by Farrah Penn
Alex meets my gaze. “What?”
I blush, looking away. I’ve been staring too long. “Nothing,” I say, then reconsider. “Actually, promise me something?”
“Depends, but go ahead.”
“Finish a screenplay by next summer.”
Alex looks surprised. “I don’t—”
“What do you have to lose?”
He thinks for a moment. “I guess I’ll have more time with my dad back.”
“You will,” I insist.
His mom returns with a platter of food for us. Chips and salsa, tortillas and rice and beans, and plenty of beef tamales. She sets the spread down in front of us, and we offer our thanks before she heads back into the kitchen.
“You’re going to have to roll me out of here,” I say, looking at the plate in front of me. I smile at him. “I’m going to eat everything.”
“I’m sure she has pan dulce back there, too.”
I dramatically clutch my chest. “Obviously we have to eat that, too.”
He grins. “Obviously.”
I’m about to dig in when I hear the door open. To my surprise, Lacey Woodward walks in. Her blond hair flows elegantly behind her, something straight out of a shampoo commercial. My insides immediately coil in defense. What is she doing here?
Alex puts on his typical good-natured smile when he spots her. “Hey, here for pick-up?”
“Yup,” Lacey chirps. “Mrs. Henson is having us run lines until nine tonight, but, whatever, she’s buying us dinner so I guess that makes up for it.”
“Let me grab my mom, one sec.” He hops off the barstool, leaving me alone with Lacey.
I try sitting up a little straighter, pulling my shoulders back. No wonder Alex went to Sadie’s and homecoming with Lacey. She’s straight out of a Disney movie with her petite frame and endearing spackle of freckles across her nose. Compared to her, I’m a frump with frizzy hair.
I take a deep breath. That was two years ago. Why are you worrying?
“It’s good to see you,” Lacey says. “I mean, I know I’ve seen you at rehearsals and stuff, but I just meant here. Like, back at school.”
My jealousy toward her dissolves, just a little. “Thanks. I did miss it here.”
Alex reappears with two carry-out platters wrapped in a plastic bag. “Go forth and feed the masses.”
“Cool, I’m starving.” Lacey hands over the credit card, and Alex quickly rings up the transaction. “See y’all later.”
I watch as she leaves. When I look back, Alex is staring at me. Smiling.
“What?” I ask, embarrassed and defensive at the same time.
“You don’t have to worry about Lacey.”
“Who said I was worrying about Lacey?”
Ugh, my attempt to be cool about this is quickly backfiring. Even I can hear it.
Alex stares at me, raising an eyebrow. “You do remember that you’re the one I kissed the other day, right?”
Heat flows through my body, creeping up the back of my neck as I remember the gentle desperation of his lips on mine. That’s not a moment I’m likely to forget.
We finish our meal and then, as promised, Alex brings a variety of pan dulce for us to share as dessert. I’m lost in our conversation. His eyes never leave mine as I bring up memories of all the notes we wrote to each other on Starburst wrappers we eventually turned into bracelets. He admits to keeping them, and I tell him I have mine, too. We switch to discussing ideas for his screenplay, and I scribble down notes on a napkin, growing warm as he leans closer to watch me write.
In the quiet, I hear a soft buzzing noise. My phone. I dig through my book bag and find it buried at the very bottom. And crap. Triple crap. There are fourteen missed calls from my dad. I check the screen: 9:43 p.m. I’m never home this late. He must be wondering where the hell I am.
Alex looks at me. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm. I fire off a quick text to my dad to let him know I’m on my way and that I’ll explain when I get home. “I forgot to tell my dad I was going out. I should get back.”
“I can take you back to your car,” he insists.
“Actually,” I say, feeling brave. “Want to drive me home?”
I want this to feel like a first date—one that doesn’t end in me abruptly leaving. I can always get a ride to school in the morning.
“Sure,” Alex replies, nervously fumbling for his keys.
