Rules of Rain

by Leah Scheier

  Still, maybe Liam was too drunk to remember what happened between us. Or maybe he’s upset I yakked all over him while he slept. And maybe he’s hurt that I haven’t communicated with him at all since then.

  The mother excuse can only go so far, after all. I’ve had time to call. During lunchtime. Or before I went to bed. But I haven’t because I’m too afraid to start that conversation.

  So on Wednesday morning, I’m not exactly racing for the door. I drag my feet as I walk to school and arrive a little late for homeroom. Then I concentrate very hard on the empty notebook in front of me. Out of the corner of my eye I see Liam looking at me, but I’m stubbornly spellbound by the blank paper on my desk. When the bell rings, I sprint for the bathroom and wait there until chemistry lab starts, then I slip in after the bell, meekly hand a late pass to Mr. Green, and quietly place my books beside Liam as if it’s just a regular day.

  It should be less awkward when other people are around, right? I can be pleasant while pretending to be a diligent student. And then maybe after a little while things might go back to normal.

  But Liam won’t stop trying to meet my eye, no matter how stubbornly I avoid him. Finally, he places his hand over mine and blocks my view of the page in front of me. I have no choice but to look up.

  His eyes are wide and scared, searching mine. “How’s your mom?” he whispers. But his expression is asking something else.

  “She’s better. Now that she’s taking her medicine, they’re talking about discharging her from the hospital. Maybe even tonight.”

  “That’s good. I was worried about you.”

  “Oh.” I push my lips up into a cheery smile. “I’m fine.”

  He hesitates and glances around the room before turning back to me. “When I woke up,” he says, lowering his voice so I can barely hear him, “you were gone. And I couldn’t believe what…what had happened—”

  “I’m so sorry about that,” I cut in. “I can pay for the truck cleaning. I brought some money with me.” I dig into my pocket. “Will this be enough?”

  He stares at the crumpled bills I’ve pushed into his palm. “I wasn’t even thinking about the car. I was worried about you.”

  “I’m fine. And it isn’t fair that you should have to pay to clean up the puke.”

  He shakes his head. “I thought I did that. I threw up after I woke up. So did most of the people who drank Marcus’s punch, apparently. But I never thought to blame you. I was worried that you weren’t answering my calls because you were upset about—”

  “Why would I be upset?” I interrupt. “We both screwed up, that’s all. Honestly, I just want to forget that night completely—”

  “I’d really like that,” he says. “We can just start over, okay?”

  “Okay.” He doesn’t look convinced, though. There seems to be a follow-up question struggling to get out, but I want to put an end to this conversation now. So I decide to lighten the mood a little. “I came up with an awesome hangover cure. Want to hear?”

  “I’m not hungover anymore.”

  “Whatever. For next time.”

  He makes a face. “There isn’t going to be a next time. I never want to lose my judgment like that again—”

  I don’t want to talk about this. “I’ve been reading that the Namibians drink buffalo milk after a night of partying,” I tell him quickly. “It’s not actually from a buffalo. Basically, they make this ice cream float with spiced rum and clotted cream. So I thought if you add a bit of licorice root, which decreases stomach inflammation, it could make the ultimate hangover—”

  “Rain, are you sure you’re okay?”

  I make a frustrated, noisy clatter with the stirring rod. “I don’t want to talk about it right now,” I say shortly. “We’re in the middle of lab.”

  “Okay.” He shifts uncomfortably and seems about to speak again, but a look from the teacher silences him. We work quietly for the rest of the period. When the bell rings, he turns to me and touches my sleeve.

  “Can we talk after school? I promised to take your brother on that surgery observation this evening,” he says. “But I’m free before that.”

  “Sure,” I say with a shrug.

  I can feel Liam’s eyes watching me as I gather my books and shove them into my bag. I want to tell him again that I’m fine, that we’d both made a stupid mistake I’m just desperate to forget. I don’t care about being healthy or responsible or right. Pretending to move on is what I need now. Between my mother being hospitalized, my dad waiting on the sidelines, my brother diagnosing the hell out of everything, I just need our relationship to be simple.

