Sister Pact

by Stacie Ramey

  Dad looked at me for support, but I just inched closer to Leah.

  His eyes went to the floor. “I had no idea what she planned.”

  Was he talking about Danielle or Mom now?

  “I never wanted to hurt you or your mom. It’s not…” His eyes got teary. “She needs help. You know that right?”

  “And doing your intern is your way of scaring her straight?” Leah’s eyes stayed fixed on him the whole time. She didn’t give him any wiggle room. I’m not sure now if that’s what made him snap. Or if what Leah said next was. “We aren’t going anywhere with you.”

  Dad looked at us, incredulous. “Really? You want to stay with her?” He pointed to the bedroom. “She’s not a wife to me, and she’s definitely not a mother to you. Not like what you deserve.”

  “Better than you,” Leah said.

  And just like that, she slew him. For a second he looked completely broken. Then he strode to the kitchen, where Mom had left her purse, opened it, and took out her wallet. He pulled out the cash and credit cards. “See how you all do without me.”

  I didn’t watch as Dad left. I couldn’t. All I could think was how were we going to get home with no money. No credit cards. Mom was in the bedroom, completely distraught and useless. I remember I sat down. Glass from the broken plates jabbed at my legs, but I didn’t care. He’d left us with nothing.

  “Come on. You’re freezing,” Leah said. “Get changed. I have to go out for a little while. You watch Mom.”

  “I’m coming with you,” I insisted.

  “Then we have to get going.” Leah talked to me the whole time I was changing. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be fine. I’ll make sure.”

  “Okay,” I said, but I didn’t know how to do that when I felt like I was free-floating in space with no sign of the ground. I couldn’t stop crying. And I was so cold. I’d never been that cold.

  Leah pulled a sweatshirt over my head. She smoothed my hair down. “We can’t be like Mom. We have to be stronger.”

  Then she went to Mom’s purse and grabbed her bottle of pills. She poured one in her hand and took it to the counter. She took out a knife and cut it in half. Leah handed me one and put the other one in her mouth.

  I didn’t want to take it. I shook my head, but she said, “It’s okay. Mom takes like two of these at a time.”

  I remember the sound of the cabinet opening and closing, the tap being turned on. She handed me a glass of water. I swallowed the pill. “Wait here,” she said. She took the rest of the water and another pill into the bedroom.

  I tried to listen to what Leah said to Mom, but I couldn’t focus. When Leah emerged, she put the pills in her own purse. I knew she didn’t want Mom to be left alone with a full bottle. We’d never talked about it before, but I knew. I may have been young and stupid, but I wasn’t that stupid.

  Dad hadn’t stocked up yet, and there was nothing to eat at the house, so we walked the one and a half miles to the grocery store. Next door to it was a store that advertised the Best Price for Gold in big letters in the window.

  “Wait here,” Leah said.

  “Don’t.” I pulled at her wrist. She was already fiddling with the clasp on the gold heart bracelet Dad gave her.

  Her eyes were wild. “You think this matters? This is shit.”

  “No,” I said. “It’s yours.”

  “He thinks he can buy my love? He’s wrong about that.”

  When she came out of the store, she looked different. Or maybe it was that pill I’d taken working. We bought peanut butter and jelly and bread and milk and a big bag of potato chips and a small spiral notebook with a tin can–colored gray cover. We stopped at the ice cream stand on the way back even though we were freezing. We each got a vanilla soft serve dipped in chocolate.

  Leah talked to me the whole way home. I remember every word. “We are going to be fine. I promise.”

  “Even with Dad gone? We’ll figure it out?”

  “Definitely.” She took another bite of her ice cream.

  “Who’s crazier: Dad for marrying Mom to begin with or Mom for staying?” I asked as someone drove a little too close to the grass we were walking on and Leah flashed them the finger.

  “We are for letting them fuck with us. We’re just pawns in their stupid, dirty little war. I’m sick of it. If I’m ever as miserable as they are, I’m getting out.”

  I nodded. I knew what she meant. But I started to cry.

  “Shh. Come on. I don’t mean now or anytime soon. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

  “Yet,” I said.

  “Okay, how about this? Since we both come from the same line of crazy, we could make a pact.”

  “A what?”

  “A promise to each other. That if we ever wanted…we’d do it together.”

  I repeated what she said about going in the water earlier: “It’s easier when you do it with someone.”

  “Exactly.”

  We were back at the house. Leah opened the front door, tiptoed around the broken plates on the floor, and walked in to see Mom. I put the groceries away. Except for the potato chips, which I brought out to the porch with me. Leah came out with a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, the notebook, and a pen.

  I knew I wasn’t feeling right with the pill in me, but I didn’t say no to the wine. Being with Leah felt reassuring. An island of safe in a sea of danger. She showed me the front cover. “War colors.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed and took a swig of wine.

  “Perfect for our battle plan. First thing,” she flipped it open to the first page, “is we make me the general.”

  “Hey!” I pretended to be annoyed.

  “You’ll make an excellent foot soldier and historian.” She handed me the notebook and pen.

  “I guess I could do that.”

  Leah’s face got serious. She gestured with the wine bottle. “You know how Dad says crazy runs in the family?”

