by L.J. Shen
Can I turn around?
She answers. I don’t know if it’s a good idea.
Breathe, motherfucker. Breathe.
I need to see your face when I type this next thing.
Two minutes pass before she relents. Okay.
Turning around, I drink her in. She is sitting on her bed, wearing oversized pajamas. Her hair is braided the way I like it and flung over her right shoulder. My heart is staggering like the drunken town fool right out of the brothel and into the arms of the Disney princess that are no longer stretched open. And I’m stupid because I let her go, but maybe I’m smart, too, because I realized my mistake.
I just hope it’s not too late.
I look down, my thumbs flying over my phone screen. Look at me.
I watch her reading the text. Her face screws up and tenses in agony. She doesn’t look up.
I try again. I’m throwing the game and retrieving your diary. I’m sorry it took me so long to get my head out of my ass. It was dark back there. Hard to see right from wrong. I was my sister’s keeper for so long, I never once wondered if she was worth keeping.
She still won’t look at me. Tears roll down her cheeks. I suck at this. I don’t know much about girls. I know even less about girls I like. And apparently, I know next to nothing about girls I love.
Love. Four letters can’t cover what I feel for Daria Followhill. They seem too trivial, too small, too overused.
Via made me choose between you two. Said she’d run away back to Mississippi if I made the wrong choice.
Her fingers are placid, hovering over her screen. She is not saying, or typing, or doing anything. And love IS humbling, I know now because I want to punch myself in the face for being the smug bastard who assumed he’d just walk out of this shit unscathed. The tin man didn’t ask for a heart—but got one anyway.
I love you, Daria Followhill, and I think you love me, too. In fact, I think we fell at the same time. You, like rain, in drizzles, over the weeks. Me, like the fucking sky above my head, all at once, crashing without the faintest chance of stopping.
Her fingers are moving. I’m mesmerized. She types, looks up, and meets my gaze through the screen of her tears, then puts her phone down.
“It’s too late.”
Rushing toward her, I fall to my knees, wrapping her waist in my arms and burying my head in her thighs. She doesn’t move.
“Skull Eyes?”
“Don’t lose the game. The journal will eventually get out. It’s already out of our control. You shouldn’t deprive yourself and your teammates of this win.”
“Fuck the game. What about you? What about us?”
What about the fact I just ripped my fucking heart out and dumped it at your feet, waiting for you to pick it up, and you kicked it across your room? Huh?
I look up. She bites her inner cheek. Her nose is pink, and her eyes are glittering, and I realize I no longer enjoy her suffering. It’s ripping me apart.
“I told you I love you,” I remind her quietly as though she wasn’t here two seconds ago.
“If this is how you love…” She shakes her head. “Then I don’t want your love, Penn Scully.” I open my mouth to say something, but she beats me to it. “Besides, you have Adriana and Harper to take care of.”
“Adriana and Harper are complicated.” I rear my head back about to spit out some real shit.
“I’ve known Adriana ever since I was a kid. Adriana developed a crush on me, but I never reciprocated. I was stuck in the girls-are-disgusting stage when she started noticing boys. That didn’t stop her from frequenting my house almost every day. I warned her so many times not to, especially as the years passed and things got worse at home. Mom was out of it, and Rhett became more violent. One day, just before sophomore year, she came over while I was at practice. Rhett opened the door and told her I should be in any minute, so she waited. He raped her.”
I watch Daria’s eyes widen, then she swallows hard, so I continue.
“She got out of there, shocked and ashamed. She didn’t want anyone to know. Three months later, she found out she was pregnant. It was too late to do anything about it.” I clear my throat.
I remember all the times Adriana agonized over not wanting Harper before she was born. How bad I felt for her. How guilty.
“Mostly, she was scared that Rhett would tell someone. Boast or brag about it. Most people would try to hide it, but Rhett is a fucking tool and not the sharpest in the shed. Not to mention he flirts with sanity sparsely. So Addy and I made up a story to protect both her and Harper, and gave Harper a semi-legitimate background. We told everyone I was the dad because I didn’t have a good reputation to lose—I already came from an impressive lineage of fuckups. I didn’t mind telling people that Addy was my girlfriend. It kept the teenyboppers at arm’s length. Plus, I never really wanted to date anyone.”
Until you.
“That’s how things have gone for the past three years. And for the most part, everything ran smoothly. When I hooked up with girls like Blythe, Adriana turned a blind eye. And I hooked up with girls all the time since I wouldn’t touch Adriana. But the minute you stepped into the picture, things got messy and real.”
“I’m so sorry for Adriana.” Daria squeezes my shoulder.
“She is crazy about Harper now, so don’t worry about it.”
“I saw you at the park. Castle Hill.” Daria drops her hand from my shoulder. My mind pivots back to two days ago. Addy calling me. Urgent meeting. Gus in the background.
Ding, ding, ding.
My jaw locks. Everyone’s a fucking traitor. The only person who hasn’t betrayed me so far is, ironically, Daria herself.
“I…” I start, and she presses her finger on my lips. I kiss her finger.
“Trade secrets?” She grins, but it’s a sad, tired grin.
