The first thing I notice is what she’s wearing. It’d be hard not to notice. She’s in a short, sheer pink thing, trimmed in lace. I’ve seen Sasha in her pajamas a few times—she usually wears tank tops and shorts, nothing like this. Beneath the thin fabric I can see the outline of her navel, the swell of her breasts. She’s not wearing underwear. She’s straightened her hair, and it hangs like a heavy curtain around her shoulders, her skin blue in the pool’s light. There’s something surreal about her new look, almost uncanny, like seeing a doll made to look like a real-life person.
“Stay. The hell. Away from me,” I hiss, throwing the camera at her feet. She doesn’t even look at it.
“Hi, yourself,” she whispers. She takes a few steps toward me, grabs my arm, and tries to drag me toward the pool house. “Come on, I don’t want to wake up my parents.”
“I don’t care.” I shake her off. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Stay out of my house. Stay out of my life, you crazy psycho bitch.”
Tears fill her eyes. Her hand falls away.
“All I want is for us to be together,” she says. “Why don’t you want me anymore?”
It’s the last thing I expect her to say. Sasha Daley doesn’t beg. She demands; she commands. I gawk at her, my mind spiraling through all the things I could say. Because you kidnapped my little sister. Because you keep sending me threatening Snaps. Because you tried to frame me for destroying your locker. But a sick feeling creeps up inside me, and I can’t quite get the words out. Because suddenly I realize why the hair is so strange.
It’s Catherine’s hair. Catherine’s style. She’s cut and dyed and styled her hair like Catherine.
Somehow this is scarier than everything else she’s done—because this makes no sense at all. This isn’t rage, or some play to get attention. This is something else entirely.
Mascara runs down her cheeks in slick black ribbons. She takes a shuddering breath. One strap of her nightie slithers off her shoulder, and she doesn’t bother to fix it.
“You’re all I’ve ever wanted,” she says. “I need you.” She steps closer to me, reaching for me. I shift away from her.
“Sasha, I am not yours anymore.” My voice shakes slightly, but I try to keep it steady, firm. “I don’t love you. I don’t want you. I’m sorry this is … I’m sorry you’re hurt.” For a half moment I mean it. “But you have to get over it. Because we are never going to be together again.”
She draws in her breath in a hiss. I tense, almost waiting for her to strike. But she doesn’t. She reaches up to touch my face.
“We’ll see about that,” she whispers.
“Look at you. You can’t change my mind—not even when you’re playing someone else.”
Her face twists into a sneer. “Your little sister was so easy to grab. And who did the cops believe? Fuck, Gabe, your own parents didn’t believe you. I told her next time I’d take her to my lake house. Take her out in a boat. She was really excited. I told her there were mermaids at the bottom of the lake.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Maybe I’ll show her.”
The anger surges up in me again. I grab her wrist and pull her hand down, away from my face.
“If you come near my family again, I’ll kill you. Do you understand me?”
She laughs then, her lips stretched wide. I let go of her hand, a shudder of revulsion traveling along my skin. I start edging my way back to the gate. She doesn’t follow, but she watches me every step of the way.
The wind picks up, rippling the silk against her skin. The last I see of her, she’s tilting her face up toward the moon, and in its pale light I can see that she’s smiling.
TWENTY-SIX
Elyse
Opening night.
I pace back and forth in the wings. Oksana’s gold brocade dress feels too tight across my chest. I can already feel the sweat pooling at the small of my back; meanwhile, my mouth is bone dry. I ball up the excess fabric of the Renaissance-style sleeves, squeezing them in my hands. I’m going to pass out. They’ll all be waiting for me on stage, and I’ll be flat on my face behind the curtains.
I glance around me. Frankie’s dancing from foot to foot, trying to stay loose. Oksana’s doing a quick repair on Laura’s dress; Trajan has his eyes closed and is mouthing his lines. For once it occurs to me: It’s not just me that’s nervous. Somehow that makes me feel better.
