by Leah Konen
And then we made out at that graduation party, and even though that didn’t exactly go how I’d expected, he soon learned that Kenzie and I had fakes, and that’s around the time MacKenzie developed her plan for the Perfect Senior Year. She and Payton, me and Innis.
Sometimes, the stone starts rolling so fast you don’t know how to stop it. “Gathers no moss,” my foot. As if change is the good thing, stasis the bad. What if you move so fast, let the momentum take you, carry you, to somewhere else, someplace you never dreamed you’d be, but then you get there, and you don’t even know who you are?
WHEN I GET back to my house, Innis’s car is in front. My mind begins to race. He probably thought I was just being coy by ignoring him, that everything is fine.
I want more than anything to drive somewhere else, wait him out, but if I know my mother, she’ll keep him guzzling sweet tea and chatting away for hours on end.
So I park next to his spotless car, without a hood-to-trunk keying, and flip the mirror down. I look a mess, my eyes red and puffy from crying, mascara smeared along the bottom of my eyelids. I run my hands in fists beneath them, trying to make myself presentable, comb my fingers through my hair.
Lucy rushes up to me as soon as I open the front door, and I lift her up, snuggle against her. She licks my cheek.
I hear voices, Mom, Dad, and Innis. Laughing and talking loudly.
Innis is sitting at the kitchen table, as if one of the family already.
Mom looks up at me. “Where’ve you been? We tried calling you but your phone’s in your room.”
“Out,” I say. “I forgot it.”
She narrows her eyes at me, but she’s too happy to question it, sitting there, basking in the glory of having Innis Taylor in her kitchen.
Innis shoots me a smile straight off a magazine cover.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Liz!” Mom gasps like I’ve burped in front of the president.
Innis laughs, looks at Dad. “It’s okay, I’ve grown used to her bluntness.”
Dad laughs with him. Look, the pretty little lady is being spunky. She’s got a mouth on her, doesn’t she? Don’t tell her to get in the kitchen.
I want to throw up.
Mom doesn’t laugh, at least. “Innis dropped by to see you. We invited him in, of course.” She emphasizes the last two words like, without her, I’d be a social disaster. Maybe I would. Who knows, maybe I am.
I force my face into a smile. “Oh,” I say. “Cool.” My words sound wrong, like I’m a reality-show character, trying to sound unscripted.
“Sit down,” Mom says. “Have some tea.”
I follow her orders. She pours me a glass, and I focus on it, like drinking sweet tea is my only goal in life. Innis smiles again, and I dutifully smile back.
He talks to Dad about NASCAR, about the renovations his parents are thinking about making to Crawford Hall—stuff he’d never talk to me about, because I’m not a guy—and Mom soaks it up like a fat, thirsty sponge. I sit there and watch this spectacle, trying to hold it together until I have a chance to talk to Innis alone.
I feel sick all over from the shame of how stupid I have been. I indulged in his so-called forgiveness, in MacKenzie’s excitement, in my mother’s urgings. Just twenty-four hours ago, this scene would have been my crowning achievement—and yet, even though I’m still sore from having sex with him, now everything feels wrong.
I drain my glass as quickly as I can.
“You want to go on a walk?” I ask, turning to Innis. “It’s nice out. I’ll show you the pond.”
Innis nods. “Sure.”
I push my chair back, and Innis follows suit. He says his thank-yous, Mom asks him to stay for dinner, but he thankfully says no, he’s got a family thing tonight, he’ll have to get back pretty soon. I grab the house key, and we’re almost out, away from them, when Dad stops him. “Well, see you in a month, then. If not before.”
I turn back. “A month?”
“Lyla’s wedding,” he says. “August sixth. Duh.” Dad thinks he’s so funny, that I’m so clueless.
And I have been clueless. But not about that.
“Oh yeah.” I turn up the corners of my mouth like I’m supposed to, and I force myself to walk normally to the door, not to stomp.
