That’s just one example. Stuff like that used to happen throughout my childhood and into my teenage years—events or moments when I’d lack the specific emotional response expected of me. Time and time again, the empathetic reactions that seemed to be required never came—a lack of genuine grief at my grandmother’s funeral, a lack of remorse when Jenna caught me making out with Mackenzie Mills in my buddy Carl’s backyard, indifference as I watched my mom move out, my siblings sullen and teary-eyed. I learned about appropriate responses; I began simulating them when appropriate. And somewhere in that haze of it I came to the realization that I was different. I didn’t want to hurt people, but I could, and when I did, there was something cathartic and liberating about it, especially because any collateral damage was almost always rectifiable. I know about guilt, and it doesn’t apply to me—I don’t carry the burden of it. It actually works to my advantage, most of the time.
I dialed Wrigley on my walk home from the library, the cold air whipping my face.
“What the fuck?” I snapped when he answered.
“What?”
I could picture the clueless look on Wrigley’s face. The kid was actually dumb as rocks, which was why I wasn’t legitimately angry.
“You told Pippa that I hooked up with Nicole. Remember that she and Lucy are, like, BFFs forever?”
“Oh, shit, yeah. I’m sorry, dude. It came out in the heat of the moment. Pippa and I were having some fight. I guess I was trying to hurt her and it slipped.”
“Fix it, Wrig. Fix it.”
“How?”
“Call Pippa and tell her what you just told me. You were angry and trying to hurt her. I did not fuck Nicole.”
“But you did fuck Nicole.”
“Wrigley.”
“I don’t wanna call Pippa,” Wrigley mumbled glumly. “We’re over.”
“Wrigley.”
“Fine.”
“Wrigley?”
“What, DeMarco?”
“Do it now.”
15
LUCY
MARCH 2011
Carefully, I penciled eyeliner around my top and bottom lids, making sure to do it the way Pippa had shown me. I always took forever getting ready to hang out with Stephen. Jackie and Pippa watched me while they drank Coronas on Jackie’s bed.
“You’re really going to an Italian restaurant on a Saturday night?”
“He wants to take me there.” I shrugged, unable to contain my smile. The fact that he took me out to dinner was so romantic, such a gesture. Even Stuart rarely took Jackie on dinner dates.
“But it’s Saturday night,” Pippa said. “Delta Gamma is having their big party.”
Delta Gamma was the only semicool Baird sorority; the other few in existence were groups of feminist overachievers who organized charity events that no one ever went to. Greek life at Baird was a bust in general, aside from DG and a few of the frats.
“I know.” I smoothed my hair. “We’ll meet you there after.”
“We’ll meet you there after? So you’re officially a we now?” Jackie frowned.
“I didn’t say that.” I crossed my arms, which prickled with goose bumps. I was always cold these days. I knew my arms looked too thin, and I could feel them judging me. I’d been on a yogurt kick—I’d read in a magazine that a woman lost ten pounds in two weeks by eating only nonfat Greek yogurt.
“I don’t know, Luce. I don’t trust him,” Jackie said.
“Why? You barely know him.”
“Well, the thing with Pippa in January. That was weird.”
“What thing with Pippa in January?”
“I think she means when Wrigley told me that DeMarco hooked up with Nicole Hart,” Pippa explained.
“Right.” Jackie nodded. “That.”
“That was months ago, and it wasn’t even true. Wrigley called Pippa and admitted he lied. They were fighting.”
“Yeah,” Pippa said. “And Wrigley is a psychopath. He doesn’t know what he’s saying half the time.”
“I know, I know.” Jackie sighed, tucking a blond wisp behind her ear. “But what about that junior girl Diana? The one in Delta Gamma who Stephen used to date?”
“What about her? She’s not in DG. She’s just friends with those girls. Keaton Banks and them.”
“You’re right,” Pippa said. “Plus, no way is Diana a DG. She’s too . . . granola.”
