Lulu caught Audrey’s hand as she finished the pour. “Stop it. We need to talk.”
Audrey’s face formed into a doofy half smile. “Cheers.”
“Audrey, please.”
Audrey threw back the drink, heedless. Her smile widened, grew toothier—sharper. “I’d offer you one, but I know you’re the designated judgmental bitch for the night. Better than the designated slut, right?”
Lulu stared at Audrey. “Fuck you.”
“Excuse me?”
“Fuck. You.” Lulu took a deep breath. “I’ve been looking for you all over this house like a crazy woman, and the first thing you do is throw Ramadan and Anderson in my fucking face? Well, fucking fuck you very fucking much.”
“Such a lady.” Audrey managed to pour herself another drink without breaking eye contact with Lulu.
“No, I’m not.” Lulu slammed her hand down on Audrey’s drink cup, spilling the contents across the floor.
“That was totally unnecessary,” Audrey said. Benign words, but Lulu could tell Audrey’s rage had gone from a heated lump of coal to pure molten lava.
“I agree. That shot was unnecessary. I think you’ve had enough to drink for the night. Maybe for the century. I’m honestly impressed. Who would have thought you could accomplish so much in three short years?”
“What are you, my mother?” Audrey sneered.
“No. I’m your friend.”
“I thought you were my friend.” Audrey took a long draw directly out of the handle in her hands.
Lulu stared. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re someone who hangs around and makes herself feel better by comparing her life to mine.”
“How could you say that?” Lulu didn’t shout. She could barely take in the air to get her vocal cords vibrating. What a sucker punch those words were.
“You’re so free from feelings. Must be nice to feel so brave, avoiding feelings. Sorry we can’t all cut and run after we jump on a boy, Lulu. Sorry some of us get attached.” Audrey brandished the bottle in her hands as the liquid within splished and splashed out of its mouth.
Cool vodka sprinkled across Lulu’s face, waking her from her stupor. “Seriously, that’s why you’re pissed? Nothing else you need to get off your chest?” Lulu paused to see if Audrey would bring up the inciting incident. See if Audrey would ask about Anderson. About secrets and loyalty. But Audrey wouldn’t and they both knew it.
“Nothing else.” If anything, Audrey was a marvel at standing her ground.
“Super. Since we’re on the honest train, you know what’s pissing me off?”
“Enlighten me,” Audrey said, continuing her downward spiral from sobriety.
Lulu watched the bottle slush as it went from Audrey’s lips and back down again. Lulu had never seen six-shot Audrey.
“You’re always like ‘Lulu, be careful,’ ‘Lulu, watch out,’ ‘Lulu, they’re not your brothers, Lulu.’ I’m supposed to feel lucky when nothing happens. You always imply it. I’m afraid, deep down, that every warning I’ve ever been given is right. And I hate it. That I’m the kind of girl that should, eventually, have something horrible happen, like an after-school special. And I’m supposed to feel lucky when it doesn’t. Because I take tiny pieces of the freedoms boys are given. And you remind me of that every goddamned time.”
Audrey had nothing. Lulu’s breathing hitched. She was losing balance at the precipice of her feelings. Lulu avoided this place, if she could. She wanted nothing to do with it. Her stomach roiled. Her head went light. And she couldn’t remember how to breathe.
“So why do you keep doing the same thing?” Audrey breathed out.
“Because I want to. Because I won’t let fear tell me how to act.” Lulu shrugged. “At least, I wish it wouldn’t.”
“Jesus. You’re intolerant—intolerant—toler—intolerable. Everything rolls off you. Nothin’ sticks. How could anyone stay friends with you?” The plastic handle slid to Audrey’s fingers, but she didn’t drop it. Its lip dangled tentatively from the tips of her fingers.
Lulu wanted to speak. She wanted to tell Audrey about Dane, about Halloween. She needed the soothing balm of confession. But instead she opened her mouth and all that came out were shattered bits of sound. The noises scattered across the beautiful kitchen appliances and marble countertops. The shards of her heart went out with them.