I spend the entire ride home wondering if Alex will kiss me goodnight, or if I should be the one to make the first move. But when he rounds the corner onto my street, I immediately realize my mistake. Because they’re there. All of them—my dad and Nonnie and Saylor—gathered in my front yard for the entire world to see.
THIRTY
“WHO ARE THOSE PEOPLE?” Alex asks.
I’m frozen in my seat. I blink once. Twice. But they’re all still standing there. Nonnie in her cat slippers and her zebra-print bathrobe and Saylor, barefoot, in his familiar black yoga tank and loose ponytail. My dad looks angrier than I’ve ever seen him. His arms are folded across his navy work polo, his eyebrows narrowed. He’s no doubt making assumptions as to why I’m not in my own car and why, exactly, I’m riding in a beat-up truck with a boy this late at night.
Who are those people? How do I even begin to answer that? I can’t. Not with anything that isn’t the truth, and if the truth comes out—
This is my fault. I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone come close to finding out and the one time I’m not careful, everyone is right outside my house. I should have driven myself, should’ve told Alex I’d see him at school tomorrow. But I wanted to pretend nothing was out of the ordinary, that I was just a girl on a date with a boy she likes. Someone who has nothing to hide. Now it’s too late.
Nonnie steps back onto the porch and walks inside the house, but that doesn’t make anything better, because Alex sees her go. I can see him attempting to put the pieces together.
“Hey, are you okay? Do you need—?”
Heat burns through my cheeks. I have to get out of here.
I grab my bag from the ground and reach for the door handle. “I should—”
I don’t finish that sentence. As soon as I’m out the door, Wallis lunges for me. Saylor calls him off before he can pounce on me, which would have furthered my humiliation. I wish everyone would go back inside, but I realize it doesn’t matter now. The damage is already done.
“Where the hell were you?” my dad says as soon as I’m within earshot. Angry wrinkles appear between his brows. “I expected you home hours ago. You told me you’d be home after practice.”
From behind me, I hear Alex’s truck rumble as he drives away. I want to be relieved, but I’m not sure if what he witnessed could somehow get back to Margaret.
“I’m sorry.” My voice is small. “I lost track of time.”
“That’s not a valid reason. We expected you home for dinner and you didn’t come, and now there’s some guy dropping you off after dark. Do you know how worried we’ve all been? You didn’t call—”
“It was just Alex,” I murmur, but I know that’s not what he wants to hear. This is my fault—I should have called or texted or something—but I don’t need him giving me the third degree about it. “I’m sorry, okay?”
I head inside, hoping they follow. It’s bad enough Alex saw them. I don’t want his yelling to draw attention from our entire neighborhood.
My dad is at my heels. “Peach is driving around looking for you. We were all worried sick.”
Nonnie’s standing by the stairs with a concerned look in her eyes. I glance away. Maybe I don’t have a right to be annoyed, but I am. I didn’t ask for everyone to care about me. I was able to take care of myself all those months before my dad was admitted to Sober Living.
I stop in front of the dining room. “Well, tell her I’m fine.”
But my dad isn’t done. “You can’t just come and go as you please. It’s not acceptable, leavi
ng without telling us.”
“Us?” Hot anger slides through my veins. I don’t owe anyone here an explanation except for him. “Last time I checked, you were my only parent in this house.”
“Do not use that tone with me,” my dad warns.
I’m trembling in quiet rage. This isn’t fair. How is he questioning his trust in me when he’s the one I couldn’t trust for so long?
“Why do you even care?” I throw up my hands. “For months you didn’t care. Then you left and made this—” I reach behind him and grab a ceramic dish from the cabinet, one of the ones he’d produced from the last rehab he’d gone to. “This stupid pottery and your stupid Small Successes and your stupid ranch equestrian training.”
“You will not talk to me like that in this house, do you understand?”
I ignore him. The feelings I thought I’d processed erupt to the surface. All I wanted was for my twelve steps to get me my normal life back, and now Alex knows something’s up—the whole neighborhood knows by now, probably—and my dad doesn’t care. He doesn’t see that them being here is a problem, not a solution.