When we’re down the street, away from the view of my house, on the wooded path that leads to the pond, Innis holds my hand. Grabs it, really, as if I have no choice.
We’re surrounded by trees as if in some fairy tale, but it’s not a fairy tale to me—not anymore. And I realized it too late.
I rip it away. “Don’t touch me.”
“What’s wrong?” He looks so surprised, so confused, that I almost feel bad for him. But then I remember what he did to Jason, and the notion disappears as quickly as it came. He steps close, putting a hand to the side of my face, running his fingers through my hair, like all he wants in the world is to take care of me. “Are you upset about last night?”
I want to throw my anger at him, to do that crazy windup that the pitchers on Kenzie’s softball team are so good at, chuck it right at his head, give him a goose egg. But instead, I begin to cry.
He wraps his arms around me. “Hey,” he says, as my tears come harder. “It’s okay. It’s not wrong or anything. We were careful. You won’t get pregnant.”
I wriggle out of his grasp. “It’s not that,” I say, but in a way, it is. I didn’t want sex with Innis to be a “pro move.” Just yesterday, I thought it was so much more. But now, when I look at him, all I feel is disgust.
“You beat the crap out of Jason,” I say. “We slept together, and that wasn’t enough. You had to go and hurt him. You couldn’t let me handle it. I was going to stop seeing him. I went over there to tell him.”
His arms drop to his sides, and I look up at him to see that his face has gone cold and stony. “Wait a second. That’s what you’re upset about?”
“And then you come over here and suck up to my family and invite yourself to my sister’s wedding.”
His voice is raised now. “I came over to ask you to have dinner with my family tonight. I thought you would like to be asked in person. I thought you would love that courtship crap.” He pauses for breath. “And your dad asked about the wedding, and what was I supposed to say? I didn’t know you were going to go crazy about a little thing.”
“It’s not a little thing. You should have seen him. His face was purple.”
“And why the hell should I care?” Innis yells. “Have you seen my brother?”
I shake my head. “That was an accident.”
He laughs. “So you believe Jason’s lies now?”
“I don’t know what to believe,” I snap. “You told me it would be all right. This isn’t all right. You can’t just go around attacking whoever you want.”
He scratches at his cheek. “Do you even hear what you’re saying? How nuts you sound?”
“And it wasn’t just about your brother,” I say. “Or else you would have done it right away. It was because you don’t want me seeing him. Admit it.”
“So what if it was? I don’t want you seeing him.”
“You could have let me do that on my own,” I yell. “Instead of being all tender towards me and texting me and saying how happy you were while you were beating the hell out of him.”
Innis steps closer. He puts his hands on my cheeks, framing my face, so gentle and soft, but I know it’s just an act. I know he has a different face for everyone in his life. I know that, given the chance, he’d do it all again. Maybe MacKenzie was right—maybe everyone is right—maybe Jason had it coming. But that doesn’t change the way I feel. It doesn’t change the fact that when it comes right down to it, I feel more for Jason than I would for a hundred of Innis. Maybe I’m being unfair—even naive—but you can’t choose who you care about, no matter how much you want to, no matter how much you tell yourself otherwise, no matter, even, if you sleep with them.
“Forget about him.�
�� Innis’s voice is powerful yet calm. “Think about the good stuff. Think about last night.” He leans in closer, puts his lips to my ear. “You’re my girlfriend.”
The words rip me apart inside. They are the words I thought I wanted, the words that MacKenzie and I schemed to get, but I don’t want them anymore.
His lips meet mine, so soft and wanting, but it’s wrong. I wish it weren’t. I wish this were everything it should be. I wish this were the scene where the boy convinces the girl that everything’s going to be okay, that all her hesitations about him are unfounded, that he’s sorry and he can’t wait to take her to homecoming. But it’s not that scene, it’s not that scene at all.
It’s the scene where the girl realizes she chose the wrong guy.
I push him away, almost violently. “Stop.”