  But I don’t know how to say any of that. So I just say, “Hey, did you know that the Sicilians used dried bull penis as a hangover cure? Seriously. Dried. Bull. Penis.”

  For a moment, his smile washes away the worry in his eyes, and I feel happy for the first time in days. We’re going to be just fine, I tell myself. I’m not going to let one mistake ruin us.

  Chapter 19

  After school, Liam takes me on a walk around Green Pines Overlook. We’re silent most of the way. “It’s a beautiful day,” he finally says.

  He wants to talk about the weather? “Yeah, this is one of my favorite spots.”

  “It’s my first time here. I haven’t explored much since I moved.”

  “Well, you should give this town a chance,” I tell him. “On days like this I actually understand why my mom chose to move out here.”

  He nods and gazes at the white-topped mountains. “I see what you mean, I guess. I understand why people come out here to breathe this air and drink in all this green nature. But honestly, it doesn’t do anything for me. I look out over the farmland, or the mountains, or those clumps of quiet, perfect little houses, and I feel myself just…falling asleep. Not a good, peaceful sleep, either. It feels like someone’s injected some powerful anesthetic into my blood, and if I don’t fight it, if I don’t tear it out of me, I just might never wake up. And I can’t think of anything worse.”

  “So you don’t see yourself ever coming back?”

  “Oh God, no. What for? I’ll come by to visit my grandmother as often as I can. But you’re going to leave too eventually. So who else would I come back for?”

  I’m not sure what to make of that. It’s nice that he’s acknowledged that my future whereabouts are important to him—that he’s considered where I’d be living one day. At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what he just implied. Yet I don’t know how to follow that thought. We’ve been together such a short time.

  “Where do you want to end up?” I ask him finally. “I mean, after you’ve done the international doctor stuff.”

  “I don’t know, exactly. Somewhere big. Huge, impersonal. Someplace where no one cares who you are, nobody gossips about your family or your business. Somewhere you can lose yourself in the energy of a million other busy people. That’s what I want.”

  “Like New York? Or DC?” I can’t help thinking about my old home and my father. Is he there now? Is he planning yet another visit that only Ethan knows about?

  “Yeah. Someplace where no one will notice that a person’s missing until his neighbors comment on the odd smell coming from his apartment.”

  I laugh and smack him playfully on the shoulder. “That’s just morbid.”

  He grins and tosses a pebble over the cliff. “Not more morbid than the housewives of Mineral County pecking at their neighbors like a bunch of bored and hungry vultures.”

  I remember what my mom told me about Liam’s father. “I know what you mean. Just another year and a half though. And then we can go anywhere we want.”

  He shrugs. “This town is good for some people, I guess. Like your brother, for example. Big cities might not be right for him.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know about that. He’s being homeschooled because we ran out
of options here. But it might have been different if we’d been somewhere with more resources.”

  “Well, he seems to be doing okay.”

  “I’m not sure. I have no idea how he’s doing anymore. He doesn’t really talk to me. Not that he was ever much of a talker. But lately, it’s like he’s deliberately trying to shut me out.”

  He studies me for a moment. “You’re kind of the same way, Rain,” he says, softly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you don’t talk much about your own feelings either. I mean, I keep asking you how you’re doing, and all you want to do is pretend nothing happened between us. And then you change the subject to weird food. Which is fine, I guess. But it’s still kind of confusing.”

  I take a deep breath. “You want to talk about it, don’t you?”

  He gives me a baffled look. “You don’t?”

  “Look, I realize we went too far—way too far. And I just want to roll things back to how we were three days ago. I know I said I wanted to be spontaneous and free, but I think I should go back to being me for a little bit. Responsible Rain. Not Halloween-party Rain.”

  He blushes and glances down at his hands. “That wasn’t me either. Not that it wasn’t great,” he adds hastily.

