The phone vibrates again and this time I scroll through to see what I missed. As suspected, my incoming texts are full of their tense concern.
Where are you?
Are you feeling any better?
You okay?
Anything I can do?
I know they’re both trying to help but it’s too much and, eventually, I get sick of the sound and simply power off my phone.
Time clicks by. The sky changes—the clouds huddle overhead, darkening the earth and stealing the sun’s warmth. I know that lunch must be over and classes have probably started up again, but the thought of going back in that building makes me sick.
Then why bother?
The thought is casual at first and I don’t take it seriously. But when I catch sight of my eyes in the rearview mirror, I think, really, why bother?
The teachers aren’t going to give me trouble and if they do, I can always go talk to my buddy, Mrs. Gaspard. She did say she’d help me with anything, didn’t she?
Traffic is nonexistent and the drive home is quick—ten minutes at the most. Nancy’s and Daddy’s cars are both parked in the driveway in front of the free-standing garage. I don’t think they even notice that I live with them in this big, rambling house anymore, but I don’t want even the possibility of questions or to risk raising any red flags, so I slip in through the front door and silently creep up the stairs.
Barricaded in the safety of my room, I fall onto my bed and pull the covers up over my face until it’s as dark in front of my eyes as it is in my head. The silence of the house is somehow deafening. I think of how Nancy used to fume when Daphne had her music turned up too loud and I literally ache.
Daphne would always comply, but the moment Nancy’s feet hit the top steps, she would be back at the volume knob, bouncing her head to the beat and rolling her eyes at our stepmother’s lack of what she called music appreciation.
And once I start to think of my sister, I can’t stop. There’s Daphne when we were eight pumping her legs fast and getting her swing going so that she could toss herself off and arc through the sky to land giggling on the warm grass. And Daphne at eleven trying on a white training bra and posing in front of the mirror with her hands on her hips. Daphne at twelve, talking to me excitedly as she braided Audra’s blond hair. At fourteen, swallowed by sunlight, shouting my name from the stands at a tennis match. At sixteen with her new driver’s license in her hand getting a congratulatory hug from Daddy. At seventeen, nestled beside me in bed.
Love you.
Love you more.
The sound of steps on the floorboards in front of my room curdles the memories.
“Amelia? Is that you? Amelia?” Nancy calls my name again as she tries to jiggle the knob of the door. Well, she’s out of luck because I’ve locked it.
“It’s me.”
“Why are you home?” she asks and there’s an edge of nervousness to her voice. “I thought this was your first day back. Did it not go well?”
“It was fine. We just had early release,” I gasp out, rolling over and pressing my face into the pillow so I won’t scream.
“I see.” She pauses. “Would you like to go to church with me?”
“No. I’m tired,” comes my muffled voice.
“It might do you good. There’s a group I go to and it might be refreshing to talk about everything. I know it’s helped me.”
“Um, I’m really not well enough, but thanks.”
“All right then,” she says reluctantly. “Your father is… he’s in his study. There’s food in the refrigerator if you get hungry.”
“Okay.”
And then she leaves and the hours pass by. Afternoon fades to twilight and I drop the blankets from my head and push the air from my lungs into my now dark room. I stare at the wall that Sebastian and I painted, pretending it really is sky, and I wait for my eyes to grow heavy and my head to get lighter. I fall asleep and dream of water so deep and so black that no matter how hard I swim, I can never reach the bottom.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Bash
“I have one word of advice for you.”
I look up and see Seth standing at the opposite end of the kitchen table with a guitar resting on the toes of his shoes. His brown hair is pulled back into a messy knot at the crown of his head and held in place with a rubber band.
“What?”
He gestures over the table at all the papers I’ve spread out. “Shredder.”
“I wish. These are bills. And this,” I say and pick up an envelope, “is a notice of the court date with my aunt and uncle.”
“What does it say?” he asks as he sits down.
I furrow my brow. “It says that I have ninety days to figure out a way to hire an attorney and keep Carter.”
“Shit.”
“That sounds about right.”
Jinx saunters into the kitchen and hops onto Seth’s lap. She certainly does stay in the house more now that Seth is pretty much living here.
“Anything I can do?” Seth asks as he picks up a bill and examines it.
“Yeah, you can buy some cat food for your friend there.”
“You know that’s not what I meant. I have some money saved from shows and you know I’m happy to pitch in.”
“You’re already helping enough, Seth, especially with Carter,” I remind him. “And that money is supposed to float you after graduation if you want to get on the road and play.”
He shrugs and shifts his knee so that he can tune his guitar without disturbing Jinx. She still gives the instrument an indignant look. Cats, man. “Things change.”
I sigh. I know Seth means it, but I just can’t make myself ask anything more of my best friend.
“There’s always Paul,” I say, looking out the window to my neighbor’s house.
