by Ginger Scott
This guy is so fucking arrogant. He’s flaunting his credentials like a peacock. No way Emma falls for this.
“I’d love to,” she answers, slicing through the middle of my thoughts, cutting off my immediate assumption that just some guy is in fact nobody. She’s just made him somebody.
“Great,” he grins, pushing his hands in his pockets and pivoting on the heels of his shoes in my direction, just to make sure I get a glimpse at his triumphant smile. All I notice are his shoes, though. Shoes that are so irritatingly preppy—all I can visualize is the way they would look underneath the pressure of my Chucks, scuff marks left behind in the shapes of honeycombs.
“Great,” Emma finally says in return, her great far less enthused. I stare at her. I’m a little baffled over the fact that this is all happening in front of me, especially after the things we’ve talked about, the progress we made…thought we made.
“So I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll come by…around eight,” he says, backing away slowly. I notice he never leans in to kiss her cheek. He’s not cocky enough to do that. That’s probably a good thing, because my hand is flexed at my side, and I think if he did, I’d punch his fucking face in. Then I’d step on his shoes.
I keep my stare on Emma, and when she turns from watching Captain Douchebag saunter away, she meets my gaze, then immediately drops her focus to the ground.
“Just some guy, huh?” I laugh.
“His name’s Graham, Andrew,” she sighs. “And it’s not a thing with us, it’s just…it’s complicated to explain,” she shrugs, glancing around me. She can’t even make eye contact with me now.
“The dude’s named after a cracker, Emma. Seriously?” I look beyond her where I can still see him walking down the main path where he’s met up with two other guys that look just like him. He isn’t small. In fact, we’re probably roughly the same size. He’s just covered in so much…douchebaggery…it makes him look smaller. His pants are pink. What the fuck? “I thought we were past this…or that you wanted…shit, I don’t know…what I wanted? I thought we…”
“Lindsey’s here,” she cuts me off. The expression on her face is blank at first then it’s instantly replaced by the fakest of smiles. I can tell her expression is a lie, though—her eyes give her away. They’re full of regret and wishes. “Whatever you were about to say…don’t. Lindsey is here, walking toward us. She’s my best friend, Andrew. You started this, and I don’t think I can lose Lindsey because of it. She’s been through so much with me, and I can’t—”
“Hey, I’ve been looking for you,” Lindsey says from behind me. She slides her arm around me, her fingers running over my stomach and chest as she hugs me from behind. Emma turns away, but not before the look of pain flashes over her face. I shut my eyes and breathe deeply.
“Hi, yeah…sorry. I’ve been crazy busy with practice and classes.” Lie, lie, lie. I’ve been ignoring you, not dealing with the beast I created, running away from my consequences, while I pine after the love of my past and drown in the truth.
“It’s okay. I was just worried…you know, about your bruises. Your eye looks better,” she says, reaching to touch my cheekbone lightly. It takes all of my willpower not to turn away—not because it hurts, but because I don’t want Lindsey touching it. I don’t want Emma seeing Lindsey touch it.
“Yeah…I heal quickly,” I say, all of my attention on Emma. I’m not even sure I said that last part out loud.
My trance is broken when a yellow Velcro strap slides along the ground, sticking to my leg. I bend down to pick it up as some guy from our student government waves his hands emphatically on the nearby stage, the microphone in his hand.
“And we have our second team of players. You,” he shouts, pointing at me. I glance around and look back at him, pointing to myself as he nods. “It’s a hundred-dollar bookstore card if you win the three-legged race. Get on up here with your partner.”
“I’m good, dude,” I say, not wanting to be part of some stupid spirit week activity. But Lindsey changes my mind. Lindsey, of all people, changes everything.
“Oh my god, no…you have to do this. Trust me. You and Emma—she is the freaking master at this. Remember, Em? Last year, at the pre-med picnic? Seriously, it’s like she was born for this race. Everyone who was her partner won.” Lindsey waves her hand at the stage, buying us time while she urges her friend to join me. If Lindsey only knew.