Betrayal is written all over his face. I was so afraid of him using me, and in this weird way, I’ve used him.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I can’t do this.” I turn around before he can respond, walking quickly, a few paces ahead of him, not looking back. I don’t say a word, just wait for his car to start, his engine to purr, before going inside.
I ignore my mother, her prodding questions.
I go straight to my room. And I cry.
For what, for who, I’m not even sure anymore. I just cry.
Chapter 21
THURSDAY IS A ROUGH DAY AT THE ELLISONS’. SADIE is cranky as hell, and Mary Ryan is full of questions I don’t have the patience to answer.
When I can’t take it anymore, I decide to cheat the half-hour TV limit. We huddle onto the couch, letting the colors and sounds wash over us. Sadie eventually stops crying.
After a few minutes of silence, my phone dings, and I pull it out, hoping it’s Jason—or even MacKenzie.
are you just going to ignore me?
Innis.
Mary Ryan stares at my screen. “Is that your boyfriend?” she asks, hopefully.
“No.” It comes out as a bit of a snap. I put the phone back in my pocket.
Sadie starts crying again, and I pull her into my lap, running my fingers over her curls, trying to calm her down. She throws her sippy cup across the room and it lands on the floor, spilling across the hardwood. The TV show ends, the commercials begin.
Mary Ryan loses interest. “Why is everyone sad?” she asks.
I flip off the television and give her a forced smile, corners up, teeth showing. “No one’s sad,” I say. “Your sister’s just sleepy.”
She just looks at me like I’m a crazy person. Fake smiles work better when they’re not used on little kids. “You look sad.”
“I do?” I try to sound cheerful.
“Why didn’t you write your friend back?”
“Because I’m taking care of you. I’ll talk to my friends later.”
“That never stopped you before.”
“Nothing gets past you, does it?” I ask.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” I hoist Sadie up onto my hip and squat down, picking up the cup. I tuck her into her high chair for a minute, because I don’t know what else to do. She starts crying immediately. I grab a paper towel and tackle the spill, Mary Ryan at my heels.
“Did something happen with your boyfriend?” she asks. “Did you guys get in a fight?”
“No,” I yell. “Can you stop asking me questions for one freaking second?”
I see the damage before I have a chance to fix it. Her face falls and her eyes water. Sadie cries louder. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean—”
“You’re mean, Miss Liz,” she yells, running out of the room. I hear her feet stomping as hard as they can up the stairs.
I toss out the soggy towels and grab Sadie. I’ve never been the kind of sitter who yells before, and I don’t want to start now. Sadie wraps a pudgy arm around my neck, cries harder. I hand over her cup and pray for her to stop. By the time I’m up the stairs, she does.
Mary Ryan’s door is closed, the puffy hot pink letters of her name and a photo of her dressed up as a princess shutting me out.
I knock twice and push the door open, poke my head in.
“Go away,” she says.
“Sadie and I want to make sure you’re okay.” She’s curled into a tight little ball, facing the wall. I sit down on her bed, plop Sadie on one knee.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you. I shouldn’t have done that.”
She turns slowly, her eyes wary. “I just wanted to know if it was your boyfriend,” she says, her arms still crossed. “You’re the coolest person I know.”
I smile. “You’re the coolest person I know.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are,” I say. “You and your sister. You’re my favorite girls in the world.”
She sits up, looks at me. “Really?” I can see the makings of a smile inching onto her face.
“You bet.”
My phone buzzes again, and she stares, wide-eyed. “Are you going to answer it?”
“Naw,” I say, ruffling her hair. “I’d rather talk to you.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
And I don’t even have to lie to her—it’s the truth.
I DON’T CHECK my phone again until Mrs. Ellison is back and I’m out the door. It’s from MacKenzie, a photo of her making a goofy face. A decidedly MacKenzie version of a makeup text. I write haha back.
I feel relieved, but I think about what she said the last time I saw her—I can’t help you, then—and I wonder if she’ll ever be on my side again.
