The Last Time We Were Us

by Leah Konen

  It falls forward, and then his hands are on me and we lie down together.

  I undo the button of my skirt before I can lose my nerve, and then he shimmies it down over my legs and my feet and I have this crazy thought that if I’d known this was going to happen I would have at least taken the time to reshave my legs.

  But of course he doesn’t notice, and he unzips his shorts, kicks them off, and then it is him and me in our underwear, and I feel so silly, but he kisses me again and I don’t feel silly anymore.

  He pulls my underwear off and tosses them to the floor, then drops his boxers, and I realize that the two of us have never been naked together like this before. But Innis doesn’t act like it’s weird—just like he’s really, really happy—so I don’t either. Then he fiddles around in the pocket of his pants, pulling out a shiny package, rips it open, and puts it on.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  I nod quick, afraid I’ll lose my nerve, reach up to his shoulders, pull him close.

  We kiss again as I part my legs, then he presses into me, just a little at first, his hand fiddling around so everything fits right, his kisses never stopping, and then finally he pushes all the way. “You okay?” he asks.

  “Uh-huh.” I wrap my hands around his neck as my breaths quicken, as my heart beats loudly, as our bodies move together, as connected as two bodies can be.

  Eventually, he falls on top of me, his body beaded with sweat.

  He kisses me soft and sweet, and then he pulls back and looks at me, almost bashful. “Was it okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. I lean forward, kiss him on the lips again.

  And just like that, I’m not a virgin anymore.

  WE PUT OUR clothes back on and watch bad TV. When it’s close to my curfew, Innis drives me home, smiling like he’s just won the lottery.

  I feel different and not different at the same time. Womanly and powerful and bashful and silly and a little relieved and kind of like maybe I should take a shower. But not dramatically different. Just a little . . . new.

  Outside my house, he kisses me long and slow and then looks in my eyes like I’ve got the answers to a whole slew of questions he’d never even think to ask.

  He tells me he’ll call me in the morning. And I smile, say, “Okay, good night,” and give him one last breathless kiss, because I know without a doubt that he will.

  INNIS SENDS ME three texts by morning.

  good night, Liz

  you were amazing

  i’m a lucky guy

  I text him back immediately.

  you weren’t so bad yourself ;)

  The tips of my fingers are pulsing, I feel so bold. Excited, too. It’s not just about sex for him. It’s so much more. And now that I’ve made my choice—finally, totally—everything will be easier.

  I decide to go to Jason’s as soon I’m done babysitting. Tell him kindly, calmly, that Innis is my boyfriend now and it’s best I don’t see him anymore. That this secret friendship, this secret . . . whatever it is, is over. For real this time.

  Mary Ryan and Sadie seem to sense my happiness, my resolve. It’s as contagious as their laughter, this in-control feeling, this power to create the life I want. The best things are out in the open, are ones you don’t have to hide. My mother said it to Lyla at the bridal shower, when Lyla was going on about how comfortable she was with Benny: “Pleasant beats the hell out of star-crossed.”

  Jason’s truck is in its usual spot in front of the apartment complex, and I park next to it. I feel nervous, sick inside, but I know I’ve made the right choice. I’m finally doing right by my sister, by my mother, by Innis, by me. What I thought, just a couple of days ago, that I could forgive him, could go on hanging out with him even though all the closest people in my life never can, now seems insane. Naive, just like Jason said I was. Only he didn’t realize then that it was him I was being naive about, not everyone else.

  My feet are lead as I walk up the stairs, like in the dreams where you can’t run or scream, no matter how hard you try. But I can walk, I remind myself, and soon I’m at the door, and in a minute, it will be over. And I won’t have to worry about Jason Sullivan anymore.

  But my knocks get me nothing, not a shuffle of steps, not even an impatient “hang on.”

  I knock again to more silence. Fear pulses through me, though I don’t know why. I knock louder, as my heart begins to thud fast and heavy. He’s probably asleep. Or in the shower. Or a lot of other things that mean you can’t come to the door. Things that are safe. Things that aren’t bad things.

