Every year, Michaela Verday’s parents throw her the best birthday party in town, and I guess since it isn’t common knowledge that Michaela’s mother is sick, this year is no different. She can probably find some comfort in that anyway. Normalcy.
I wouldn’t know. This year, the Verdays have rented out the Rough House for karaoke night and lax ID-ing. Of course, an invitation to Michaela’s party is very exclusive.
I stand off down the side of the street, casually watching my classmates slide past the bouncers. Everyone is excited about the prospect of a party at the Rough House. Being on the list is important—it’s everything.
Claire texts me that she’s inside with Adrienne, Anna, and Whit. She tells me that Adrienne is definitely trying to make this Anna-Whit thing happen. The idea turns my stomach whenever I think about it. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with Anna, it’s just …
Well, at least Adrienne isn’t planning on screwing him herself this time.
I’m reading another text from Claire about how Coxie is desperately trying to use Michaela to make Claire jealous and that Claire feels terrible about it, especially since she wants to go hang out with Ellie at the bar anyway, when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I jump, turning around.
Ethan smiles at me. “I wish you would’ve let me come pick you up.”
I return the smile. “Yeah. Thanks.” I stand up, straightening out my dress. “How do I look?” I ask him.
“Nice,” he says. Ethan never exactly had a way with words.
I cock an eyebrow.
“Before we go in, there’s something I want to tell you,” he says.
I step back into a shadow. “Okay.”
He scratches his chin for a second before he starts. “That day in the hallway, when you kissed me, I know it was just a ploy. To make a point to Adrienne or whatever.”
“Ethan. I—”
He shakes his head. “It’s fine. It got me thinking. About how I was using Adrienne to make you jealous and how it wasn’t fair to either of you.” He scuffs the toe of his shoe against the ground. “I used her a lot, too, and I know she’s Adrienne, but that really sucked of me, you know?”
I nod. “I was using Whit to make you jealous, too,” I tell him. Then I add on, “At first.”
“Well, it worked,” he says. “But the thing I realized is—” He looks down, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. “When I was sleeping with Adrienne, I was trying to punish you. For using me after your brother died and not loving me anymore. I wanted you to catch us because I wanted you to feel how terrible you made me feel. I felt all this guilt, but at the same time, I felt justified. But, even if it was Adrienne, it wasn’t right. It isn’t right to treat people like they’re part of a game.” He stops for a second, and I kind of get the feeling that he might have been the nobler of the two of us all along.
He wasn’t all right, but he wasn’t all wrong.
“That feeling sucks, Olivia, and I don’t see how you two can do it to each other or anybody else.”
“You’re right,” I agree. “And that feeling? I used to feel it all the time. Eating away at me. I tried to tell myself it was all right, but then Ryan died, and I knew, I just knew.” I stop, shrug. “But I’m starting to get it. I’m not defined by Ryan’s mistakes, but I have to start being defined by mine. I can’t say ‘Adrienne made me do it’ or ‘Ryan is dead’ or all of that anymore.”
“Yeah. I’m glad,” Ethan says. He smiles. “And you’re here to do something good. That’s … really cool.”
I return his smile. For the first time since Ryan, being near him feels natural. He steps back in the direction of the entrance. “You ready, Plus One?” he asks me.
I stop, enjoying the old feeling of mischief without the guilt. “You really think I need your invitation to get myself into this party? As if.”
His brow crinkles. “So why did you tell me to save my plus one?”
I point behind him, to where Vera has shown up in a display of amazing timing. Ethan swings around, and she waves at him shyly. She looks cute in a little blue dress. Ethan gives me an inquisitive look. “We’re celebrating my high SAT scores,” I explain to him.
“Nice,” he replies to both of us.
It’s not like I have some delusion that they’ll fall in love and live happily ever after. I don’t even know if she’ll like the party.
But getting out for an evening never hurt anybody.
“How are you going to get in?” Ethan says to me.
