You Don't Live Here

by Robyn Schneider

  “Unlocked,” Lily instructed with a withering glare.

  She went into the photos, and I was so embarrassed at the thought of Lily seeing them. Even though they were dark and grainy, you could still see it was me, topless. He’d gotten his torso in the bottom of the frame, his underwear bulging upward like Mount Olympus, which made it all look so much worse.

  Wordlessly, Lily deleted them, and then she opened the settings, deleting the trash, wiping the data, making sure they weren’t uploaded to the cloud. Making sure he hadn’t texted them to anyone.

  I held my breath the entire time.

  And then Lily solemnly raised Cole’s phone, holding up her middle finger and snapping a pissed-off selfie.

  “All yours,” she said, tossing it back to him.

  “Sasha,” Cole said. “Wait—”

  “She’s not talking to you right now,” Lily said, pulling me away. “Come on.”

  It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me.

  I told her so, and she shrugged, embarrassed.

  “Anyone would have done the same,” she said.

  “Except for my friends,” I mumbled.

  I twisted around, looking for them, half dreading that I’d find them watching the whole thing and giggling.

  “Hey,” Lily said. “You want to get out of here?”

  “Yes, please,” I said without hesitation.

  We climbed into her car, which felt oddly intimate, just the two of us.

  “Hold on. Gotta tell Ryland I bailed,” she said, sending a quick text. “So he doesn’t worry.”

  “It’s nice that he would?” I said. It came out as a question.

  “They may be twins, but they’re nothing alike,” Lily said.

  She drove down the block, which was so quiet that you could sense the ocean looming there, in the distance. She paused at a stop sign, turning toward me. Her hair was coming undone and her necklaces were tangled together and her lipstick was gone, but she still looked amazing. I wondered how she did it. How she was so effortless all the time, and so bravely herself.

  “Pick an adventure,” she said with a little half smile.

  “I don’t even know what there is to do in this town,” I said. “But my grandpa gave me twenty bucks tonight, so how about you choose and I finance?”

  “Deal,” she said. And then she tapped the steering wheel for a moment, thinking.

  Someone pulled up behind us, flashing their brights and honking.

  “Oh my GOD, go AROUND!” Lily yelled.

  A huge truck full of dude bros from the party raced past us, and then braked hard. As if in slow motion, one of the boys shimmied out the sunroof, dropped his pants, and bent over, mooning us.

  The boys howled as they drove away.

  “Well, that was unexpected,” Lily said drily.

  “I’ve seen far too many boys with their pants off tonight,” I replied. “This better not be a bad-things-come-in-threes situation.”

  “An unholy trinity of butts,” Lily said, somehow keeping a straight face.

  “My only request is that wherever we’re going is naked-boy-free.”

  “Guess the nude beach is out,” Lily said, deadpan. And then her eyes lit up, and she smiled a private smile and refused to tell me anything else.

  We went through the In-N-Out drive-through, getting shakes and burgers. Lily insisted I needed mine with chopped chiles, which I didn’t even know was a thing. Apparently there wasn’t just a secret menu, but also a secret-secret menu, known only to those who scoured the internet for foodie videos.

  I loved that. I loved picturing Lily alone in her bedroom, watching people sample street food and try off-menu burgers. She had a running list of restaurants and foods she wanted to try all over the world, and she knew the best places to find approximate versions in Orange County. While we inched toward the pickup window, she told me about purple-yam-flavored soft-serve and soup dumplings and cheese tea. I had no idea those were even foods, much less ones you could get twenty minutes away.

  “Don’t worry, this is just part one,” Lily assured me as the pimply teen boy working the drive-through handed us our Neapolitan shakes and Animal Style Double-Doubles with chopped chiles.

  “What’s part two?” I asked.

  “Not telling. You relinquished your ability to choose this adventure,” Lily reminded me.

  She drove back down PCH and stopped at the light outside our subdivision. I had a stab of disappointment at the thought that it was over, that we were just getting fast food and going back home.

