by Amanda Grace
Funny. All I’ve ever want is Happy, period. Now, Ever After, In Between. Something.
“Do you go out with a lot of ‘happy for now’ sort of guys?” I ask.
“Back off,” she says, irritation suddenly lacing her tone. “Weren’t you trying to convince me earlier today that people didn’t see me that way anymore?”
I purse my lips, swallowing, hating that she’s right. The first chance I had, I threw her reputation in her face.
I raise my hands in a surrender pose. “Sorry.”
“You’re just like all the others, you know. So happy to laugh and make snide remarks.”
I just stare.
“Oh, whatever, don’t act wounded. With all of your amazing accomplishments, last year’s yearbook probably had to be extended by a dozen pages. President of FBLA, captain of the gymnastics team, leader of the debate team … ” Her voice trails off.
Everything she said is true, yet the way she’s saying it—like I’ve done it all just to show off, that I didn’t have to give up every free moment to achieve those things—aggravates me. “Ah, so you’ve got me pegged, huh?”
“Hey, just like I said, it’s pretty obvious you like being on top of the totem pole, even if you have to climb over people to get there. And you realized I was right, didn’t you?”
I grit my teeth and stare her down, willing her to, I don’t know, spontaneously combust.
Instead, Zoey looks smug as she traces the rim of her glass with a finger. “I’ve seen you and your little friend at your precious little lunch table. You’ve cobbled together just the right things to broadcast the image of perfection. Take your preppy little skirt, for instance. It fits right in with the … décor.” She waves her hand around the room. “You wear our required skirts all day every day, same as me, and yet you don’t take the chance to relax when you’re home.”
I cross my arms. “I’m not a cardboard cutout.”
“No one said you were. I’m sure there’s some substance behind your pretty little façade. I’m just waiting to see it.”
My jaw drops.
“Don’t look so offended. I’m just calling it like it is. If you thought I was wrong, you’d be angry, not shocked.” She shrugs, but her eyes still don’t leave mine and I find it hard to look away. I no longer feel guilty for being such a bitch to her earlier.
“Like I said, Olivia. Image. You know all about it.”
And with that she walks away, disappearing down the hall.
Zoey
Image.
What the fuck was I even doing, blasting Olivia about image? Like I don’t spend more time shredding my clothes than she does applying her pastel lipstick. At least she has her shit together, even if it all does seem a little fake.
Then again, I’m still not sure what happened in the school bathroom, so maybe she doesn’t actually have her shit together. My money is still on diet pills. No one gets that skinny without cutting corners.
I knew her place would be just like that—all pompous and shiny, overstuffed but simultaneously hollow. The kind of home that screams money, oozes it at every turn.
At least it turned out to be a fun evening. Snobby little Olivia disappeared somewhere after our conversation and the boys decided to play beer pong, and Liam kept teasing me but not in an asshole sort of way. In a flirty way, which was almost as intoxicating as the beer. For one shining evening, I wasn’t such a loser.
And once he’d ditched his letterman’s jacket in favor of a T-shirt with a big Ghostbusters logo, he almost seemed like my type. Like he wouldn’t mind hanging out somewhere low key instead of a place like their penthouse.
No wonder I didn’t guess that Olivia was his sister. They’re polar opposites.
And now, as I walk home, my head spins in a way that makes it hard to think about pretty much anything.
Perfect.
It’s only a few miles to my house, but those few miles might as well be a few hundred for all the changes I encounter. The new construction on the waterfront gives way to the Victorian mansions in old town, which transition to neat and tidy homes with their perfect little shutters and postage-stamp-sized lawns, and then those turn into darkened apartment complexes with rusting chain-link fences and dogs barking.
It’s here where I can’t help but slump my shoulders, hunching into my sweatshirt and pulling the hood up over my hair. When I make it to our tiny box-shaped house, I cross the weed-infested lawn and climb the cement steps, stopping to pull out my key and unlock the door.
My mom is lying on the couch, her eyes closed as the TV flickers in the darkness, some kind of late night infomercial. I’ve never understood it, but she can stay up all night watching infomercials even though she can’t afford to order anything. I guess it’s the closest she gets to shopping.
I pick up the blanket that’s slid off her body and tuck it around her shoulders and feet. She stirs but doesn’t wake.
It’s like my buzz wears of instantly as I look at her, so tired she didn’t even make it to bed. I shouldn’t have yelled at her earlier and stormed off. She really is doing her best, and she’s all me and Carolyn have.
I pick up the plate and cup on the coffee table and take it to the kitchen, setting it down as quietly as possible.
Then I head to the room I share with my sister.
I creep through the door, resisting the urge to sweep her hair out of her face and see how dark her bruise has become. Instead, I climb into bed and pull the threadbare blanket up to my chin.
I wonder if Olivia realizes how good she’s got it. If anyone could grant me just one wish, it would be that Carolyn was her sister and not mine.
She deserves to live like Olivia does.
Olivia
“Must be nice,” I say, studying my brother as he walks into the living room, an energy drink in hand.
“What?”