I shrug. “I may have cleared the whole thing with Michaela. She hates me a lot less since I replaced her tire, and I think she’s looking forward to the opportunity for drama, honestly. From what I hear, getting in through the front door is all the rage these days.”
Ethan snickers. “Well, ladies, shall we?” he asks, offering an arm to both of us. I take one and Vera takes the other.
“Let’s,” Vera says.
I smile. “Please.”
71
Everyone stares as Ethan, Vera, and I walk into the bar together. Most people haven’t seen me since all of my indiscretions came to light, and the fact that I’m with Ethan turns the gossip meter up to eleven. I purposely don’t look at the table where Claire and Whit and Adrienne are sitting as we walk in. We all say an obligatory “happy birthday” to Michaela, who is bright and gracious to Vera, before finding a booth to ourselves.
No one else seemed to have any room.
“Is it just me or did the temperature drop when we walked in?” I ask.
Ethan smiles in that way he used to do when I said something funny but offers no response.
“Thanks again for helping me out. I know you’re getting kind of ostracized because of me,” I say, looking down in my lap. The truth is, I feel kind of like a jackass putting Ethan through this when he still hasn’t sorted out all his feelings about the end of our relationship. Not that I have myself, but it’s a closed chapter in my life. With all that’s changed, I can’t see myself looking back.
“I owed you one, Liv,” he answers. “I’m not sure I’ll ever make up for what I did.”
“Thanks,” I say, and I mean it.
“I’m going to go get a piece of cake,” he tells me. Then he turns to Vera, who has kindly listened to all of our awkwardness without making any faces. “You want to go with me?” he asks.
She smiles and nods.
As they walk off, I notice some other football players talking around the cake table, and I figure he won’t be back for a while. That’s fine. I didn’t ask him to entertain me.
A big man in a black T-shirt and cargo shorts is setting up a stage for karaoke. The stage is already covered in these terrible fake Hawaiian flowers that match the lei Karaoke Man is wearing around his neck. Behind the stage is a beach backdrop, epic in its ugliness.
I’m doing this. I’m actually going to do this.
“You ready?” Claire asks, sliding into the booth next to me. She sips the straw of a Coke through dark red lipstick.
“Who knew I was gonna get to do this with a romantic sunset backdrop?” I reply.
Claire snorts into her straw.
“What did Adrienne say when I came in with Ethan?” I ask.
Claire shrugs. “Not much, since I was sitting there. Whit looks a little devastated, though. Confused.”
My heart twists, half glad he cared, half wishing I hadn’t done it. Of course, all that could easily be Claire’s overeager imagination. “What about him and Anna?”
“Friends,” she says. “Definitely. Anna really was upset about Mrs. Baker. Of course, not upset enough to jump off Adrienne. And you know, I think she might actually like him, but him?” She shakes her head. “He loves you, Liv.”
“Well,” I begin, unconvinced, “it’ll all be over soon.” I glance at the stage. The man steps away from the speakers he is attaching to the microphone and nods in satisfaction. He slides over to his laptop at the DJ booth and selects something. A loud rap song fills the air, and a
few people get up and start dancing. “Did you see Vera? With Ethan?”
She nods. “They’re sitting over there. With Adrienne.” She points and my gaze follows. Adrienne is leaning across the table, talking to Vera, laying it on thick. She looks gorgeous; she’s so charming when she wants to be.
I wish she were different. I watch Whit, and he is looking at Ethan in this slightly territorial way, or at least my imagination wants to think he is. Then he glances up and catches my eyes on him.
I look away.
“All right, everybody,” the man in black says from the microphone, his voice booming out into the bar, “welcome to Michaela’s eighteenth birthday! We have our songbooks out for those of you ready to sing your way to fame tonight, so just head on up here and let’s get this party started!” With that, he steps back to his laptop, and I say a silent prayer for his sake that he has a really, really good day job.
“This is humiliating,” I say to Claire.
She looks at me for a second. “I thought that was the point.”
I stand up. “I’m going.”