  But Lily turned down a street neither of us lived on, an expression of mischief lighting up her face. She stopped the car outside an enormous Cape Cod–style house, with the flicker of a television in their living room window.

  “Who lives here?” I asked as we got out of the car.

  “No idea,” she said, pressing the flashlight button on her phone and motioning for me to follow.

  There was a narrow set of weathered wooden stairs to the side of the house, and as Lily shone her light into the darkness, I realized where we were going: a secret beach.

  Bayport was full of them, tiny strips of sand that weren’t strictly private, but could only be accessed either on foot or from the surrounding mansions.

  I followed her down the staircase, stopping to take off my boots. I could hear the ocean before I could see it, cold and swift and churning.

  There was a little yellow lifeguard stand on the beach, and Lily went right for it. We sat on the edge of the platform, our feet dangling, as we sipped our milkshakes and ate our cheeseburgers, which really were amazing with the chopped chiles.

  It felt dangerous and thrilling, being at the edge of everything, just the two of us, with no one else in sight. Behind us, on the cliff, the glass-faced houses glowed like lanterns, and I wondered if we were glowing too.

  “Better?” Lily asked, and I nodded.

  Perfect, actually.

  “The ocean’s supposed to be calming, right?” I said. “Because our bodies are like seventy percent water.”

  “Actually, they’re seventy percent dinosaur pee,” said Lily.

  “What?”

  “I read this article about how the amount of water molecules on Earth stays the same, which means most of them were already drunk back in the Jurassic period,” Lily explained. “So there’s a very high probability that most water is just recycled dinosaur pee.”

  “What about those Tumblr posts that are like, we’re all made of stardust?” I asked.

  Lily shrugged and took a sip of her milkshake.

  “Stardust and dinosaur pee,” she said. “Tell your friends.”

  “I kind of don’t have any.”

  “You don’t need friends like them,” Lily said. “Trust me. You really don’t.”

  “I believe you,” I said.

  She chewed her straw for a minute, and then admitted, “Freshman year, Cole tried to hook up with me.”

  I stared at her in surprise.

  “Our school does this winter ski trip,” she went on. “He asked me to stop by his hotel room, said it was about our Romeo and Juliet essay. And when I got there, he was sitting on the bed wearing nothing but a ski hat. On his crotch.”

  “What happened?”

  “He took the ski hat off.” Lily shook her head. “It was super awkward. Like, fourteen-year-old me was not expecting to see a dick. I don’t know which of us was more embarrassed. I shrieked and ran away, and I couldn’t even look at him afterward. But I told Whitney, and she made it a thing. She kept giggling and calling me a prude and putting her ski hat over the saltshaker. When I begged her to stop, she got mad at me for being upset.”

  “Sounds like Whitney,” I said.

  “She doesn’t know how to be a real friend. And Friya’s so sick of being a sidekick, except when it comes down to it, that’s her choice. I can’t believe I ever used to hang out with them.”

  Lily used to be friends with this crowd. Of course. It made
so much sense now that Cole had offered her the slice of pizza, her friendliness with Ethan, and how Friya and Whitney had reacted when they’d seen who I was standing with in the concessions line.

  “Wow,” I said. “I had no idea.”

  “When we met, I thought you were one of them,” Lily said.

  I snorted, remembering.

  “What?” Lily said.

  “When we met, I thought you were dating Adam.”

  Lily laughed.

  “Zero chance,” she said. “Even if we weren’t stepsiblings.”

  I took a sip of my milkshake, and the silence stretched on for a moment too long.

  Lily glanced down at her lap, as if embarrassed.

  There were still a few strands of spaghetti in her hair, and I plucked them out without thinking.

  “Spaghetti,” I said, showing her.

  “It was almost as good as the grilled cheese,” she said, with just the faintest trace of a smile.

  “You don’t know,” I said. “Maybe after we left he gathered all the pieces and made a big plate of Bolognese.”

  “And then he parachuted it off a balcony,” Lily added.

