Cross Country Hearts

by Suzanne August

  And her hand grips my upper arm, drawing me away. I bring my eyes to my mother, who stares at us as April drags me from the suite. The door opens, April pushes me out, and as I look over my shoulder, my mother is turning away, bringing a hand up to her mouth.

  Twenty Four

  “You’ve changed.”

  April has dragged me down the hallway and into the elevator before either one of us has gathered the strength to say anything. As the elevator doors close, I angle my body toward her. She’s not looking at me.

  I say, “I’m sorry.”

  She lets out a long breath, turning to face me. “I know you are, June.”

  We’re quiet. The elevator travels down each floor, a ping sounding each time. At the ground level, I follow April into the reception area.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “We’re grabbing lunch around the street corner.”

  “You’re not supposed to be doing something?”

  She laughs. It’s strained and too high. “I have a wedding tomorrow and a rehearsal dinner tonight. Of course, there’s something I’m supposed to be doing.”

  The guilt inside me is sprouting. It’s no longer just roots. My hands fidget, and I wring them out. April glances at them but says nothing. I see how her fingers play with the fabric at the end of her shirt. When have we ever been nervous around each other?

  April brings me to a small cafe hidden behind the hotel, so it’s not busy, and it’s not too loud. She orders me to go grab a table for us while she orders. And when she comes back, handing me my cup of coffee, I grip it like all life counts on it. She sets a couple of salads on the table.

  I stare at the table.

  “You shouldn’t talk to Mom about Dad,” April says.

  If I squeezed the cup any harder, would the coffee splash out, burning my hands? I’m surprised it hasn’t already happened. “Is that why you came barging out of the bedroom?”

  “Yes.”

  I look up, and I know our mother wasn’t lying. It’s barely noticeable, but there is red around April’s blue eyes. I frown. “You wanted to save Mom from me?”

  “No,” she says. Her hands fiddle with her cup of coffee, but they pause. “Mom doesn’t respond well to any mention of Dad, and I need her to keep functioning so that the wedding goes well.”

  The more she speaks, the more the sarcasm leaks in. That’s my sister. I smile, but I can’t laugh. “You’ve never talked to her about him?”

  April had started to smile too, but it wobbles now. “No.”

  “It’s not healthy.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Do you know what it’s like, living alone in that house with her? It’s like there’s this ghost living between us, keeping us apart. I hate living there.”

  “June,” my sister says, “you’ve always hated living there.”

  I shake my head. “You and Mom have always gotten along. But sometimes, I feel like she can barely look at me. I just want it to change. I’m tired of arguing with her, and I feel bad about it.”

  My sister’s head tilts, and she studies me. “You meant it, didn’t you? You really are sorry.”

  If she has to ask and point it out, I know it must be bad. I must be bad. How had I never realized it before?

  “I shouldn’t have gone on the road trip,” I admit, even if I don’t regret going on it.

  She shrugs. “It wasn’t a problem, June. What would you have done if you got here last weekend? You would’ve gone to a couple of dress fittings, maybe had a couple of lunches with me, but otherwise, you would’ve been down at the beach every day.”

  “I would’ve helped with preparations for the wedding,” I protest.

  “Maybe,” she says, “but it’s all under control. We weren’t missing an extra set of hands.”

  “April, it’s more than that.” I can’t handle squeezing the cup of coffee anymore, so I pick up a fork and stab at my salad. “I was supposed to be here, and I wasn’t. That’s the point.”

  “Okay, then.” She studies me again before picking up her fork.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Stop saying that.” She pauses, and then she laughs. “Wow, I never thought I’d tell you to stop saying you’re sorry.”

  I blush.

  “Oh, June.” She laughs again, and with the second laugh, I know everything will be okay. She’s forgiven me. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. It’s not like you’re actually late.”

  “Though you still let Mom yell at me like you threatened.”

  “Well, you told Jasper my real name is Aphrodite.”