Seth stops tuning and stares up at me. “You’re joking.”
“It’d be a one time thing. Just let him and his guys use the house one time for whatever it is they want and then I could breathe.”
“Whatever it is they want to do?” He laughs bitterly. “They want to cook meth here. I don’t think there’s any doubt about that.”
“But Carter…” My eyes dart to the hall that leads to his bedroom. He’s sleeping soundly right now because he doesn’t know how close he is to losing the only life he knows. “If I can keep him fed and with me then isn’t it worth it?”
“Bash, are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Seth asks. “And, Jesus, I thought this conversation was over and done. I thought you were going to apply to colleges and we were going to take the world on like gangbusters.”
“I never sent out the applications.”
Seth’s eyebrows lift. “Well that’s your first mistake.”
I inhale slowly. “With everything happening with Amelia I didn’t know what to do.”
“Dude, I get it. But now Amelia is back.”
Is she?
“It’s time to get serious,” he continues as he piles the bills. “First, let’s get these organized and figure out which ones have to be taken care of now and which ones can be put off a little. Then let’s find you a new job.”
I laugh. “And how do you figure that’ll happen?”
“That’s actually kind of a funny story,” he says, smiling wryly.
“What the hell did you do?”
He blinks innocently. “Nothing bad. I happen to know a guy in Atlanta who knows a guy who—”
“Knows a guy?” I guess.
“No,” Seth says snidely. “This guy makes graphics for bands to sell at their merch tables and he also runs a shirt company.”
“And?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “And I may have sent him some of your stuff a few days back.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I knew you wouldn’t do it yourself.”
He has a point. “Okay, so what happened?”
“He emailed me yesterday to let me know he’s interested as long as you’
re willing to sell at the right price. And he asked if you had any more designs.”
“You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack.” He fiddles with one guitar string. “And I’ll share the email with you as long as I can do the talking. I’m not letting you sell those drawings for five dollars a pop. You’re worth more than that.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal,” I say, my chest expanding with relief. “And thanks.”
Seth tilts his chin so he can get a better view of the guitar strings. “Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t told you my other condition.”
“Which is?”
“College.”
“What about it?”
“Those applications, including the financial aid forms. We’re mailing them out first thing Monday morning,” he says it like it’s already a done deal.
“It’s too late,” I tell him.
“Too late, my ass. When we looked, almost every single deadline was March first. You still have time left and I’m not going to sit here and let you waste it.”
“You’re not going to let me?”
“Someone’s got to give you a swift kick to the ass and it might as well be me.”
“Says the guy with the man bun.”
He fingers the back of his head. “Hey now. Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. I’m told that women are going crazy for this look.”
“Have you been reading Cosmo again?”
He cracks his trademark grin. “Only for the recipes.”
I laugh. “I know it’s not enough to say it but thank you. For everything. You’re a good friend, Seth, and occasionally you can be Jedi-wise.”
He gives me a look. “Dude.”
“What?”
He shakes his head and goes back to his guitar. “Don’t get mushy on me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Amelia
I’m so lost in thought that the tapping on my car window doesn’t fully register right away. Then it becomes full on knocking and I turn with a start to see Sebastian bent close over my window, a mop of dark brown waves tumbling into his eyes. I wave hello and he circles around the hood and gets in the passenger seat.
“I figured I’d find you out here,” he says, pulling off his backpack and stowing it on the floorboard in between his legs.
I’ve been eating lunch every day in my car for weeks now. He was bound to notice. I’m actually surprised it took him this long to come find me.
“It’s quieter,” I say by way of an explanation.
“You don’t have to tell me why. That place is…” Sebastian looks out the window toward the school.
“It’s getting better.”
He turns back to me, his grey eyes settling on mine. “Is it?”
I shrug. In a way, school is better. It’s been a month and the novelty of my triumphant return has finally started to wear off. Every day that passes, I have to pretend less that I give a damn about how sorry so-and-so is for my loss. And I no longer have to return so many stupid and sad little smiles or listen to theories and speculation about Spencer and the I completely understand what you’re going through lines. Those are the worst. No, I want to shout back, you do not know what I’m going through!
How could they understand? How could anyone fathom what it’s like to swim through a guilt so big that it could swallow down entire oceans?
“It’s okay,” is all I tell Sebastian.
He nods and looks away. I know what he’s thinking because I’m thinking the same thing—I don’t remember it being this hard to talk to each other before.
“So…” I try, shifting in my seat.
“So.”
Our eyes meet and we both start to smile.
“How’s tennis going?” he asks, leaning back against the car door.
“It’s okay,” I say again because it’s easier than telling him the truth—that tennis, like everything else—feels like it belongs in someone else’s life.