“What? Nothing to say? You’re always the chatty one.” Audrey’s breath heaved. “I know. Why don’t you tell me about how you neglected to tell me about hooking up with Dane. And then lied to cover your slutty tracks.”
Lulu opened her mouth and then closed it. How could Lulu explain she hadn’t been able to put Dane on the list? She’d written the number 15 and then drawn a neat, straight line next to it. That wasn’t a hook-up, though it had started out as one. It was the punishment implied at the end of every word of Audrey’s concern. That one day she’d end up alone with the wrong boy, in the wrong room. And even then, that night on the dance floor was still only a slap on the wrist. A paper cut. Except. Except it had taken a small but not insignificant sense of Lulu’s safety. Except it was now rearing its ugly head and separating her from Audrey. Except. Except.
Except now the paper cut was infected.
Audrey stood, smug and drunk and triumphant. Lulu grasped for the threads of her thought. She looked around them—they had drawn an audience. And who knows what everyone had heard. Lulu was too mad for words. She turned on her heel and fled back outside, away from Audrey and her punishing righteousness.
* * *
Lulu took the route that would take her around the side of the house, through a pretty garden path lined with knockout roses and a few other flowers that couldn’t bloom in the cooling weather so Lulu didn’t know what they were. As she made it out of the garden and onto some stones that lay along the side of a porch, Lulu stopped, immobilized. She stared. Hand to God, just stared.
Lulu had found Audrey again. Or, what was more accurate, Dane Anderson had found Audrey. They were wound up in each other, leaned against a set of french doors. Well, wound up together insomuch as Audrey couldn’t stand on her own and Anderson was propping her up with any part of his body that he could.
Before Lulu could say anything, he turned. Anderson stopped trying to keep Audrey standing. He actually stopped. Audrey, whose body was already starting to slacken from the alcohol raging through her system, sagged against the wall. Then, lightly, playfully, Dane tucked a finger under Audrey’s chin. He hadn’t take his eyes off Lulu, as though they were trained to the magnetic north of her gaze. And Lulu stared right back. Then Dane pressed his mouth against Audrey’s.
Lulu’s skin burned. Her fury went straight to a blinding white flame. She acted on the only thought she had in her brain. The one compelling her to separate Audrey from this nightmare. She exploded from her stillness. She shoved Audrey aside, and Lulu thought she heard a faint yelp and the rustling of bushes in the background. She paid it no heed. Dane’s smirk was too prominent in his face. And it was too like the ones she had just ignored by the keg. She held her forearm underneath his chin, threatening to press forward into his windpipe. For the first time, panic entered Anderson’s expression.
He recovered quickly, though. “Christ, Lulu. You’re fucking unhinged.”
“Yeah. I’m fucking unhinged. So leave me and my friends the hell alone,” Lulu growled.
“Look, honey, she found me. What am I supposed to do, say no to an open invitation?” Dane’s charm was back, his half smile propping back up on the corner of his mouth. He’d smiled his way out of trouble too many times. “She does seem to be under the impression that my name is Clark, though.”
Lulu pressed her arm forward. She was a hair’s breadth away from him, her breath fanning across his face. “I will rip your heart out and eat it for fucking breakfast, Anderson. I will annihilate you.”
“Aw, shucks, darlin’. You’re so cute when you’re impassioned.”
“I’
m not impassioned. I’m fucking furious.” Lulu looked around for Audrey’s limp body, but she saw nothing. She released her hold on Dane’s throat slightly as she squinted into the darkness, trying to figure out where Audrey had got herself to.
“Good.”
And in one swift movement, Lulu felt herself pressed up against the glass door, her lips in a sudden, hostile merge with Dane’s. Lulu shoved him, hard. But the smile was still plastered across his face. There was only one explanation for it. She turned around, with dawning horror. There, on the other side of the glass french doors, was the main living room of the Harrison home. Everyone stood there, silent and watching. Everyone. She turned back to Dane.
