Liars and Losers Like Us

by Ami Allen-Vath

  I interrupt to say she’d probably shit her pants and then have Jane jump Maisey for the crown. “Yeah she’d probably—probably be pretty bummed out. That’s kind of her scene.”

  “I was going to say she’d wrestle Maisey to the ground for that crown and weird bathrobe they wear. But yeah, she’d be bummed,” Sean says.

  I laugh, wishing I’d said what I was thinking. After pacing the length of my room a few times, I start rearranging the books in my bookcase by color as a way to calm the butterflies moshing in my stomach.

  “So … thanks for letting me swipe those notes. I didn’t even take any in class. All those labels and rules for writing go over my head. It’s confusing.”

  “Yeah, it can. But you don’t have to worry, really, since the first assignment is to write whatever you want.”

  “As long as it’s about an animal, right? Maybe I should write about your crazy cat that jumped on your lap and made you drop your phone while you were all alone.”

  I laugh and cringe, because a) Unless the black cat clock on my wall counts, I don’t have a cat, and b) His voice is so handsomely hot and flirty. Or maybe he’s just being nice. I frown at a book cover with a guy and girl almost kissing in the rain.

  “So when can I get these notes back to you. We could meet up.”

  Meet up? The inside of my stomach is swishing around like crazy so I offer my stupid Monday idea. “You don’t have to do that. I can just get them back Monday if it’s a big deal.”

  “Um, well I was …” He leaves the sentence hanging mid-air.

  Instantly I regret trying to act indifferent. I’m glad he can’t see me right now. Wide-eyed, hot-faced, and pacing, wondering where to shelve a bluish-greenish book with a girl tiptoeing underwater. “Or yeah, we could meet up this weekend.”

  “Okay, let’s do that. Can you meet up tonight? Like later though? I have a … a thing. But I could probably meet you at 24/7 or Java Joint around 9:30?”

  I hesitate. Meeting up somewhere almost sounds like a date. Unless he’s already going on a real date and meeting me afterward. Or hanging out with his friends first and then me second. Not that it matters. Sean Mills!

  “Okay, that works,” I say. “I have a thing too, so that’s perfect. How about Java Joint?” My second request tonight in order to avoid a busy social scene.

  “Sure, and if you want, maybe you could help me a little with this poetry stuff? Only if you wanted. If you have time or if it’s not too late?”

  He does sound nervous. He needs to look in the mirror more. And take more selfies. And send them to me.

  “Okay, yeah,” I say. “I’m such a party animal anyways. My day pretty much starts at 9:30 at night so it works.”

  “Great. See you then.”

  Click. “Good-bye?” I say to the air. I hate when people don’t say good-bye when they hang up. But it’s Sean, the hottest cutest everything on the planet, so he gets a pass. For now.

  THREE

  When Mom and I step into Azumi, I’m surprised there’s a five to ten minute wait. Along with not having a very adventurous palate, Belmont is one of the smallest towns in Northern Minnesota, especially in the off-season. There are a lot of lake houses and cabins around here so most businesses do better in the summertime—especially places that aren’t all cheeseburgers and hot dogs.

  We wait on a bench while I give my mom a double take. She’s wearing a shimmery black shirt I’ve never seen before and has heels on with jeans. Guess she really was dying to get out. She does need to get out more, not that I’m sure she’s ready to date yet or if I’m even ready for that. Seeing her with someone else would be weird. It doesn’t feel that long ago when she told me her and Dad were finally calling it quits.

  It was the Fourth of July. Mom woke me up with a box of donuts. I knew something was up since she’d been on an anti-processed sugar kick for a while.

  “Honey, we have to talk.”

  My stomach went into instant knots as I prepared for her to tell me she had some incurable disease. My breath started getting away from me, which is something I’ve started getting used to the past couple years. If my parents were fighting, or sometimes even out of the blue, my throat feels like it closes up and my heart starts beating harder and faster.

  Mom laid her hand on my knee. “Your dad and I are getting a divorce.”

  I let out a sigh and said, “Finally.” Immediately I wanted to snatch the word back and even the sigh. It’d come out so sharp that my mom actually jerked back, as if I’d slapped her.