“I don’t really feel up to it, Linds,” Emma starts.
“I really could use a hundred bucks credit,” I say just for guilt. Suddenly, I’m desperate for her to do this race with me, to come with me, to give me five more minutes of her time. Her eyes slide up to meet mine, and I say something entirely different to her with my look. I beg her. Please, do this one stupid thing with me. I can’t explain it, but I feel like this might be the turn.
Emma glances back to her friend, who is literally jumping up and down while clapping. She sighs and reaches for the Velcro strap, taking it from me and walking toward the stage. I trail behind, ignoring Lindsey’s touch on my back, her encouragement and cheer for me. All I see is the wild strands of Emma’s hair twisting in the wind like the fingers of temptation calling me to them.
It’s going to storm tonight. I can smell it in the air.
* * *
Emma
I hate spirit week. Whose idea was it to have field day anyhow? I’m finding out, then I’m going to sink their campaign when they run for student government again. I might run against them. My platform will be to do away with forced audience participation.
When I get to the chair at the starting line, I sit down, moving my leg as far away from the edge as I can so I don’t have to feel him. I can’t feel him. Why doesn’t he get that? He started this—he’s the one who decided to get to me through Lindsey. And she can’t be hurt by whatever happens next. It doesn’t matter what his reasons were, or what happened in our past.
It’s hard to hold on to that promise to myself though when he’s right here. I don’t know what the scent is that he wears, but it’s hypnotic, and it messes with my good sense. I’m convinced that’s what makes me weak. It can’t be my heart—I can’t defeat it if that’s the case.
“Okay, contestants, time to strap yourself to your partners,” the guy orders through the microphone. Andrew chuckles from somewhere deep in his chest. I glance up and see Lindsey watching us from the other side of the main mall. She’s waving and smiling.
Andrew bends down, his hand running down my jeans along my calf as he wraps the Velcro strap around both of our legs. The heat from his body rushes through me instantly followed by more of his scent, and I feel my stomach drop in a free fall. I shut my eyes and breathe out slowly, just trying to survive this, to make the right decision.
“Please…please stop,” I breathe, my eyes closing as I slump back into my chair.
His hands freeze against me as his head falls forward.
“I haven’t slept with her,” he says, his hands moving again to fasten our strap. He remains leaning forward when he’s done, not ready to look me in the eye. That’s probably for the best because my eyes are wide—I was so sure they’d been intimate. Those thoughts, they’re the ones that tortured me. To find out that they haven’t been as intimate as I’d imagined…
“You have to know, Emma. If I’d only known you were in the dark…if you’d only known where I was. Things…they would have gone so differently. I won’t even say could have, because damn Emma…I know they would have. I’m going to talk to Lindsey. I’ll tell her everything. Just don’t go to that dinner. Please.”
His voice is broken. His spirit…broken. The sound of him is desperate, and I can’t say it isn’t anything different from the feelings within my own heart. But my best friend is staring at me, the smile on her face enormous. And it isn’t even the fact that she thinks Andrew is her one, or that she has deep feelings for him. It’s that she trusts this story we’ve given her, and if she finds out I was part of the lie, she will never
smile at me like that again. And that smile—it’s the one that kept my heart beating after I buried my mom.
“If you tell Lindsey the truth, I will never forgive you,” I say, my chest burning as the words leave my mouth. How can the heart want two things that are so very far apart?
“Let’s go, racers,” the announcer calls.
Everyone stands but Andrew and me. I feel his stare burning the side of my face, but I keep my eyes fixed on my friend. I smile at her and raise my hand slowly, my fingers curling. She can’t know anything is wrong.
