by Sophie Stern
“You’re a shitty liar,” Karen says.
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Look, what do you want me to say?” I finally look up. “I don’t know what he means. I don’t know why he wants to talk to me. I just...” I stand up and wipe my greasy hands on my skirt. It’s gross. Now I’ll need to get some Shout or something to get the marks out of my school uniform. Crap. “I want to go,” I say.
“We’re not done eating,” Adalee looks at both her and Karen’s plates, which are notably absent of fries.
“It’s fine,” I say. “I’ll pay and take off. I have some homework to catch up on anyway. I’ll see you later, okay?”
I turn and head to the front register before they can stop me. I wait anxiously, tapping my foot as I wait for the curvy waitress to come over and ring up my order.
“How was everything, doll?” She asks. She smiles a little too brightly, and I stare at her red lipstick.
“It was fine.”
“Can I get you anything else before you go?”
She means a slice of pie. I eye the counter, looking at the all of the different choices, but I don’t need anything. Somehow, the idea of trying to eat a piece of pie just makes me feel even more sick.
“I’m fine.”
She taps the register, pointing to the total amount displayed on the front, and I hand her a twenty. She starts making my change, and it takes all of my self-control not to look over at my friends.
I know they’re judging me.
I know they’re wondering what my fucking problem is.
They want to know why I’m okay with him. Probably, they want to know why I didn’t slap him in the damn face when he showed up here. Seriously, what was Gavin thinking?
The waitress hands me my change and I give her a five. Her eyes widen a little. It’s a 50% tip, but I don’t even care.
“Thanks,” she says, pocketing the money.
“Have a good one.”
I turn and leave without a backwards glance. The bells on the little door jingle, announcing my exit to everyone, but fuck if I care. I make it two blocks away from the diner before I stop and lean against the side of one of the buildings.
What am I doing?
Am I actually thinking about meeting him?
I shouldn’t. It’s a horrible idea, and I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him. I’ve been working out lately, but that’s still not very far.
But we both know I’m going there tonight anyway.
And we both know neither one of us is missing this night.
“Shit,” I mumble, and I keep walking. Soon I’m a little out of breath, and I slow down. My chest tightens a little, but I close my eyes and keep breathing. It’s not quite an asthma attack just yet. It’s more like, my body is warning me that if I keep pushing myself, I’m going to have another one.
Lately, it seems like my flare-ups are growing more frequent. My doctor says it’s because of stress, which I keep adamantly denying. She doesn’t believe me, and she’s smart not to.
Like my friends say, I’m a bad liar.
When I get back to school, I go to my dorm and up into my bedroom. I’ve got a single room this year. All of the seniors do. The longer you’re at Crescent Academy, the more you start to value your privacy, so it’s definitely offered as a sort of right-of-passage. You put in your time at the school and then you’re rewarded with a single room. I still have to share a bathroom with the girl next door, but I don’t care. I get my own bed and my own dresser and my own space to just do nothing at all.
It’s fine.
Once I’m in my bedroom, I change into a clean skirt and a tight, low-cut shirt. It shows off my breasts and my waist, and perhaps most importantly, it’s comfortable. I grab a necklace off my dresser and put that on, too. I’m not allowed to wear jewelry when I’m attending class, so evenings and weekends are kind of my time to shine.
“Now what am I going to do about you?” I hold out my stupid skirt from this afternoon, regretting that I was so hasty with wiping my hands on it. The thing about our school uniforms is that they’re absolutely shitty.
There’s a knock on the bathroom door and then Hannah pops her head in.
“Hey,” she says. “I thought I heard you come in.”
Hannah and I share a bathroom. It’s only accessible from one of our bedrooms. We don’t really interact a lot unless we accidentally get locked out of our bedroom and need to go in through the other person’s entrance, but she’s nice enough. She’s clean and tidy and she restocks the toilet paper when she uses it.
“What’s up?” I ask, still eyeing my skirt.
“A bunch of us are going to Toby’s tonight if you want to join.”
I sigh.
Yeah, I’d love to go, but I’ve kind of got this...thing.
How do I tell her why I’m shooting her down?
“I’d love to,” I say honestly.
“But?”
“But I’ve got a fuckton of homework.”
It’s a lie.
“I totally get it,” she says, smiling sympathetically. “Well, if you change your mind, Jared’s band is playing.”
“I’ll look for you if I make it,” I tell her.
“Say my name at the door and they won’t charge you a cover.”
“Got it.”
She goes back through the bathroom and I’m alone once again. Maybe I should just go to Toby’s. It’s this cool little 18+ bar where local bands are always playing. The bartenders are strict as fuck and there’s no way I can buy a drink there, but I can go drink a diet soda and listen to music and just forget.
Only I know what tonight is, and there’s no forgetting.
Shit.
Yanking on a jacket, I grab my keys and leave the room.
Apparently, I’m going to meet Gavin.
