by Sara Wolf
I smooth my shirt one last time. It’s the Florence and the Machine one I wore here the first time, and I didn’t even realize I was wearing it until I got in the car. My jeans are frayed on the thighs – not because I bought them at some high boutique that purposefully frayed them – but because I’d eaten pavement so many times on my bike back when I was losing weight. The cool air on my thighs through the fray reminds me how broken the jeans are, and why they’re broken, and how I broke them myself. I did it. I broke them, but I can still wear them, and they work just fine at what they’re supposed to do – cover my fabulous butt.
Things are broken, but they still work.
I get out and pull my jacket closer to me. It’s bitter cold. Did spring not get the memo? Does spring ever get memos? What are they written on, leaves? Petals? The carcass of a newborn deer?
“Getting maudlin this early in the night, are we?”
I look up. Jack’s standing there, in a preposterously gross leather jacket and dark jeans. Wren’s standing by him, looking a little shook up in his usual plaid shirt.
“It’s sort of my job,” I say. “Provide the searing atmosphere, throw a few shallow but well-meaning compliments, mutter to myself, maybe break a bottle or two.”
“Please don’t break a bottle,” Wren wrings his hands. “We’ve had three people cut themselves already.”
“Whoa, what’s that on your chest, prez?” I blurt. A little golden star pin that has the number one on it is tacked to his shirt. His glasses slide off as he looks at it, and he pushes them up.
“Um. Just something Sophia gave me. From when…from when –”
“Is that the math rally pin?” Jack interrupts. “Wow. I didn’t know she still had it.”
“Neither did I,” Wren lets out a half-laugh. “I mean, I thought she got rid of it a long time ago.”
“Math rally pin?” I ask. Jack nods.
“Back in the day, Wren and Sophia competed in this math rally. They were really into it, invested like only competitive smart kids can get. They studied for weeks, months. Sophia wanted to win so badly. But Wren did. They tied, technically, but the judges gave it to Wren for some extra calculation he did.”
“Sophia was furious at me,” Wren says. “She wouldn’t talk to me for a whole month. So I gave her the pin, and she started crying, and said to not be so nice to her.”
Jack laughs, low, and Wren shakes his head, a wistful smile on his face. It’s a history I’m not a part of, but it gives me a warm feeling just to see them remember that time when they were all friends, and close, and cared for each other, without the darkness between them.
“Look, I’m gonna go get a mood-fluid. Thirst burst. Flavor savor.”
Wren and Jack raise their eyebrows in sync, and I laugh.
“A drink. I’ll be back.”
I recognize a lot of people – not just Avery’s group is here. She’s invited the not-populars; Wren’s student government friends, the band kids, the hipsters, even Knife-kid. And I know he didn’t just sneak in this time like he usually does, because I see Avery nod at him as she passes, instead of curling her lip.
“Being civil? Color me surprised,” I say. Avery looks me over. Her hair is straight and glossy again, her skin perfect and makeup on-point. She looks much, much better than usual.
“Sophia wanted me to be nice. And I figured, hell, I can do it once in my life. It might kill me, but I’ll do it for the sake of getting to say I did. I was nice.” She ponders this, and sighs. “Should’ve put that on my college resume. They love nice people.”
I chuckle. “Yeah. Most people like nice people. Good thing I’m not most people.”
“You’ve never liked me,” she sneers. “And I’ve never liked you.”
“True. But we’re willing to put up with each other. That counts for something, right?”
She stares at me, green eyes flaring. And it’s then I notice she’s been crying. She’s applied makeup over it, but I can barely see red puffiness under her eyes, and her nose is swollen.
“Have you seen Sophia?” I ask.
“I was just talking with her upstairs. She’s been bugging me to tell you to come find her when you get here, so, go talk to her. Quick. Before she explodes.”
“That happy, is she?”
For once, Avery smiles. It isn’t a sneer, or a sour grimace, or a catty, petty grin. It is exactly a smile, no more and no less. It is a younger Avery that shines through in that smile – a lighter Avery. A more innocent Avery. She nods.
“Yeah. She’s happy. She’s really, really happy.”
I pat her on the shoulder, and walk upstairs to the third level. It’s quieter up here, but less like a soundproof room and more like the top level of a jungle infested by monkeys in heat. Correction; monkeys in heat with access to Lil Wayne. The noise dulls, and I wander around aimlessly, but with a very specific aim. I spot a wisp of platinum blonde hair at the end of the hall, where French doors open to a mini balcony. Sophia’s leaning on the banister of it, watching the stars, a drink in one hand. She’s in a beautiful, lacy white dress with a short skirt and no sleeves, and she looks stunning, like a dove about to take flight.
She hears me coming, and turns.
“Hey! It’s about time you came. No drink?”
“You were a little higher on my priorities list. Which is weird because no one comes before booze. Except Johnny Depp. But even he has to take a number and wait in line a little.”
She smiles, and I lean on the balcony with her. Someone streaks by below, completely naked and yelling about the ‘king of alien invaders’.
“It’s a good party. People are having fun, losing their pants –”
“- Possibly their minds,” Sophia interrupts.
“ – and most definitely their minds. I take it back. It’s a perfect party.”
She giggles, and drinks out of her cup. It’s something blue and frothy, and she sticks out her stained tongue and waggles it at me.
“Gross!” I push her playfully. “You really are sick!”
“I’m contagious!” She insists. “That was my plan all along, hold a massive birthday party, infect you all, and start the zombie apocalypse.”
“’Bout damn time. I’ve been waiting for that thing for years.”
There’s a comfortable silence. I look over, and notice then her wrist is decorated with Tallie’s bracelet. It’s just barely big enough, and her wrist is just that thin and tiny. The silver glints in the moonlight. It’s breathtaking.