“Places,” Aiden says. He’s wearing a headset in order to talk to the kids in the lighting booth. He looks down at his clipboard. “Curtain’s in two.”
He pauses next to me, close enough that our shoulders nudge against each other.
“You’re going to be fantastic,” he whispers.
I smile up at him, but I don’t have time to respond. Beyond the curtain I hear the audience go quiet as the lights go down. Aiden disappears, off to give instructions or encouragement to someone else.
I hold my breath, listening carefully to the opening lines. I hear the servants start to squabble; I hear Trajan as Tybalt, growling angrily at Benvolio. My pulse beats so loud in my ears it threatens to drown out everything else.
“Hey.”
The voice is a bare whisper. I look up to see Brynn, there in her simple gray dress, her hair covered by the wimple. My fingers twist nervously around the fabric of my skirt. We haven’t spoken in a week—the longest we’ve ever gone.
Her dark eyes are uncertain as they move across my face.
“Break a leg,” she says finally.
Tears spring to my eyes. This isn’t how I’ve ever imagined this moment—barely speaking with my best friend, both of us still licking our wounds. I want to hug her, to laugh about our opening-night jitters. But that’s not where we are right now.
“You too,” I whisper.
We don’t have time for anything else. She’s up. She and Laura hurry out to center stage and start their dialogue.
I take a deep breath.
I hear my cue. It’s time. I step into the light.
“How now? Who calls?” My voice rings loud and true.
We’re amazing. We hit all our marks, nail our lines. Brynn’s daffy nurse gets big laughs from the audience; I hear audible gasps during the big fight scene when Mercutio and Tybalt both die. My nerves disappear as I get into the rhythm of the lines. The poetry of the language is so familiar by now it’s like a second heartbeat. My tongue moves deftly across the words, spinning them, twisting them, making them sad or joyous or wistful.
The audience roars its approval as the curtains draw closed. Two at a time, we all step out to take our bows; Frankie and I go out last of all. My feet barely seem to touch the scratched wooden stage. I catch Brynn’s eye for a moment, and she smiles at me.
Nothing has ever felt so good, so right.
*
• • •
We’re still in our makeup and costumes when we go out to the lobby to greet our friends and family. Brynn’s parents and siblings crowd around her, feverishly snapping pictures. I recognize Kendall’s family, too; her brother and sister are chasing each other around. Nessa Washington kisses her girlfriend, Tamika.
“Elyse!”
It’s my mom. I know it’s her only because I know her voice; I can’t see her face behind the enormous bouquet she’s wielding. I laugh and take it, cradling it in my arms.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“You were so good,” she says. She sounds genuinely surprised. “Where’d you learn to act like that?”
I bite the corner of my lip. A part of me—the part that’s still holding on to every resentment, every frustration of the last ten years—wants to say something cutting, to point out that if she’d come out of her stupor a little sooner she might’ve known I could perform. But she looks so vulnerable, standing there in a skirt she’s had since before I was born, her fingernails gnawed to the quick. I hug her tight.
“I’m really glad you came,” I say.
Before she can answer, Aiden steps up to the two of us.
I can’t help but go
tense. But his dimples are in full force when he shakes her hand. “Are you Elyse’s mom? It’s so great to meet you. I’m the director, Mr. Hunter.”
“Oh,” she says meekly. I wince a little. Her small talk is rusty. But Aiden seems unfazed.
“She’s a special girl,” he says. “One of my most talented.”
“Oh, thank you. I mean, yes, she is,” Mom says. She shifts her weight. “Thank you so much. She told me you took a leap of faith in casting her. I’m so glad you did.”
He shakes his head. “She’s too modest. She earned this. And she proved herself.”
I see some of the others slipping back to the green room to change out of their costumes, so I take the opportunity to break up the awkwardness. “Hey, Mom, I need to go get cleaned up, and then a bunch of us are going out for coffee to celebrate. See you at home?”
“Oh. Yeah, of course.” She gives Aiden a little nod. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Hunter.”