  “My bloodstream was, like, ninety percent whiskey,” I point out. “So was yours. You could make the argument that it was the alcohol that did…all that.”

  I don’t know why I suddenly can’t say it.

  “You’re the first girl I’ve kissed,” he tells me. “Hell, until a few days ago I just assumed that I’d graduate high school—maybe even college—a lonely virgin.”

  It’s my turn to blush. I’m not squeamish about the idea of sex. Half of my class has already done it, and I figured it would happen someday for me too. It’s just that I’ve always associated losing my virginity with finding true love. Not with being wasted in the back of a truck with a boy I barely knew. I’d never understood the race to lose it, never felt the need to tear the scarlet V off my chest. I liked being sort of old-fashioned. Liam was a great guy, but I wasn’t ready to have sex with him—or with anyone. I was having a hard time just coming to terms with the realization that for us, that blurry night in his truck was it. The earthshaking stuff they write poems and songs about.

  I felt like we’d been sold a fancy, brightly wrapped box. We’d torn the paper open, thrown caution to the wind, and now I was staring over an empty carton at a boy whose eyes were begging me for something I couldn’t give him. I wanted to feel like a woman now, like I’d checked off this big, important milestone, but instead I was just disappointed. Not with him. I was disappointed with it. He was patiently waiting for my response, and I couldn’t say what I was thinking.

  “You’re my first everything too,” I admit. “And I’m totally not ready for everything.”

  He nods slowly, his eyes fixed anxiously on my face. “We’re supposed to be the super cautious kids that everyone trusts.” He clears his throat. “And we didn’t even use—”

  “It’s fine,” I interrupt. I don’t want to talk about protection or our lack of it that night. “I still can’t believe we were that stupid. But I got my period. Don’t worry about it.”

  His look of relief embarrasses me, and I realize he’s been trying to ask me about that since it happened. And I’ve been avoiding him and that question for the last three days.

  It’s almost true, the period thing. I thought I was on my period the night of the party. I was so confused and foggy from the alcohol that I didn’t think it through. And then when my mom got sick I sort of forgot about it. The truth is, I’m not exactly sure anymore. And now it’s been more than three days since the party, and it’s too late to take a pill or do anything but wait and hope for the best.

  It’s going to be okay, I tell myself. I’ll be super responsible from now on. We both will.

  We walk around for a few more minutes, and then I ask Liam to drop me off at Hope’s before he takes Ethan to watch the surgery. I need to talk to somebody about this, someone who isn’t Liam. As I get out of the truck, I give him a fake, confident smile and an uncomfortable peck on the lips. For all our brave talk about turning back the clock and taking things slow, I think we’re both going to need a little time to figure this out.

  Chapter 20

  When I arrive at her house, Hope asks me about Liam, and I answer, “We’re great! He’s great! I’m great!” and then cheerily ignore her doubtful look. I’m going to have to ease into this conversation slowly, it seems.

  “There’s something I want to show you,” she says after a pause. “I wasn’t going to tell you at first but I was worried that you’d just see it somewhere else. My cousin in Missoula sent me this old video of a prank her classmates played on Liam back in the ninth grade—”

  “Yeah, I know all about that,” I interrupt. I place my hand over the screen on her phone. “And I’m not watching it. I promised him.”

  She seems relieved. “Oh, good. It’s pretty embarrassing. If it makes you feel better, I don’t think anyone else at our school has seen it. I just thought you should be prepared. They made Liam cry at the end—”

  “I don’t want to watch it, and I don’t want to hear about it,” I tell her. “Every view that video gets is an extra point for bullies.”

  “You’re right. You’re right. I’m deleting the message right now. I shouldn’t have brought it up. And I’m really glad you guys are doing so well.”

  “We are. Liam and I are doing great.”