Nonnie and Saylor have disappeared.
Good. It’s about time they learned to leave.
I look down. The ceramic is cold in my trembling hands. “You’re not the only one who lost Grams, and when I needed you, you couldn’t be there for me. You put more effort into this than you did with me, Dad. For months.”
And then I do something I don’t expect.
I drop the dish.
The noise startles me as it shatters into a thousand tiny shards on the tile floor. For a moment, neither of us moves. I’ve shocked my father into silence.
My breathing is staggered, but I find my words. I find the feelings I’ve kept from him for so long. “If I had the choice to come back and live here without you, I would have done it in a heartbeat. It wasn’t only you who left, you know that, right? Because of you, I had to leave my friends, my boyfriend, everything behind. And I come back and my life is just—just fucked up now! And it’s your fault. Then you invite these strangers into our home and—honestly? I’ve been covering for you because if Margaret found out, she’d want you back in rehab. And we both know where that would leave me. So yeah, I hate that they’re here. Don’t you get it? It’s not normal.”
His face crumples, and I know I’ve irreversibly hurt him. The fight has left his eyes.
I pass by Nonnie and Saylor on my way upstairs, but neither of them try and stop me. I know they heard my outburst, but I can’t find the strength to care.
It’s my dad’s turn to pick up the pieces.
THIRTY ONE
NOBODY BOTHERS ME FOR THE rest of the evening, and the next morning I wake up early enough to get ready before anyone is awake. I don’t want to face them. It’s cowardly, but I’m still rattled from my outburst last night. As soon as I hear Peach lock herself in the bathroom, I walk to school with an entire hour to kill.
I avoid Alex for the first half of the morning. I don’t stop by my locker, and I take a different route to history so I won’t run into him as he’s leaving theater. I have no idea what I’m going to tell him, or how to answer the questions he’ll undoubtedly ask. He sent me a worried text once he was home—is everything ok?—but I didn’t reply. I didn’t know what to say.
When lunch rolls around, I buy two slices of pizza and slide into my spot next to Lin. Everyone is sitting at the table, except for Colton, who is mysteriously absent.
“Halloween weekend is almost upon us,” Breck announces, then nudges Jay. “And we got the invite to a senior party at Winsor Lake.”
Raegan snorts. “Trashy.”
Ever since Breck was voted Homecoming King, his confidence has been at an all-time high. Lin explained that she’s been letting him ride this wave only because it’s given him a boost in decathlon practice, which he has apparently been crushing.
Whitney glares at Jay. “You weren’t going to tell me?”
Lin gives me a look like, typical.
Jay immediately looks uncomfortable. He clears his throat. “I don’t even know if I’m going—”
“Dude!” Breck interjects. “You said you would.”
Whitney rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Have fun in that STD cesspool.”
“Hey, guys!”
I turn toward the voice. Colton is striding toward us. He’s wearing a typical band T-shirt with a dark green and gray flannel shirt over it, but it’s his smile that’s different. His braces are gone.
He takes in our blank stares. “It’s me, Colton.”
“We know that, dork.” Whitney laughs. “You’re still recognizable without a metal mouth. Congrats, by the way.”
“They took them off this morning.” Colton slides in the seat across from Jay. “I’m a free man.”
“Does this mean you’re giving up toothpicks?” I ask.
Colton shoots me a playful glare. “Hey, toothpicks are good oral hygiene.”
“They’re also disgusting,” Raegan adds.
“Kira?”
My smile fades at the sound of my name. I turn toward the voice, my stomach twisting into knots as I see Alex standing a few feet from our table. Despite the six pairs of eyes currently focused on him, his worried stare finds only mine.
I feel the shame swell over me again. I know why he’s here. He wants to make sure I’m okay, because that’s the type of guy he is. I should feel grateful, but instead I feel my defenses rise.
“Hi,” I say, but it comes out colder than we both expect.