“Nice to meet you too.” He glances at his watch. “I’d better go back there and make sure everything’s put away.”
We walk back into the theater together. It’s quiet—I can hear shrieks of laughter coming from the green room, back behind stage left, but the stage is dark and empty. We climb up the steps.
“Tonight was …” I start, but before I can finish the thought he’s taken me by the hand, and pulled me behind the curtains. He cups my chin with his hand.
“Amazing,” he whispers. “You were amazing.”
We kiss. The beaded cap that’s held my hair in place comes off, and my hair spills around my shoulders. He picks up handfuls of it, runs his fingers through it.
“All night long it was all I could do not to touch you,” he breathes into my ear. “You’ve never been so beautiful.”
I close my eyes. Everything else vanishes—Brynn, the performance, my mom. Everything’s gone except for our two bodies, pressed together in the dark.
Something rustles nearby. I freeze, my muscles taut and trembling. Aiden pulls away a little.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I untangle myself from his arms and take a step toward the noise. “It sounded like … like someone brushed against the curtain.” I pause for a moment, and then quickly dart forward and pull back the velvet.
No one’s there.
I exhale loudly, my heart lurching in my ears.
He relaxes visibly, but gives an indulgent smile.
“We’re both getting paranoid,” he whispers.
“Yeah, well, we almost got caught at the beach,” I remind him. He steps close to me again, but the spell is broken. His hand, when it brushes a lock of hair out of my eyes, is tender, but restrained.
“I know. It’s been hard. But I have an idea. Can you get away Saturday night?”
“I think so. What are you thinking?”
His glasses catch the light just so, and glint keenly. “It’s a surprise.”
“You have to give me a hint!” I tug on his arm. “What should I wear? What should I bring?”
“Don’t worry, just come as you are. You’re perfect,” he says. He leans in again and kisses me, a short, sweet, tender kiss this time. Then he steps away. “They’ll be looking for you. You’d better go.”
I linger a moment more, wishing we were back in the folds of the curtains. Wishing we had all the time and privacy in the world. But we don’t. We can’t.
And I don’t want to miss the celebration, either. I can hear laughter from the lobby. Nessa whoops loudly. Brynn’s singing something, though I can’t make out what. I head back to the rest of the cast, ready to be a part of it.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Gabe
“It’s so beautiful out here,” Catherine says softly, tracing the surface of the lake with her fingertips. The ripples arc out behind us. “God, I can almost believe we’re alone in the world.”
I smile. That’s pretty much exactly what I was going for.
It’s a week after I found the hidden camera in my room. I haven’t been able to do anything without feeling watched. Everywhere I go—the skate shop, the park, the taco truck, the convenience store—I have this sense of Sasha, lurking somewhere just out of sight. The image of her, bleached by the moonlight, leering like some kind of succubus, keeps floating up before my eyes. It’s making me crazy.
So today, I picked up Catherine from a bus stop we’d agreed on, and we drove an hour outside Austin to Inks Lake, where we rented a rowboat. The instant we pushed off into the water, I felt the tension go out of my shoulders. And suddenly I was free to look around and see how perfect the day was—the deep-blue water, the brightly colored granite along the shoals. The girl across from me, fine-boned, fragile, lovely. A rare smile on her lips.
“Maybe someday we can come out here and camp,” I say, before I think. But no—of course we can’t come out here and camp. There’s no way her dad would let her.
But she looks up at me, cheeks rosy. “Maybe,” she says. “Someday.”
I lean back against the hull and stare up at the clouds. This is all I want. To be alone with her. To be drifting, out under the wide blue sky.
“Have you heard from Sasha?” she asks suddenly. My heart gives a sharp lurch.
I shake my head. “No. Thank God.” I haven’t told her about going over to Sasha’s. I didn’t want to freak her out any more than I had to.
She’s quiet for a moment. An awkward, self-conscious feeling comes over me. I don’t know if she’s waiting for me to elaborate. I pick up the oars and propel us further out, toward the lake’s center. My shoulder gives the tiniest twinge of protest, but it’s almost back to normal.
