can she do, though? Tobi already annihilated me last week.

  Her footsteps get louder, and I open one eye to see her skipping toward me. When she plops down in her chair, the feet of the desk next to me screech against the floor. I close my eye and try to ignore her.

  “Check this out,” Stacey commands as her bracelets clang against the desktop. “You remember my cousin, Marco, right? He saw Lane playing in a band Friday and sent me some pictures.”

  Lane. Band. Pictures.

  Now she has my attention.

  Just seeing his face might be enough to get me through the day. I straighten in my chair and hope for a bit of sunshine.

  She hands me her phone. “He looks really hot there,” she coos. It doesn’t even tick me off because she’s right.

  Lane’s smile tells me how much he’s loving the stage. He’s so looks good, standing there, playing guitar with his dimples on display. I’m proud and happy and excited for him.

  After this past week, a happy heart is such an odd sensation. The unfamiliar smile forming on my lips almost cracks my face.

  “There’s more,” Stacey adds, swiping the screen to the next photo.

  Oh, my gosh, Lane singing is ... Dang! He’s even more good-looking in this one. My proud, happy heart turns to aching for his cotton-candy words. I need him so much right now.

  “Look at the next one.” Stacey reaches over and swipes the screen with her finger.

  It’s a wide shot of the whole band at a different place. They were playing Saturday, too, but I assumed it was at Ted’s Barn.

  Next is a selfie of Marco and some girl. The band is in the background. I’d forgotten what Marco looked like. The girl with him is gorgeous with her dark skin, hair, eyes.

  “That's his girlfriend. They’re at the big Greek party. She's from Argentina or Brazil or something,” Stacey trails off.

  The next pic shows the band and two girls dancing on either side of the singer. My happy face turns to a scowl. Why are there girls on stage…in bikinis?

  The knots are coming back to my stomach. Lane didn’t mention anything about a Greek party. Or girls—on stage—in bikinis—pressing their bodies against him.

  Swipe.

  Wait. Who’s Lane’s smiling and sharing the microphone with? I know that girl.

  Knots double up in my stomach. My lungs deflate, making it hard to breathe. I can’t tear my eyes away from my boyfriend living it up with the girl from his graduation party. Brea Adams. She was wearing a bikini the last time I saw her too. Does this girl ever wear clothes?

  No wonder he likes being in the band so much. No wonder he spends less and less time with me.

  When I’m finished, Stacey slips the phone out of my fingers. She’s not even smirking or commenting about how I’m not good enough for Lane through all of this.

  I swallow hard to keep the contents of my stomach from spewing all over the classroom.

  The horror of the images imprinted on my eyes—on my brain—on my heart—is probably written across my face. My vision blurs from the hurt pooling in my eyes. The tears spill over, racing down my cheeks. I’m trying to keep it together, but it’s not working. My stomach lurches, and I dart out of class for the bathroom.

  Last Thursday was bad, but this….

  The door bangs against the bathroom stall as I barrel through it and lean over the toilet. I heave and heave. Nothing comes out but acid. I didn’t eat much all weekend. This morning was no different.

  Hot tears continue to rush like raging rivers down my face as the images from Stacey's phone flash before me. When the bell rings, I splash cold water on my face, and slip out into the hallway. I don’t bother getting my notebook from Ms. Faun’s room. She can gripe me out tomorrow about skipping class.

  Those images are all I can see or concentrate on for the rest of the morning. Everything else around me is muted. Cameron tries to talk to me during math, but I ignore him, knowing if Haylee or Tobi gets wind of it, they’ll take it out on me later.

  I just sit and stare at the quiz on my desk. When class is over, I turn it in blank.

  What’s the point? Any good thing I had going for me is gone. The last of it died off when I saw Lane and Brea together. Ugh, it was worse than I could have imagined.

  I don't bother going to lunch, opting for my new home, the puke bush, instead and stay there the rest of the day.

  That's right—obsessive, good girl skips class. And nobody cares.

  As soon as I step off the bus onto the rock driveway, tears stream down my cheeks. Inside, Mom speaks to me, but I have no idea what she’s saying. It’s noise to me. Autopilot takes me straight to my room.

  Lane’s sweater calls to me from my closet. I slide my arms through it, pull it over my head, and sit on my bed, hugging my knees to my chest—pretending he's here with me right now and all the images were just a bad dream. I don’t flail and sob and break down and then it’s over. That would be too easy. It's a slow, painful, heart stripping break.

  All the photos and trinkets on my dresser of my old friends stare back at me. Their happy faces remind me of what used to be. What is no more. I can’t take looking at it and stalk to my closet to grab an old shoe box. With one swipe, all the memories are cleared from the view and find their home in a grungy shoe box. I put the lid on it and shove it to the back of my closet.

  How ironic is it that Stacey gave me my high and low for the day? It was crazy for me to think I could keep a gorgeous guy like Lane’s attention. Maybe that’s why I held back for so long. But I didn’t think he’d treat his best friend like this.

  I fall over and curl into a ball. My chest is so heavy it hurts to even breathe. All those promises he made…that I was important to him, that he needed me in his life…I was beginning to believe them.

  What a joke.

  I'm such a joke.

  Mom comes in my room to let me know supper is ready.

  “Okay,” I squeak out. I don’t eat, though. My appetite hasn’t been too hearty since I was grounded anyway, and it just gets worse.

  When she comes in again later, I’m in the same position, staring at my door.

  “What’s going on, Regan?” she asks.

  Mom hasn’t cared for months. She might as well stop with the act. I turn away from her to face the wall with no answer.

  She leaves me alone.

  I’m alone.

  No G5.

  No Lane.

  No future.

  I try to pray. I don't even know what comes out of my mouth but pain.

  Pain.

  Pain.

  46

  Lane

  Cam: Whatcha doing?