Liars and Losers Like Us

by Ami Allen-Vath

  My heart thumps like bass in my chest. I read it through fast, like summer’s first jump off the dock at Crystal Wood Beach.

  My mouth is knocked open by her emotion and I gasp out loud. Everything on this page is fresh and raw. Maisey’s pain is carved into each and every word. Each sentence. Each revelation of who she was and everything she was hiding.

  I pull a tissue from the Kleenex box on my nightstand, wipe away my tears and blow my nose. Everyone thinks they knew her. They didn’t. And they didn’t know this. They didn’t know what she’s been through. With the bullying. With her life beyond school. We all have lives beyond school. And Maisey’s was beyond awful.

  What the hell is wrong with me that I never thought about who she really was? Why didn’t it ever occur to me that she had a life beyond our Belmont High? It’s selfish. She was just a character in scenes from my life at school, just someone walking through the hallways, offering comedic relief for me and my class.

  My heart races, longs, then aches in vain for a second chance. If I would have cared. If I would’ve really known her. I read it through once more, slower this time.

  This definitely explains Jane and Maisey’s relationship. The fear, secrecy, the bullying. Jane’s straight-up bitchiness.

  Jane has somehow made it this far and is still standing, so Maisey should be too. Maisey was tough. I wish she would’ve known that she was strong enough to get through this. I fold the letter back into the envelope, clutching it to my heart as if it’ll calm me. My sheet is splotched with tears and I can’t stop shaking.

  This explains so much more than I can even handle. No one needs to know everything, but they sure as hell need to know how much they hurt her.

  TWENTY

  Sean grabs my hand across the center console of his car. “So you’re my girlfriend, right?”

  “I don’t know,” I say with a smile, butterflies rushing my chest. “We haven’t really discussed anything official like that. I don’t know how all that stuff works, do you?”

  “Sure. First, I tell Chip Ryan that you are, and then realize I might need to ask you first. So, the next day I ask if you’re my girlfriend, you say yes and then we kiss.”

  “Oh okay. Um, yes?”

  “Are you sure?” He jokes.

  “Good question. Glad you double-checked because I’m not sure. Maybe I should kiss you first. Then I’ll decide.”

  Sean unlocks his hand from mine, places it behind my neck, pulling me closer, making me forget about the movie we weren’t really watching anyway. Sherwood Forest is the only drive-in movie theater within five hundred miles. Probably one of the last ones left in Minnesota. The movie playing is definitely better than the CIA lady movie but not better than this. His lips are warm and I lose my breath and maybe a piece of my heart in his kiss. His hands grip the hair at the nape of my neck and send a shiver into me. I pull away and tell him we should leave. Or go in the backseat.

  “The backseat, huh? Whoa, Miss Hughes. You’re trying to seduce me.”

  I lean back into him. “I’m your girlfriend, that’s kind of my job now.”

  Sean touches his nose to mine. Then tilts his head and kisses my neck, scraping his teeth against my skin. I squeeze my eyelids closed and inhale sharply.

  “Let’s go,” he says, as he shifts the car into reverse and flips the car lights back on. “You’re killin me, Breezy, killing me.”

  “Where we goin’?”

  “Definitely somewhere classier than the backseat.”

  ****

  A few porch lights brighten the houses lining the streets, but other than that, everything is dark, still, and cricket chirpingly quiet. But my hands are sweaty anyway. “This is crazy,” I say. “Someone’s going to call the cops. And that could be my dad.”

  Shoulder to shoulder, Sean and I walk up the long driveway of a big house with dark gray siding. “No, they’re not gonna call your dad. I hope not, anyway. Everyone in the neighborhood is out or sleeping. No one lives here yet. The bank put a “For Sale” sign out last week. I promise,” Sean whispers, squeezing my hand tighter. “Plus, we’re not actually going inside—just the backyard.”

  He reaches through a slat in the fence and fumbles around, unhooking a latch. The door creaks and lets us in.