“I hate all this sneaking around,” I say. “I just want this shit with Sasha to be behind me.”
She shrugs. “Even if it were, there’s still my dad to contend with,” she says. “We’d still have to keep this quiet. But I’ll admit, I’m kind of praying Sasha gets packed off to boarding school or juvie or something.”
“I don’t know why I was with her so long,” I say. “She was horrible to everyone and I just … excused it, I guess. But I shouldn’t have. I should’ve stood up for them. For myself too.”
She gives an odd little smile.
“Said everyone who ever got out of a bad relationship, ever,” she says.
“Yeah, well, I think Sasha wrecks the curve a little. Most people don’t enter into long-term relationships with psychos.”
Her eyes dart across my features like she’s trying to piece together a puzzle. “Maybe. But that’s what makes the psychos so awful. They’re pretty good at getting under your skin.”
I cock my head at her. “You sound like you know from experience.”
She looks down at her lap. “I’m just saying, you aren’t the only one who’s ever been manipulated. People will always find a way to hurt each other. To use each other.”
I rest the oars against my thighs. The boat bobs a little as I shift my weight. “Not all people.”
She gives me an odd, measuring look. Then she smiles.
“No. Not all people.” She takes a swig from a water bottle and wipes her mouth. “Sorry. I’m used to seeing the worst in everyone.”
“So young, and so cynical,” I say, trying to sound like I’m teasing. But I can’t keep an edge of curiosity out of my voice.
Catherine gives a little shrug and doesn’t reply. I let it drop.
“Well, anyway, I’m glad it’s over. I feel like … like a different person. Especially since I met you,” I say.
Our eyes meet, and my body sparks like a live wire. The sun is bright behind her, the light lost in her glossy hair. Almost without realizing what I’m doing, I leave my seat and climb across to where she’s sitting. The boat rocks hazardously, and we laugh, clinging to one another, before it steadies. I rest my cheek against the crown of her head and take a deep breath.
“I do too,” she says softly. I can feel the vibration of her voice against my chest. “It’s probably obvious, but I was scared
at first. It’s been a long time since I … since I had anyone. I mean, friends, or …” She trails off. I can see that she’s blushing from the pink in the part of her hair. “And the last time I trusted anyone it didn’t go well.”
I don’t speak for a few minutes. I’ve known from the first time I saw her that something, someone, hurt her. You can see it in the angle of her shoulders, in the wounded curve of her mouth. You can hear it in her voice. I’m not sure if I should ask more, or let her tell me in her own time.
Finally, I swallow my curiosity. Because whatever happened, it was bad enough that it’s kept her lonely and locked up ever since. She’s the one who has to decide what it means. But I tilt her face upward to look at mine. “I’ll never hurt you.”
“Don’t say that,” she murmurs. “You can’t promise that. Not really.”
I rest my hand against her back, feeling the way her breath moves in and out, the way our bodies gently conform to one another’s. “Why can’t you trust me?”
“I do,” she says quickly. “I just mean … things happen, sometimes. People get hurt.”
“Give me a chance to show you,” I say softly. I look down into her face again, and a desperate ache twists in my chest. “Cat, I love you.”
The words are out before I can think about them, but I know as soon as I’ve said it that it’s true. Her lips part in surprise. Then she puts her forehead to mine, closes her eyes.
“I love you too,” she whispers.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Elyse
“Hey, Elyse, you coming?” Frankie asks.
It’s nine on Saturday night, and we’ve just wrapped our last performance of the week. Everyone’s gathering up their stuff and getting ready to go, but I’m still in the green room’s vanity, wiping away my makeup. I’m taking my time so I have an excuse to linger behind when everyone else is gone. The rest of the cast is going downtown tonight—there’s talk of trying to get into a bar, but really they’ll probably just get donuts and coffee and wander around the Pearl District watching hipsters stagger from one cocktail bar to another.
Lies You Never Told Me Page 15