“What’s ‘granola’?” Jackie asked.
“You don’t know what ‘granola’ is?”
“Jackie? What about her?” I repeated.
“Huh?”
“Diana. Why’d you bring her up? What about her?”
“Oh. I dunno. I just feel like I see her and Stephen talking at parties sometimes.”
“Do you?” My stomach sank on instinct, though I was starting to feel like Jackie was looking for a problem simply because she didn’t like Stephen.
“I do, too, sometimes,” Pippa said. “I remember Wrigley saying they have a weird relationship.”
“It’s probably nothing,” Jackie added quickly.
“What do you mean a weird relationship?”
“Who knows,” Pippa sighed. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Lucy. He obviously really likes you if he’s taking you out to dinner on a Saturday night. Nobody at Baird goes on Saturday-night dinner dates.”
“You don’t like him, do you?” I glanced at Jackie.
“I never said that.” I watched her open a new beer and reach into a bag of Cheetos. She ate anything she wanted. Everything was so easy for Jackie.
“I know you think I can do better,” I said. “And maybe I can. I get that he’s not the hottest guy at Baird. But I really don’t care.”
“Lucy, it’s not about that. I couldn’t care less what he looks like.”
“So you admit it’s about something, then?”
“Lucy . . . ,” Jackie exhaled.
“Don’t you want me to be happy?” I looked into her ocean-blue eyes.
“Of course I do. I’m sorry.” The expression on her face told me she really was sorry.
My phone vibrated, and I grabbed it off the desk.
“I gotta go.”
Pippa yawned. “Have fun. Be safe. Use a condom. Et cetera.”
“Thanks, Pip.”
“See you at the party later?”
“Yeah.” I grabbed my jacket and ran out the door, suddenly too excited to really concentrate on being annoyed at Jackie.
Stephen was waiting for me outside the dorm. It was a hot night, the row of palm trees lining the walkway to Kaplan swaying gently in the warm breeze. He wore a white polo shirt and his New York Giants hat. I wrapped my arms around his neck and inhaled the familiar scent of his aftershave.
“Hi.” I kissed him. I loved being able to kiss him after a day of thinking about kissing him.
“God I’ve missed you,” he said close to my face, our eyes locking. “It’s only been what—two days? Two days and I’m going crazy thinking about seeing you. Am I addicted to you, Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds?”
“If you’re addicted to me, I’m addicted to you.” I leaned my head against his chest, let him hold me close, absorbed with affection.
It was only a twenty-minute walk to the restaurant in Claremont, but it felt amazing to be off campus, alone with Stephen in a place that wasn’t school.
The waitress sat us at a two-top, but Stephen asked if we could sit in a corner booth.
“So I can be closer to you,” he whispered, sliding in next to me on the booth, his hand covering my thigh.
The restaurant, Giuliana’s, had a modern vibe with dim lighting.
“Why Italian?” I asked.
“I dunno. It’s romantic?” His lips curled. “And Giuliana’s has the best pasta. I constantly crave Italian food, being Italian myself.”
“Right,” I nod. “DeMarco must be Italian.”
“My dad isn’t an immigrant or anything,” Stephen explained, pressing a piece of warm bread into a plate of salte
d olive oil. “My great-grandfather was born in Sicily. His family came to New York when he was eight.”
“Do you speak Italian?”
“Nope.” Stephen chuckled. “I sort of remember my grandfather trying to teach us a few words, but it never stuck.”
I took a piece of bread from the basket and let in soak in the plate of oil. I was letting myself eat whatever I wanted for the night. I was with Stephen, and I was happy. One carb-heavy meal wouldn’t kill me.
“I’m glad we’re here, Luce.” Stephen reached for a second piece of bread.
“So am I. Although my friends were being annoying about it.”
“Annoying how?”
“Mainly just Jackie. She says she doesn’t trust you because she thinks you really did sleep with Nicole Hart.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Stephen glanced away, and I regretted saying anything. I felt obnoxious for bringing up a subject we’d buried months ago.