  I should turn around, come another time, but I’m afraid if I leave, I’ll never be able to say what I need to say. So I knock louder, pounding on the door urgently, trying to push away the crazy thoughts. What if he’s hurt? What if he’s trapped under a piece of furniture? What if he’s slipped in the shower and knocked himself out and is drowning in two inches of water?

  They’re the sort of stupid fears Mom has about me and Lyla, the kind of paranoid thoughts I’ve never had about a single person before.

  I try the knob, and as I suspected, it’s unlocked. Mr. Sullivan grew up in a small town just an hour or so away, and he never keeps the doors locked if someone’s home. I let myself in.

  “Jason?” I don’t see anyone. “Jason?”

  I creep past the kitchen and into the small hallway that leads to his room.

  “Jason?”

  A groan.

  My heart relaxes, and I begin to breathe again. The fact that he’s okay is so important to me that I almost want to cry.

  “Jason,” I say again softly, as I slowly open the door to his room. It’s pushy, overly intimate—I know this—but with Jason, it is hard to be proper.

  I want to scream, but I feel tears instead.

  He is lying in bed, his head propped on a pillow, one eye welded completely shut, purple and puffy, the other almost as closed and just as discolored. His lip is red, split, his face is fat and bruised—a rotten peach.

  “Jason.” The tears are hot now, blurring my vision. “Oh my God.”

  I rush over to the bed, then stop as his one open eye catches mine, cautious and wary. Almost unkind.

  “What happened?” I sound sloshy, my words traveling through a vat of Jell-O.

  He doesn’t answer my question. “What are you doing here?”

  “What happened?” I ask again. “Who did this to you?”

  He coughs deep, winces.

  He sighs. “I know you know.”

  My eyes narrow, and at first, I don’t. I have deluded myself so long, I have tasted sugar kisses and I have sunned on the lake, and I have agreed to be his girlfriend, and I have slept with him on the couch in his basement, but I do not know.

  And then it’s so clear, so horrifyingly clear all of a sudden. MacKenzie to Payton, Payton to Innis.

  Innis. Innis. Innis.

  Everything is going to be all right.

  That’s what he said to me. And this is what he meant.

  “When?” I ask, as the tears come harder.

  “Last night.”

  I’m gasping, almost choking on my breath. The thought of Innis, the way he looked at me and told me it would be all right. The way he got what he wanted, but still it wasn’t enough.

  “Don’t cry,” he snaps. “Just spare me, okay?”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “Go back to your life.” He sinks deeper into the bed. “Go back to Innis. That’s who you want. Those are the kind of people you should really be with. Not me.” He works to get the words out. “You and I are bad for each other.”

  I step closer. “Don’t say that.”

  But he stares at me, and all I see is anger. “How can you not see it? I wouldn’t be like this if it weren’t for you!”

  “No,” I say. “I didn’t tell him to hurt you. I would never ever want someone to hurt you.”

  He doesn’t even look at me again as he says it. “Just go.”

  TEARS FILL MY ey
es on the drive home. When I get to my house, I run up the stairs, not waiting for my mother to pester me with questions, to ask what’s wrong. I slam my bedroom door, shut and lock it.

  I fish under the bed for the box, but my fingers hit my underwear, stained and stiff from just last night. My body feels weighted, full of rocks and things I can’t undo, but I push the feeling aside. My hands find the box, and I pull it out.

  I grab an envelope full of photos and pour them on the floor. They fall around me like sad confetti. Me and Jason at the playground, me and Jason making sidewalk-chalk drawings, me and Jason with his dad’s chili on our faces.

  I wouldn’t be like this if it weren’t for you.

  It’s true. Innis didn’t hurt Jason until he knew he was hanging out with me.

  Everything is going to be all right.

  Lizzie, you are so naive.

  My phone dings, and I lift it up.

  hey sexy

  It hits the wall with a thud, the glass turning to spider-web cracks.

  I look down at the newspaper clippings in the box. I don’t think I’ve ever hated printed words so much before.