“I think they enjoyed the show. What do you think?” said Dane. “Do you think they’ll be saying come Monday that you defended your friend’s honor? Or that you’re a psycho bitch who’s obsessed with me? Want the odds? Nobody will believe you, Saad. Nobody takes you seriously.”
Lulu pointed a solitary finger at him. “Just wait, Anderson. Just you fucking wait.”
Anderson made a swipe for her finger. “Looking forward to it.”
Lulu dodged out of the way. Then Lulu did what great generals had done before her when faced with a defeat. She fled, hoping to live to fight another day. She rounded the corner, from the side of the house to the front, only to come colliding into a tall, slim frame. The frame grabbed her hand, holding her steady. Lulu felt like a malfunctioning circuit board, at once too much and not enough feeling across her body. She flailed, then stilled as she looked up and saw it was James. Unhesitating, Lulu wrapped her arms around him. Her hands tangled through his hair, her body flush up against his. His hands tested out their position on her hips, traveled upward to her waist, his thumb moving against her shirt at her stomach. Lulu was ready for his lips and for her own oblivion when James pulled away abruptly.
“What?” Lulu swayed slightly.
James stared into her eyes. He frowned. “God. You’re high.”
“No need to call me God,” she countered. “And I’m not that high. Not anymore.”
“Matt’s still inside. I couldn’t stay. Not in there.” His frown deepened. “I can’t do this. I can’t.”
Lulu’s expression steeled. She took his meaning. He’d seen her through the window. She didn’t know if he was taking his friend’s side over hers. Or if he was just the type to stake a claim on a girl without consulting her first. Lulu found neither acceptable.
“Then GO,” Lulu shouted with the final thread of her control.
James’s shoulders stiffened. He gave a curt nod, then turned around and walked off. Lulu felt her breathing grow shallow. She propped one arm along the whitewashed brick, trying to steady herself. She could feel the hitch in her throat. She willed it away, but her body didn’t listen. Tears came, unwanted and unbidden. Lulu held her breath, hoping to prevent any sound from escaping her lips. But she sniffled involuntarily.
A few paces away, James stopped. He turned around. He marched right back to Lulu and held out his hand. “You need a ride home.”
All Lulu had to do was bridge the distance and take it. She paused for a moment. Then she stepped forward and took his hand.
* * *
They drove through the kind of neighborhood where people paid others to live their lives for them—walk the dogs, pick up the dry cleaning, push strollers, collect children from school. Those were the only people ever spotted beyond the hedges of the perfectly meandering roads. It looked like a grand neighborhood populated by luxury cars and members of the service industry. For the people who owned the homes, leisure had become a full-time occupation.
Lulu drew errant hearts across the light fog on the passenger window. She’d already texted Lo. Find Audrey. That was all she could say. Find Audrey. What else was there? Nothing. Just find her. Lulu turned to face James.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” James asked, breaking her reverie.
“I don’t owe you anything.” Lulu turned away again, placing her entire back to James.
“No, you don’t owe anyone anything, do you?”
Lulu’s head whipped around, her voice warbling. “I owe it to Audrey to find her. God, I don’t know where she is now. I owe it to Emma to figure out what the fuck is wrong and why she’s not here with us. I should be in her car, not yours. Not here. I owe it to Lo—I don’t know. I owe Lo things I don’t understand. And I owe myself a deep fucking breath, but how could you understand that?” Her friends were all different, and they were all ripping apart at the seams. Lulu couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop it at all.
“Because you won’t let me! You don’t trust me.”
“Don’t trust you? I don’t trust me, you asshole. Do you know the kinds of boys I find attractive? Horrible people. Awful people.”
“I’m not like that, Lulu.”
“Oh, really, you’re different? You’re not like the other boys? You don’t want to make me playlists with Drake on them? Full of blame and longing?” Lulu watched James’s expression fall.
“Would you like a list? Michael Rossi, in the eighth grade, asked me if I had to marry one of my cousins. Because I’m Arab. Brian Connor, mind you after going through the trouble of asking me to dance and pull his sweet, sweet moves on me.” Lulu arched her eyebrows to indicate they were anything but. “He told Nina that I was good for some fun, but I wasn’t the kind of girl you date, you know. And you, when we met, you were pulling crap about my not being like other girls. Do you fucking get it? How can I trust myself? Would you trust yourself? And Dane. Jesus Christ. The first guy I had an honest crush on. The last one I let myself, too. You want to know about Dane?”