  Clutching Sean’s hand, I follow him into the backyard of the house. The overgrown grass swishes against my ankles as we pass a pond on the side of a large deck and up to a prim green and gray storage shed in the corner. Brushing my hand over my ankles, I cringe, hoping not to run into any crickets or spiders preparing to crawl up my cuffed jeans. I turn to the house and ask, “So, this was your old house? It’s nice.”

  “Yep. It was nice. It’s twice as big as our house now, but I’d rather be there than back here with my dad. I only miss this place.” He slaps his hand on the shed’s door.

  “Right. That makes sense and I didn’t mean that your house now isn’t nice or anything.” I fumble for something better to say but nothing comes out.

  “I know. I know you’re not like that.” He reaches under the ledge of the shed’s window and pulls out a small box and slides out a key.

  “A secret key? Should I be worried?” I ask, more excited than worried but also feeling a little worried that I’m so excited.

  “About what? That someone’s going to report us for trespassing?”

  “No, that you’re about to take me into a creepy shed for …?”

  “For what? To show you my old favorite hangout?” He unlocks the door and faces me, “I’m not going to try to get you to you know—”

  “Sleep with me in a creepy shed?” I ask biting my smile.

  “Um, wow. Sometimes you surprise me. But yes, I mean no. No, I’m not trying to sleep with you in a creepy shed. I think more of you than that. But I did see how you were looking at me at the drive-in so hopefully you’re not disappointed about that. Even though I’m not trying to ‘you know,’ I hope you’ll come check it out in here anyway.” He pushes the door open and grabs my hand again. “Unless you’re really not comfortable. I’m not trying to make you feel like—”

  “Sean.” I drop his hand, slide my fingers up his shoulder and give him a quick kiss. “I’m just messing with you. I’m fine.”

  Once we’re inside, carpet squishes beneath my shoes and it’s pitch-black as soon as Sean shuts the door behind us. He clicks on the flashlight of his phone, pulls a piece of cardboard off the wall and slides it over the windowpane.

  “What’s that for?”

  “It covers the light.” He reaches up and pulls a string that lights up the room. “I used to put that board there so my dad wouldn’t know I was in here at night when—or if—he’d come home late.”

  “Oh. That’s kind of … depressing.”

  “Not really. This is where I’d play guitar and hang out. Wanna sit? The carpet’s not that dirty.”

  “Sure.” I sit next to him on the floor. “So …”

  “I’m sorry.” Sean frowns. “I guess this isn’t that fun. It was cooler in here with posters on the wall, my amp, and the mini fridge.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s still a neat hangout. What if you played your guitar?”

  “What, like air guitar?” The side of his mouth curves into a half smile.

  “No, your real guitar. The one I saw in your backseat.” I pierce his eyes with my stare. “Pleeeeease?”

  “Can I really say no to you?”

  “Nope.” My smile widens.

  “All right.” He jumps up. “I’ll be right back.”

  He leaves and returns after a few minutes, the guitar slung over his shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

  “Stop. Just play something.”

  “Requests?” He sits across from me, adjusting the strap over his shoulder and the guitar in his lap. I’d take a picture of him with my phone if it wouldn’t make me look like a creeper. My daydreams never could’ve come up with something this good.

  “Can you play s
omething of yours?”

  He taps quietly on the guitar with a grin. “That’s pushing it.”

  “Just a little something?” I stare him down again, this time adding a pouty smile. “Please?”

  He starts strumming something kinda slow, hip, and mellow. “Only because I can’t say no to those little freckles by the corner of your mouth.” He fumbles a little, glances up at me, then back to his guitar. “This is something I’m working on but don’t have the lyrics sorted out yet.” He continues to play, his hands focused, fingers moving fast, back and forth across the strings and sliding up and down. His eyes rest on the movements of his hands, while I marvel at the shy confidence in his … everything.

  I get up and sit next to him, admiring his profile, feeling almost drunk with his woodsy scent, his music, his just being here.

  He slows down, “So?”

  “I love it. It’s different but familiar in a cozy kind of wrap me up in blankets and—”

  I lean in and kiss him, and he kisses me back. “Thanks,” he says. “You’re cozy.”

