“I know it sounds stupid, I get that now, but I was scared and so preoccupied with everything . . . I didn’t want to screw us up by bringing in my mess,” he says, getting the words out quickly and leaning in toward me. I lean back a little, keeping the space between us. “I wanted us to be just the way we were. I needed us to be just the way we were—it was the only thing keeping me together when everything else was going to hell. You were that important to me. You still are.”
“How could I be that important to you if you kept something so huge from me?” I demand, my heart racing as I realize our relationship wasn’t as real as I thought it was. He never told me everything, never really let me in. “I could have helped, I could have listened.”
“I know, I know,” he says, his voice rising. “The thing is, I tried to tell you, but I couldn’t even do that right.”
“Wait, when? How?”
“At Starbucks the one day? I gave you the note?”
I think back to our trips to Starbucks. There were a few. Once, though, he gave me a note found on a recycled napkin that simply had a list of medications. “What’s this?” I asked him, and he shrugged and looked down at the coffee nestled between his hands.
“You gave me a list of drugs. That you found. On the floor. At a Starbucks,” I state evenly.
“I hoped it was something,” he says, shyly, looking back at his hands, always at his hands.
“A list of drugs? How was I supposed to know what that meant?” I practically yell.
“I don’t know! I don’t know. I tried . . . you know I’m not great at . . .”
“Communicating,” I answer for him.
“Right. Yeah. And then the note before I left . . .”
“Wait, the note you found at school, about going to jail for stealing lunch from the cafeteria? That was supposed to be a hint?” I ask. “Matt.” I breathe heavily, seeing how much he tried, but didn’t. “You could have just told me. A sentence, that’s all it would have taken,” I say. “I mean, just like tonight. You could have told me all of this at the party, but you had to make it this big production with reenacting a night. I just want you to be honest and stop hiding from me.”
He balls up his fists and covers his face, pushing his glasses up. “If I could go back, I’d change everything,” he says, his voice low.
“You lied,” I yell. “You kept things from me and lied. You say you were happy with me, but how could you have been when it wasn’t a real relationship? You can’t be in a half relationship with someone. You just can’t.”
He removes his hands and nods his head, and he looks hurt, wounded, but I have to keep going.
“I mean, even your moving-because-of-your-dad’s-job was a lie.”
“It was easier than telling you everything. It was believable, so I went with it,” he says, resigned.
“So what happened,” I demand, crossing my arms across my chest. I want to know the end of the story.
“With my brother?” he asks, and I nod. He looks uncomfortable, but he continues. “My mom decided we’d move to Houston to be closer to . . . everything. Eventually my dad gave in. When I realized how shitty things were there, I wanted to tell you. I missed you so much. But by that point, my parents wouldn’t let me. Seriously. I mean, it was that bad,” he says, and I search his eyes for more.
“I mean, he was looking at a few years in prison, and he had people coming after him. Like, dudes trying to break into our house for money Chris owed them,” he says, shaking. “So I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t want you part of that.”
“Seriously?” I ask, seeing this as something out of a movie, not someone’s life. It’s horrible.
“Seriously. Everything sucked. Everything. I was constantly scared or miserable. At home my parents wanted to murder each other when they didn’t want to murder Chris. At school no one talked to me. I was the new kid, and I didn’t care to meet anyone, so I guess that was my fault. I never tried. . . . I was so angry, just so angry at myself for what I did to you, and my brother, for what he was doing to us, and just . . . everyone. I couldn’t handle it. He’s my brother, you know? I never thought . . . I never imagined this would happen.”
“I really wish you would have told me. I would have been there for you. Jake would have been, too.”
“I know, I know you would have. It’s my biggest regret, not telling you. Because if I did before I left, I would have still had you. But once there . . .”
“You couldn’t.”
“I couldn’t.” He shakes his head. “My parents didn’t want to get you involved, in case of anything . . . but really I think they were just embarrassed.”
“Wait . . .” I pause, looking back at him. “If you knew all of this was going on, why were you okay with us trying long distance? Why didn’t you just end it then? Not that I wanted you to, but . . . why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t want to! I thought, or I guess, I hoped, once we got there we’d see it wasn’t as bad as we thought. That things could just go back to normal. I mean, part of me even hoped we’d move back . . . I don’t know, I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to hurt you.” He’s twisting his watch again.
“Didn’t want to hurt me?” I ask, pushing back.
“Yeah . . .” he says, combing his hair back and leaning against the headrest. His eyes are scanning the roof, possibly looking for answers there. “I didn’t know how bad my brother’s situation would be. Like I said, I wanted to tell you once we got there, but . . .”
“But you couldn’t,” I sarcastically answer for him.
“Right.”
I stare at him, waiting for more, more of an explanation, because that’s not good enough. Yes, he had a hard time, and yes, I feel bad for him, but there has to be more. Why didn’t he just end it once he got there? Why leave me hanging? I don’t know if it’s his story, or my pent-up emotions, but I feel my heart start pounding.