  I pick them up and start to rip, and I don’t stop until they’re all done, broken, disjointed, hundreds of tiny pieces you can’t put back together.

  Chapter 20

  I LOCK MYSELF IN MY ROOM, SCREENING BOTH MACKENZIE’S and Innis’s calls, rereading The Age of Innocence for probably the third or fourth time in a desperate attempt to distract myself.

  A little after two, I hear the double ding-dong, MacKenzie’s signature. Mom answers, and there are muffled pleasantries, then hushed voices as she tells her, most likely, that I’ve been in a bad mood all afternoon.

  Kenzie patters up the stairs, then knocks on the door, doesn’t wait for an answer, turns it. It’s locked.

  “I don’t want to talk,” I say.

  “Is this about the other day?” she says through the door. “I’m sorry. Payton told me he didn’t even say anything.”

  I drag myself off of the bed, where I’ve been sitting for the last hour or so, losing my place on the page. I unlock the door, whip it open.

  “Payton’s a liar.”

  “God.” She steps around me and inside my room. “You look horrible.” She leans over my computer, turns off the muted, weepy sounds of the most depressing band I could think of. “Nothing like feel-good music to get you out of a slump.”

  I shut the door behind me and turn the music back on.

  She puts her hands on her hips. “What do you want me to do? I’m sorry. I really am. I can’t undo it now.”

  Certainly not, I think. The damage is done.

  I feel my lip beginning to quiver as I try to form the words. She rushes up to me, wraps me in a hug, her toned softball arms squeezing me tight. That’s when the tears start—again—when my mascara runs all over her shirt and my breaths come in gasps. She pulls back and grabs a tissue from my nightstand. I don’t refuse it.

  “Sit down.” She pulls me onto the bed. Her voice is low, the six-inch kind they always wanted us to use in school. “What happened?”

  “Innis and I hung out last night.” I briefly consider telling her everything, but the folly of my mistake, my misjudgment silences me. I take a quick sharp breath, just enough to get the last part out. “And after he drove me home, he went over to Jason’s house, and he beat the crap out of him.”

  I wait for shock and surprise, but she doesn’t flinch, just stands up, grabs another tissue, hands it to me. She waits until I’m done crying, until my breathing steadies, to speak.

  “Liz,” she begins, then pauses. Her eyes are icy. “I don’t want this to come off as unfeeling or anything, because you really look upset, but I just have to ask.” Another pause. “Why are you so upset?”

  I stare at her, incredulous. She is not moving to hug me. She is not putting a hand on my shoulder. She’s just looking at me, cold and inquisitive.

  “What do you mean?”

  She looks down at her nails, back to me.

  “As far as I can tell, Innis likes you, wants to be serious with you, is getting serious with you, and got a little jealous.” She pauses for effect. “So I’m asking why you’re so upset.”

  I feel fresh tears again, but I will them back, into myself, a part of myself she can’t see from the outside, that is deeper than she will ever know. “He didn’t just get a little jealous. He attacked him. You should have seen him—”

  She shrugs and chuckles. A boy is badly hurt and she has the nerve to chuckle. “I mean he kind of had it coming, didn’t he? If someone had done something to Lyla, wouldn’t you be all over them? Wouldn’t you want to hurt them however you could?”

  The thought hits me hard. Someone did do something to Lyla—Jason. But I’m not hurting him. I’m the one sticking up for him.

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But what? Really. What?”

  “But you should have seen him.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “I’m pretty sure whatever they did was still not permanently disfiguring.”

  The word catches me, a slap in the face. “They?”

  Her body tenses up as she realizes her mistake.

  “He,” she says. “Innis.” She won’t look me in the eyes anymore.

  “Right.” My heart pounds with anger, betrayal. “Then why aren’t you surprised?”

  “’Cause he had it coming. I told you.”

  “Stop lying,” I snap. “Stop it. You come over here, all ‘Payton didn’t say anything,’ but you know he did. Because you know he and Innis went over there together.”

  She starts picking at her nail polish, like an answer is underneath, just one coat down, if she just chips it away enough.

