Sister Pact

by Stacie Ramey

  The world starts spinning. I put my hands to my head, pushing the glasses flush against my forehead. I stand to see where Nick is, why he isn’t back yet. I’m ridiculously thirsty. Gatorade. I take a gulp, but some spills, and I have to wipe my mouth with my hand. I fumble, and it falls. All over Vanessa.

  “What the…” she screams. She turns to look at me. “Do you see what you did? You are such a freak!”

  I stand. “I’m sorry.” I go to wipe her off with my bare hands.

  She looks at me like I’m insane. “What are you doing? Don’t touch me.” She pushes me.

  I start to fall. Hands reach out and grab me, yanking me backward. I am so dizzy, I think I’m going to puke. “I got you, baby.” His voice, crackly and beautiful and breathtakingly familiar. Max.

  My body responds to his touch and his voice and his feel, but my heart just gets harder. He’s always doing this. Coming so close and then never coming through. Except with the Tracys and Marcies and Barbaras. The fun girls. Never with me. Even though I’m sure he knows by now that I’m as fun as any one of them. I did it. Didn’t he get the memo?

  With the stunning clarity that this pill brings, I realize I don’t need his help anymore. “Don’t touch me!”

  “What’s wrong?” Emery is suddenly right behind him and I start to get annoyed that they seem to always be together.

  I want to tell him it’s not me. It’s the pill. Leah hijacked my painting the other day; now John Strickland’s drug has my mind. I look like Allie but think like Leah. Then again, I want to tell him that I’m over him. That I painted all his pain out of me and need to steer clear of him at least until the paint dries and sets.

  “Allie, look, I’m sorry about last night. I’m sorry about today. About everything. I’m worried about you,” Max says.

  Just like that, Max gets inside me, and I can’t have that. Sure, he’s here to be the hero, but where will he be tomorrow? Or the next day? Where was he that night? I stare him down. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine. Let me help you.” He shoots Emery a look, and that makes me want to scream. A look that judges me as weak and needy—again. I need to change that perception. I need to rearrange the composition. So I shove him hard. So hard that even his one hundred and eighty pounds of all-state athlete is moved, and he has to grab Billy’s shoulder to keep himself from falling down the bleachers.

  He brushes his shirt off, then scowls before he walks away. And I’m glad. I can almost hear a bell ringing, signaling that I won the round. I want to throw my hands over my head and celebrate my victory, but part of me knows that’s wrong. I am messed up. I have messed up. I am losing it for real.

  Nick comes back, the T-shirt he got for me hanging limp in his hand. “You okay?”

  I try to calm my heart that’s beating like mad right now, like a wild thing.

  “Something you want to tell me about you and Max? You guys a thing?” He hooks his thumb toward the space Max just vacated.

  “No. We’re nothing.”

  Nick looks at me for a long time. I wonder if he’s more worried about the Max-and-me thing or how weird I’m acting. Does he suspect I’m high? If he knew, for real, what would he think?

  “You look a little.…”

  “I can’t do this right now.” I stomp down the stairs, hoping not to fall.

  “Wait up, Allie,” Emery calls.

  And then she has her hand around my arm, helping me even when I don’t want to be helped.

  When we get to the bottom, I shake loose of her. She grabs for me. “Allie, what’s wrong with you?”

  “Can you leave me alone? Can you do that?”

  “I’ll drive you home,” she says.

  “Why can’t you listen to me? Leave me alone. Both of you. Leave me alone.”

  “No. You need help.” Her eyes peer into mine. “Are you high?”

  I hold up my finger. “Don’t you dare!”

  “You can’t do that.” She points at me. “You have to stop. All the drugs. Everything. You’re scaring me.”

  “Don’t you lecture me when you were her supplier.”

  Her face pales. “I didn’t. She didn’t OD on weed.” She turns and walks back toward the pep rally, spinning around to shout a final “I can’t believe you said that.”

  I walk past the baseball practice field. John Strickland is standing there, looking at me, or at least I think he is. His eyes are hidden behind sunglasses.