“You have no idea how important she’s been to me, Andrew. Do not betray me,” I say, feeling his breath shudder from his body. His head slings forward and his hand comes to cup the back of his neck as he nods slowly. My lips hang open, the words right there, waiting to come out. I want to tell him never mind. I want to tell him it will be okay and Lindsey will understand. I want to tell him I’m wrong, that he wouldn’t be betraying me at all. But I can’t. Our time was a few short weeks when we were sixteen. That time—it’s gone. And I have to let him go. He needs to let go too.
“Come on, let’s go win a goddamned gift card,” he says, placing his arm around my shoulder as we stand, our bodies tethered together, his fingers gentle along my shoulder.
We walk in sync to the starting line, and before the man blows the whistle to begin, Andrew’s fingers curl just enough to scratch against the fabric of my sweatshirt until his hand clutches the material into his fist before finally letting go.
He let go.
And I’ve never hurt more.
Chapter 15
Emma, Age 19
The truth is I was waiting for the phone call. I’d been waiting for nearly three years. From the moment both of my parents sat me down and told me Mom had pancreatic cancer, I’d been waiting for this call.
She hadn’t been well for months. Her body just couldn’t fight anymore. The rounds of chemo, the trials, the naturopathy—the prayers; eventually, cancer wins. All we can ask for is comfort and time.
My mother got three years. I should take comfort in that. My father should, too. And maybe one day we will. But for now, I want to be angry with the world.
“Em? You have to eat something,” Lindsey says from the other side of my bedroom door. I’ve lived with her for a year. I’ve known her for only a little more. The way she’s held me up since my dad called three weeks ago with the news that my mother died feels like more years should have been shared between us. She never signed up for this, and I’ve kept most of it to myself. Until…until the phone call that opened up my heart, split my body in two and took away that feeling of safety that comes along with knowing both of your parents are alive and well.
“I did,” I lie, my throat sore and dry. I can’t cry any more—but my mouth hangs open, wanting to. I want to all of the time.
“Em, I have been out there on that sofa all day. I’m binge-watching hot superhero movies. I’m on my fourth one, and you haven’t left this room. I would have known. I’m four feet away from the refrigerator. I would have seen you eat,” she says.
“You missed it; you were in the bathroom when I came out and made a sandwich.” I’m smiling a little. It hurts. This is the first time I’ve smiled in a week. It feels…unnatural.
“I haven’t peed once,” she says.
“Now you’re the one who’s lying,” I laugh. The sound of that hurts my chest.
“Ha, see! I knew you were lying,” she says, pointing a finger at me as she opens my door. I let my smile remain so she can see it; she’s earned this one. Hers falls though when she sees me. I know I look bad. And I’m sure…oh man, I’m pretty sure I smell bad. I haven’t really moved a lot lately. I’ve gotten most of my homework through home study and got a medical withdrawal from my language class. I picked German. I think I’m switching to Spanish the next time around. There’s one silver lining to this cloud of shit—I was failing German. “And for the record, I wasn’t lying,” Lindsey continues. “I really haven’t peed in eight hours—two Chris Evans movies in a row. You know how I feel about Captain America.”
She sits on the bed next to me with a bounce. She’s let me wallow for the last couple weeks, but last night she gave me one hell of a speech.
“You can be sad,” she said. “You can carry that around somewhere inside all the time. It’s human, and you deserve to. But your mom would be mad to see you waste even a single day not living. She’d want to see you giving each day your best, even if you have to carry your sadness through it the whole damn way. Drag that sadness around; make it your bitch. But don’t waste the good ones.”
She was right. She’s still right. She doesn’t say anything when she sits next to me now, only stares at me, like a blinking contest. I lose. My eyes hurt from crying. Everything is so…dry.
“I’m getting up,” I say, dragging my arm up my body so my finger can cross my heart with a promise. This is a tactical error on my part, because Lindsey sees my hand and grabs it, pulling me from my bed, one leg sliding to the floor, the other following in desperate fashion to find my balance before she drags me on my ass. She would, too—she’s very strong for a petite thing.