“That’s what I said,” I offered, and the tension in my body eased when he reached across my lap and interlaced his fingers in mine.
“I just wanted to grab some wine and a bite with you on a Saturday night. I hope that’s okay with Jackie.”
By the end of dinner we’d finished a bottle of red, and Stephen’s hands were fumbling with the button on my white jeans under the table.
“You should’ve worn a skirt, Luce,” he breathed into my ear.
“I see why you wanted to sit at a booth.” I pushed his hand away playfully. The waitress gave us a Get a room look as she dropped the check. I loved it. I wanted every stranger to envy our chemistry.
We climbed into a cab and I told the driver to take us to Delta Gamma on Logan Street.
Stephen turned to me. “I don’t really want to go to that party.”
“Why not?”
“I dunno. I just want to go somewhere and hang with you.” He unzipped my jeans and slipped his hand underneath the elastic of my underwear. I glanced at the cabdriver, whose eyes were glued to the road.
“Is it because Diana is going to be there?” I couldn’t help myself. I was a little drunk, and Jackie’s voice echoed in my head.
“What?” Stephen removed his hand and stared at me blankly.
“Do you not want to show up to the party with me or something, because Diana will be there?”
“Why do you think she’ll be there?” The flirtation had vanished from his grass-green eyes, and he looked at me coldly, in a way he hadn’t before.
“Isn’t she in DG?” I asked, knowing well that she wasn’t. If I said I knew she hung out with a lot of DGs, I’d look like a stalker. I felt myself crossing a line.
“No, she’s not. You’re being ridiculous.” He pulled away from me completely, and I wished desperately I’d said nothing. It was all Jackie’s fault.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.” I placed my hand on his knee and fought my way back toward being Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, his girl, even though I knew exactly why I’d said what I did. It wasn’t just because of Jackie. Stephen and I didn’t show up at parties together. Maybe we did in larger groups, but never just the two of us. We’d never been visibly together in front of Diana.
Stephen placed his hand on top of mine, and I felt the stiffness loosen through my shoulders. He was probably just being sensitive toward Diana’s feelings post-breakup. Of course he didn’t go parading around with me in front of her and her friends.
“Lucy.” He turned to me, a piece of silvery moonlight catching his face through the window. “Everyone knows about you and me. I’m not trying to hide anything. I just don’t feel like going to a crowded keg party and standing around with a bunch of people when I could go be alone with you in a warm, comfy bed. That’s all.”
“I know. I’m sorry. That’s what I want, too,” I said, even though half of me wanted to waltz into the party on Stephen’s arm in front of Diana and Jackie and everyone else. But I wasn’t going to push it. I slid my hand under the waistband of his khakis to make him forget I’d picked such an absurd, girlish fight.
When we got back to Stephen’s room, Evan was just leaving.
“You guys staying in tonight?” Evan asked. I barely knew Evan, even though he lived with Stephen. He had short, sand-colored hair and a kind face.
“We just got back from Giuliana’s,” Stephen said, irritation lining his voice. Stephen was always complaining about Evan, for whatever reason.
“Yum. Okay, well I’m gonna head to DG. I hear it’s fun over there. Night, guys.”
Evan left the room, and Stephen didn’t say a word before shoving me down on the bed, harder than usual. He removed his own clothes before tearing off mine. His hands grabbed for me almost manically, cupping my breasts and running his tongue and lips over them, as though he couldn’t do enough to them.
“Suck my dick. It feels so good when you suck it.” He lay back on the bed. I was always happy to do it; it turned me on more than anything to know that I was getting him off, a feeling I’d never once had with Parker. I swallowed till his hardness touched the back of my throat and then swirled my tongue around the tip, the way Antonia had taught me in high school.