  Before I could explain, she was making excuses for all her and Dad’s fighting so I tuned her out. I’d been getting pretty good at that. Her and Dad were constantly arguing over stupid shit for at least the last three years. My dad works nights as a police officer for the county and Mom works at Melbrook Elementary with special needs kids. On Dad’s off days, he was always hanging out with my uncle Mike. Uncle Mike’s a mess and a few years younger than Dad so he says he has to watch out for him. I’m not sure how sitting around an apartment, drinking beers, and watching sports really helps someone get a job or find happiness, and neither did Mom. Usually, while Mom was yelling about having a part-time husband, I’d be in my room with my music cranked up. A lot of times, Dad would just leave in the middle of her yelling and take off in his truck.

  I checked back into my mom’s long-winded explanation to hear her say, “I’m sorry. I can’t believe we’ve been putting you through all of this for the last year.”

  I wanted to say it’d been at least three years, but I stayed quiet. I was fixated on my now tasteless donut, taking tiny, clean bites to avoid a powdery red goopy mess on my flowered down comforter.

  “I’ve been waiting on something to change or something to give, but it hasn’t. I love your dad, honey, I really do, but we’ll be better off apart. And most importantly, it’ll be better for you. You’re going to be a senior. You’ll have so much going on and the last thing you need is two parents fighting all the time.”

  I imagined throwing the jelly donut across the room and watching it splatter, stick, and slide down the wall. I wanted to scream, “Geez Mom, thanks for finally thinking of me. Thanks for giving me the gift of a ‘fight-free’ senior year. Now I can sleep in peace or maybe hang out in our living room instead of holing up in my room with Maroon 5 trying to drown out your crying screaming bullshit.” But I didn’t say any of that.

  “I just want you to be happy, Mom. I gotta take a shower, though. I’m meeting Chip for a breakfast date.” I walked into my bathroom, leaving her sitting on my bed with the donuts and then spent the rest of the day at the library avoiding calls from everyone.

  As I’m picking up my Azumi menu, one of my worst-case scenarios walks into the restaurant. Chip and his whole family. His dad, stepmom, and little brother.

  “Quick Mom, trade places with me. I want to be closer to the exit just in case there’s a fire.”

  She laughs, trades seats, and then leans in. “In case of a fire started by your ex-boyfriend Chip and his gang of arsonists?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “If you want to leave, just say the word. We can always grab a pizza and head back home.”

  “It’s fine, Mom.” I only say this because she got dressed up for dinner and if I can stay in my seat, with my back to Chip’s table, I can avoid any sort of scene. We’ll have to wait until they leave first, though, so I don’t have to walk past them. I skim the menu, volleying between sushi rolls or chicken teriyaki. Or their Pad Thai. It’d be easier to decide if I didn’t have my ex-boyfriend seconds away from noticing me.

  Mom says, “Oh cool, Bree. Look! They’re going to have music. Some guy’s getting ready to play an acoustic guitar. Looks about your age. Look hon, he’s a cutie.”

  “Who says cutie, Mom?” I laugh and think wouldn’t it be just my luck if Sean was at Azumi too?

  I turn my head and the second-worst scenario happens. Sean Mills is at Azumi. I freeze. There’s no way he’s not going to
notice me, he’s sitting three o’clock from me, on a tall stool to the left of the hostess and cashier stand. He tunes his guitar as I wonder how this could get any worse. Then Chip notices me because my head is turned. The good thing is that he looks surprised, which means he wasn’t legit stalking me. Which is good since stalking someone with your family in tow would be over the edge. I’ve seen Chip at the edge, but I for sure don’t need to see him go over it.

  “Bree!” Chip yells across three tables.

  Sean glances up from his guitar, meets my eyes, looks away and then right back again. He waves and smiles, as if he sees me in here all the time.

  If only I could be so cool. My face is on fire, my heart is pulsating through my shirt, and my mom looks like her head’s going to explode as she plots to save me.

  Chip gets up from his table and walks my way. I like to think I’m pretty good at eye-talking and what happens next is an example: I give Chip a hard, piercing look as I think, You crazy mixed-up bastard, for the love of Adam Levine, DO NOT even come over here ’cause you don’t want to know what kind of scene I’d cause in front of your family.

  He stops in his tracks, looking torn, then veers right and strolls toward the bathroom instead.

