“Why don’t you come visit,” I suggested.
“When?”
“Next weekend?”
“Ben has a meet.” She blinked. “I said I’d go.”
“Right.”
She reached for my hand, taking hold, squeezing tight. “You should come.”
“Oh, I don’t know . . .” I said, as if I had friends, commitments, a life. “Maybe,” I said. “I’ll let you know how my schedule shapes up.”
6.
If Evie could love someone else, so could I.
Charlotte Kincaid and Libby O’Neil set their trays down at their regular spot by the coffee cart. I waited by the vending machines and watched them sip milk, pop open two bags of chips, and drop napkins on their laps.
“Hey,” I said, jogging toward their table. “Hey, hi.” I stopped, smiled, and dropped my bag on an empty chair. “Sorry about the other night.”
Libby eyed me.
“I told that guy Fred to tell you I was leaving.”
“Which guy?”
I scanned the cafeteria for Fred and spotted him and Adina four tables over.
“That guy,” I said, watching Fred watch me. Charlotte and Libby turned to look. He saluted.
“Fred Bishop?” said Charlotte.
I nodded. “He didn’t tell you I’d left?” She shook her head. I babbled on: “I just, I felt kind of sick and claustrophobic and didn’t know where you were—”
“Sit down, Alex.”
“Oh.” I nodded. “Yeah, okay.” I sat, pulled an apple and a small plastic bag of Triscuits from my knapsack. Friends. Look how easy.
“So, Alex.”
“Yeah?”
Libby’s face was blank. “How are your classes?”
“Fine.” I nibbled a cracker and watched the twins while I talked. “I like my world lit.”
“Who do you have?”
“Kordova.”
Adina and Fred read novels and picked at their packed lunches.
“Getting to know the Bishop twins?”
I darted my eyes back to Libby. “Oh. I guess.”
“I mean, you’re new, so you should know: People don’t like them.”
I felt instantly, inexplicably defensive. “Why’s that?”
“Why? Because Adina Bishop is a creepy anorexic who is completely obsessed with her brother.” She unwrapped a single square of pink pillowy bubble gum and set it on her tongue. “It’s sick. They’re like, in love with each other.”
I laughed. “Oh, come on.”
She blew a bubble. Then a bubble inside a bubble.
“He dated this girl once,” Charlotte added. “Audrey Glick?”
I glanced quickly at the twins, then back at Charlotte’s square stare. “Yeah?”
“She doesn’t go here anymore. She transferred to Sacred Heart in Brooksville.”
“So?”
“So, you don’t think that’s weird?”
“You guys are funny,” I said, straightening up. I ate another Triscuit. Watched Adina and Fred flip pages and snack on cute foods like berries and ladyfingers. “I have to read for next block,” I said, pulling a beaten copy of The Odyssey from my backpack. “You guys mind?”
They shook their heads. “Go ahead,” they said. They didn’t mind at all.
After that.
Fred dumped his lunch scraps and packed up his books. I hovered nearby. “Hi,” I said. He was alone.
“That Charlotte Kincaid. She’s fun, right?”
I smiled. “Right.”
We watched each other for a bit. “Nice sneaks.”
I looked at my feet, dressed in white canvas Keds. “Very fashion-forward. So old they’re new.”
Fred laughed.
“You again.” She came out of nowhere, wiping damp hands against her silk blouse.
“Me, yep.” I straightened up. “How are things?”
Adina ignored the question, grabbed her coat off the back of her chair. She looked at Fred. “You ready?”
He tugged on his blazer lapels and stepped toward me. “What do you have now?”
“French.”
“Walk with us?” He pointed left. “We’re going this way.”
“You two have class together?”
“No,” Adina snapped.
I looked pleadingly at Fred. I couldn’t help myself. I’d never met someone so standoffish and cool.
He smiled sympathetically, talking on. “I’ve got world lit. Adina’s free this block.”
She stopped, exhaled dramatically, and fluffed her skirt. “Okay, I’m going.”
