by Jessie Hilb
“Sorry,” I say. “I really wasn’t paying attention. I’m tuned in now.”
“Thanks for joining us.”
Why are high school teachers always as snarky as their students?
I wonder how and where it’s finally going to happen. The sex. In a hotel? In a janitor’s closet somewhere after school? Should I tell someone? Who would I tell?
I have to talk to Marissa one more time.
Jon
Jon sits on his bed, eyes closed, hands crossed over his flat belly. Abs. I should call his midsection abs. He looks alarmingly like my dad. Minus the belly. His posture is all too familiar, filled with grief and shame.
“Jon?” He’s silent. “What’s going on?”
I sit on his bed, scooting back to lean on the headboard. I push my feet into his legs.
“Come on, Jon. Something’s up.”
He looks up at me with red eyes. “I screwed up, Ade.”
“What’d you do?”
The eyes are disconcerting. I’m not sure if he’s high or if he’s been crying. Either way, I’m afraid of what’s behind these red eyes.
“Drugs.”
“Drugs?”
“Well, just the pot.”
“I think you should stop smoking, Jon. It just doesn’t seem like this whole pot-smoking thing is going anywhere good.”
“I am, Ade. I’m stopping. But I got caught buying from Max Steele in the hall today.”
We pause. A mutual break in the conversation while we both take in that Jon got caught buying marijuana on our high school campus.
This might change everything for him. He could lose his spot on the lacrosse team—which means no sports scholarship. Not to mention how Dad must’ve reacted. “Does Dad know?”
“Yeah. We met with Dean Chan. In the middle of the school day. Dad had to leave work, drop me at home, and go back to work.”
My face must say it all.
“Yeah,” he says. “I know. What do I do?”
“I don’t know. Did they tell you what’s going to happen?”
“They called the cops. Three-day suspension and possible possession charges.”
“Wow.”
Part of me wants to be mad at Jon for making such a stupid decision. I know he can do better than this. But then I think of him and Dad arguing in the hallway and him up late studying and him loving Sabita. He’s needed something more, a mom, for a long time. I wish I could change everything and make his world a place where only light and love exist. I hate that I can’t do that for him.
“Now what?”
“I don’t know, Ade. I did it. I’m an idiot. I tried to buy pot in the halls at Bentley.”
“So that happened.” I pause, searching his face for recognition, for acceptance of that fact. “You can’t go back in time. Neither of us can. So we have to find some way to float this.”
We. Are we in this together?
“I’m not sure I know how. My whole life is about to crash into the ground.” His eyes are welling. “And Dad.” They’re spilling tears now. “He can’t even look at me, Aden.”
The Dad part. It’s the worst part. Jon’s spent so much of his childhood trying to make Dad proud, and he just murdered his lacrosse career. Lacrosse is where Dad shows pride in Jon.
I scoot next to him on the bed and pull him into my chest. Like he’s a little boy. And then he is a little boy, crying into my shirt. My heart is in pieces. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be a mom. We both know she should be the one here, doing the holding. But she’s not and I am, and sometimes I love my brother like a mom might.
He pulls away and grabs some tissues off his desk, balling them into his fists after he blows his nose.
“You’ll find a way to float,” I say. “Life may look different, but there’s another side.”
Jon looks at me with his little-boy face and exhales. “How do you know?”
“Well, life is full of this kind of stuff, right? You’re not the only boy who ever got caught with drugs at Bentley. This isn’t a death sentence. So, yeah, there’s always an other side, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll come out better.”
Everything I’m saying sounds so cliché, but I believe it. I have to. This is my little brother.
“You sound like a self-help book,” he says.
“You sound like a kid who tried Ecstasy and only got caught buying pot. Don’t get sassy.”
“I’m gonna lie down for a while,” he says.
There’s a distance in his tone that I can’t cross. So I leave his room, the door open a crack so he’s not completely alone.
Dad
I’ve avoided him for the last twenty-four hours. I wonder what he’s thinking. If he’s ashamed.
I sit down next to him on the porch without saying anything. I try to relax my breathing as I wait for my dad to say something.
“What, Ade?” He’s gruff but not ragey.
“I dunno. Are you okay?”
He releases a breath. It’s a long time before he answers. “I don’t know. Is Jon?”
“I don’t know.”
Another long pause. “I just thought . . .”
I’m not sure he’s going to finish his thought. I’m not sure he wants to have this conversation.
“You just thought?”
“I didn’t mean to make light of his pot smoking. If it’s a problem. I didn’t know he’d be an idiot.”
“I know,” I say. “I didn’t think he’d be that stupid about it either.”
“Have there been any other drugs, Aden?”
The question throws me. I take a minute to collect myself, and I wonder if he knows because I’ve taken too long to answer.
“Please don’t make me say it out loud, Dad. Jon might never forgive me.”
“How bad is it, Ade?”
I curse myself for betraying Jon, but right now he needs protection from himself more than he needs protection from consequences. “So far a one-off. Experimental. But will you ask him about it? I want him to trust me.”