  “Are you going to be okay, hon?”

  “Really Mom, I’m fine. Boys. Can’t live with ’em, can’t file a restraining order.”

  We both laugh. Then to change the subject from anything Chip related, I tell her about Sean. But first I make her promise not to look his way so he doesn’t know we’re talking about him. We talk in hushed voices behind our menus—me trying to downplay my excitement about tonight and Mom getting all keyed up asking if I should change into something cuter.

  Chip stops to talk to Sean who’s now strumming “American Pie.” I didn’t even think they knew each other. The waitress steps up to our table and distracts me from trying to lip read. As she walks away with our order, I try to chill out. I just need to act like it’s not a big deal to be with my mom eating Japanese, that I’m comfortable enough with who I am, and Sean isn’t the kind of guy who would hate on me for that.

  My Aunt Jen uses the phrase “Fake it ’til you make it,” and I just might need to adopt it as my new mantra. If I keep acting confident and cool, maybe it’ll start to stick. I flip my hair behind my shoulder and sit taller.

  Then, in honor of worst-case scenarios, Sean taps his mic and says, “This next song is for Bree from Chip.”

  “Is this really happening?” I ask my mom.

  “Yes, it sounds like it.” She smiles and pats my arm. “Did I ever tell you about the time when I was eighteen and was serenaded at a New Kids on the Block concert in the late eighties?”

  “Yes, at least a hundred times by you and Aunt Jen. But it was pretty embarrassing, so go ahead and tell me again.” Her eyes light up as she tries to assuage me with a story of her falling off a stool on stage at a sold-out concert while her favorite boy-bander sang “Please Don’t Go Girl.”

  While Mom’s reliving the most exciting and mortifying moment of her teendom, Sean’s voice fills the room and I recognize the song right away. It’s the old Maroon 5 song, “She Will Be Loved.”

  Well played, Chip. He knows I love this song. No way he doesn’t remember that it was the song playing the last time we spoke.

  Chip and I were supposed to go to the State Capitol the day I found out about Mom and Dad. Up until the divorce bomb dropped, I thought the Fourth might be the night I’d lose my virginity. It wasn’t. I avoided Chip’s calls all day, crawled into bed around six, and fell asleep with Pippa, my stuffed dog.

  The next morning Chip showed up at my house all pissed. We went for a drive and I didn’t want to cry if I started talking about my parents, so I said nothing.

  The whole convo with Mom had me pushing a big mess of emotion deep into the corner pocket of my stomach, the place where stuff goes when it starts to feel like too much. I let it tangle into a wiry ball. And just as soon as it starts to feel heavy or like it’s scraping the walls of my stomach with its spindly claws, I ball it back up, like aluminum foil.

  As I sifted through different excuses for standing him up, Chip jerked the wheel right, pulled over, and turned the music down. “She Will Be Loved,” the soundtrack to our first kiss back in May, was on.

  Chip put the car in park and said, “So?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Bree? You’re going to sit there like nothing’s wrong?”

  I stared ahead as if the answers would appear through the dirty mist on his windshield.

  “You don’t have anything to say to me?” His hands gripped the wheel so tight that purple-blue veins bulged from his skin.

  When I finally opened my mouth it came out in a whisper. “I guess I was sick.” Which was kind of true because I’d been trying to talk myself into getting the whole sex thing over with and it was giving me a stomachache. And with Mom telling me about the divorce, it got worse. I must’ve used the library bathroom at least three times.

  Chip said, “Bullshit. If you were sick, you would’ve texted or called.” He went into a rant about me being a liar who’d obviously been hanging out with someone else.

  Then I got mad right back at him. For calling me a liar, for trying to fight with me. For not being able to read my mind.

  “You’re such a jerk. You have NO IDEA what I’m going through. What I went through last night. I said I was sick, so that means I was sick. Do you hear me? Sick!”

  Chip reached across my seat and I flinched. He opened the glove box and threw a box of condoms onto my lap.

  “We might as well throw these away.”

  It was like one of Mom and Dad’s arguments. The hot anger, blaring and choking, filled the car, and it was rising over my head. At that point, I was probably as mad as he was. And it scared me.

  “Are you crazy?” I asked. “You’re a pig. And who’d sleep with a little pig? I’m sick of this shit. We’re done.”