  He sets the guitar on the floor and we’re kissing, like really, really kissing. The kind that feels like everything could just go on forever like this but then whoosh, there’s something different. The kind of kissing that feels like it should be something more, that it would only be right and perfect to be more. Because in spite of everything that’s so not right in my life, this feeling right now is so right. It doesn’t feel like I’m trying so hard to fit into his world. It’s like I just do, and he fits into mine. He’s this guy that really looks at me, and listens, and I care about what he has to say and what he thinks about.

  My hands slide under his shirt and curve over the muscles of his back. I want to put my hands everywhere. I pull away, scrunching my eyebrows in. “Do you think about me?” I ask. “Like when we’re not hanging out?”

  “Too much,” he smiles. “Way too much. You?”

  “Same.”

  He presses his lips against mine again and soon we’re on the floor and I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care. It doesn’t matter where we are because I’m in Sean’s arms and as scared as I am to feel like this, I don’t want to let go of this feeling because it’s too safe, warm, and good.

  ****

  “Care to tell me how sending a text that says ‘on my way’ constitutes as an hour and a half extension on your curfew?” My mom stands at the top of the stairs, arms crossed over her chest.

  “Sorry Mom, I just lost track of time, I guess.” I make my way up to the top of the steps, avoiding eye contact. I grab the handle of my door.

  “Whoa, stop right there. You’re not done here. It’s two o’clock in the morning. Do you think I can sleep when I know you’re out this late? C’mon Bree, have some respect. What do you think is going through my head when my teenage daughter is out until two in the morning?”

  “Well I’m not drunk or high, Mom. I’m fine.”

  “Yes well, that’s only one of the places my head goes. I was your age once too. And you know, I’m not dumb, there are other things you could be doing.” She raises her voice an octave when she says “other things.”

  “Like breaking into houses?”

  “Stop making a joke out of everything. This is serious and I’m tired. You know what I’m talking about. Sex. We haven’t had this conversation in a while.”

  “No Mom, I wasn’t having sex.” I was almost having sex. Madly, passionately, wildly almost having sex. I rub the goose bumps off my arms. “Maybe we can talk about this some other time.”

  “No, not maybe. We will. I’m going back to bed. This time to sleep. We can have a nice chat about this tomorrow, okay?” She hugs me quick and tight. “I love you. I’m glad you’re home safe. Now go to bed.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Ding Ding! The doorbell rings me awake.

  “Mooooooooooom! Dooooooor!” No answer. I check my phone for a clue and the time. 10:15. Saturday morning. No missed calls or texts. Kicking off the sheets, I yawn and jump out of bed to overly bright morning rays seeping through my blinds. I peer through the wooden slats. Sean’s car is in my driveway.

  I rush into my bathroom and do a quick swish with mouthwash.

  Ding Ding! I rush down the stairs, balancing my phone between my chin and shoulder as I throw my hair into a ponytail.

  “Good morning,” I say to a face I wouldn’t mind waking up every morning to. “This is kind of a surprise.”

  “I know, I hope that’s okay. I wanted to drop these off and—” He hands me a bouquet of yellow and purple gerbera daisies. His eyes skim my body from head to toe, then he studies my face, twisting his smile into a question: “I woke you up, didn’t I? I should’ve texted first. I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s fine. Thanks,” I say plucking the flowers from his hand.

  “They reminded me of your shoes.”

  I drop my gaze and study my bare feet. “That’s cute, I mean, thanks. I love them. C’mon, let’s put these in water.”

  We head to the kitchen and see a blue Post-it stuck to the table from Mom.

  B–

  Got called into school for mtg!!

  Should be back before 12.

  WE’LL DO BRUNCH.

  XO Mom

  “Last night was fun,” Sean says as I arrange the flowers into a vase. “I stopped by to see if you wanted to get breakfast.”

  We’re interrupted by the sound of the garage door opening. A minute later, Mom appears, in a navy blue blazer and her heels already in her hand. “I’m so tired of these parents. Oh, hi.” Her eyes meet us at the table. “Good morning. I can’t believe you’re up so early.”

  “Hi Miss Hughes. I mean Brenda. Good morning.” Sean gives my mom an awkward wave.