Chapter 5
Gavin
THERE’S A CHILL IN the cemetery when I arrive in my beat-up Hyundai Accent. I should be driving a Porsche or, at the very least, an Audi, but thanks to Mr. Riley’s shitty decision making and lack of moral fiber, I’m driving this piece of crap.
Perfect.
I park far from where I’m actually going. Just in case someone I know happens to wander by, I need an easy excuse for why I’m here. I park in make-out central, which is a weird name for the cozy little corner at the back of the cemetery. Nobody except freshmen come here to make out.
Slipping quietly out of my car, I start trudging across the quiet cemetery to the place where I’m going. I shuffle through the fallen autumn leaves and pull my jacket a little tighter around me. Somehow, even after all of this time, I’m still wildly uncomfortable in this place.
Maybe that’s the real reason I want Emilia here.
It’s not enough to just know that she’s hurting as much as me. I want to see her hurting as much as me, and I want her to share in my pain a little bit, even if that pain is dealing with how absolutely boring visiting a graveyard is.
Even if that pain is knowing we’ve both lost our fathers.
I make my way past several mausoleums and some large, fancy headstones. I secretly think of that as the “rich” part of the cemetery, which is pretty messed up, really. Who does that? The dead are just dead. They aren’t rich or poor, but their families certainly are. That’s why some people have these large, intricate tombstones.
And then there’s my dad.
When I get to his grave marker, I kneel down in the leaves. Maybe I shouldn’t. Emilia isn’t here yet – if she’s even coming – and I don’t want her to view me as weak, but it’s always bothered me that my dad doesn’t have something better marking the place where he’s been put to rest.
His tombstone is flat and it’s hidden now under the leaves. It doesn’t matter because I know where it is. I’d be able to find my dad’s grave in his sleep, but I push the leaves away and look at the tombstone.
“He wouldn’t have liked it,” a feminine voice says from behind me.
>
Emilia Riley.
She actually fucking came.
I don’t turn around. I’m not sure if I’m feeling more relieved or anxious that she’s actually here.
“What do you mean?” I ask, but I know exactly what she means.
“He liked pomp and circumstance. He wouldn’t have wanted something so plain.”
“He didn’t want this,” I agree. “He would have gone all out.”
“You know,” she kneels beside me and looks over at me. “In another lifetime, I could see your dad having a mausoleum.”
“For the family?”
“Nope,” she shakes her head, and her blonde hair bounces. “Just for himself.”
I laugh, even though I don’t mean to, because she’s right.
“He was kind of a pretentious mother fucker, wasn’t he?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“I would.”
We kneel side-by-side looking at my dad’s grave, and then Emilia looks to the right.
“Oh,” she murmurs, and she reaches for her own father’s marker. It, too, is plain. The words are etched right into the top of the gravestone. Both of the stones are so plain that it’s unbearable: just a name and two dates.
That’s it.
After all of the things our fathers accomplished in the world, their tombs are reduced to just what they were called, when they were born, and when they finally died.
“It’s fitting, you know, that they would be buried together,” she whispers.
“Why?” I bristle.
Her dad was at traitor.
Mine...
Well, my dad was just mine.
And I miss him.
I don’t want to be a pussy about it, but growing up without a dad wasn’t easy. Not having someone to come watch me play or to tell me I was doing fine was horrible. My mother completely lost herself after he died. Even now, I never see her. She drinks and she talks to her friends, and that’s what my mother does. She managed to get some insurance money, somehow, so she lives off that, from what I can tell.
I don’t know, because my mom doesn’t give me shit.
And she certainly doesn’t talk to me.
I would never admit it, but the only reason I’m at Crescent Academy is because some coach saw me and thought I’d make a good addition to the team. A scholarship was offered, and I accepted without ever looking back. I even forged my mom’s signature just to make sure I would be able to go.
She’s way too much of a drunk to have that kind of responsibility resting on her shoulders.
Emilia touches my shoulder lightly, and I turn to look at her.
“Are you okay?” Her brow furrows. “You seemed a little lost in thought there for a minute.”
“I’m fine,” I brush her hand away.
“Well, sorry,” she says sarcastically, roughly, and she takes her hand back. She looks at her dad’s tombstone, and I wonder what thoughts are running through that pretty little head of hers.
She sighs.
“Look, Gavin, I’m here because you wanted me here. I can go.”
She starts to rise up, but I reach for her wrist.
Shit.
I shouldn’t be touching her.
She made it very clear that I shouldn’t be touching her. Even now, when she turns, she shoots daggers at me.
“No,” she removes my hand. “Don’t touch me again.”
“I won’t.”
“Fine.”
“Please,” I say.
Shit.
Am I really going to beg her not to leave me alone?
“It’s the anniversary,” I say.
“Yeah,” she slumps back down. “I fucking know.”
Not of their deaths. They died on separate days, and that came later. No, what I mean is that it’s the five-year anniversary of the night they were taken away.
And, on a lesser, but equally important note, it was the same night I kissed Emilia for the very first time.