  My hands freeze.

  My sister goes on without noticing. “I’m surprised you got along enough with him to even mention it. I thought you hated him and that he’s a freak.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. When I open them, April has paused again and stares at me. I try to blow it over and sound calm. “How did you find out I told him?”

  “He told Carlisle he knew my real name,” she answers slowly. “June, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look like it.”

  I look down at my salad. Barely anything has passed my lips. I suddenly wish that it was a burger and french fries in front of me instead of leaves with some vegetables thrown in. April and I may be sisters who love each other, but Jasper is the one who knows what kind of food to pick out.

  I wish I hadn’t just thought that. I don’t want to think about Jasper at all.

  “You like him, don’t you?” April asks.

  I shake my head. “I just realized that he’s not a bad person.”

  “Of course, he isn’t.” April leans forward, hands on the table like she’s hearing some juicy news when she isn’t. She isn’t.

  “I don’t want to talk about Jasper.”

  “Then why are you stabbing at your salad like you’d rather be stabbing something else?”

  Sometimes, I hate sisters. Especially older sisters. Sometimes, they know you better than you know yourself, and I don’t want to hear what she has to say.

  “Isn’t there somewhere you need to be right now?” I ask, my voice on edge.

  She grins. “You’re mad at him, but it’s not because you don’t like him. What did he do?”

  “He painted me ugly,” I say, honest.

  “That’s not it.” She leans back in her chair, glancing down at her phone. And then she groans. “But you’re right. I do have somewhere to be in ten minutes.”

  I bite back a sigh of relief, but it’s futile to think I’ve gotten away from her all-knowing sister eyes. I leave to fetch some to-go boxes to put our salads in, but when I’m back, and while I’m moving the salad from the plate into the box, I avoid her searching gaze.

  We stand up to leave, and as we do, she says, “You’ve changed.”

  I look up. “Huh?”

  She shrugs. “Whatever Jasper did, June, you need to talk to him about it. I heard that you two were in a garden, alone, when you got caught for trespassing.”

  I hate sisters. I snap my to-go box closed and say, “Nothing happened.”

  She snorts, and before I say anything else, she takes the lead out of the coffee shop, almost sprinting. She’s probably late to wherever she’s supposed to be.

  I’m trailing behind April, heading back toward the hotel, when my phone rings. I slip it out of my jacket pocket without thinking, hoping it’s Georgia because she’s called me twice since my aunt picked me up from jail. And I haven’t paid attention to any of her texts.

  But it’s not Georgia. It’s Melanie.

  I glance up just in time to see April slip inside the rotating doors into the hotel. She doesn’t glance back to see if I’m following, so I let my feet trail to a stop. I stand in the middle of the sidewalk, the sun glaring down on me, my phone in hand. I hear the beach, the tourists, and the seagulls.

  And my phone keeps ringing.

  I start to slip it back into my pocket in a fazed
determination to ignore Melanie like all the times she’s ignored me throughout our six-year friendship. There’s a deep satisfaction to having the tables turned, finally—at last. Never before have I had the upper hand. Now that I do, I want to make sure she knows what it feels like.

  But once inside my jacket pocket, I pause. My hand clutches the phone, and I take a deep breath.

  No, I can’t be like Melanie. I decide, at this moment on the sidewalk, as my world has been crashing down on me in the last twenty-four hours, that I don’t want to keep letting Melanie turn me into her miniature. I’m my own person, I think. Shouldn’t I prove that I can be better, no matter how much I want payback?

  I take another breath, and I pull my phone back out. I swipe right on the screen and bring the device to my ear. In as strong a voice I can muster, I say, “Hello?”

  “June.”

  Melanie has always been stronger than me in every possible way. She’s always had the shorter mile time, the stronger grades, and more people who admire her. Standing her ground and hiding her emotions behind a stony, strong facade has always made her into a rock that I could never crack. Even now, when she says my name, she’s stronger. I breathe out a shaky greeting, and she says four letters—loud, clear, and determined.