“Being a guy.” I step into his path and gesture at his clothing and hair. “Rolling out of bed and throwing on some old T-shirt, and still looking decent.”
The words aren’t all that biting, but my tone is. I’m still pissed at him for blowing me off.
He gives me a gentle nudge and I kind of bounce off the wall as he walks past me. “Whatever. You’re the one who decides to slather all that crap on.”
“Oh, come on, you know it’s a double standard.” I follow him as he pushes the French doors open and steps out onto our balcony. The warm sea breeze welcomes us.
“Somehow I doubt it was some dude who created makeup,”
he says, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the railing. “So don’t blame me.”
“Says the guy whose girl-of-the-moment resembles a raccoon.”
He flicks a glance over at me. “It wasn’t that bad, was it? I thought she was kind of cute.”
“Obviously, since you decided to pick her up like a stray cat and bring her home.”
“I like her. Might keep her around for a bit.”
“Famous last words.” I sit down on an Adirondack chair, adjusting the back so I can recline.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I give her a couple weeks,” I say, grabbing the Cosmo magazine I discarded on the side table a couple of days ago. It’s still a little chilly to be outside, but it’ll warm up. “Sorry, but you’re not exactly the relationship type, and that girl is one hot mess. Too much for you to deal with.”
Liam downs the rest of his drink in one big gulp. “Eh, whatever. I guess we’ll see.”
I grin at the annoyance in his voice.
“You know, you could at least have texted me last night.”
“Why?”
“Seriously?” My anger spikes again. “You blew me off. I looked like a complete tool sitting there waiting for you.”
“Sitting where?” he asks.
“The Gran
d Cinema!”
His jaw drops and I watch the range of emotions cross his face. “Ohhhh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I completely spaced.”
“Whatever.”
“No, really, I’m sorry. I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“I know. I’m sure you found some super-amazing staircase or handrail and couldn’t leave until you aced it.”
His silence is all the confirmation I need.
“I’ll let you make it up to me,” I say, leaning back again and squeezing my eyes shut. “Let’s skip class on Friday and head out to the cabin. Then we’ll be there all day Saturday, for our birthday, and we can come home on Sunday. A whole three days at the cabin. If this weather holds up, we’ll be able to swim. I mean, Ava can’t make it, but you can invite your friends just like always.”
He doesn’t speak, so I crack one eye open. But he’s still standing at the railing, his back to me, his hands loosely clasped as he leans on his forearms.
“Liam?”
“I was thinking of going to the casino for my birthday. You know, turn eighteen, break in the ID … ”
My chest constricts. “But we always go to the cabin,” I say, and it sounds like an accusation, that same neediness creeping in. God, what is with me?
“I know. But this is different. We’re about to be adults.”
I don’t know why it feels like my heart has climbed into my throat. This shouldn’t be that big of a deal. It’s just … our parents began taking us to the cabin when we were kids, and then once they started leaving us to our own devices, we just carried on the tradition ourselves. Ten years now, we’ve celebrated our birthday the same way.
And now he’s clearly already decided. Given it a lot of thought. Made plans.
“What casino?” Emerald Queen Casino is in Tacoma, a ten minute drive from our place. Even though spending my birthday there isn’t what I want, I could do it. Show up for a few hours, play some blackjack or bingo or something.
“Quinault. I was thinking of getting a room on the water.”
Oh. That’s way better than stupid old Emerald Queen. I could walk the beach, enjoy the sand …
“That sounds fun,” I say, reluctantly, giving up the idea of our tradition. After all, we’re getting older. We don’t have to do the same thing forever. “I guess we could do that.”
That’s when he finally turns around, and the look of pity on his face is like a dagger to my heart. “I’m going with the guys, Liv.”
My eye sting, almost instantly. “Why can’t I go?”
“Why can’t you just make your own plans? I’ve shared my birthday with you all this time, and now I want to hang out with my friends. It’s not a big deal.”
“Our birthday is in a week,” I point out. “You could have told me before now! Ava’s going to L.A. with her mom. What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know! You’re an adult too. I’m sure you can figure it out.”
And then he leaves me there on the balcony with only the sun for company. I try to be mad, but I can’t muster the anger when all I feel is hurt.
I’ve spent my whole life with my brother as my best friend.
I don’t know who I am without him.
Zoey
Burgerville is the bane of my existence. More specifically, the hideous blue visor is the bane of my existence. No matter how many times I adjust it, it seems to just loosen up, and then it slides forward and falls into my eyes.
“I hate this stupid thing,” I mutter, shoving it back onto my forehead.
“You and me both, kid,” says my coworker Rita as she walks past. “I’ll be in the walk-in for a little bit taking inventory. Think you’ll be okay?”
I survey the mostly empty dining room. “Yeah, I can handle it.”
I finish wiping the countertop with a bleach-laced rag and the bell near the door beeps. I glance up from my work, but the visor falls down again, obscuring my view of whoever just walked in the door.
Screw it. “Welcome to Burgerville, how may I service you?” I say, in a fake cheery voice, like serving up burgers made of forty-seven ingredients is the pinnacle of my existence.