  I nodded.

  “He’s right. But from both sides, not just Mom’s. Dad’s need to control every single thing and person, his need to be perfect, is so fucked up. He’s sicker than Mom.” She drank from the bottle, then looked me dead in the eye. “I mean, that’s totally mental. He has to keep his kingdom, his dominion, his serfs in line; he’ll totally lose his shit. Completely.”

  She was right. Of course she was. I started crying, but I knew what she meant. She handed me the bottle, and I drank and gave it back.

  “The most important thing is we never do it alone. We tell each other.”

  I nodded. That made it sound okay. Like it wasn’t even dangerous. “And we have to have iron-clad reasons. Sound ones. We need to agree, each of us. Because sometimes things seem worse than they are, so we need the other to verify.”

  I nodded and wrote it all down.

  Leah put her hand over the book and put her face in front of mine. “The point is that we have each other and I never want to see you look like you did today—hopeless and powerless. Because you’re not.”

  “We’re not,” I said. “We aren’t hopeless, neither of us.”

  She nodded her head and took a drink. “We are not. But we do need to build an arsenal.” She pulled the bottle of Mom’s pills out of her pocket. I guess my eyes got a little wide because she said, “Relax. We’ll just take a couple at a time. Mom won’t miss them, and it’ll get her to cut down. Win-win.”

  That’s how the pact started. That night. And when we started it, I totally believed in it. But by the time we got up the next morning, Mom was awake and cleaning up, and I felt it a little less. Nobody talked about what had happened, so I let myself believe that nothing significant had. Leah sat in the back of the car with me and held my hand as Mom drove us home. I played with her silver ring and held onto the notebook that held our promises to each other. And in that time, our pact made me
feel stronger, reassured me that Leah and I were on the same side, even if I didn’t mean it deep down. I figured she didn’t either.

  Chapter 18

  Nick isn’t waiting for me when I get to English class. The bell rings. I go inside, glancing over my shoulder for him. He makes it in at the echo of the bell. Miss Lafrance looks up from her desk but nods once at him and goes back to talking with the students who are gathered around her.

  “Hey,” I say as he slides into his seat.

  Head down, he ignores me.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “All right, class, I want you to get out your essay on…”

  “Holy crap! That was due today?” I whisper.

  “You didn’t do it?” His voice is icy.

  “No. I forgot. You?”

  He passes his paper to me, and I hand it to the person in front of me.

  What’s up? He couldn’t be mad at me for not doing my paper. Could he?

  A hand goes up. Shirley Counts. “Miss Lafrance,” her sweet voice sing-songs.

  “Yes, Miss Counts.”

  “I forgot mine.”

  “That’s terrible,” Miss Lafrance murmurs.

  The class laughs.

  “Turn it in tomorrow for ten points off. Ten points every day you’re late. You’re juniors; you know what’s expected of you.”

  I pull out my cell and text Nick.

  What’s wrong?

  The back of my neck starts to sweat. I have no idea why he’s mad at me. I just know he is.

  My phone vibrates. I hold it in my purse. It’s a picture. But it’s blurry at first while my cell downloads the image. It’s a picture of John Strickland pulling me into his bedroom. Another text comes. A picture of me smoking weed. The third image is of John Strickland kissing me.

  My heart beats so hard and fast that it feels like a herd of buffalo charging. The blood drains out of my face, and my ears are overwhelmed with sounds. Nick tapping his pencil on his desk. Jenny Berlin cracking her gum. Michael Flemming snorting from his allergies. David Hawthorn drumming his fingers against his leg, making the change in his pocket jangle. The sounds get louder and longer and more mixed together, and my vision narrows till it’s like I’m in a tunnel.

  In my haze Leah comes to me. “Lie to him; he’ll believe.”

  What should I say? I didn’t kiss John Strickland? I didn’t go to the party to see him like you think I did? I didn’t really want to smoke the pot; it just seemed rude not to? All the excuses pile up between us. My excuses, his hurt, layered like a chocolate cake. I bend my head and watch as my tears pour out of me, almost in slo-mo or something. Splat. They spill onto my open English book.

  I text him. I can explain.

  His reply comes back. Lightning fast.

  Don’t bother.

  My throat feels like it’s closing. I try not to choke on my sadness.

  Leah reaches into my purse, taking my hand with her. She positions it on that green pill. The one that was supposed to loosen me. At least I tell myself it’s Leah. But that’s not right. It can’t be. It has to be me. I know that.

  I need a little something. Shouldn’t I just own that? Why do I need to hide behind my sister’s ghost? I slip the pill higher, holding it tight between my ring finger and my thumb. I swallow the little green pill and tell myself it’s not too late with Nick. He might still believe in me. I wish I believed it.

  The rest of the period goes by, and I’m practically floating on the ceiling by the time the bell rings. I don’t try to stop Nick as he stuffs his books into his backpack. I couldn’t if I wanted to anyway; my legs belong to someone else. Leah comes to me, this time for real, and leads me out of class.