  But if there’s one thing I’ve learned to know about Melanie over the last six years is that it’s all a facade. Deep down, she’s just like me. She’s anxious and unsure. She doesn’t know her place in life just as much as I don’t know if I want to go to college or like history more than soccer.

  The only difference between us is she’s learned to hide, to put her anxieties onto others. I’ve always understood her, and consequently, I’ve wanted to learn to be like her, to be able to turn into a stony wall that doesn’t let anything penetrate it. Even more, because I understand her, I’ve always let her bully me because I know exactly how she feels and what she goes through.

  So, I know that even if she sounds confident on the phone now, she actually isn’t.

  And no matter if I’m going to use it or not, I know that I still have the upper hand. She knows it too, but she has no idea if I’ll use it.

  “How are you?” I ask.

  “I’m fine.”

  Her words bite, and she knows they do. She wants me to know that she’s still mad at me. I decide to cut to the chase. I’ve always let Melanie beat around the bush and take her time—to antagonize me. I’m not going to let her do it again.

  “Long story short, I found out about you and Jasper working together the summer before freshman year,” I say. “Are you going to tell me he’s lying?”

  “No,” she snaps. “What does that matter anyway?”

  I blink. “I know you care.”

  “That’s not why I called.”

  She’s lying. I know she is. She probably knows I know it, too, but she thinks I won’t call her out on it. I never have before now. But I want to hear her excuse, so I say, “Why are you calling then?”

  “I wanted to tell you that Coach called and said I can be one of the co-captains this upcoming soccer season. Says he’ll have to talk to you and Victoria.” I can almost hear her gloating. “I wanted to warn you.”

  I don’t ask how this happened. I do know that Melanie’s parents are in high places and that they must have gotten involved. Do I believe she’s telling me out of the goodness of her heart? In part, maybe. I know she’d much rather co-captain the team with me than with Victoria since I’m one of her closest friends.

  I say as much. “I know you’d rather co-captain with me. Thanks for telling me.”

  There’s a pause. It’s usually right around this time, or even before that I’d be apologizing. I’ve always done it. I’ve always been desperate for when the time came that she’d stop ignoring me and allow me the chance to finally apologize. And once I do, she’s going to grill me about Jasper. Maybe she’ll tell me a lie, or she’ll twist some sort of truth. There might even be a threat in there so that I never say anything to anyone beyond Georgia.

  This is a dance we’ve always played. And I’m tired of it.

  “June,” Melanie says now. “I’m still hurt by what you said at the party.”

  “I know. I believe you.”

  “What do you mean, you believe me?”

  I glance up at the sun and wince, wishing I’d had time to snatch sunglasses on the way out of the hotel. And when I place my hand over my eyes, it’s more than to just shield them from the glare.

  I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry for what I said. I really am. It was wrong of me.”

  I almost see her smiling on the other end. I know her that well.

  “It doesn’t make it okay,” she says, gloating.

  “No,” I say. “It doesn’t. I won’t do it again.”

  I’m telling the truth. And although I hate apologizing, it was wrong of me to say those things to her a week ago. Whether I like it or not, I’m apologizing.

  “Good,” she says. There’s a pause. “I miss you.”

  I don’t doubt it. I really don’t. “Melanie…”

  “What?”

  Her tone is all innocence. I’m starting to hate that facade. I take another deep breath. “Do you realize you’ve never apologized to me?”

  “What?” This what comes out more sharp and surprised. I’ve never actually pointed this out to her.

  “You always act like ignoring me for days on end, or even a week, when you’re mad at me is something normal and okay. But it’s not okay, Melanie. You’re always manipulating me, and I hate it. It hurts.”

  There’s a long pause this time and crackling on the other end before I hear, “I just don’t want to talk to you when you’ve hurt me.”

