by Cat Patrick
I start toward the two-story house, walking like the life has been sucked out of me. Who knows? Maybe it has. I ring the bell and blow out my breath just before the front door opens.
“Hey, sweetheart,” my father says warmly. But unlike last time, his words seem more hollow. I want to ask him where he’s been the last five years, how he let this happen to me. But I just force a smile and let Dad lead me into the kitchen, where Debra is making some sort of saucy meat concoction. My dad tells me that Teddy’s not coming because he has a test tomorrow and needs to study. The minute my father turns his back, I text my brother: YOU LEFT ME!
I genuinely smile when Teddy writes back, PULL ON YOUR BIG-GIRL PANTS. YOU’RE FINE.
Dad and I end up in the living room where he quickly leaves to get me something to drink. I stare at the muted TV, the photos on the wall. There’s one of Gram in the dining room; I can’t look at it right now. When Dad’s back, we sit in awkward silence for a few seconds before he decides to take control of the conversation.
“How’s school?” he asks.
I shrug. “Fine.” Sip.
“Grades are good?” he asks.
I nod. “Yep.”
“Simone?”
“She’s fine.” I sip again, trying to think of something else to say. Then, “The same as always: loud and funny. She always has my back.” I didn’t tell her about Joel, I think. I’ll never tell her.
“Everyone needs a Simone in their life,” Dad says, finishing his own drink and setting it aside. “I know your gram’s death has been hard on you, Coco. If there’s anything—”
“Dinner’s ready!” Debra calls from the other room. I’ve never been so thankful for an out from a conversation as I am in this moment. I mumble a thanks to my father, and then we move into the dining room, which looks like it was decorated out of a fancy catalog—I’m a little afraid to touch anything. The table is set for three, but there seems to be enough food for three hundred.
“I guess I went a little overboard,” Debra says, looking embarrassed. I can see how much she wants me to like her. If I were in a different head space, I might. But right now, she’s just trying too hard.
“I love leftovers,” Dad says when I don’t answer. He goes over and kisses her on the forehead with adoration so pure that it stings. Way back before the divorce, he used to kiss Mom’s forehead, but never like that.
Dinner consists of small talk between the adults and short responses from me when prompted. The food is actually good—Debra is a better cook than Mom, which may be why Dad has a bit of a belly now.
At the end of the night, Dad and Debra offer up their newly redecorated guest room, but I just thank them and smile my fake smile. I text Mom that I’m leaving because she made me promise that I would, then take the long way through the middle of campus to get back to the highway. The old brick buildings are spotlit from the ground up so that kids can find their way.
I stop at a four-way sign, and a group of scarf-wearing, coffee-at-night-carrying students crosses the street. It’s two guys and three girls, and one of the guys says something so funny that all three of the girls toss back their heads like horses when they laugh at him. The guy’s cute—he’s blond and all-American-looking but not in an over-the-top way. He’s in a plaid shirt with a puffer vest and his cheeks are flushed from the cold. It seems like any one of the girls could be his girlfriend, and when the tall dark-haired one takes his arm, I guess it’s her.
I’m staring at him when halfway across the street, out of nowhere, he looks at me. Our eyes hold each other’s long enough for the girl to slap him playfully on his chest. I feel a pang of loss when he turns away.
I watch the group disappear, feeling something like familiarity for Mr. Hilarious. I wonder if he’s a friend of Teddy’s and think back to when I met a bunch of them at his dorm. I’m lost in thought when the car behind me beeps. I drive through the intersection, craning my neck for one last glimpse at the guy. But he’s gone.
SIXTEEN
GO
My father takes Tuesday off from work and stays home with me, occasionally looking at my cheek underneath the ice pack he bought just for this occasion. He’s sweet—never once asking what happened, or even funny, like when he calls me Rocky Balboa. All in all, his simple presence makes it better.
I tell Chris that I’ll be at my mother’s for a few days to help her sort through my gram’s belongings (which has already been done) so that he won’t come by and find me battered and bruised. All I want right now is to erase the last month of my life—erase every day since my gram had her stroke.