  Nick’s steps make me turn. “Hey, Allie, wait!”

  “This was a mistake. I’m sorry,” I start. “I just…”

  He nods toward the parking lot. “Can I give you a ride home?”

  I’m pacing. I know I look crazy, but I can’t help it. It’s like my legs can’t stay still. “I think I’m gonna walk. It calms me down. This was a mistake.” I look back at the stadium. “Leah and pep rallies. You know?” My hand goes over my stomach.

  He nods. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I should have said something. I’ve gotta go. Okay?”

  Nick looks worried. “Okay. We still on for tonight?”

  “Definitely.”

  “You sure I can’t drive you home?”

  “No. I’m going to be fine. Really.”

  “Okay.” He hooks his finger over his shoulder. “Then I’m gonna head back. I think they’re going to shave Coach’s head in a few. Don’t want to miss that.”

  “Go,” I say.

  He trots off, and John Strickland takes his sunglasses off and looks straight at me. His stare makes me nervous, so I turn around to see Leah standing behind me. “I miss boyfriends,” she says.

  Chapter 12

  I’m glad I set my alarm or I would’ve totally slept through my date. My head feels fuzzy and my body feels all leaden. I push up on my arms and fight the dizzy that descends. I better get going. Nick will be here in an hour. I go to the bathroom, my legs still wobbly. I splash water on my face. I’m a mess.

  My hair’s a wreck. It’s been ages since I got it cut, so it’s all one length, one color, and pin-straight. Like me, it’s lifeless. My skin is whiter than white, as if I’m a ghost myself. The John Strickland drugs have put bags under my eyes. Great.

  Leah pops into my head. “Maybe if you took it like he told you? You didn’t listen.” I guess she’s riding the residual medicinal wave for as long as she can. Good for her.

  But I don’t get it. Why is she defending him? I want to yell at her. Shouldn’t she be worried about me? Shouldn’t she want me to stay away from the things that could hurt me? I was her little sister; shouldn’t she care? At all?

  “Stop being such a drama queen,” she says, walking out of my bathroom and into my room. “I’m not saying you have to go all Amy Winehouse. Just take enough to find your art without Kispert’s pathetic little interventions. And me.”

  I think about telling her she is with me, that I don’t need the drugs to keep her. I think about telling her how scared I am about all this, but Leah doesn’t like weakness. Leah was never scared. She was fierce. A warrior.

  Until she killed herself.

  I find her standing by my closet, hair down, straight and shiny, dark glasses on, plaid shirt, and dark jeans. Her college-girl look. She’s got a sugar-free Rockstar, which she holds out to me.

  “You need a little pick-me-up for tonight,” she explains.

  I grab it and take a swig, wondering if everyone in my life is getting blurred together because now she’s using John-Strickland words.

  “I don’t get the feeling Nick’s into the drug thing, do you?” she asks as she rifles through my closet, holding up a short black skirt and a belted shirt over it. “You’re going to need to be careful with him.”

  “Was thinking of taking it easy with all that anyway.” I push past her and pull out an oversized shirt with black legg-ings ins
tead.

  “Really?” she asks, and I wonder if she is talking about my decision to go clean or my outfit choice.

  “You don’t like?” I look at the clothes in my hand, thrust them back in the closet, and push hangers aside, searching for something else I feel like wearing.

  “I don’t think that’s smart,” Leah says. “This is going to be a very hard year for you. I’m just saying.”

  I lay my clothes on the bed and head back to the bathroom, partly to get away from her, partly to get ready. I try not to listen to the words repeating in my brain. This is going to be a hard year. Thanks to her. And now she’s pushing me. Like usual.

  Leah comes in the bathroom, stands behind me. I can feel her there, watching me, waiting for me to do what she tells me. To obey. And that makes me want to do the opposite. I don’t have to do everything she says.

  Leah quiets her voice. “Nick doesn’t need to know everything about you. You need to set some boundaries.”

  I shake my head. This is nuts. She’s talking to me about boundaries? I pour three dots of Clinique Alabaster foundation on the back of my hand and use a makeup brush to paint my face.