  I smiled, and Lily smiled back, full force, like we were sharing a secret. She had one of those rare smiles that turn a spotlight on you, that make you feel, at least for a moment, as though you’ve executed the most triumphant performance of your life and have just received a standing ovation.

  I could feel my heart beating way too fast, from the million grams of sugar in the milkshake, and the craziness of the night, but also from something else, from this sense of freedom. Here, on this beach, it felt as though Lily and I were free to do anything we wanted. Except I didn’t know what I wanted.

  Or, I did know, and it terrified me.

  And then the alarm went off on my phone.

  “What time is it?” Lily asked suddenly.

  “Oh crap,” I said, showing her. “It’s late.”

  I had ten minutes to get home before, well, I wasn’t sure. But I didn’t particularly want to find out.

  “We’ve got this,” Lily promised, jumping off the lifeguard stand.

  I followed after her, and the two of us ran, barefoot, across the beach and up the narrow staircase, laughing and cursing. We made it back just as the clock hit eleven.

  Chapter 17

  MY GRANDPARENTS INSISTED ON HAVING BRUNCH that Sunday at the club. I really didn’t want to see anyone again after Cole’s party, so I tried to get out of it, claiming I had a migraine, but my grandmother just shot me a look until I said okay, I’d get ready.

  “Wear something with a V-neck, it’s more flattering,” she called.

  This time, as my grandfather pulled through the gates, I had a nervous pit in my stomach. I was dreading seeing anyone, especially here, in front of my grandparents. It felt like there had been this enormous shift, and suddenly the cracks I’d suspected were there all along had become visible.

  Fault lines, they were called. Places where it was only a matter of time until an earthquake occurred. It didn’t matter how quiet or safe things seemed—the cracks were still there, hidden beneath the perfect surface, waiting.

  I felt faintly ill at the thought of running into Cole, and it was only when we were already inside that I remembered his parents were out of town.

  The brunch buffet was in the same place as before. In the bright October sunshine, the room was transformed. It was loud, bustling, cheerful. Kids ran around in church clothes, and men in dry-fit golf polos waited in line at the omelet station.

  I loaded up my plate with bacon and hash browns and sliced fruit, and some bougie-looking pastries called kouign-amann.

  “All those carbs, Sasha?” my grandmother said, making a face.

  I’d been so distracted I hadn’t even thought about it. I’d just grabbed whatever had looked good, since I figured we might as well get our money’s worth.

  “Oh. Um,” I stared down at my food, embarrassed. It was mostly grease and sugar, but then, I’d had enough alcohol the night before that the thought of eggs or yogurt made me queasy.

  My grandfather, whom I hoped would come to my rescue, continued scrolling through his phone, squinting at the screen even with the enlarged type. He was on Facebook, reading the comments on someone’s post.

  “Unbelievable,” he mumbled. “There’s so much fake news.”

  “A lot of women in our family have thick thighs,” Eleanor went on. “It’s just a fact. We’ll never be thin. But we can always be better.”

  She kept going, explaining her gym routine, which sounded exhausting, and like you’d always be stressed about running out of clean underwear, doing Zumba and yoga that many times a week.

  I picked at my fruit, wishing she’d give up. So I was having an unhealthy breakfast. It wasn’t a crime.

  “Really, Eleanor, leave the poor girl alone,” my grandfather said.

  “I’m just giving her advice,” my grandmother huffed. “Everyone could stand to lose five pounds. It makes a big difference in the face.”

  “Well, I think you look beautiful, sweet pea,” my grandfather told me, winking. “I’m going to get some of those pastries. They look scrumptious.”

  But before he could get up, a tall, elegant man approached our table carrying an egg-white omelet.

  “Good morning, Blooms,” he said, beaming. He had a perfect slick of black hair that was going gray at the temples, and his sleeves were rolled just so.

  “Michael, hello,” said my grandfather.

  “Hey there, Joel. Sorry to interrupt. Just a quick work-related question; I won’t take up too much of your time,” Michael promised.