The week is quiet as I heal, and it isn’t until Thursday morning at breakfast that my stepmother finally sets down her fork and stares at me. “Since your father is never going to ask,” she says, shooting him a pointed look, “I will. What happened? Why on earth would anyone hit you like that? I saw the bruises when you walked down the hall from the shower. You have a footprint on your back, Caroline. I think we should press charges.”
“It was a boot,” I say, putting a soggy piece of waffle in my mouth. It’s too sweet from syrup, too salty from butter. I nearly gag on it and then choke down an orange juice chaser. “I don’t want to press charges,” I say.
My father shifts in his seat, and I look up. His face is weary and distraught as he folds his hands in front of him on the edge of the table. “Do you want to move back to your mother’s? I understand if—”
As he continues to talk, saying he’ll support whatever decision I make, I think of Gram. What she would say if she were here. I twist the charm of her necklace with my fingers, and then all at once, like a dream, she’s here. I don’t see her or anything crazy like that. But I feel her—a sudden force that is equal parts hug and shove. She’d want me to be strong. She’d want me to stop running. To finally stop running.
“I’m not going to move,” I tell my dad then, looking up at him. “I want to stay here with you and Debbie.” My stepmother lets out a breath, as if she’s been holding it in the entire time.
“Then we’re happy to have you,” my father says, smiling in a way that is so much like Teddy, I feel an actual pain at how much I miss my brother. Even if he’s the one who owes me an apology for flipping out on me and my boyfriend.
I decide to let my dad call me in sick to school on Thursday and Friday. It doesn’t take much convincing, especially since the bruise on my face is still really swollen. I have plans to meet up with Chris after the ritual Sunday dinner at my dad’s, but when my brother calls around noon to say he isn’t coming, I know I have to fix things with him. I send Chris a text: RAIN CHECK ON TONIGHT. SORRY. FAMILY STUFF.
I expect him to make a joke or say he’s going to hunt me down anyway, but instead he writes back, MY FAULT?
I furrow my brow. NOT THIS TIME …
I’ll have to tell Chris about the fight eventually, especially since he’s going to see the bruises sooner or later. But first I’m going to meet up with Teddy and put the entire mess behind us.
It’s after three when I finally get up the nerve to leave my house, the bruise on my cheek still noticeable even with a ton of Debbie’s foundation. My brother doesn’t know I’m coming, but I’m surprising him with his favorite—Debbie’s homemade quiche—so he can’t exactly turn me away.
Then again, I probably should have called, because nobody answers my brother’s door as I pound on it. I realized when I got to his floor that I left my phone in the car—which is a clear indication that I must have a concussion.
I groan, thinking that Teddy and Phil are probably at the library. I leave the covered pie plate on the floor next to their room. I’m halfway across the downstairs lobby when I realize that I didn’t leave a note on the dry-erase board on his door. I should at least let my brother know that I’m the one who left the food.
I press the button for the elevator, but when the doors slide open, the world seems to drop out from under me. From inside the cramped space, Chris’s eyes widen when he sees m
e standing there. His arm is slung carelessly over the shoulders of a pretty brunette while she’s still mid-laugh. Quickly Chris pulls away. The girl offers me little more than a curious glance, but I know at once that she’s Maria. Devastated, I take a step back.
Chris looks between me and Maria before opening his mouth. “Oh. No, I—”
“Shut up,” I say, thinking back on everything Teddy said that day. Chris and I were supposed to be together tonight, but when I cancel, he comes here? He sees her? Has he been with her all week? A dagger, sharp and poisoned, twists in my gut.
I’ve been so stupid. I should have just stayed away, stayed in my old life with my family—my mother, sister, and Simone. Ever since Gram died, I’ve been reckless—running away from my problems, trusting people I shouldn’t, getting jumped in the school bathroom. And it seems like everything horrible started right here. Right with Christopher.