“Where?”
“Outside. You guys . . . stroll.” She pulled on her jacket and marched heavily toward the exit.
“Wow.”
“Just—” Fred raised a hand, waiting, watching Adina go. “It’s not personal.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, yes. This is how she is. She’s—” He shook his head, inhaling deep. “Not good with new people.”
“Oh.”
We stood for a bit.
“What’re you doing later?”
“Later?”
“Yeah. Wanna come by after school?”
I laughed.
“I’m serious. We’ve got big dinner plans. Potato samosas. Chutney from scratch.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“Seriously? Your sister hates me.”
“She doesn’t, I swear. She’s actually really great.” He touched my arm, then quickly retracted his hand. “Come.”
If Evie could love someone else, so could I.
“Chutney from scratch?”
Fred grinned. “From scratch, yes. I’m telling you. The girl can cook.”
7.
The house was huge. Stone. Creeping ivy. Small, murky, lily pad pond out front; glass greenhouse in the back. Inside, it was dark and messy and smelled like pipe tobacco and stale pretzels.
We sat on high stools in the middle of the kitchen, peeling potatoes and shelling peas for Adina’s samosas.
“Something about raw peas . . .” she said, turning her nose up, leaning across the island while rolling a pea between her fingertips. “Here,” she said, pressing the small, green ball against my lips. “Eat it.”
I ate the pea. It was crunchy and tasted like grass. I eyed Adina. She’d been maniacally upbeat since I’d arrived. Friendly. Welcoming. As if she’d been switched with some amiable doppelgänger.
“Good, right?”
“Mm.”
Fred finished another potato and chucked it across the countertop at Adina. She backed up. “What? What’s your problem?”
“Is this it? How many more do you need?”
“I need four.”
“You have four.” Fred stood, pulling a cigarette from behind his ear. He bit the tip.
“Oh no, please don’t,” I pleaded.
“What’s the problem?”
Dad smoked when I was a kid. The smell triggered nostalgia and queasiness. “So gross.”
“No, but tell me how you really feel.” He yanked the cigarette from his lips and tossed it onto the countertop. “Better?”
“Much.”
“You want the tour?”
I looked to Adina, still shelling peas.
“Go ahead,” she said, pushing her hair back with the heel of her hand. “Shoo.” She grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and a potato ricer off the drying rack. “I’ve got potatoes to mash.”
Upstairs was brighter than downstairs. I followed Fred. First, Adina’s room, where every square inch of the floor was covered with books, clothing, old dolls, and broken CD cases; her walls plastered with cutouts, drawings, dried flowers, and macaroni art. Even her bed was hard to spot. “Impressive, right?” Fred looked at me. “She doesn’t sleep here.”
“Where does she sleep?”
“Depends. Guest bed. Couch. In the summer sometimes she’ll pitch a tent and sleep outside.”
“No shit.”
/> “No, really.”
Next up: his room. More books, thrift store paintings, records, stereo equipment, packs of tobacco, and rolling papers—but all of it arranged in neat little piles around the room.
“You’re a minimalist.”
He laughed and picked a tiny gray kitten up off the rug. “This is Egg Roll.” He passed me the cat. Its bony body squirmed in my arms.
“There’s another one.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere. Downstairs, maybe? Called Banana.” He grabbed my elbow and a crazy current rolled up my arm. “Come on, let’s look.”
Later, we ate Adina’s dinner on the floor of the drained indoor pool. We sat on blankets over pool tiles. “Why no water?” I asked, taking a big bite of fried potatoey goodness.
“Upkeep,” said Fred.
I nodded like I understood what that meant. “Parents?”
“In the Dominican. Our Dad. Just this week, though.”
“Dead mom,” said Adina, chomping a pea.
“I’m so sorry.”
She gripped the wine bottle between her legs and yanked out the cork. “Fuzzy memory,” she said with a shrug. “She died when we were kids.” She took a sip from the bottle and passed it on.