“That makes no sense, Matt,” I cry out. “It’s such a cheap way out. Did you really think that would work? That I’d just forget everything? I loved you. You can’t just forget that.” I feel tears falling down my face, mingling with the raindrops, and I’m not sure which is dripping onto my shirt, and I don’t know how I got from sad to angry to sad again so quickly. He drops his head in his hands and I know he feels helpless, but for once I don’t care.
“I know, I know,” he says, turning back to me with fire in his eyes, and I feel how close the car is around us. “Don’t you think it hurt me, too?” He raises his voice. “I was the one being the bad guy. I had to live without you, too.”
“Matt. I thought we were still dating.” I yell, letting him hear the words, really hear them. “We never broke up, so I never knew where we stood, and it killed me. I didn’t want to let go because I just knew you’d come back into my life. And then I felt so stupid when you didn’t.” He’s silent, listening to what I’m saying. Everything hurts, everything. “So why not break up with me then? End it instead of just . . . disappearing?” I demand, breathing deep and painful in my chest.
“I didn’t want to!” he practically shouts. “I wanted us to work, even though I knew we couldn’t. And I just . . . I didn’t . . . couldn’t break up with you. I don’t know.” He exhales. “I guess I felt that if I just disappeared, you’d go on with your life and forget me. I didn’t want to ruin your senior year of school with a long-distance boyfriend who had to attend court sessions regularly, and pay off debts his brother owed.”
“What debts?” I asked.
He squeezes his eyes shut again. “He was selling drugs. He bought them from this guy, and the guy wanted to be paid. That’s why the guy was coming after us, because Chris never finished selling them.” He opens his eyes and looks at me. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. It’s embarrassing and . . . insane. So, yeah, I tried to disappear from you because I didn’t want to bring all of this up.”
“That’s crazy! People were coming after you?” I say. “I can’t believe . . . I can’t be
lieve you went through all of that.”
“Yeah,” he says. “But I know it’s not an excuse.”
“No,” I say. “But still.” I think about how different our years were. We were both angry and alone. If we had each other, it might have been better. Not perfect—especially not in his case—but better. “And the letter?” I ask, because I have to.
His face loses the intensity and he drifts back into himself. “Was really stupid, I know. I told you, I do stupid things and I can’t communicate like a normal person.”
“It was beyond stupid.”
“Jake sent me a message I had to respond to—”
“And you didn’t feel like you needed to respond to any of mine?” I shout. Hearing that he’d talk to Jake and not me wasn’t any easier the second time.
“His was about you. He said I needed to give you closure. It was the first text he sent me that didn’t threaten me, or say I was a horrible friend. He said I owed it to you.”
“Oh,” I say, because it’s all I can. His face is open and honest, and despite being fully clothed, I feel exposed. I pull myself together closer, tighter.
“I wanted to give you closure.”
I want to believe him, I want to think he meant it sincerely. But I see the letter again, not in his handwriting, but in some stranger’s, and I can’t help but get angry. Because it was so far from an apology, because it never gave me any sort of the closure he hoped for. “So you sent me a note you found on the ground that said some guy was sorry to some girl.”
“Yes . . .”
“And you thought that would make everything better.”
“It was a stupid decision.”
“You could have done anything at all and you decided to do that,” I repeat.
“I didn’t know what to say!” he protests, facing me again. “What do you say after so much time? I realized how much of a mess I made. I realized how wrong I was, but I didn’t want to . . . involve you anymore. And I still wasn’t allowed to tell you the truth. So I thought you’d rather hear something, but not necessarily something from me. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”
“This is just like the notes before you left. You could have told me. You could have talked to me. Why can’t you talk to me?” I practically cry. “Why can’t you trust me?”
He turns to me and his eyes are soft and he’s holding his emotions back. “I’m so sorry. I should have trusted you, I really should have. While I was gone, I realized that it would have been better having someone I loved in my life, as broken as it was, than no one at all.”
“You just realized that?” I explode. It’s all been trapped in my chest, begging to be released, and now it’s avalanching out. “I knew that from the start, but not anymore. I can’t trust you. You took that away from me when you left, when you lied to me. You took everything away. I mean, look at me, I can’t even take off my shirt without freaking out.” I point to my wet shirt to emphasize the point. “You were the good one, the one that showed me not all guys were jerks. And then you completely changed,” I cry. “You have no idea how much you meant to me, and how I felt when you left. I used to stay awake at night going over everything—over and over again—trying to figure out what went wrong. Why you weren’t calling me.” I pause, then face him. “I didn’t even know if you were alive. Did that even cross your mind?”
He’s silent, shaking his head no. “Ella, no one has ever cared about me the way you did. I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry isn’t good enough,” I state, because it isn’t and it never will be. I want him to know how I felt then, how he left me feeling rejected and confused and just . . . completely alone. That was the worst, how alone it left me feeling. How I didn’t feel like trusting anyone after him, after Nick. How I lost the enthusiasm and strength he helped build up.
“How’s your brother?” I ask simply, because despite my anger at Matt, I’m not a monster, and I want to know. “And be honest.”