  Leah leans forward. “Want me to do it?”

  I nod.

  She picks up Peach in a Pinch blush and brushes it on me. A wicked smile on her face, she takes her price: a tiny little pinch on my arm. “Sorry, couldn’t help it,” she laughs. And it feels like old times, just Leah and me.

  “Come on.” She pulls me by the hand and walks to my dresser, opens my drawers, and starts going through my underwear.

  I push her out of the way. “I can do this myself!” I pull out a pair of baby-blue bikinis.

  “Nice choice.” Leah hands me the matching bra. “It says you’re nice while you’re being naughty.”

  “Haven’t exactly decided about that yet.”

  “Why the hell not? Cherry popped means good to go. Don’t hold back now, Al. Go get yourself some.”

  I move away from her and put my underwear on, thinking about what Leah said. Is she right? Just because I did it with Jason, does that mean everyone expects it? Every time? Does Nick?

  “I know you’re trying to go clean and all, but you could use a little something to relax you.” She pulls a prescription bottle out of her pocket.

  I stare at what she’s brought. She couldn’t have. But she did. It’s the bottle of Valium she used. Or an exact replica. The label on the prescription bottle is torn at the edges. Leah liked to peel the labels off things.

  I walk forward, pick it up. The name is still legible, despite Leah’s tinkering. Mom’s name. Karen Blackmore. The K almost completely gone. And the more just two letters: MO. I always wondered if she did that right before she took them. Did she play the I-will-stop-if game? Of course she did, and if I hadn’t been so out of it that night, I would have woken up. I would have texted her. Talked to her. I would have stopped her.

  “Look, I had to take a lot of pills and drink a lot of wine to die. It’s not like one or two would do. You know this. You remember. You saw.”

  My head starts swimming, and I start shaking. I don’t want to remember. I’d do anything to forget. “How could you bring these here?”

  “To show you. It’s not easy to kill yourself. You have to want to. It takes work to swallow all those pills. A few at a time. You’re not addicted like Mom is. Or crazy like I was.”

  “You weren’t crazy; you were just sad,” I say.

  “You were always so starstruck, Baby Sister,” she says, but she smiles when she does, like she was glad I was struck by her star. “It’s pretty intense to do what I did.”

  She opens the bottle and pours the pills into her hand, which is cupped and ready to receive. Robin’s-egg blue. Oval. When I look at them, I see the splatter pattern they made by her body: some half-dissolved and puked back up, others whole that never made it into her. Chills spread through me. Bile rises. I run for the toilet, make it just in time.

  Leah’s there, waiting when I come up for air. She hands me a towel.

  “You’ve got to grow up. We’re not talking about losing your virginity. This isn’t baby stuff. I know it’s hard. I know you’re scared. But this is for real. If you let me go, I’m gone. End of story. You have to stop pretending you’re like me. You aren’t. You’re just sad. A pill or two won’t hurt you like they hurt me. You are titanium.”

  I start to cry. She puts her arms around me. “I won’t take those pills.”

  “Not these.” She puts her hand on my arm. “But you might want to take a little something. You’re going to see Max. You have to be strong or he’ll kill you—for real. That’s what love does.”

  I stand there, dumbstruck. Mute. Leah always ruled me when she was alive. How can she still be ruling me now? I need to stand up to her. I know I do. But she’s right. About Max at least.

  “Why don’t you wear my tall black boots? They’d be perfect with this.” She hands me my plaid miniskirt and tight, black scoop-neck sweater.

  It feels a little wrong to borrow her things now. Sort of like stealing from the dead. Isn’t that a little low?

  “Don’t be a dork. It would be wrong not to. You’re going to look amazing. Come on.”

  She goes into the hall, and I follow. I open her door. It squeaks just a little, and I jump. She laughs.

  “They’re over here.”

  I reach into her closet and bring the boots to her window seat, where I sit and put them on. Leah pulls on my hands and stands me in front of the mirror. Standing behind me, she plays with my hair. “You think up or down?”