I turn to leave. Chris jumps forward, grabbing my upper arm to spin me to him, but when he sees me up close, he gasps.
“Caroline, what happened to your face?” He puts his palm on my cheek as his eyes go panicked and feral. “Who did this to you?”
But my pride and heart are aching too much for me to tell him. I hate him for sounding so concerned, so protective. He’s made a fool out of me, just like Teddy thought he would.
“Get off,” I say, pushing him away. Behind him, Maria purses her lips and looks at the ground. I back toward the door, shaking my head. “Don’t call me, Chris,” I say. “Don’t show up. Don’t anything. I’m done.”
I turn before he can touch me again, jogging toward the exit. I hear him cut after me, but I dodge to the right the minute I’m out of the building and then flatten myself against the outer wall while he runs toward the parking lot, screaming my name. The pain in his voice nearly unravels me, but I won’t be just another girl to him. I wanted to be the girl.
It was only a coincidence that I parked on the street when I got to the dorm, but I’m glad as I make my way toward my car. My body is shivering, but it’s not from the cold. This is what it’s like to be hollowed out, to have hit rock bottom.
When I get in my car, I find my phone dropped down between two seats. I fish it out and stare down at the screen, not sure who to turn to anymore. Suddenly I think about Debbie’s words about needing family—about maybe needing a sister. I dial my mother’s house, but when Natalie answers, I nearly hang up. I force myself to talk and ask in a cracked voice for our mother.
“Caroline,” my sister says. “What’s happening? You sound weird.”
I close my eyes and listen to the hum of my engine as I let my car heat up. I’m not sure where to start—so I go back to the beginning. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when Gram died,” I whisper. “I hate myself for it, Natalie. I would do anything to take it back.”
My sister takes in a harsh breath, speechless for a moment. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you,” she says. “You had every right to go out that night, Coco. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
The affection in her voice makes me feel like we’re kids again, sneaking to look at our Christmas presents under the tree while our parents were still asleep. Natalie and I weren’t always this far apart. We used to be friends.
“I’m having a really bad week,” I choke out finally, adjusting the rearview mirror to look at my face—actually look at my face. I’m shocked by what I see, the distortion in skin tone, the swelling. The utter sadness in my eyes.
“Nat?” I ask. “Are you busy right now? I could use someone to talk to.”
“You’re willing to talk to me again?” she asks, a little teasingly. “Of course, Caroline. Are you at Dad’s?”
“I’m on my way home now.”
“Then I’ll meet you there,” she says. “And hey, I’ll even bring the bottle of wine Aunt Claudia left behind.”
I choke out a laugh. “Don’t you think she’ll ask about it when she comes in for Thanksgiving?”
“Naw,” Natalie says. “She’ll just bring more. I’m going to throw on sweats and head over. I’ll see you soon.”
I let out a held breath as I hang up. Even though it’s been years since my sister and I have been close, it seems almost too easy. In a way, I think maybe I never really lost her at all. And so with the comfort of that thought, I leave the Clinton campus, letting the hurt fade rather than trying to bury it.
SEVENTEEN
STAY
I’m swimming in a tank, watching the humans go by. I’m underwater, so I can’t hear them. I’m a fish, so I don’t speak their language. Mostly I don’t know the word “happiness”—it doesn’t seem to apply to me anymore—but I’m not sad either. I’m just here—sitting on Joel’s beanbag chair playing the role of girlfriend in the fake movie version of my life. Watching the formerly mellow male lead bounce off the walls about Friday’s Electric Freakshow concert.
“I’m so glad your mom didn’t find out that you skipped class again. I still can’t believe you did that. And here I thought you were such a good girl.” He grins, something mischievous, flirtatious. But it only turns my stomach.
“She’s kind of clueless most of the time,” I say flatly. The thought of getting in trouble doesn’t deter me. In fact, I’m thinking of cutting history tomorrow.
Joel’s moved on. “I looked up the set lists online. I think they might open with ‘Magnets for Fate.’ I hope they do: That would be so badass.”