“Turns out he wasn’t the mastermind in the drug ring, just a participant,” he says bitterly. “They caught the main guy that was harassing us . . . and my brother is out on probation for now. He’s being closely monitored, obviously. . . .”
“That sucks,” I say, because it does. Because, our problems aside, that whole situation is terrible, and not something I’d want anyone to go through.
“Yeah . . . My parents are still there, and they’re . . . okay. My mom convinced me to come back here.”
“She convinced you?” I ask, looking at him.
“Kind of,” he admits, softly meeting my eyes. “I wanted to, but I also felt bad leaving them. And I didn’t want to hurt you again. But she said it might make me happy.” He looks out the window into the night.
“I would have been there for you,” I say, one last time.
“I know.”
“But do you?”
“Yes.” He says it solidly, turning back to me. I shake my head and look away, holding the tears back. I’ve shed too many on him. He reaches over and tries to take my hand, but I pull it back quickly. He should know to never touch lit dynamite, and this time I’m the dynamite. He looks at my hand, and then pulls his back slowly. “I know I screwed up, and I know you owe me nothing, but I’m here now and I’ll do anything to make this better. I don’t want this to be the end.”
“But how can I trust you?” I ask gently.
“I’m talking to you now. No notes, no hidden messages, it’s just me. I don’t want to be that guy anymore. I want to tell you everything. I want you and everything you come with.”
“It’s not enough,” I say again, because it’s not. They’re just words. I feel trapped, claustrophobic, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the car. I want to roll down the windows and let air in, but the rain will come, too. There’s always rain after.
“Ella, please. Just give me another chance.”
“I can’t.”
“El—”
“I’m really glad things at home are getting better, I really am,” I say, breathing in and pushing back my tears. “But I’m leaving, Matt. It’s my turn to leave. In three months I’ll be gone and you’ll know what it’s like to be left behind.”
“Where are you going?” he asks, confused, as if the thought of me leaving never crossed his mind.
“Tallahassee. I’m going to Florida State.”
“Oh,” he says, and the single syllable contains so much more than two letters. “I just thought, I mean, I guessed . . . never mind.”
“Yeah,” I say. “You didn’t think about that, did you?” Though I’d been looking at him this entire time, I never really looked at him, never met his eyes. It was too hard. But for this—for this I have to, and it breaks my heart. “Please just let me leave.”
He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again. Because he knows I’m right.
“I’ll take you back to Meg, I guess,” he says, turning slowly toward the steering wheel.
I nod, looking ahead out into the night. When at one time I thought the night held endless possibilities, now all I see is darkness and dead ends. The magic and mystery are gone.
Our conversation ends with a bang, and I almost expect the neighbors to wake up, turn on their lights, and wonder about the explosion that just occurred in the shadowed car behind the school. But no, no one feels the crumbling but us. The moments stretch on between our words and the engine starting, and we’re left with the hollow voice of the night. The cicadas are out, but they sound more like noise than music.
And it seems only right that the same place our relationship started is also the place where it once again ends.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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THEN
10:45 P.M.
“So,” I whispered, catching my breath after getting off the roof and landing, somewhat easily, on the stairs. “You lead,” I said, nodding towa
rd Jake. He smirked back and dug into the paper bag and produced two small airplane bottles of rum.
“Liquid courage, eh?” I eyed Jake, wondering how much more he had in his bag of tricks. Normally I’d worry about his alcohol intake, but with skinny dipping on the horizon, the alcohol actually looked tempting. And I hated myself for thinking that.
Jake took a swig from one bottle, and then passed the rest to Meg. He gave the unopened bottle to Matt and me.
“Well . . .” Matt said, twisting the lid open. “Bottoms up?” He took a big gulp and then handed me the rest. I took a deep breath, held back my head, and downed the liquid. Despite it being cold, it burned, forming flames inside my body. I gagged, wanting to get the fire out, but I knew vomiting wouldn’t help. I swallowed it, extinguishing the flames, but the nausea didn’t go away.
“I’m never doing that again,” I whispered. Meg threw her arm over my shoulders and squeezed. We were in it together, it seemed. As soon as we packed the booze back into its bag, Jake took off toward the pool, and we followed obediently.
The pool was next to the building, closer to the forest surrounding the school than the street. A thin, metal gate was around it, but it was easy to hop. We’d all hopped taller fences before; earlier that night, in fact. Lampposts on each corner illuminated the area, casting a shadow on the water. Once inside, we all stopped in front of the pool, waiting for someone—Jake—to make the first move.
“Showtime,” he said, stripping off his shirt and pants, leaving his boxers on. He was pale with clothes on, but without them he was ghost white, almost translucent.
“Honey, you really need a tan,” Meg said, shaking her head.
“And ruin this body?” he asked, and just like that, turned around and jumped into the pool. We remained frozen until he surfaced.
“WOOAAHH, feels great!” he said, tossing water from his hair as he broke the surface. “Who’s coming with me?”
The Night We Said Yes Page 11