“What, did he dump you freshman year?” James’s scorn sliced through Lulu.
Lulu felt as though she’d been spat on. She heaved a great breath. She tried to focus her thoughts, she tried to let go of all the guilt and the pain. But that felt nearly impossible now. “No.” Her voice went as quiet as a whisper. “He didn’t dump me.”
“Jesus, Lulu, I saw you. I saw you come on to Anderson.”
“Fuck you,” she said, more breath than sound.
“Fuck you, too. I’m not a notch on your belt. You can’t treat people like that.”
“I’m not going to give consent for my heart. I don’t trust it. You want my fucking body? You can have it. It’s here, for the fucking taking.” Lulu gestured to the whole of her.
James stopped at a red light and stared, slack jawed.
“You must know all there is to know about me. I’m a girl, so I must be jealous. And I’m wild and a bit slutty, so I must have been used. You think Dane broke my heart. Fine. You’re right. He did.”
James croaked out his next question. “How?”
Normally this was where Lulu would hold back. Where she would save face and guard her pride. But Lulu was too angry. The levee had broken, and the contents of her heart would pour out, whether she willed it or not. “Freshman year. I don’t know. It was lunchtime.”
“So what?” James asked.
“So I checked my phone. And it was everywhere,” she said. “That shooting in Paris.”
Lulu couldn’t escape the news, couldn’t escape the dread clawing up her throat. So many people, living their life with joy, with youth and freedom, gunned down. Lulu had stood there staring. Trying not to crumple in on herself. Trying to ease her mind around a gruesome reality. But there was no way to ease it. She couldn’t imagine the kind of someone to do such a thing. But they had. And nothing had been the same since.
“Yeah,” he said, as though he were at a loss for words himself.
“It was awful.” Lulu didn’t have another word for it. She’d thought about other words, but they weren’t enough. Though sometimes, they were too much. “Everything was strange and unreal.”
Lulu, much like the student populace around her, had spent the whole time staring at her phone in a daze. But then Lulu had gone toward the dining hall. And that forward momentum had change
d everything.
A wave of nausea swept through Lulu. It must have been the weed, that was all. But even Lulu couldn’t lie to herself that well.
“Yeah.”
“They said it was my fault.” Lulu was looking back out the window, drawing hearts absentmindedly. “They said. They said that since some crazy Arabs did it, or maybe they meant crazy Muslims, since they were Belgians, who knows. But since they did it, it was my fault. Like I’d done it.”
Lulu breathed out onto the window, fogging over her earlier work. But the outlines and the traces of where she had been were still there. Her voice came out at a whisper. A secret between herself and this old pane of glass. “Like I could even think of such a thing.”
The memory flashed, still fresh, still acute. She had passed by a group of freshman and sophomore boys on her way to Audrey’s locker. And they had called out to her. They had told her the attack was her fault. She was Iraqi, wasn’t she, they had accused. They knew she was Muslim. Her fault, they had kept on, the dirty little terrorist, the conspiring towelhead. Lulu had stood, for the first time in her life, at a loss for words. Worse than hearing the words from hateful strangers—she had stood hearing the poisonous words from boys she’d grown up with, boys she’d kissed, boys she’d had crushes on, boys she’d tasted her first alcohol with, boys she’d wrestled with for control of the TV remote.
Strangers, at least, she could have ignored.
She should have felt punched in the stomach. But she hadn’t. She should have screamed, and yelled back at them. But she hadn’t. Instead, she had stood there, dazed and stupid, while wondering if all those years she’d thought she belonged there that she had been terribly, horribly mistaken. The relatives who died fighting tyranny had choked the words in her throat. Her heart had shattered that day, into thousands of selfish pieces. The one she had now, the one she had put back together, had slivers missing in the strangest of places.
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