“I’m hungry. And now I’m sad that there are no real superheroes in the world, so you, my friend, are getting in the shower. You have exactly seven minutes to get yourself presentable, and then we are going to my favorite restaurant and sitting by the window to watch hot frat boys walk by,” she orders.
“I don’t know, Linds. I’ll get up, but I don’t think I’m quite ready to go out,” I say, dragging my feet toward our bathroom. She shoves a folded towel at my chest.
“I told you last night—you’re done wasting days. We’re going out. I want a superhero,” she says, holding one hand on her hip, looking a little like one herself.
I sigh, then stick my tongue out at her, backing into the bathroom and kicking the door shut. I stare at the blankness of it for a second or two and I think of my mother.
“You know I love you, right?” I say to my friend, my best friend. Lindsey doesn’t know this, but she is a superhero. She’s also the second best friend I’ve had in my life. I’ve been close to exactly two people not related to me—and the first one disappeared without a trace.
Andrew Harper, where are you?
“I know. And I love you too. Now hurry your ass up; you’re down to six minutes, and you know all the cute ones come out when it gets dark outside,” she says. I grin at her words, stepping into the shower and turning the water on. I can tell she’s sitting by the door. I also know that if I don’t make it out of here in six minutes, she’ll come in after me.
For the first time since I answered the phone and heard my father cry, I breathe.
Chapter 16
Andrew
I wonder if Emma would think I’m betraying her now?
The house still looks the same, only the yard is dead, weeds taking up most of the space along the stone walkway that leads to the door. The compact sedan out front is the same one her family owned when we were in high school. That was my only confirmation that her family still lived here.
Her family. It’s…smaller now.
I didn’t know her parents well, if at all. I never got the chance. For those first few weeks in Lake Crest, I daydreamed about getting to know them. I had these fantasies that her parents would surprise me with a visit while I was there. Once, I even thought I saw a couple that looked like them in the waiting room—at least, it looked like them from the back. I walked through, postured a little straighter, shirt tucked in so I would make a good impression. The couple turned out to be there to pick up their son.
Now I get to meet her father, to acquaint myself with him, like this. I turn off the engine and sit in my car for a few minutes, looking over the house, psyching myself up for this probably-horrible idea. I look down at my forearms and my eyes lock in on the burn mark on my right arm. It’s five years old, but it burns just as it did when Nick Meyers pressed his cigar into me. It
was also the hardest mark to hide from my mom. I roll the long sleeves of my plaid shirt down as I exit my car, wanting to hide my scars from Emma’s dad. The bruising from my fight is fading, but he’ll still notice. Not much I can do about that.
My heart thumps wildly as I step up her walkway, little doses of the familiar attacking me the closer I get to the door. I recognize the smell of the bushes that line her yard, even though many of them are dead. I’m overcome with the curve around her house, the way to her window, and the pebbles in the yard across the street that I used to get her attention. I can almost see her walking toward me.
I press the button before I can chicken out, and a small dog scurries toward the front door from the inside. The side window gives me a view of its paws against the windowsill on the other side. A light flicks on in the hallway, and I can see the shadow of a person walking toward the door.
I think I’m going to be sick. This…this was a bad idea.
“Can I help you?”
A boy stands in the now-open doorway in front of me. This must be Emma’s brother, Cole. He’s awkward and his face looks caught somewhere between youth and his teen years. Maybe he’s ten?
“Hi,” I say, allowing myself a deep breath and a pause before speaking. It’s part of my new rule to think before I talk. I bring my hand up to scratch my face as the boy scrunches his eyes and closes his lips tight. He’s thinking he just opened the door to a stranger. He kinda did—dumb shit.
“I’m a friend of your sister’s,” I say to relax him. It doesn’t seem to help, though, and now he crosses his arms. “I was looking for your dad?” I’m not quite ready for his dad, but I think any more time alone with little brother, and he’ll slam the door on my face.