“How long have you lived here?” I asked.
“All our lives,” she said. Then: “You must miss home.”
“I do.”
“You like Meadow Marsh?”
“Not really.” I took a quick swig of wine. “I can’t get comfortable.”
I looked at her plate. She’d sliced it all up, mashed the samosas and chutney together and spread it around, but as far as I could tell, she hadn’t consumed an ounce of it.
“Stuffed,” she said, noticing my glare.
“Sure,” said Fred, leaning back.
We all lay back. That’s when I noticed the mural: Two goats and a galaxy of yellow stars.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” Adina asked me.
“No.”
She went on. “I’ve never been in love. Fred had a girlfriend once. Didn’t you?”
“Yep.”
“So clingy. . . .”
“Was not.”
“Oh, come on. She was needy and clingy.”
Fred sat up and sipped some wine. Adina continued. “Neediness. That’s not love.”
“Oh yeah?” said Fred. “What is?”
“Who knows,” she moaned, rolling onto her side. Then: “Any ideas, Katonah?”
I shook my head. She smiled and looped her pinky through my belt loop. I looked down—half amused, half freaked out. “I think it’s just one of those things. . . .” she said. “Like, a know-it-when-you-see-it sort of situation.” She pulled hard on the waistband of my jeans.
8.
“You look high. Are you high?”
The house was packed with people, and the music was so loud I could barely hear Evie’s raspy voice over all that thumping base. “I drank too much, Al. Here. Hold this.” She pressed a red plastic cup to my hand, then hooked her nails into the top of her tights and tugged upward.
This was Ben Ackerman’s post-meet rager.
Yellow and black streamers (Katonah colors) were tied to the wall sconces, vanilla cake was smooshed into the living room rug, and a keg sat in a bucket of melting ice in the corner of the kitchen.
Evie sunk to the floor and pulled me down with her. “Let’s sit,” she said, resting her head on my shoulder.
“Hey, Eves? Let’s go soon.”
“Just a little longer, okay?”
I nodded. I was sober and severely bored.
“Want some?” She rattled a box of Junior Mints under my nose.
“Thanks, no.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Yes.”
She sleepily ate her candy. I closed my eyes and when I blinked back to life, Ben Ackerman was parked nearby. “Alex,” he said, running a hand through a thick matte of brown curls. “Welcome home.”
“Thanks much.”
Evie reached up, grinning, tugging Ben to the floor. “Kiss me,” she said, puckering up. He pulled Evie forward by her dress straps.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I said, standing, nauseated; hiding my eyes and heading off.
Back from the toilet, and Evie was gone. I did a quick sweep of the room, checked the kitchen, the keg line, the den—I even checked the mudroom off the foyer. Then, over the doggy gate and up the steps. There were three bedrooms. I picked one and pressed my ear to the door. Silence. So I asked a guy slumped on the floor in a fleece pullover if he’d seen Evie.
“Who?”
“Or Ben Ackerman?”
The guy pointed to the door at the end of the hall.
“Is he with a girl?”
“Yeah.”
“With, like, wavy hair to here?” I held my hand to my chin.
He nodded.
“Thanks,” I said, staring helplessly down the dark corridor. I could’ve knocked. Instead I plodded back downstairs, grabbed my coat and bag from behind a leather recliner in the den, and left the party.
At first, it felt great, breathing icy air, away from the crowds and music, even Evie. But seconds later, I just felt pissy and bad.
I skated to my car, sneakers sliding over slick, frozen pavement. Once inside, I waited. I ran the heat for a bit. Made a bed in the backseat. Read Evie’s copy of Gatsby that she’d left on my dash. Then finally, around three, I conked out.
When I awoke, the sky was gray-blue and Evie was pounding both hands on the hood of my car. She made kissy faces at me through the foggy window.
“Open up!” she screamed. “Hurry! I’m freezing.”
I leaned over and flipped the lock. Evie climbed into the backseat and linked her arm through mine. “Brrr,” she squealed, wriggling around. “Hi.”