She claps her hands together. As I make my way toward the man in black, she cheers behind me. I walk slowly, trying to force my heart to match its pacing to my footsteps. The man in black turns to me. “What song are you looking for, sweetie?” he asks me.
I cringe. “I was kind of just hoping to say a quick happy birthday to Michaela. Before everything gets started.”
The man appraises me for a second. Then nods. “Okay.” He picks up the microphone in front of him, flipping a switch at the bottom. My mouth goes dry. “What’s your name?” he asks.
“Olivia,” I mutter. “They know me,” I say even softer.
“All right, folks,” he says into the microphone, cutting in over the music. Heads turn in the direction of the stage, and I purposely avoid everyone’s eye. “First up tonight, we have Olivia, who is here to wish Michaela a very happy birthday.” He hands me the mic. “All yours, hon.”
On the cusp of a nightmare, I walk onstage holding the microphone, trying one-handed to fix my dress, my hair, my life. “Um … hey, y’all,” I begin, squinting into the spotlight shining on me and the flowers and the beach backdrop. Claire gives another cheer from our booth. I swallow. “So, I know most of you haven’t seen me since I did a lot of really shitty stuff and left school, and I know you’ve heard a lot of rumors about how I backstabbed my friends and got showered in whiskey and asked Whit DuRant to pretend to date me, and you probably think you know it all.”
I take a deep breath. “You know why I picked Whit out of all you guys, right? It’s not hard to figure out—he’s Mr. Everything. All State golfer, smart, and hey, I mean, check out that jaw,” I go on, managing to pull a couple weak laughs out of the sympathizers in the crowd. My palm is sweating, so I transfer the microphone over to my other hand. “So, I thought I’d make Adrienne and Ethan jealous, and I thought, hell, maybe some of you guys would think I was worth something if someone like Whit could like me.”
“Sit down,” one of the football players yells at me.
I flip him off and continue, more determined than ever. “But the thing is, pretending to date Whit was easy. I mean, sure, I wasn’t denying that he was sleeping with a teacher, but he was telling me all this funny stuff and calling me on all my shit. And that part sucked, actually.
“But somewhere along the line, it stopped sucking, and I started getting this feeling that you get when you’re around that person. You know the one? When I was near Whit, I’d feel a bit breathless, a little lost in my thoughts, so unsure. I wanted to be the right kind of person—the kind of person he wanted to be with.
“But I think, and I never realized this before, he always knew I was the right kind of person, if I’d stop making so damn many excuses. Whit never demanded anything of me except for me to be who I wanted to be. I think that’s what made the two of us so momentous together. That’s an SAT word he taught me, by the way.” I chance a glance at a few of the nearest faces, all of whom are glaring up at me, rapt in spite of themselves, but I don’t look at the table where I know Whit is.
“Whit says I do everything like I don’t care about anything,” I tell them, “and maybe I do. But I figure I spent all this time in these four years with you guys holding everything in until I exploded. Knowing everyone probably hated me but never wanting to admit it to myself. Believing what I’d done to you all was what made my brother crash into a tree. Believing I could fight my way out of a corner, but that I had to fight all the time.”
I push my hair back out of my face and start to look. There’s Michaela, confused, as if this wasn’t necessarily the drama she was expecting. Claire, smiling the biggest smile I’ve seen from her in months. Ethan, tetherless. Then, finally I look at Whit. Adrienne’s there next to him, contempt written in her features. But Whit is just there, with nothing at all on his face.
If he fucks his world up on the seventeenth hole, he has to brush it off and keep going. It can’t affect him, affect his game.
He doesn’t care.