  “Down.”

  “Definitely.” She picks up a brush and runs it through my hair. “You look great.”

  “You think?”

  “I do.”

  I smile. Because wearing her things and having Leah say I look good and having her take care of me feels as good as any pill does. And I’m so happy and distracted by Leah being so sweet, I almost don’t feel her slip the little package into the front pocket of my skirt. I put my hand over it.

  “Shhhh,” she says.

  “Leah—”

  “Don’t worry. It’s not the blue pills. Just the leftovers of John Strickland’s little present. Only if you need. Only if you want to. Just to make sure you’re solid.”

  I put my hand over hers. But inside, I wonder. Because her promise sounds like when she said she’d only come to me when I wanted her. That didn’t exactly pan out, did it?

  The doorbell rings, startling me. Crap. Better get downstairs before Mom catches me in here.

  Just as I make it out the door, Leah calls me back. “Allie?”

  “What?”

  “I miss dates.”

  I start to tell her I’m sorry, but she’s already gone. She said it was hard to be dead. And I guess that must be true. It must be hard to watch everyone else go on when you’re stuck in last year’s colors with no dates or parties or pep rallies. I wonder: If she could take it back, would she?

  I hear Mom open the door, Sophie at her heels, woofing and circling. I watch as Nick bends to pet her. He stands and extends his hand to Mom, like the stand-up guy he is.

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Blackmore,” he says, his voice carrying all the way up the stairs.

  Mom calls, “Allie?”

  “Be right down.”

  I race into my bathroom and finish my makeup in record time. Mom with Nick makes me feel all panicky and exposed. I grab my purse and throw the makeup and some gum in it. I pull John Strickland’s package out of my pocket and throw that in too. Just in case. I race down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  “You look amazing,” Nick says.

  He looks clean-cut good, wearing a long-sleeved collared shirt and jeans that are so crisp they look as if they’ve been ironed. Like Dad’s. That reminds me of what Leah said
. Nick probably wouldn’t be okay with me using. I think she’s right about that.

  “Midnight. No later,” Mom says as if she’ll actually pay attention.

  I push Nick out the door. He holds the car door open for me, then slides into the driver’s side. Nick leans over, grabs my hand. “You ready?” I nod. He puts the car in reverse, and we leave. “We’re gonna meet a few people. That okay?”

  “Um, sure.” I’d rather it just be the two of us, but it’s not like I can complain. When we pull into the Pizza Inn, where the baseball team and football team go, I realize art isn’t about a team. Art is private and personal. Art doesn’t make you hang in a restaurant with people you don’t know and probably won’t like. All of a sudden, I’m thinking Nick’s ball playing is bringing down his average. With me at least.

  My stomach tightens. Can I do this? Do I even want to?

  We go inside, Nick’s hand on my back, steady and sure, guiding me. In my head, I’m dragging my feet, putting on the brakes. I move next to him, using his body as a shield so I can scan the faces in front of me. Nick steers me toward the tables of baseball players, where Vanessa and Colin sit. I smile, but it feels dry and plastic.

  Vanessa makes a face at me. Colin comes forward and slaps hands with Nick.

  “How ya doin’, man?”

  “Golden,” Nick answers back. His hand envelopes mine, but it feels like a life vest that’s filled with holes.

  Cassie and Billy arrive, and Cassie’s all full of energy and smiles. “Hey, Allie,” she says. “I need to go to the bathroom. Wanna join?”

  “Um, sure.” I pull away from Nick, who leans in to kiss me—quick and sweet and obviously for show.

  “Nick’s so cute. I mean, you two are really cute together…” Cassie babbles. I’m impressed. She talks faster than I think. Even on the little white pills.

  We pass a couple freshmen giggling on their way out of the bathroom. I hit the stall. Cassie goes to the mirror. I smell pot. Emery’s vice. When I come out, Cassie’s standing at the mirror, fluffing her hair and holding a joint.

  I look at Cassie’s fingers and the climbing smoke. She notices my stare. “Oh my God, you want some?” She holds it out to me.