No, I thought. No happy wriggles. “I slept in the car,” I said.
She snuggled close. “You didn’t have to wait.”
“I can’t go home, Evie. My Dad thinks I’m at your place.”
“Well, thanks for waiting.” She grinned. “Let’s get egg sandwiches. Doesn’t that sound good?”
I took a beat. “What were you doing in there?”
Evie laughed, pulled back, and looked at me. “What do you think I was doing?” She hoisted her leg over the armrest—“Come on. I’ll drive”—and slid into the driver’s-side seat. “You gonna stay back there forever?”
“I dunno. Maybe.”
“What, you’re pissed at me now? For real?” She turned the ignition.
I stayed in the back and buckled up.
“Fine. Stay there,” she said, accelerating.
I put my nose to the icy window and watched colonial after colonial speed by. “Did you forget about me?” I asked.
“Don’t be crazy.”
“I’m here one night, Eves. I slept in the car.”
“Since when are you so insanely uptight?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I mean, what’s the big deal, Alex? We went to a party. I drank and hung out with my boyfriend. That’s what people at parties do.”
“So he’s your boyfriend now?”
“Oh my God.” She shifted the car into third, grinding my gears.
I winced. “Be careful, please.”
“Leave it to you to make me feel guilty for being happy.”
“Oh. Is that what I’m doing? I’m depriving you of your happiness?” I grabbed her headrest, pulling myself forward. “You abandoned me, Evie. I slept in my fucking car.”
“Alex, you don’t live here anymore.” She was shaking; putting extra emphasis on each word. “What do you expect me to do? Not talk to anyone? Not have a life?”
I felt stung. Sudden shame. What did I expect? Without me, she had no one. I let go of the headrest. “You’re right,” I said. I should’ve been happy she had Ben. Why wasn’t I happy? “I shouldn’t have come.”
“No, Al . . .”
“I knew you had plans with Ben. I�
��m like, the third wheel.”
She shook her head. “Alex.”
“No, I don’t mean for that to sound shitty; I just, I crashed your party. Sorry.”
“I wanted you here.”
I believed her. She wanted us both. Me and Ben. We were just the wrong fit. “I’m tired, Eves.” I collapsed sideways on the seat. “When we get back to your place, I’m going to grab my stuff and go.”
“Alex, come on. Stay. We’ll get breakfast.” She paused, then said, “I’m sorry I yelled.”
“No, it’s fine.” I shut my eyes. “I’m sorry too.”
We drove for a bit. Evie switched on the radio. Then: “We’re passing Hugo’s. Should I stop, Al? Egg sandwiches?”
“Oh, I dunno.”
“You need to eat something.”
I wanted the night to be over. Still: “All right,” I mumbled, eyes shut. “Hugo’s,” I said, relenting. “They do a mean fried egg.”
“They do,” Evie said, perking up, parking. “Soft, but never runny.”
9.
I slept the day away, got up at four, and stumbled downstairs. Mom was gone. I grabbed a bag of Fritos from the cabinet and put the kettle on for tea. I felt itchy and half-baked, crammed a handful of chips in my mouth, and picked an Earl Grey tea bag out of the tin next to the toaster. The kettle blew. I switched on the television, dumped scalding water in my cup, dug my cell out of my book bag, and dialed Fred.
“Hi,” I said. “It’s Alex.”
“Alex.” He sounded surprised.
“Listen, I—” I wasn’t sure what I meant to say. I thought about it for a second or two, then came up with this: “I want to hang out.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Now.” I was eager to wash away yesterday.
“Right now?”
“Do you have plans?”
“Well, no. I mean, yeah, I’d love to do something. It’ll just be me, though. Adina’s out.”
“That’s fine.” I racked my brain for an activity to suggest. Just us two. Milk shakes? Movie?
“How about the Audubon?” offered Fred. It was freezing out. Nearly dark. “Come on, you’ll love it. Nature stroll.”
Her and Me and You Page 2