I’m going through the motions, but school… my college plans… heck, even my clothes seem like they don’t fit anymore. All those leggings that I used to love to wear and taunt Nancy with remain folded neatly in the bottom of my dresser drawer while I rotate through Daphne’s jeans and long-sleeved shirts. And, God, I know I shouldn’t do it. I know that the clothes thing is weird and Mrs. Gaspard, the school counselor, would probably have a field day with it, but I can’t seem to help myself.
“I brought you something.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a beat-up hardback book.
I stare down at it, brushing my fingers across the white cover and the title, Fragile Things.
“Is this—?”
“It’s the same one my mom gave me. The one she found,” he says, flipping it open to show me the title page. “See? It’s not in great shape but it is signed by Neil Gaiman.”
I glance between the sprawling black ink signature and the words on Sebastian’s sneakers. All your tomorrows start here.
“I thought maybe you’d like to read it¸” he’s saying, “but if you’re not interested, there’s no pressure.”
“No,” I say, holding the book more firmly, “I want to read it. Thank you.”
He looks pleased by this. “It’s a short story collection so you can skip around or read them in order or whatever you feel like.”
I’m nodding. “Okay.”
“Most people would tell you to start with ‘A Study in Emerald,’ but I prefer ‘How to Talk to Girls at Parties.’”
“Okay.” Sebastian is so clearly excited about the book that I laugh.
He sits upright, startled.
I blink. “What?”
He shakes his head, his eyes blazing with emotion. “Nothing. Just, you laughed and I haven’t heard it in a while. Or seen this,” he says, touching my cheek. “You have this one dimple right here.”
“Oh.”
We’re looking at each other and I’m suddenly aware that I’m with my boyfriend and we’re all alone in my car. And I notice his Adam’s apple and the stubble on his chin and the little creases around his mouth and the soft, shiny dark hair dripping into his eyes, and my breathing gets faster.
Sebastian swallows. Then, so slowly, his hand moves to the side of my face to cup my jaw. He leans in a fraction—a test, I think, to see how I’ll react.
I’m petrified, but I slip forward on my seat, getting close enough that our breaths mingle and I can feel the heat coming off his body.
“Is this okay?” he asks, bending even closer.
In answer, I nod.
And then we’re kissing and the world is falling away. My head is filled with the taste of his mouth and the feel of his fingers tangling in my hair. I’m unsteady. Wild. I desperately pull on his shirt, sliding my palms up over the hot skin of his stomach. Sebastian shudders and his arms tug me closer, hoisting me over the center console onto his lap.
His lips are on my neck and then my throat and his thigh is pressing in between my legs. I let my head fall back and my eyes close. In my chest, my heart thunders a round of applause. This is right. I feel so good and so, so alive.
The last thought snaps at me like a rubber band.
Alive.
What am I doing? How can I possibly feel this way? How can I let myself kiss someone like this when my sister is dead?
Daphne will never kiss another boy.
She’ll never feel her heart pound or the rush of her blood beneath her skin.
She’ll never feel anything.
Ever again.
“Stop!” I gasp out.
Sebastian immediately releases me.
I scuttle off his lap and back to my seat. My pulse is crazy. “I just… I can’t. I’m sorry.”
He takes a shaky breath and pushes his hands back through his hair. “Amelia, don’t be sorry. It’s okay.”
I almost wish he’d be angry with me. In a way, it would be easier if Sebastian were that kind of guy—the kind of guy who demands, who wants. Instead, he’s spent months bei
ng patient and understanding with me. He never seems mad. Never bitter. I should be happy, but it just makes me feel like I’m the one who’s being unfair.
“I’m not sure when…” I trail off, feeling increasingly uncomfortable about all of this.
He reaches out and his fingertips brush over my lips carefully as though I’m breakable as an egg shell. “It’s nothing. Just being here with you is good.”
“But it won’t be that way forever. Eventually you’ll get sick of waiting around.”
He looks down and takes my hand in his, turning it over so that our palms are pressed together. When his words come, they are slow and steady. “Let’s not worry about forever because right now, all I want is to be near you. It’s more than enough for me.”
We’re both quiet for a long time. I watch his fingers lace through mine and his thumb make lazy circles on the back of my hand. Then, out of the blue, he clears his throat and says, “So I have a question for you. What are you doing this afternoon?”
“I have practice.”
He nods like he was expecting that. “And what time is that done?”
“Probably like four thirty. Why?”
“Because, Carter got a really good grade on a reading test.”
“Really? That’s great,” I say, genuinely pleased about this.
“Yep, and he wants to celebrate with ice cream. I thought you might want to come with us.”
“Oh.”
His expression wavers. “If it’s too soon—”
“No,” I say almost too quickly, “I’d like to.”
He squeezes my hand tighter. “Great. I’ll find out where he wants to go and text you this afternoon. And just so you’re prepared—Carter is going to go apeshit when he finds out you’re coming with us. I swear, the kid asks about you constantly.”
The Bright Effect Page 23