  His fist swung through the air and met the driver’s side window. The glass crunched and shattered onto the gravel as I grabbed my purse, jumped out of the car, and ran. The thought of what could’ve happened if I’d stayed in the car propelled my legs to run harder. Pretty soon his car was pulling up beside me. He begged me to get back in the car, but I just kept going.

  Not listening not listening not listening. The chorus to the Maroon 5 song played on repeat in my head until he gave up and I eventually reached a Super America gas station.

  When Mom picked me up I kept it simple, “He has jerk and jealousy issues.”

  She hugged me and said she was proud of me for not putting up with a guy like that. I hugged her back as she smoothed my hair. Right then I got a twinge of what it must’ve felt like for Mom. Being stuck somewhere and letting yourself get pushed to the edge.

  “Guys like that, honey,” she said, “only get worse with time.”

  Although it’s a C plus for effort, Chip fails with the song request. It doesn’t make me swoon and it doesn’t make me sad. I’m not even embarrassed anymore. My jaw tightens as I turn and throw another eye dagger at Chip’s table. I don’t know if Sean is bored with the song or he notices my reaction, but he starts doing a beat-boxy sound into the mic and flows into a fast version of Maroon 5’s newest song.

  My scowl turns into a big embarrassed smile, and Mom and I laugh. Whether he really is or not, Sean is singing to me. I’m too unsettled to look right at him but his deep, mellow tone is making me a little dizzy.

  The rest of dinner is incident-free even though I can feel Chip burning eyeholes into my back. We get up to leave before Chip and his family are even done with their food. I chant my new mantra in my head and walk past him like I never saw him in the first place.

  As we pass the hostess stand and Sean, I lean over and mouth to him, “See ya at 9:30.”

  He nods, smiles, and strums a new song. Since I don’t feel a morbid need to wait around for something else embarrassing to happen, I grab Mom’s k
eys and head to the car while she hands the cashier her bank card.

  FOUR

  Sipping my chai latte, I click back and forth between screens on my phone, time checking every one to three minutes. It’s been fifteen minutes since I sat down at Java Joint, but that’s my fault. I got here twenty minutes early. I thought it’d be nice to get here first, just for the satisfaction of watching Sean walk in and make his way over to sit by me for once. I clink the ice in my cup and smile over my straw as Mom’s words ring in my head: “Don’t overthink everything, just be yourself, but maybe a little more chill.”

  Since it was kind of new for her to give me boy advice, it felt nice. I also followed her suggestion and took a quick shower and changed. Nothing crazy though. Mascara, lip gloss, and a ponytail. I didn’t dress up but the Belmont Bengals T-shirt I’m wearing is pretty tight. I take another drink and click to check for any non-ringing phantom phone call or messages. Nope. 9:26 p.m., and nothing.

  It’s possible Sean might not even show up. Maybe something better came up, like a party or call from one of the Prom Court girls, like Molly Chapman or Jane Hulmes. I pucker my upper lip at the thought of Jane. Just thinking about her tastes like lemons. If Maisey Morgan’s considered our class’s biggest dork, Jane would be considered the biggest diva. And by diva, I mean her yearbook superlative should read “Class Bitch.” For some reason, half our class buys into her bullshit and she’s as close to a reality TV star as Belmont High could get. She’s got this flawless olive skin, dark eyes, and her teeth are so perfect it’s been rumored that she wears a flipper. Jane struts and sails through the hallways as if she’s fresh off a pageant stage, which makes sense, because she pretty much is. Obnoxious but true: she actually wears some of her pageant crowns to school.

  Last year she walked around for at least a month slapping red DON’T stickers on people’s backs. Maisey was definitely included. I’m proud to say that I never got one—only because it’s an unspoken rule: you never walk or stand with your back to Jane. Aside from being one of Maisey’s loudest tormentors, she actually got in Kallie’s face a few times after Todd and Molly broke up in October. Kallie’s not the kind of girl to back down to anyone, so she basically told Jane she has nothing to lose and any type of school detention would be worth the personal pleasure she’d get from breaking her nose and pageant circuit dreams. Jane hasn’t done more than glare or mutter snide comments since—which, in Jane’s world, is as close as you’ll get to a truce.