“Sure.” I press my forehead to her thighs, breathing her in. “Make it count.”
She tells me what happened with Principal Prichard. How they went on like this for four years. Then about her last visit to his office that ended with her being so sore she still can’t sit properly.
“He was the one who brought me to the park to watch you and Adriana. I think he wanted me to give up on you.”
“Did you?”
She stands up, lifts the hem of her dress, and turns around.
Purple, black, and faded yellow welts cover her ass cheeks and the back of her thighs. I clamp my mouth shut so I don’t fucking wince. The rage of an entire army is lodged inside my body, and for the first time in my life, I worry about my lack of control over what I might do to Gabe Prichard. I’ve always been a hothead but never as deranged as I am now. The hatred I have toward Bauer and Prichard is too all-consuming for me to leave this house for the next decade.
“Oh,” she says, wincing. “And I told Dad about the entire thing and so, by default, spilled the secret that we were sort of together for a second.”
Sort of.
Were.
For a second.
“That’s fine,” I murmur, not sure where we go from here. So much has been said, and I’m still on my knees, and she is still not showing any signs of the warm, responsive Daria who I pushed away one time too many, reminding her that she was not enough. That she will never be enough.
I stand. She does the same. Our bodies sway in the same direction, never touching.
“If you care about me at all, win the game.”
“Why?”
Kudos to her for doing the right thing, but fuck, this is extreme, even for Mother Teresa.
She inhales, bracing herself for what she’s about to say next. “Because I’m boarding a plane next Saturday and finishing my senior year somewhere else.”
My mouth goes dry, and I shake my head slowly. She takes a step closer and folds my shirt under her palm so that the hole in my chest looks like it’s closing in when, in reality, it opens up like a shark’s jaw.
“Everything I touch is tainted, Penn. Everything I want tur
ns to ash. I spent the entire semester trying to be yours, but you’ve never once claimed my heart. I’m sending you to Adriana’s arms, not because I don’t care, but because I do. So much. Maybe too much. Because I screwed up so many relationships, the only way for us to heal is if I take myself out of the equation.”
You are the fucking equation, I want to yell in her face. The riddle and the answer and the numbers within it. You’re math. You make sense.
“Don’t go,” I croak. I sound like a wuss. I don’t even recognize this voice. I want a refund on my vocal cords. They suck.
She takes a step back. I try another tactic.
“Where are you going?”
She shrugs, flinging herself onto her bed, disappearing into the soft mattress like it’s a cloud.
“Come the fuck on, Daria. Give me something to work with.”
She smiles at the ceiling, drifting away from reality.
“You don’t know how the weekend is going to pan out,” I make another point.
“But I do,” she says softly. “That’s the thing about sins. They stack up and blow in your face. You can’t be my shield.”
I can be your anything. Fucking try me.
I turn around. Tug at my hair until my scalp burns. Curse under my breath. The thing about nightmares is that you never know which one your worst is until you live through it. Via and I pushed Daria out of this place. Out of her own home.
Maybe it’s because I can’t move toward the door, can’t end this shit, or generally suck at being human, but after a while, Daria stands up again and escorts me out.
So this is what it feels like to die. Cool. Good to know.
She rises on her toes. I don’t bend down to meet her halfway, knowing a kiss could very much end me at this point. She settles for pressing her lips against my throat.
“Me too,” she whispers as she shoves me out the door.
I look back, my face a huge question mark.
“You were never a drizzle, Penn Scully. When I fell for you, you came beating down, and I felt you everywhere. You were hail.”
Why didn’t you tell me we were in love?
Why did you wait for me to find out
When you broke my heart?
I show up on Cam’s doorstep the same night looking like death and probably not smelling much better.
Kannon is peeking behind him, as well as Cam’s sister, brother, mother…his entire neighborhood, basically, stares back at me like I’m fucking ET, complete with the bike and white knitted throw. Naturally, I’d have an audience on the worst day of my life. Karma has a sick sense of humor like that.
“I haven’t been living with Rhett for a while now.” I jump straight to the bottom line, pleasantries be damned.
“We know.” Cam opens the door wider, stepping sideways so I can enter. “Everyone knows, Penn. You think no one tried to drop by? Leave a message? Even your hookups were wondering where you were. No one said anything because we figured you had your reasons. Where were you?”
“The Followhills,” I say. “Via’s there now. She’s back.”
“And how do you feel about it?” Kannon asks.
“Shit.” I smile tiredly.
Everyone nods. Cam’s sister jerks me by the hole in my shirt.
“Little punk, you really got in over your head.”
The week is unadulterated torture. I don’t even bother showing up to the Followhills’ for food and sleep. I sleep on Camilo’s couch, ghosting a worried Mel and a furious Jaime. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, probably on my ass, when Jaime finally confronts me about touching his daughter. But so far, he seems more irritated than cross.
Jaime: You can’t avoid this forever.
Watch me.
Jaime: You realize I’ll see you at the game, right, Einstein?
Good point, but I’m eighteen. I don’t think further than what’s going to happen in the next ten minutes.
Jaime: Daria’s been asking about you.
Of course, I’m dumb enough to take the bait.