  “I’m right, aren’t I? Payton helped him?”

  She doesn’t look up.

  “And you knew about it?”

  Keeps on chipping.

  “And you didn’t think to tell me? You didn’t try to stop them?”

  “What do you want me to say?” she demands. “I didn’t want to stop them. You needed a wake-up call. You needed to remember who this person is. What you’re trying to give up for him.” She pauses for breath. “Don’t you realize what you’re doing? Things are going perfectly. Things are never perfect, but they are. Next year could be the best year ever. You and Innis and me and Payton. Have you even thought about that? And you’re ruining everything. For a person who you can’t even bear to be seen with in public? For someone you have to keep secret from your whole family? For someone who ruined your sister’s life? What are you thinking?”

  “I don’t know.” I almost feel like I can’t breathe. “I don’t know what I’m thinking. But I am, and I can’t help it or change it.”

  MacKenzie shrugs. “I don’t know how to help you, then.”

  I stare at her, longing for what we had—was it only a few weeks ago?—swim, sun, flirt, repeat. How did we become so different, so quickly?

  “If you’re just going to try and make me feel bad, then go. I don’t need guilt—from you, of all people.”

  She stands, backs up, walks to the door. Before she goes, she turns to me, and I want her to say a million different things, but she doesn’t. “See you later then.”

  She shuts the door behind her, and I feel trapped and angry and disappointed. I hear her say good-bye to my mother, then watch from my window as she walks across the street and towards her house. As soon as she’s gone, I grab my keys and head downstairs.

  “I’m going out.” I don’t wait for an answer.

  I leave my phone behind, but I turn the radio as loud as it goes, roll down the windows.

  There are no cars in the lot of Wellesley’s Grove, so I park, hike down to the middle.

  I walk beneath the trees I’ve known for years, and I think about the years since Jason left, how I got rid of Lizzie, became Liz, made myself anew.

  I think of how much I traded just to be popular.

  It was around April that Inn
is actually realized I existed—we’d been in chem together all year, sitting at those high black tables in our stools with that weird eye-washer thing dividing us, but he spent most of the class bouncing around to the different lab groups, talking to Alex about cars and fishing and parties I wasn’t invited to. And when it was time to pair up, I was always with Veronica.

  Even after she stopped eating lunch with me and MacKenzie, Veronica and I stayed lab partners. It was easier to be friends in chem, without MacKenzie around. It was our second year as lab partners: We’d trudged through biology the year before. She’d made fun of me ceaselessly when I had to get a note to skip the dissection portion, because I faint at the sight of blood, something I discovered at nine, when Jason fell off his bike right in front of me. Veronica was great at lab, deftly adjusting the microscope I could never get to work. She’d observe, and I’d take notes.

  It was funny how it happened—so easy, so simple and cheesy, like a script from a movie. Innis turned to me, locked his eyes on mine, and asked me to be his lab partner for the day. Maybe it was just because Alex was out. Or maybe it was because MacKenzie and I had actually been to one of the popular crowd’s parties.

  But it doesn’t matter why he asked. I said yes.

  I caught Veronica’s eyes and shrugged. She stared at me until I shrugged again, then knit her eyebrows, whipped around, slammed her book on the desk, and scooted her stool so it made an awful screech on the dusty linoleum. Even Ms. Philips took notice, glancing from me to her with this look, like—girls, he’s not worth it.

  I suppose I knew what I was doing in that moment—that our friendship would be over.

  But it was Innis.

  I know it wasn’t my proudest moment. I know I’m a horrible friend. But when Innis Taylor looks at you with those piercing eyes and asks you a question, the only possible answer is yes.

  None of our lab results matched up with Ms. Philips’s that day. Without Veronica, I was at a loss, and Innis wasn’t one for paying attention. But we continued to be lab partners for the last couple of months of the year. And since it was last period, sometimes he’d walk out with me, follow me to my locker, then to my car. I’d lean back on the Honda, he’d lean in towards me, and we’d talk about things—I don’t even remember what they were now, just things.