“I wanted to thank you,” Sophia says. “Properly.”
“For what? Making your life hell?”
“For trying.”
The wind plays with her hair, and she tucks it behind her ear and smiles at me.
“Not many people try. Once they see the real me, the one who’s suspicious and bitter and angry and hopeless, they leave, or give up. But you stayed. So I wanted to thank you for that.”
“Wasn’t…wasn’t a big deal. I just…I was just sort of pig-headed around you. I didn’t really do anything.”
“You tried to help,” She insists, grabbing my hand. Tallie’s bracelet is cool on my skin, and her palm is surprisingly cool as well. “You tried to help, and for that I can never thank you enough.”
We stand there like that, our hands joined, me looking at her and her looking at the sky.
“Do you know about Van Gough?” She asks suddenly.
“Cut off his own ear and painted LSD sunflowers, right?”
She laughs. “Yeah. His paintings…everyone says they’re beautiful, but they’ve always made me a little sad, and scared. They’re frightening – all those bright colors and all that chaos. But I suppose that is beautiful, in its own way.”
I nod, quelling the snark in me to try and enjoy this moment of peace.
“He painted Starry Night while he was in a mental asylum,” she says.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Right before he died, he painted a lot of wheatfields. I like
those paintings the best – they’re calm, peaceful.”
“I wanna see ‘em someday.”
“You will,” she asserts. “They’re really nice. It’s sad though; he killed himself. With a gun. Well, he tried to. He missed and crawled back to the inn he was staying at, and died in his bed after hours and hours of pain.”
“Jesus,” I suck in air through my teeth. She shakes her head and smiles.
“But his last words were; ‘The sadness will last forever’. And I think he was right, but I also think he was very, very wrong. It doesn’t last forever. Because we don’t last forever.”
The darkness I’d put bars over to appear cheerful at this party bubbles up from my heart. Sophia must see it, because she squeezes my hand gently.
“Hey, it’s okay. Go and get me some more of the blue stuff, will you? I’m not nearly tipsy enough to dance, yet, and that’s gotta be remedied.”
“Hah, I know that feeling. I’ll be right back.”
I take her glass and squeeze her hand as I leave. Downstairs, the party is batshit insane and only getting batshittier insaner. I wave to Jack, who follows me into the kitchen.
“So? Is she alright?” He asks.
“Yeah, she just wanted a refill on the booze. You should go see her. Drag her down here, dance with her, something.”
He flinches, but it’s well-hidden.
“I still haven’t told her.”
“I know.” I nod. “And I haven’t told you some things, either. So. Everybody’s not telling everybody else stuff. It’s fine. Secrets are kind of the crappy bread-and-butter around here.”
“I haven’t told you something very important. And I want you to know it,” he starts, icy eyes burrowing into me.
“Don’t,” I start. “Don’t, seriously, Jackoff. Not now.”
“If I don’t tell you this, Isis, it’s going to drive me crazy,” He leans in, breath hot on my cheek. “I need you to know. I want you to know –”
A scream rips through the party. That’s typical, but what’s not typical is it doesn’t stop. Someone is screaming, and they’re screaming over, and over, and it’s like metal scraping over slate. It is panic and terror, pure and unfiltered, and it’s coming from outside. Jack looks up, and I follow his gaze.
“What the fuck is that?” I hiss. Jack and I push through the crowd that’s running in the direction of the scream. The night air is crisp and people’s breath floats up as a suspended ring of clouds around a certain patch of grass on the left side of the house. People are swearing, some are sobbing, some are frantically dialing on their phones. Jack keeps pushing through the people, Wren pushing with him, but I’m frozen to the ground as I look up and see the balcony just above.
Everything goes quiet, but people’s mouths are still moving. Jack’s screams are barely audible above the ringing in my head. I move achingly slow, like I’m in a sea of sludge. People won’t move. I lean on them until they do, until the last person in the circle parts, and shows me Jack leaning over Sophia’s lovely white dress, Tallie’s bracelet around her contorted wrist, and her head twisted at a perfect ninety degree angle and her ocean eyes staring at me, wide and open, like a mannequin, like a doll, like a bird who never learned how to take flight.
‘The sadness will last forever. And I think he was right, but I also think he was very, very wrong. It doesn’t last forever. Because we don’t last forever.’
Acknowledgments
~To the reader; Thank you. I know it was hard. It’ll be hard for a while, but I promise, there will be a happy ending in the third and final book. Thank you.
~To Laura, Sarah, the LBs – I love you to bits.
~To Katie Ashley, Emily Snow, Michelle Valentine, and all the other wonderful authors-friends I’ve made in the romance indie community along the way – thank you. You have been nothing but kind and loving, and I can only hope to show you the same love and support. Thank you to Stephanie Higgins at Romance Addict Book Blog, especially, for her support and wonderful, tireless work to arrange stellar book tours for me!
~To the community, reviewers, book bloggers, goodreads librarians – you are incredible people. Every review, every blog post, every telling-your-friends-this-book-rocks, and every helpful goodreads addition gives me a little boost. You are truly the support beams of the messed up, hilarious house that is my muse. Much love to you.
About the Author
Sara Wolf is the author of LOVELY VICIOUS, a dark Young Adult about the war between a fiery girl and an icy boy, both equally damaged. She’s currently working on the third and final book in the LOVELY VICIOUS series, as well as an untitled new NA series. She’s addicted to the Vampire Diaries, loves chocolate and romantic angst, and can’t get enough of damaged heroes. For additional books, news, teasers, and giveaways, visit her at sarawolfbooks.blogspot.com or facebook.com/sara.wolf.3304