You BS-ing me, sir?
Jaime: Yes. But you need to come home if you want to see her before she gets on that plane.
What I don’t tell him is that I can no longer see planes in the sky without being filled with hatred toward those fuckers. Every jet is a personal offense against me. Whenever Via tries to call, I send her to voicemail. When she shows up at Camilo’s with her horrid Jeep, I slam the door in her face, regretting it didn’t hit her ass in the process.
Since we’re tapering toward the end of the season, Huggins is giving me shit for hitting it too hard and not backing off. I have so much pent-up rage in me I could give the biblical Samson a run for his money. Coach Higgins is trying to make sure that by the time we get on the field Friday night, we’re so hungry and ready, failure is not an option.
Gus has been sending sporadic text messages with question marks. I don’t know how much Via has told him, but I do not negotiate with terrorists. On Thursday, a mass message goes out from Colin, Gus’s goon, that there’s a spontaneous gathering at the snake pit for special pre-play-off fights.
I lock the football team in the locker room as soon as I get it.
“If I hear any of you miserable fucks have been fighting, I’ll raise hell, you hear me?”
Everyone nods. Everyone but an angry Camilo. “They’ve been talking trash about us all season.”
“So what? They’re just words,” Kannon replies.
“Words are everything,” Camilo responds. “They called me a fucking beaner.”
I shake my head. “Your future is everything. Don’t throw it away because Gus is trying to get under your skin.”
Later that day, I decide to show my face at the Followhill household, knowing I can no longer prolong what could be my last one on one with Daria before she moves away. I’m still at the don’t-go negotiation stage although I should probably try to focus on getting her to tell me where she is going. Not that I will have much success in that department, either, by the looks of it. In the movies, the bullshit ends once the guy reaches the realization that he loves the girl and makes some grand announcement.
In our story, it’s just one twist out of many.
I park in front of the house, use my key, and stroll inside. I’m downplaying the fact I haven’t been here in days. I find Bailey and Via sitting on the sofa with books in their hands. Daria is on the other side of the room, filling out a document—an application?—and Mel is next to her, staring at the pages Daria is filling out like they are actively trying to stab her. Everyone hears the door close behind me, but Jaime is the one who descends the stairs and volunteers to deal with the clusterfuck also known as my arrival.
He clucks his tongue, shaking his head. Doing the whole theatrics. Via stands up and disappears to the basement. Without seeing them communicating, I can tell Via is no longer Mel and Jaime’s precious project. It’s obvious they barely tolerate her after what she did to their daughter, and rightly so.
Daria excuses herself. She takes her application with her. I want to scream at her that she’s the only reason I came back in the first place.
“Sit at the island,” Jaime instructs me. I do.
Mel stands up and gets a pitcher of lemonade. I look down at my hands. I wonder if things could’ve gone differently. I wonder if they still can.
Jaime takes a seat in front of me and releases a breath.
“You think being a no-show is making things better around here?”
“I think thinking is not my best virtue when it comes to the people in this house. The more I try to make shit better, the more it blows up in my face,” I answer honestly.
“How’s the training going?”
“It’s going,” I clip.
“Are we going to address the fact you shoved your tongue into my daughter’s mouth?”
Among other places, sir.
I raise my eyes to his, showing him that I’m not weaseling out of this conversation. “Look, I know
you warned me, and I know I ignored it, but for what it’s worth, it meant something. To me, anyway. Can’t speak for your daughter, who is currently packing her bags and moving away.”
Cheap shot, but I can’t be the bigger person right now. I can barely be human. He should cut me some slack; it was his spawn who made me this way.
Jaime’s gaze shoots to Mel, who flicks her hand across the back of my head on her way to the island. She looks terrible. Skinnier than her usual malnourished self.
“You’ve had your time to sulk about it. You’re coming home after the game.” She sets a glass of lemonade and a plate with grilled cheese in front of me.
Like I’d miss my last night with Daria for the world.
“Can I talk to her?” I apparently ask the grilled cheese because that’s what I’m looking at right now.
“You need to talk to your sister first.” Mel splits the sandwich in half and distributes it between Jaime and me.
“Not happening in this lifetime.”
“Mel, can you give us a moment?” Jaime asks, his eyes still hard on me. She stands up and waves her hand as she saunters upstairs.
“Boys will be boys.”
When she is out of earshot, Jaime snaps his fingers to get my attention.
“Ever heard about the game Defy?”
I elevate an eyebrow. I’m not in the right mental state to think about anything that’s not Daria or the game tomorrow. It’ll be a pretty shit move to lose to save Daria’s skin, but I will fuck over the entire world to protect her.
“The All Saints High tradition? Yeah. Why?” That shit died before I was even in middle school. They stopped playing it over a decade ago.
He stands up, tucking his phone into his back pocket. “I’m pulling the game out of retirement one last time.”
I sit back and laugh.
“You don’t have to defy me. You can just kick my ass. I’d probably do the same.”
“Not yours. I can’t resent your puppy love even though thinking about your busted knuckles on my daughter’s skin makes me want to punch you.”
“Who are you fighting, then?” I ask, but then it comes to me. Clear as day.