  “Good morning, what are you two up to?” Mom eyes the flowers, then me. “You’re not trying to get out of going to brunch with me are you?”

  Sean says, “I was just stopping by to say—”

  “To say he wants to take me to brunch. So we could, uh, work on our poetry assignment together.”

  Mom puckers her lips to the side. “Well, I have been up since 5:30 this morning. Had to meet with admin, and another teacher and then the parents of—well, you know, helicopter parent stuff. It’s been a long day already. I’d actually appreciate you filling in for me, Sean.”

  Sean shrugs. “No problem.”

  “Pretty flowers. Maybe you can make sure she gets home at a reasonable hour though. Sometime before two a.m.?”

  Sean winces and adjusts the neck of his white T-shirt. “I apologize for that.”

  “It’s fine, Mom. We’ll be back in a couple hours.” I tug at my sweatpants and notice my shirt is hugging me a little too close and way too sheerly. My face heats up as I cross my arms over my chest. I move my eyes from Mom to Sean. “Can you wait here while I change?”

  I have no problem wearing my sweatpants and a T-shirt to grab something to eat, but I definitely need to put on a bra.

  ****

  “If we run into Chip or Jane, I’m officially leaving this town,” I say to Sean, handing my 24/7 menu back to the waitress.

  “I’m leaving this town if she forgets our order. I never trust a server when they don’t write it down.”

  “I know.” I lean across the table, “Now we’re gonna have anxiety until our food comes. Will they scramble the eggs or bring ’em over easy? And if they’re scrambled are they gonna be scrambled well or runny? And if they’re scrambled well is she gonna forget the cheese? And if the cheese is there, is it gonna be Swiss instead of American?”

  “Yes,” Sean smiles. “We should probably leave town right now.”

  “Where would we go?” I ask, almost serious.

  “I wonder how far we’d have to go to help Chip get over you?” Sean asks.

  “I’m sorry about that. I’m not trying to pull you into some ABC family series called The Boy Who Wouldn’t Go Away.”

  “Now that he knows we’re together, he should be f
ine. Guys are usually good like that.”

  “Hope so, thanks again for that. Anyway.” I pluck my straw from its wrapper and drop it into my water. “Let’s talk about anything else but exes.”

  “Sure.” Sean’s eyes meet mine and his gaze lowers to my chest. “How about we talk about that T-shirt you were wearing this morning. Wow.”

  “Are you sexually harassing me?” I pick up my fork pointing the prongs at him.

  “Yes. Yes, I am.” He snatches the fork and lays it in the middle of the table. “I might be scared of you holding a cup of coffee but I’m not worried about your forking skills.”

  “Don’t remind me about the coffee. Forking skills, huh? Maybe you should be worried about my forking skills.”

  “Whoa. Now who’s harassing who?” Sean leans in, squinting his eyes with a small smile. “First you wanna make out in the backseat, then that very little, very thin blue T-shirt and now you’re discussing your forking skills in a diner.”

  The lilt in his voice kills me, it really does.

  “I’m not, um, well … I’m … I haven’t technically …”

  Sean shifts his eyes from the fork to my eyes. “Are you still talking about forks?”

  I reach across and move his fork on top of the one between us. “See what these two forks are doing?” I check my peripheral vision to make sure no one is within earshot of my whisper. “I haven’t technically done that.”

  “Oh that. Really? You haven’t?”

  I’m not sure if he’s asking because he thinks I’m lying or that I’m some sort of freak. My face burns. My heart rate has bumped up to the fat burning zone right now. “Yeah, really.”

  “Even with Chip?” Sean asks.

  “Do you want me to be honest?” I fumble with my straw before taking a long sip of water.

  “Uh, yes. That’s one of the things I like most about you.”

  “We almost did but we didn’t. He wasn’t happy about it either.”

  “It’s not a big deal,” he shrugs. “If you had or hadn’t. But he’s a jerk. If I’m being honest, I’m glad you didn’t make that mistake.”

  “So,” I say placing the forks back on each of our paper napkins. I fidget with mine, making sure it’s perfectly straight. “What about you? How many?” I ask even though I’m not sure if I want the answer.