  I’m surprised at my own lie. I’d been planning to be honest with her. That was why I’d come, to share my worries with her. Normally I would tell her everything, and we’d dissect it all together. But lately I’ve felt kind of awkward around Hope. I didn’t even realize how awkward I’ve felt until I got here. Another side effect of her dating my twin, I guess. It’s not that I’m worried she’ll blab to Ethan. It’s just that she’s dating my brother. I’d been so wrapped up in worrying about Ethan that the everyday weirdness of that situation was only just dawning on me. Sharing things with her felt different now.

  And until I got used to it, I needed to keep my dating problems to myself.

  So we watch a movie and talk about Ethan’s trip to the surgery ward. I get a blow-by-blow account of the whole adventure from Hope as my brother texts her updates every fifteen minutes. She’s very excited by the first few, but after the tenth text she seems a little reluctant to check her phone. The idea of her boyfriend attending an operation is one thing; the gruesome details he keeps sending her are quite another.

  My mom messages me halfway through the movie. “Come and get me as soon as you can. They said I can go home.”

  I return home to pick up the car and am at the hospital within the hour. The whole checkout process takes longer than either of us anticipated (so many papers and instructions), and we pull into our driveway at half past ten.

  My mom shuffles upstairs, hauling her hospital bag after her. I pull some dough out of the freezer to defrost for tomorrow’s dessert (I’m experimenting with eggnog pumpkin pie—Christmas and Thanksgiving in one dish!) and then walk into the living room only to discover Ethan stretched out on the living room floor in a yoga pose. It’s the position I’ve taught him to use when I’m not around to help him with the Rain burrito. He’s humming to himself in rhythmic one note beats, the droning noise drowning out the world around him. I sit down on the sofa and wait for him to rise.

  When he does, he appears startled to see me there watching him.

  “Hello, Rain.”

  “Hey, there. I just brought Mom home.”

  He nods silently.

  “Do you want me to get your weight blanket?” I ask him.

  He shakes his head and swallows loudly.

  “So the surgery thing didn’t go well?”

  He shakes his head again. “I
t went very well. The surgeon said that I had a lot of promise. Liam told me he never says that about anyone.”

  “That’s fantastic!” I smile. “Then why the yoga?”

  He sighs and slowly gets to his feet. “I feel better now,” he says, ignoring my question. “I’m going to my room to study.”

  “Okay. Are you sure you don’t need anything—”

  “I’m fine,” he retorts. “Good night, Rain.”

  “Good night.”

  I drag my book bag to the coffee table and pull out my textbooks. Normally I study in my bedroom, but today I’m waiting for Ethan to change his mind. He seemed so fragile just now, and I’m sure that he’ll come stumbling out into the hallway at any moment.

  It was such a big week for him. He’d gone to his first party, seen his mother through a hospitalization, and started on his path to becoming a doctor. Until recently, any one of those things would have caused a violent short circuit. How was he handling all three together? He should need me right now; I should be holding him, wrapped tightly in the safe embrace of his weight blanket.

  But his bedroom door stays closed, and the landing is quiet.

  An hour passes, and there’s no sound to break my loneliness. Finally, I shuffle off to my room and swing my door shut with a bang. I want him to know that I’m awake if he needs to talk. But he doesn’t. There’s no tap at the door, no restless movement on the other side of my wall. He’s okay.

  He’s okay without me. And I know the thought should make me happy. It’s what I’ve worked for, isn’t it? Then why am I wishing I hadn’t taught him the yoga pose, all those breathing exercises to calm himself? It’s a horrible, selfish thought, and I know I would never admit it to anyone. I’m supposed to be the perfect sister. My mother is always bragging about my competence and caring; Hope even thinks my relationship with Ethan is impressive. But what would they think if they knew the real me? I used to believe everything I did for Ethan was out of love. But what if that isn’t true? What if my love is a messy, twisted thing? Maybe I’m just a charming imposter who’s managed to fool everyone, including myself. I can’t keep pretending to be a good and loving sister, if deep down I’m dreading the day he breaks from me. It isn’t real love if I need Ethan to need me.