My dad rubs his forehead, distressed. “Fine, I won’t ask for more information. But if he doesn’t provide me with every little detail, I’m coming for you.”
I nod once. I’ll tell him if I have to, all of it.
“Did you do drugs when you were younger, Dad?”
“It was the eighties.”
“What does that mean?”
“I tried a few.”
“And you turned out okay, right?”
He squints at me. “Debatable.”
I laugh. “You think Jon’ll be okay?”
“If I know my son.”
“So now what?” I say.
“Who knows?” My dad’s fingers are pressed between his brows like he’s trying to rub out the creases.
He looks at me, and the pain I see in his eyes is a shocking jolt.
“What, Dad?”
“You think he’s serious about this Rhode Island School of Design thing?”
“I do.”
He sighs. “A full ride. A chance to play sports in college. He was so passionate about lacrosse.” He shakes his head, “And two private school tuitions. I’m not sure I can do it, and your mom . . .”
“What about Mom?”
“Never mind, Aden.”
“Dad?” I think of Jon and the weed and the Ecstasy and RISD, and I say, “Who cares what mom would’ve wanted? She’s not here. We are. And we’re going to have to figure something out.” Because I’m not giving up Brandeis. I don’t say that last bit out loud. But it’s true. And I will say it. Just not now.
I think my dad is going to say something else, but instead his hands move to his belly, and he crosses them there, closing his eyes.
Tate Me
I’m in my room, trying to work out this song. The feeling of it, the melody, it’s all here. But the words . . . It’s like I can’t quite reach them.
What is beauty?
It’s just love.
Beautiful is the space
between
Everything I’ve known and
Everything I know now
What is love?
It’s knowing.
It’s recognizing each other’s
Souls
I don’t know if Tate can’t love me because I’m not beautiful like Maggie, or if he can’t love me because I’m not Maggie. Or if it’s something else. But it’s just when I start to think Tate can’t love me that I think maybe he can. Or does.
I know it’s not that I’m not beautiful, period. Everyone is beautiful somehow. Mostly, I’m driving myself crazy. I think about the last time Tate and I sat at Ike’s together and the crack in his armor. Followed by Maggie’s entrance. Invasion, really. The truth is, I can’t control any of it.
Marissa
“Don’t do this,” I say, my hand on Marissa’s forearm, tugging at her, trying to get her to see me, to see what I’m saying.
She pulls away. “Stop being so dramatic, Ade. Jesus.”
“I’m not being dramatic, Marissa. This is a horrible idea.”
“Keep your voice down.” We’re standing at her locker, whisper-yelling. The bell rang minutes ago, and we’re both late for class. I don’t care, because Marissa has plans to meet Danson tonight in some random parking lot, and my insides are screaming and I’m talking as quietly as I possibly can but I will explode if I don’t stop this from happening.
“Listen, Marissa. Flirting is one thing. But this? This is a whole new level of wrong.”
“Shhh.” She’s shushing me loudly, hissing, really. “This is happening.” She puts a hand on my shoulder, sighs impatiently, and looks into my eyes. “I swear to you, Aden. I know what I’m doing, okay? I’m fine. Promise.”
“You’re not fine. This is not fine.”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
“Should I tell someone?” It comes out as a question because I’m deeply conflicted. The naivety in me actually believes that Marissa has control, that she’s owning herself and her sexuality in making this choice. The adult in me knows that she’s not empowered in this choice; in fact it’s just the opposite.
Now Marissa is whisper-yelling when she says, “Don’t you dare, Aden. I will never speak to you again.”
“So what?” I say, even though I don’t mean it. The thought of not speaking to Marissa is a gash I can’t imagine. “This is what loving someone looks like. I can’t always tell you what you want to hear.”
“Oh, get off your high horse, Aden. Clearly, you don’t know the first thing about love. Or should I say, about someone loving you back.”
She slams her locker shut and walks away.
I clutch my stomach. Her words ripped into the core of me.
Me
I see Mr. Danson from the hall the day after he and Marissa finally have sex in the back of his minivan. Or, at least, I assume they did. Marissa and I haven’t spoken since our fight.
A female student leans over him while he marks her paper. I think she’s leaning leaning, but I’d assume that about any female student of Danson’s at this point. I wonder if Mr. Danson will have sex with her in the back of the van, too. Was the car seat there, or did he take that out to make more room?
Marissa thinks she loves him. I wonder how she can love a man, a dad, who cheats on his wife with a seventeen-year-old student.
I watch Danson as though we’re in a slow-motion time warp. He alternates between looking at his student and looking down at the paper they’re both intently studying.
I’ll never look at him the same way again.
And to think I once found him inspiring.
Seth
I’m stuck. I’m so afraid to move. I’m so afraid to break what I have with Tate because I love him so much I could explode. But where we are is drowning me, moment by moment. I’m stuck and lost. Marissa and I are back on speaking terms, pretending we never fought, but we both know there’s a canyon between us. I couldn’t save her, even though I tried. Didn’t I? And Jon. I can’t help him because, God, you can’t save people from themselves. My insides are volcanic, but I still have to walk around every day like everything is okay.