The only time.
It’s a shame, really, that the night our fathers were taken away was the first time we kissed. Now that memory is forever tainted with shame, sadness, and shock. I wonder if she ever thinks back to that night because I certainly do.
So much about it had been special and perfect.
She had been perfect.
“It seems like it was a lifetime ago,” she whispers.
“Do you remember the night it happened?”
“How could I forget?”
“I think about it every day.”
“They should have warned us,” she shakes her head. “I mean, I know why they didn’t. Nobody can give their embezzling secrets to their kid, but it would have been nice to have a heads-up, you know.”
“It would have been nice to know our worlds were going to change,” I agree quietly.
She looks at me sharply.
“You know, Gavin, I think you’ve forgotten that you aren’t the only person who lost something that night.”
She’s wrong.
I’m well aware that we both lost someone.
We both lost our dads, but I lost more than Emilia because my father lost his reputation. Her dad was a snake, a slime ball. I’m not going to say he deserved to die because that’s too shitty, even for me, but he wasn’t the angel she likes to think he was.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, I think I do.”
When I look at Emilia, I see something that wasn’t on her face before: resolve.
She’s resolved.
“Gavin, you’ve been shitting on me for five years now. Five years. That’s a long time to hate someone as deeply as you hate me.”
I want to open my mouth to tell her that she’s got me all wrong and that my actions are justified, but for some reason, I don’t.
“My dad went to prison with yours,” she says. “My dad made the choices that got him there, and he went down with your dad, but did you know that he tried to get your dad off?”
What.
The.
Fuck?
No, I definitely did not know that.
Not that it’s something I would have known.
I mean, I was 13 when they went away. What did I know? My biggest concern was when I’d go on my first date or get to cop a feel – from anyone.
“A deal?” I manage to ask. My voice is thick and my throat hurts a little in this moment.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “I found out about it when my mom...”
Her voice trails up and I sit up straighter.
“Your mom? What the fuck happened to your mom? Is she okay?”
“No, she’s not okay, Gavin.” Emilia looks at me curiously. She doesn’t speak for a minute, as though she’s trying to decide whether she can trust me or not, and then she seems to decide that it’s okay.
“She was committed.”
“What?” I feel sick to my stomach. How did I not know this? Wait, so who takes care of Emilia? Who looks after her? I realize that I really did have her all wrong. She’s not some spoiled little rich bitch at Crescent Academy.
She’s basically an orphan: same as me.
“When she went into the hospital, I had a bunch of paperwork to go through,” she says. “Well, my attorneys did. They tried to keep most of it from me, but I happened to see a lot of things I probably wasn’t supposed to see.”
I bite my lip so hard it bleeds. Shit. What the fuck did she see? What does Emilia know that I don’t know?
And why the hell didn’t she tell me?
Why did she let me push her around for five years and treat her like shit when she knew something I didn’t know?
She knew her dad wasn’t a bad guy. Is that it?
I think I’m going to be sick.
“When they went to trial, there was enough evidence to lock both of our dads away for years,” she says. “But my dad took the blame, Gavin. It wasn’t true. They were both involved. There was plenty of evidence that showed
they had equal partnership. My dad, though,” she shakes her head and a tear splashes off her cheek. It lands on my hand and I just look at it.
“What happened?” I whisper. Suddenly, nothing matters as much as knowing what happened next.
I need to know.
“My dad took the fall,” she whispers. “Your dad...he needed to be there for you. He knew you were going places and he didn’t want you to have the stigma of a dad behind bars. Not with the career you wanted.”
She means playing football.
That’s what it always comes down to.
But I don’t know if I can believe the things that Emilia is saying because they’re all too fucked up.
“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”
“Gavin, there’s a reason your dad only got a year but mine was sentenced to life in prison. He took the fall for yours. He took all of the blame entirely and you know what?” She shakes her head like it’s the stupidest thing ever. “It was definitely not worth it.”
Chapter 6
Emilia
COMING TO THE CEMETERY was a stupid idea, but I’ve never been the smartest person. I couldn’t force myself to stay away from Gavin. Like a moth to a flame, I’m drawn to him so much that it hurts me down to my very core.
He’s looking at me like he didn’t know, but how is that even possible?
Didn’t his mom talk to him when his father went away?
Didn’t she tell him that his dad would be back in just a short year?
Mine didn’t.
Because my dad didn’t get that deal.
Nope, when I said goodbye to Daddy, we all knew it was forever. I just didn’t know that my forever had a deadline or that my dad was going to kill himself. I had justified his leaving with the idea that I’d be able to visit him in prison when I wanted to, but that didn’t happen, did it?
Shit.
The look on Gavin’s face says he had no idea this was an issue. How is that possible? Did his mother hide it from him?
“That’s not true,” he finally spits out, and I roll my eyes and get to my feet.
Fine.
Whatever.
I’m not going to sit around and argue with him about it.
Not about this.
Not about something that’s so fucking important.