You used to be so reserved—I guess this is what amps you up.
Or have you been brainwashed?
Have I?
“My mom’s letting me take the Suburban,” he says from across the room. “We can take a few more people if Simone and her man-of-the-week want to ride with us.”
“Don’t talk about her like that,” I snap. Joel tosses a pillow at me.
“You know I’m joking,” he says. “Simone’s cool.”
“Yes.” I look at him sternly. “She is.” I watch him walk into his closet to flip through his assortment of hoodies. “Besides,” I say. “Simone’s not coming.”
“Why not?” he calls, not looking back. “How could she miss it? I mean, they probably won’t get back to the city for another two ye—”
“I already told you a million times,” I say, annoyed. “She’s grounded.” I suddenly realize that Simone’s a sweet talker—that she’s gotten passes from her parents before while grounded. That maybe it’s something more. I haven’t told Simone that I slept with Joel, but I’m not exactly great at hiding things either. She knows I’m lying to her about something, and she thinks I’m madly in love with Joel Ryder and have ditched her every night for him. But in reality, I’ve been spending it in my room. Alone. Simone can’t make me forgive myself, and she can’t bring Gram back. Those are the only two things I want—and they’re impossible.
“What’s Simone doing with her tickets?” Joel asks. “Does she want us to scalp them? Because if so, we have to leave even earlier.”
“We’re already leaving at four,” I say, rolling my eyes. “That’s early enough.”
“Baby,” Joel says, turning toward me again. His eyes are bright, and he’s smiling, but the word “baby” does nothing to endear me now. “I’d have gone last week if I could,” Joel continues. “But, hey, at least we get to go together.”
“At least,” I mutter. I want to sprint away from this place, from this life. But the lead in my shoes is the fact that in a few days, I’ll get to see my favorite band of all time. Music is the only thing that reaches me inside the fishbowl. So when Joel leans down to kiss me, I just close my eyes. And pretend I’m somewhere else.
Natalie has night class tonight, but I call her on the way home. I never told her about Gram’s necklace, and although I know it’s part of why I’ve been avoiding her, the thought of going alone with Joel to the concert has me almost panicked.
“Hey,” I say when she picks up. “I was calling to see if you’re not too busy on Friday night, maybe you could come with me as
I try to persuade River Devlin to marry you.”
“I love him!” Natalie screams into the phone. “Wait … how do you know I love him?”
“I heard you on the phone,” I say. “Anyway, Simone isn’t using her two tickets, and if you want to go—”
The sound of Natalie’s even louder screams on the other end of the line cut me off and make me hold the phone out from my ear. “So that’s a yes, then?” I ask when she’s finished.
“Yes!” she says excitedly. “Yes, definitely. Oh, wow, this is going to be awesome. I have to start planning what to wear.”
“I’ll help you pick something,” I say. The voice coming out of my mouth sounds like someone else’s, someone normal. “If you’re going to snag a rocker, a sweater set won’t cut it.”
Natalie laughs, and later, after I hang up—I’m glad I called her.
SEVENTEEN
GO
“Tricia’s back,” the girl behind me says when I sit down in homeroom Tuesday morning. I turn tentatively, not sure if she’s talking to me this time. When she nods, reaffirming that she is, I feel my heart sink. I might have been hoping Tricia would never return.
“Don’t worry,” the girl says. “If she touches you again, we’ve got your back.” She motions to the blonde next to her.
“Yeah,” her friend adds. “That was messed up. Two on one is some nasty stuff and totally not cool. Not to mention Aaron’s a douche nozzle anyway.”
I laugh, unable to stop myself from glancing over at Aaron. He’s wearing his varsity jacket as he stares down at his folded hands, looking miserable. He was one of the first people to talk to me yesterday, saying that it was all a misunderstanding. I didn’t stick around to listen to his pathetic ramblings, though. Looking at his sorry self now, I might even forgive him—if I didn’t completely resent him for dragging me into his drama.