His groans intensified, and I cherished each one. He didn’t come in my mouth—he rarely did—head was typically a prelude to sex. He flipped me over onto my hands and knees and fucked me from behind so hard I thought I might black out. He grabbed my hair with his fists and yanked it fiercely, and I felt that it was more than just the sex but that he was severely, wildly angry, at me or at something, and even though my hair felt like it was going to rip out of my head I didn’t say anything because a part of me liked it—the part of me that was just as angry as he was really fucking liked it.
Afterward I lay on my stomach, my heart racing as he wiped the cum off my back with a paper towel.
“Go on birth control,” he said, lying next to me, panting.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t stand condoms, and I don’t want to pull out every time. I want to come inside you. And we both know this isn’t going to stop anytime soon.”
“Okay,” I whispered, even though I wouldn’t go on birth control. I didn’t need it. I’d stopped getting my period in December.
I nuzzled my face into his warm shoulder, relishing each second as he stroked my back with his fingertips. I would do anything for him.
16
STEPHEN
MAY 2011
Diana found me upstairs at Hawaiian Luau, Baird’s final rager of the year, held annually on the last Saturday before exams. Hawaiian Luau had always been a Chops party, before Chops got the boot my sophomore spring when some asshole overdosed on coke and blamed Chops for peer-pressuring him. The school caught wind and searched Slug, Chops’s frat house, where they found fifteen grams, and that was it for Chops. Such a shame. Search any other house on or around Baird’s campus and you are guaranteed to find some form of drugs, be it LSD, mushrooms, speed, narcotics, ecstasy—the list goes on. The administration is fucking delusional.
The hippies didn’t go to Hawaiian Luau, but anyone on a sports team or in a frat did, anyone who took drugs and listened to LCD Soundsystem did.
Diana pushed the bedroom door open—without knocking, of course—and found me passing lines around with a late-night crew of like-minded amphetamine fiends.
“Stephen, do you have a sec?”
Everybody looked at me like Oh shit, dude, your ex-girlfriend wants to talk to you, good luck. But I could tell from Diana’s face that she was in a good mood.
She led me down the hallway, to a quieter spot.
“Hi.” She grinned. She looked pretty, with a pink flower tucked behind her ear and a Hawaiian lei around her neck. She wore a grass skirt and a white crop top that revealed her stomach. Diana has always had a nice stomach, but I flinched when I saw the exposed rectangle of skin. I guess a lot of girls look particularly good at Hawaiian Luau—there were lots of pictures being taken—but I was especially struck by Diana.
Maybe it was her composed, tolerant smile. A look that said, for a change: I don’t want to kill you.
“Hey, you.” I’ll never stop flirting with her.
“It’s good to see you, Stephen.”
“You’re not gonna give me shit for doing blow?”
“It’s your life.” She shrugged.
I nodded, but half of me wanted her to launch into her usual lecture on the perils of cocaine—it kind of turns me on when Diana lectures me.
“It’s been a while, Di. You look good.”
“Thanks. I don’t love that Hawaiian Luau is at Sigma Chi this year . . .” She twirled back and forth on her heel. Was she nervous?
“I know. It’s not Chops.”
“I heard you guys can live in Slug next year, though. Congrats.”
“How’d you hear?”
“Everyone’s talking about it.”
“Yeah. But it’ll just be Slug, no Chops affiliation whatsoever.”
“Still, it’s exciting.”
I nodded. I was happy. After the administration seized Slug from its management company to do some sort of informal investigation, what had been Baird College’s biggest party house remained uninhabited for a whole year. Now that the “investigation” was over, Slug was back on the off-campus housing market, and Wrig, Charlie, Evan, and I had snagged it.
“I’m pumped,” I said.
“How’d you luck out?”
“It’s not like anyone else is dying to live there,” I laughed. “The place is in terrible shape.”
“It’s a dump. Do they know you’re in Chops?”
“Of course not. And we’re not in Chops. There is no Chops, Di.” I winked.
Tell Me Lies Page 11