  “It’s okay to skip just this once.” She points me to the back exit. I take off toward the woods. I can’t face anyone or anything. I shouldn’t have to. When I get to the softball field, I lie down in a patch of grass and let the sun bake on me. The ground is cold and dewy. I put my hands over my head and fall asleep.

  Chapter 19

  I wait out back on the bleachers, next to the baseball field the girls’ softball team uses.

  It’s not their season, so I’ll be able to avoid everyone while keeping an eye on the parking lot.

  I shake but not from the cold. I look at my phone. No more texts from Nick despite my pleading. And no answer from John Strickland either. I texted him an hour ago.

  What’s keeping Emery? I want to go home. I hug my arms around myself. When I see John Strickland walking straight for me, my heart pounds hard.

  “Hey, Allie.”

  I climb down the bleachers. It’s all I can do to keep from scratching his face raw. Or trying to before one of his powerful hands holds me immobile. Someone has to pay for the pictures.

  “You called? You okay?”

  My throat constricts as if he’s holding it tight, squeezing all the life out of me. I can see it in the way he stands firm, his shoulders squared and his arms crossed. He’s too much for me. He’s way too much for me to handle. I should have realized he’d never help me. It’s all business with him. Nick is bad for business. So he ended it for me. End of story. I let the pot and the pain make me see him as something he isn’t.

  “You don’t look happy to see me. What’s up?” he asks, moving closer to me.

  I smell the cinnamon gum he’s chewing. He lifts his sunglasses so I can look into his eyes. The pupils are pinpoint tight, like my one-millimeter Staedtler drafting pen, the one I use to do my sketches. Coal black. “Tell me,” he says. The smell of dead cigarettes mixed with the spicy gum comes off him in waves, triggering one of my headaches. I try not to gag. “You need something?”

  A tear slides down my face. I hold out my cell. “Why?”

  He takes the phone. The smile leaves his face. “I didn’t.”

  “Sure you didn’t. Nick just happened to get these pictures of me this morning. And you have no idea from who or why?”

  “I swear I didn’t. I have no idea.”

  “You don’t have like a camera set up or something?”

  “What the hell, Allie? I’m not like that. I don’t take pictures of anyone who isn’t willing or fully aware. Someone else did this. I’ll find out who. You say Nick got these?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How’d that go?”

  “How do you think? He’s not talking to me.”

  “If you forward them to me, I’ll have someone look into it. I’ll find out.”

  I nod and bat at the tears that run down my face.

  John wipes them away. I hate how rough his hands feel, the drag on my skin as his fingers scrape against it. I could ask him to leave and he would. But at this moment, I want his comfort. And I get a little why Leah would go to him—the hardest guy I know acting sweet and protective feels kind of amazing. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a small clear bag with a handful of small light-blue pills. I do a quick count. Five. Baby blue. Not robin’s-egg blue. Thank God.

  “Xanax,” he says. “It’ll help. But go easy with them.”

  Just the feel of the pills calms me a little. And now I have a tiny speck of hope wrapped in a huge justification. Today sucked. These could help. I breathe out.

  “What are you going to do?” he asks. “About Nick.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Lie to him. Tell him Emery brought you there. That I forced you. He’ll believe you.”

  “You don’t care?”

  “Seriously?” he laughs.

  “What about the drugs?”

  “Tell him it was your first time.”

  I look into John Strickland’s eyes. He slides his glasses back on and starts to walk away. He turns again. “You’re going to get through this, Allie. You are stronger than you think.”

  Maybe with these I am. I take a blue pill out of t
he bag and swallow it.

  “You’re going to be fine.”

  He walks away. A moment or two later, Emery bursts out the back door of the school. Even from far away I can see her banging her keys against her legs, and it makes me wonder what the hell is eating her? She sees John Strickland and stops.

  I close the gap between us. I want to get home as soon as possible. I can’t be here anymore.

  “Hey, I’ve gotta run an errand on the way home. That okay?” she asks as we walk to her car. Emery walks everywhere fast. Today, she’s racing. I have to work to keep up, but I’m glad. The faster we leave, the sooner I can be home.

  Emery checks her phone for messages. She frowns and throws her cell into her bag. She points her keys at her pastel blue VW bug and opens it. I turn the radio on. She puts the car in reverse and turns to look at me before pulling out.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask.

  “Why are you hanging with John Strickland? He’s bad news. You know that.”

  I chew on my fingernail and look out the window. Max is walking to his car.

  “Maybe. But he’s helping me.”

  His gym bag is over his shoulder, bouncing with each hurried step. His head is down, but his body is screaming mad, and he’s missing practice. Not like him.

  “Not what I heard. I heard Nick’s pissed at you.”

  “I know.” I pull out my phone to text him. But what could I say that would be different from the ten other texts I’ve sent him? And John’s right. I’m a little over being judged by Mr. Clean.

  Emery puts her hand over my phone. “What I don’t get is why you spend all your time going after the wrong guy.”

  Rage fills me. “I’m not going after John Strickland. And if I were, it’s my business. Not yours.”

  She continues. “Nick deserves an explanation. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “You’re supposed to be my friend, not Nick’s. You’re supposed to take my side.”

  “I know. I’m just worried about you. I like Nick. He’s so much better for you than—”

  “Than who?”