Someone on the other side of my visor snickers, so I shove the thing back onto my forehead.
Oh. “Uh, hey,” I say, when I meet Liam’s gaze.
Next to him, Olivia crosses her arms and shoots an annoyed look at her brother. “Ah. Now I understand the sudden, earth-shattering need for a greasy burger. Get me a Diet Coke,” she says, striding away.
“Hey, I’m just a method writer,” I call after her. “This gig is part of my research into the lives of factory workers.”
She pauses for a second and narrows her eyes, like she almost believes me, but I can’t keep a straight face. She ends up just shaking her head and walking off.
When I look back at Liam, he gives me a lazy half-smile. “Hey, so—”
“How’d you know I worked here?” I ask.
He cocks one bushy eyebrow, and for a second I wonder if that’s how Olivia would look if she didn’t wax and tweeze every last stray hair. “You told me.”
“Oh.” God, I’d been really drunk. I was so hung over when I woke up yesterday that it nearly carried into today.
Burgerville is just far enough up the hill that most kids at Annie Wright or Stadium High never wander in. And if they do, it’s always via the drive-thru, which I avoid like the plague. Guys like Liam don’t bother coming in and sitting down at a place like this.
“So, uh, what can I get for you, other than the Diet Coke?” I punch the soda key on the register and wonder if there’s a subtle way I can ditch this dumbass visor without looking like I’m doing it for him.
“Give me the double-burger combo, too.”
“Onion rings or French fries?” I ask, hating my life. I feel like a walking, talking cliché, a poor kid working a dead-end job and asking, “Would you like fries with that?” But this job is a means to an end.
I’m just not sure where the end is.
“Onion Rings.”
“Okay. With Olivia’s drink, it’s $6.42.”
He hands me a hundred, and a few moments later I’m handing him more cash than I see in weeks.
Liam shoves the change into his pocket haphazardly, like he’s used to carrying wads of bills around, like it’s not a big deal if a twenty ends up on the floor.
“I’ll bring out your food when it’s ready.”
“Great,” he says, plastering on an easy smile. And in that instant I know that’s what life is to him—easy. He waltzes through it without a care in the world, throwing footballs and riding skateboards, every day just like the last. I don’t know what he plans for his future—if he’s a perfect little brainiac like his sister seems to be—but I know it doesn’t matter. Whatever he wants, it’s his.
I wonder what it’s like to live that way, to have this never-ending burden lifted.
I watch him a second longer as he strolls away, his letterman’s jacket hugging his shoulders, REYNOLDS blazed in gold at the top, and then I turn back to my job. I salt the fries and dump a new basket of them into the grease, the oil hissing.
“Classmates?” Rita asks, setting her inventory sheet on the counter next to my register.
Rita’s thirty-four years old and has worked here for nine years. I have a hard time looking directly at her, because I know every time I do, I’m going to see myself staring back. She’s me as an adult, if I don’t figure out how I can make something of myself without leaving Carolyn behind.
A few minutes later, I’m plunking Liam’s burger on the tray and walking toward the siblings, balancing Olivia’s Diet Coke on the edge. I don’t breathe until I’ve managed to set it down without spilling it all over her silk polka-dotted blouse.
“Do you have a brea
k coming up?” Liam asks, reaching for an onion ring. I don’t have time to tell him it’s fresh from the fryer before he bites in and winces, fanning his mouth.
The edges of Olivia’s lips curl but she doesn’t say anything, just sips at that Diet Coke of hers.
“Um, yeah. I guess.”
“Cool. Sit down with us,” he says.
“Uh, just a second,” I say, and then hustle back to the counter. “I’m going on break,” I call to Rita, then slip off my mustard-stained apron and toss my visor onto a hook near the counter.
Moments later, I’m sliding into the chair next to Liam, wearing just my red polo shirt and black pants. Liam reaches over, and I freeze as he slides his fingers over my hair. “Your bangs are a little jacked up from that hat,” he says.
“Uh, thanks.”
“You still look cute, though,” he adds, like he realizes he’s just insulted my craptastically good looks. Olivia’s lips thin into a line, like she’s trying not to laugh at him. Or me.
Yeah, probably me.
“Uh, thanks,” I say, and then inwardly cringe that I’m just repeating the same stupid things over and over. Screw this. I’m not going to let him intimidate me. A week ago I didn’t even know he existed. “So, what’ve you been up to?”
“Eh, yesterday I went skateboarding again,” he says.
“Oh? How’d it go?”
“Ew, don’t ask him that,” Olivia interrupts. “I can’t handle another dramatic retelling of his rail slide.”
“Hey, it was pretty epic.”
“Right,” Olivia says. “I’m sure the X Games will be calling any minute.”
“Fine, don’t believe me.”
I watch their verbal sparring, pretending not to be bothered by it.
And I’m not bothered. I’m jealous. I wonder what it would be like to be able to joke around with Carolyn, to not have all of our shit hanging over us. Instead I’m stuck icing her eye and watching garage sale cartoons.
“Olivia just wishes she could skateboard like I do,” Liam says, turning to me. “What about you?”
“Skateboarding? No.”