  That’s a lie, true and clear. I call her out on it. “No, you’re doing it to get back at me. I’m telling you now that I don’t like it and that it hurts me.”

  She makes a sound, almost like a short laugh. Is she astonished to hear me call her out?

  “So what?” she snaps. “You want me to apologize for something I’m not doing wrong? I just told you that I don’t want to talk to you when you’ve been a horrible person.”

  “I can understand that,” I say. “I would if I believed you. But I don’t.”

  “If you think just because you know about Jasper that you can suddenly—”

  “I would never use Jasper against you,” I snap back.

  She shuts up. I imagine her head rearing back, surprised that, probably for the first time in our friendship, I’ve talked back to her. I’ve cut her off. No one does that to Melanie, not even her closest friends.

  I go on. “Don’t try to blackmail me either, Melanie. I’m not going to blackmail you because I know something about Jasper and you that you don’t want anyone to know. If you want to keep it a secret, that’s fine. I’ll respect that, but I’m not going to let you walk all over me anymore.”

  She says nothing for a long time.

  I take one last, deep breath and say my final words, “I want to be a better person, Melanie. What we did to Jasper and what we do to other people, it’s wrong. I don’t want to be a bully anymore.”

  “A bully?” she blurts. “What the hell are you insinuating?”

  “That we’re bullies,” I say slowly, “and that it needs to stop.”

  “Are you being serious?”

  “Completely.”

  “This is ridiculous.”

  I close my eyes, bringing my hand from my eyes and back to my side. “Look, we can keep talking about this, but I need to go help April and my mom with the wedding.”

  “No,” she says. “No way. You can’t just—”

  “Bye, Melanie.” I put my hand on my hip just to feel more confident. “If you want to talk, I can talk after the weekend. At least think about what I said.”

  And I do what’s probably still a wrong thing to do, but I let myself indulge in anyway.

  I hang up on her.

  Twenty Five

  “Chin up, June.�
�

  When I walk back into the hotel, Hannah is waiting for me with my suitcase by her side. She explains that my mother has delegated to my aunt the mission of getting me rehearsal dinner ready since I missed the wedding rehearsal this morning. The dinner is in three hours.

  But all my aunt does is show me to her room, dump my suitcase by the door, and tell me that she’ll pick me up in two hours. She’s already in a dress, with her hair pinned back and face painted in makeup. When she leaves me alone in her hotel room, I know she won’t be back until it’s time to head to the restaurant.

  This is the first time I’m left to my own devices since arriving from Georgia, and before that, I wasn’t even left alone in the jail. Jasper and I could’ve talked to each other if we’d wanted to, but that didn’t happen. This is the first time I’m left alone in days. And I have no idea what to do.

  In reality, I know I have to get ready, so after a while, I take a shower and dry my hair and apply makeup. I go through my bag and find a dress that I guess I like. I do all this in silence. I don’t put on music. I don’t even look at my phone to see if Georgia has messaged or called. I feel almost emotionless. Sure, there’s a victory in finally standing up to Melanie, but I know there’s still a lot I have to account for.

  I’m done getting ready before Hannah has returned. Still left alone to my own devices, I finally pick up my phone and call Georgia. She doesn’t answer.

  I’m putting together my purse when my aunt returns to the hotel room. She looks at me for a few moments, then says, “You look beautiful, June.”

  She tries to sound chirpy, but when I look at her, I see the same disappointment that was there this morning. Is there any point in apologizing again? I’ve already said it, and I know now that nothing can improve the situation until I prove that I can be a better person.

  I know it’ll take time. I know that. As I pick up my purse and follow my aunt out the door, I promise myself that from this moment on, I will prove with my actions that I can be a better person. Will it make it better with my family before the wedding is over? Probably not. But I’ve already proven to myself, after talking with Melanie, that I can stand up for myself—that I’m not her miniature. Her approval doesn’t validate who I am.