I amble into my house, and not even Lucy greets me. She stays on the steps, basking in the sunshine. Good for her, I think. Above it all in her puppy world.
I set down my bag in the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water.
Mom pops in from the next room, paper towels and Windex in her hands. “How was babysitting?”
“Fine.”
She sets down the cleaning stuff, opens up the fridge, gets some water herself, leans against the counter, looks at me. “Just fine?”
I take long gulps of the water. When I look back, she’s still waiting for an answer.
“Yeah.” I finish the water. “Just fine.”
“You know, Liz, I don’t like your tone.”
“Are you trying to start a fight?” I set my glass down on the counter. Okay, maybe I slam it.
She’s annoyed with me, I can see it all over her face. Moms are good at picking up on bad moods, and they hate it when you don’t share all your deep, dark secrets with them. But her face relaxes and she tries a new tactic instead. “So you finally asked Innis to the wedding. I’m glad he’s coming.”
I hate to break her heart, but not enough to lie to her. “I’m actually not sure if he is.”
“What do you mean?” Mom asks, doing little to hide the disappointment in her voice. “He said so yesterday.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m just not sure.”
“But why?”
I grab my glass, walk out of the kitchen, and head up the stairs. She follows behind me. I shouldn’t have said anything.
“Liz,” she says.
I turn around. “We had an argument, okay?”
She waves her hand. “Oh pshh, you kids find everything in the world to disagree about. You’ll get over it. Trust me.”
I shrug. “Whatever.”
“What happened?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I say.
“Come on, Liz. You can talk to me.”
“It’s none of your business,” I snap, and I turn around, run up the stairs and into my room.
“Don’t slam the—”
But I can’t hear her finish as I slam the door behind me.
LYLA COMES OVER the next morning to pick us up for the final fitting before the wedding. She smiles big as she presents her new car, a navy blue Mercedes, an early wedding gift from Benny’s parents. It shines, smells deeply of new leather. I ooh and ahh along with my mother, try
ing to hide how horrible I feel. Innis has called me twice and texted three more times since our conversation, and I haven’t answered or responded. I’m afraid of his words, that if I let him speak he will try to change my mind.
Mrs. Barton isn’t there on Fridays, and I’m glad for it. The last thing I need is that prim and proper Southern belle poking at us with her bony fingers. Better yet, Erica has to work, meaning one less person to judge me.
As I take my turn trying on the altered dress, I catch a hint of tattoo through Amy’s sleeve. I bet she has to cover it, that Mrs. Barton would never approve, and I feel a surge of camaraderie for her—she has secrets, too. My dress fits perfectly, and then it’s on to Lyla, who stands there, rigid yet delicate, like a dress form. Mom watches closely, making sure everything is done just so, taking pictures on her phone.
When Amy’s done, we follow her and Lyla to the dressing room, sit ourselves down in the plush chairs as Amy carefully unfastens each beaded button, lifts the dress over Lyla’s head.
Mom leans to me once Lyla is back in the fitting room. “Isn’t this fun?” she asks, somewhat desperately.
“A real riot,” I say.
“What is going on with you, Liz?”
“Nothing. I’m here, aren’t I? Doing everything you guys want me to.”
“Is this about Innis?”
“No,” I lie, but she’s my mom, and it’s so hard not to tell her. “I don’t know.”
“You said you had a fight. Did you work it out?”
“No, we didn’t.”
Her face falls, and in this weird way, it’s like I’m breaking up with her.
“And I don’t think we’re going to,” I add.
Mom knows me well enough not to ask anything more.
LYLA IS QUIET on the way home, while Mom rambles on about this detail and the next. She parks in the driveway and follows us in. Lucy runs to Mom, begging for treats, and I head up to my room. I hear Lyla behind me on the stairs. “I have to get something from my closet,” she calls.
But she doesn’t go to her room. She follows me into mine, shuts the door behind her.