Instead of telling Tate I love him and demanding more because how can he not see that we’re perfect together, or simply exploding and shattering everywhere, I get ready for Ryan’s party with Marissa. We pregame in my room because the party’s only a few blocks away. I’m acting like a moron, but I don’t care. I guess I’m a girl who “pregames” now.
Three shots in, and I make it tonight’s goal to get Seth alone. At least he’ll have me like that. It’s messed up, I know, but everything hurts so much, and I have to find a way to make it feel better. Sober me knows this isn’t the way to do it, but drunk me loves that Seth Bernum wants me in a sexual way, a way I’m not sure Tate has ever fathomed wanting me.
Ryan’s party is at least in a normal house in a normal neighborhood. No beautiful moms with baskets of car keys or surround sound or a full bar. Just a house with old carpet and a bunch of kegs. We walked here.
“What’s up?” Marissa says, slinging a sloppy arm around my shoulder.
“What’s up with you?”
I’m not the only one cocooning. Marissa’s had twice as much to drink as I have, and she’s the size of my pinky toe. She doesn’t seem to be slowing down.
“Just keeping up with the Joneses.” She uses her sleeve to wipe vodka from her chin. At least we’re equal parts disaster tonight.
I have no idea how we make it to Ryan’s, because Marissa and I are completely drunk. Seth is in the kitchen with his crew. We make eye contact across the room, and he points his thumb upstairs.
I stumble to the stairs and crawl my way up. I take a minute to feel the carpet rub between my fingers, vaguely aware of how weird it is to do that.
Seth is behind me pushing me forward. Jeez, he’s eager. It’s like getting groped at a sleazy club. I’m not ready for anything having to do with his pelvis just yet, but he’s pushing his hips into mine. His breath is hot on my neck. Everything is duller around the edges, and Seth is breaching my boundaries. At least he wants me. Like that.
The walls are a hazy mess of lavender and pink. Everything is fuzzy, and Seth is moving way too fast. His hand is up my skirt, and I’m trying to push it down, but he’s not getting the message.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, cowboy. Slow down.”
He puts his knee between my legs, shoving it into my crotch as he lifts himself off me to see my face.
“What, you don’t want this?”
His knee is pressing too hard. No, I don’t want this, but it’s Seth Bernum. I’m supposed to want him if I’m any kind of a girl. But somewhere in me I know this isn’t how it’s supposed to feel.
“Just slow down. Can we kiss for a minute?”
“Sure,” he says.
We’re slobbering again, but his hands are roaming everywhere, and did he just dribble beer into my cleavage? I stare at the walls trying to find some semblance of clarity, but I feel so dizzy.
This is not what I want. This is not what I want. This is not what I want. He eases off me.
I think Seth is unbuttoning his jeans and I think I’m lying under him on the bed but how can I be sure when alcohol has turned the world into sheer haze? Where are my words? Where are my words?
“Seth, no. Stop.”
He laughs.
“Seriously Seth, stop. We’re not having sex tonight, okay? Stop.”
I’m pushing him off, but suddenly he’s pressing his whole body against me, rubbing up and down my leg.
“Don’t get cold feet, Aden. This is why we came up here.”
He’s breathing hot beer breath into my ear. I’m repulsed. Seth wants something and I’m drunk, but I know enough to know it’s not me he wants.
“Get. Off me.”
His hands are under my skirt again, fiddling with my panties.
“Just let me make you feel good, okay?” he says. “I swear you’ll change your mind.”
>
I’m so drunk. I forget my resolve. The room is spinning. Seth is doing something to me. His hands are roaming my body. My clothes are wet, and I think it’s beer or slobber or some bodily fluid. I forget. Seth Bernum.
Wait. No. No. It doesn’t feel good. This doesn’t feel good. His fingers are thick and clumsy, and everything about this hurts. It hurts.
He’s not listening, and I’m too weak and too drunk to push him off. He has one hand on a breast. I wish I wasn’t under him. I need to not be under him, and I wish the room would just stop spinning for one second.
“Me on top,” I say.
He looks surprised, but lets me flip out from under him and start to straddle him.
Instead I stumble for the door, taking the spinning room and a blanket with me as I go. I’m still drunk, half dressed, and my hand slips and he grabs my other arm.
“Not so fast, Aden.”
I manage to push the door open and there are people sitting right outside the door smoking and drinking and laughing and I’m so relieved.
Seth is trying to pull me back into the room, but I lock eyes with a girl from my history class. What’s her name? What on earth is her name?
“Sara. Sara, hi.”
She starts talking to me and Seth pulls me backwards.
“Stop.” I say it loud and firm in front of everyone, and there’s nothing he can do but let me go.
I’m sober and drunk and sad and I think I’m crying and I can’t find Marissa because she left with Josh. I have to get out of here so I stumble away with no shirt and someone else’s coat thrown over my shoulder. Who put a coat on me?
“Where are you?” Tate’s voice on the phone.
“I don’t know. I’m lost. I’m in my neighborhood. I’m lost. I don’t know where I am.”