“So, Whit, this is my dumb way of saying that I’m really sorry. That I’m catastrophically sorry when I go through every day without you smiling at me or texting me a dumb joke or looking at me like you care so much that it hurts, and trying to pretend you don’t care at all. I want to change it all. And what everyone is saying might be true. It probably is. You hate me and don’t want anything more to do with me. That’s okay. But please know, here I am in front of all these people saying that when you looked at me on the bathroom floor that day and asked if you mattered at all to me? What I wanted to say is that you do matter to me, every moment of every day, and nothing you do can change that. You matter so much that I maybe think I might be in love with you.…
“I know I would give anything to go back to that—to what we were before—and even if you reject me, I wasn’t afraid to say this much. Excuses aren’t going to hold me back anymore, and I won’t stay quiet this time, okay?” I falter in the silence. I have to get out of here. “So that’s that,” I say into the mic, walking quickly off the stage with shaking hands. “Happy birthday, Michaela,” I finally say, giving the microphone back to black T-shirt guy, who is staring at me like I’m an alien life-form.
I walk straight toward the table where Whit is sitting, and I’m sure everyone thinks I’m going to him but instead I turn to Anna and Vera.
“Anna,” I say first, being sure to look her in the eyes. “I’m so sorry for how I made you feel. You deserved better than that, and I should’ve apologized a long time ago.”
She stares back at me, her face blank. So, I lean over the table toward Vera. “And, Vera,” I say. She watches me closely. If I say the right thing here, I might finally do some good for someone.
“Don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you don’t deserve to be heard, because it’s bullshit. If I see you do it again, I am going to scream at you. Don’t let anyone talk to you like that. Especially not me.”
Then I walk away, away, out the front door and farther down the street, all the way into the shadow of a closed consignment shop at the corner. I wrap my arms around myself, cold, remembering I left my jacket in my booth. I lean into the glass window of the store, trying to catch my breath, trying to replay all the words in my head, but I’m not entirely sure what just came out of my mouth.
What I’ve just done.
“He’s not coming,” someone says behind me.
I turn around to Adrienne, holding out my jacket and strolling forward until she’s next to me under the store’s overhang. “I didn’t expect him to,” I reply, grabbing the jacket out of her hand and sliding it onto my shoulders.
She leans against a wood panel. “That was quite a performance. Confessing love at a karaoke bar.”
“I wanted him to know,” I say, resigned.
“Even after that video?” Adrienne asks in a disbelieving voice. “When you knew he’d reject you?”
“That’s the whole
point. He needed to know I gave a shit.” I shake my head, pulling my jacket tighter around me. “I don’t expect you to get it.”
The moon steals through the torn fabric of the overhang, highlighting her hair. It shines as she gives her head a nonchalant shake. “You’ve embarrassed yourself in front of everyone again. How can you think it’s okay to let them see you rejected like that? They go for the first weak spot they see, O; you know that.”
Her tone is set for an argument, to put me back into that lonely corner and get me to try to claw my way out. Instead I smile. “I do. So there it is. Whit’s my weak spot. As witnessed by God and everybody. Now you know. If you want to hurt me, use him.”
“I already did,” she snaps.
I stand up a little straighter. “I feel bad for you, Adrienne,” I say.
“Don’t. You’re the pathetic one.”
“You think if everyone’s looking at me, they won’t see you’re just as clueless as the rest of us. You can’t control me, and you don’t want them to know.”
She steps closer to me. “I’ve been controlling you for months.” She says it with a mixture of pride and contempt. I almost laugh.
“You think this is friendship!” I spit out at her. “You still think you’re doing all this for me.”
“You won’t survive by yourself,” she tells me calmly.
“I will. I am,” I promise her. “Just fine. But you…” I trail off. I take the jacket off from around my shoulders and drop it at her feet. “You’ve lost the best friend you ever had, all over your desperate need to be in control. Why did I always have to do the dirty work? Why did I have to take the fall?”
“That’s just who you are,” Adrienne insists to me.
“Not anymore.”
I walk away then, ignoring her calls after me. They’ll just be more desperate attempts to win me back. I walk away into the moonlight, a little freer. A little less scared.
72
Right before sunrise, the sky is this grayish color, still swimming in the silence and the darkness of the hours before. Every now and then, a car will drive by, someone going to or getting off from some nightmarish job. But other than me and the birds, nothing makes a sound.
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