He’s clearly uncomfortable, tugging on the back of his beanie. “I just wanted to see how you were.”
It’s a kind gesture, but I inwardly cringe. Because if he’s going out of his way to come over here to check in on me, then he knows something’s wrong. The last thing I need are his questions. It’s a stinging reminder of how awful I acted toward my dad last night.
“Fine.” I say quickly, hoping he can read my expression and drop the entire thing.
He nods. I expect him to tell me he’ll see me later and go sit with theater friends, but he doesn’t.
“Who… uh, who were those people?”
Everyone at the table is listening closely, and I suddenly realize why. Aside from Lin, my friends don’t know how close I’ve become with Alex. Not once have I invited him over here, yet he’s making an effort because he cares.
But I can’t answer him truthfully, and I don’t have any reasonable excuse to use as a cover-up. So I do the first thing that pops into my head and deny everything.
“What people?”
Alex’s brows furrow. “Last night? At your house?”
I’m weighed down by stares. I’m sinking faster than I can swim.
And then I ruin it.
“Why does it matter?” I snap.
His eyes widen. “I just—”
“Just stay out of it, okay? It’s none of your business.”
My words are sharp. Hurt crushes his features. I immediately want to take it back, but I can’t. Before I can say anything else, he shakes his head and walks away.
I close my eyes. I am the worst.
Whitney turns back to glance at him. “Was Alex at your house last night or something?”
I shake my head. Lin aggressively slams her flashcards on the table. She knows I’m lying. Alex knows something’s up. I’m stuck in this terrible, sick cycle that I can’t seem to break.
I backtrack. “Sort of. He gave me a ride home.”
“He’s cool,” Breck says. “Gave me a jump the other day in the parking lot when my battery died.”
Lin’s disapproving look cuts me deep. That’s when it hits me: My twelve-steps list will never, ever work. You can’t create a set of goals to make your future more like your past. That’s not how you move forward. Instead I’ve twisted everything into a giant lie that I’ve been attempting to live out, and keeping up with it is exhausting. I’m destroying everything good around me.
I turn to get Alex
’s attention, but he’s not sitting at his usual table. When I do a quick sweep around the room, I notice he’s not there. He’s already gone.
THIRTY TWO
I’M GROUNDED, WHICH ISN’T SURPRISING given the way I acted last week, but my grounding extends over the weekend of Halloween. So on Saturday when everyone goes to Colton’s house for a horror movie marathon, I’m stuck at home.
I’ve trashed my twelve-steps list, tearing it up into tiny pieces and watching them fall in the wastebasket in my bedroom. When I went back and read through the twelve steps, I realized I’d written a list that was meant to fix important relationships for the sake of re-creating the past I wanted. The twelve-step program doesn’t guarantee life rewinds back to how it was before the addiction. The addict has to do a lot of work evaluating their own behavior while accepting that life won’t be exactly the same as before, in order to make a better future for themselves.
That’s what I need to do, too. I don’t have control over certain things that’ve happened in my life. Dad’s addiction. Gram’s passing. Moving in with Aunt June. Living with the recoverees. Because you can’t control life’s misfortunes. They’re inevitable. You can only control how you react to them, and how you move forward.
I’m in my room braiding and rebraiding my hair as the sun is just beginning to set. It casts a hazy purple glow over the costume-filled streets. I almost wish Nonnie would turn Queen’s Greatest Hits on to drown out the happy screams from the trick-or-treaters outside my window.
A mixture of boredom and desperation kicks in, and I wander downstairs and into the kitchen. A warm, sugary scent hits my nose. Peach and Saylor are making candy apples. There’s a hint of spice, of autumn. It reminds me of all the times Grams would make her sweet apple pie for our Thanksgiving dinners.
Peach spots me first. “Hey, Kira.” Her voice is gentle, but not quite as chipper as usual, which makes my stomach burn with guilt. I’ve given her such a hard time, yet she continues to reach out. “Saylor has never made candy apples, can you believe that? So I’m teaching him. Care to join us?”