  And then—oh god.

  Hovering just behind him was Friya. She carried an identical breakfast and had an upbeat smile pasted on. She and I regarded each other for a moment, and then Persian George Clooney turned his attention toward my grandfather, the two of them discussing some problem with a new secretary.

  “So did you have fun last night?” Friya asked me.

  Wow. Of course I didn’t have fun last night. Which I thought Friya definitely knew.

  “Yeah, Lily and I did,” I said.

  “Wait, was she even there?” Friya laughed. “I guess I was super distracted.” Her eyes lit up as she leaned in, suddenly excited. “Did I tell you Nick and I got back together?”

  “Congratulations,” I said hollowly.

  “I know, right?” Friya bubbled. “This whole hating him thing was getting exhausting.”

  “I’ll bet,” I said, since my grandmother was listening, and it wasn’t like I could say anything. She really wasn’t bringing it up. The thing with Cole. It was like my crisis had been such a small blip on her evening that it hadn’t even registered. “Thanks for the advice about Harry Potter,” I added.

  Friya frowned, like she had no idea what I was talking about.

  And then my grandmother cut in with, “I’m so glad you girls are friends.”

  “Sasha’s the best,” Friya said, smiling. “And it’s, like, so cute with her and Cole.”

  I almost choked on a piece of cantaloupe. Why on earth would she say that? It was such bullshit. She was such bullshit.

  My grandmother beamed, like Friya was the answer to all of the questions I’d been evading.

  “Now tell me,” my grandmother began, asking about Friya’s extracurriculars. I picked up a kouign-amann, taking an enormous bite as Friya and my grandmother chatted about some dog charity. It was hard to believe this was the same girl who had given zero shits about my crisis, and then had babbled about herself, because when it came to Friya, she was her own favorite subject.

  There was no way I could sit down at their lunch table on Monday and pretend nothing was the matter. No way I could act like it was completely fine that Cole had taken topless photos of me, and the girls had laughed and made fun of some girl’s pubes when I asked for their help.

  I was done.

  “Daddddy,” Friya whined. “I’m goi
ng to be late for my massage.”

  He glanced at his watch, one of those flashy silver things, and agreed that they really did have to get going, but it was a pleasure running into us.

  After that, brunch dragged on forever. My grandparents seemed to know an overwhelming number of people. By the third old lady Eleanor just had to say hello to, I kind of zoned out.

  As I stood there, miserable, waiting for it to be time to go home, I had a terrifying realization: This was what my grandparents wanted for me. This life. This world. These people.

  And if I wasn’t careful, one day I might look around and discover that I was a lawyer at my grandfather’s firm, that I was at this brunch of my own volition, eating an egg-white omelet, married to some boy from a good family because everyone thought it was a good idea, not because we actually loved each other.

  I’d said yes too often, agreeing with everything my grandparents wanted because I didn’t want to rock the boat. Except I’d never stopped to really think where that boat was headed. And now I knew: it wasn’t to a lighthouse, but to a yacht club.

  I’d screwed up, letting them think I wanted this. Letting them think they could steer me in whatever direction they wanted. Because we’d gone too far, and there was no coastline in sight, and I didn’t know how to tell them that I wanted to turn back.

  On the drive home, my phone buzzed with a text from Cole:

  hey you around

  Oh, god. What if Lily hadn’t erased all of the pictures? Was that why Friya had been so fake nice to me—because she knew?

  In a bit, I wrote back.

  ok can I call you in like 10 min? Cole texted.

  Um I guess. What’s up? I asked. Calling me didn’t sound good. At all.

  need to talk

  I stared down at my phone screen, feeling ill.

  “Sasha, what’s going on?” my grandmother asked. “You’re buried in your phone.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I was replying to a text.”

  “From whom?”

  “Um, Cole?” I said.

  “Oh.” My grandmother sounded pleased. “That’s all right then. It was very nice of him to take you to the football game.”

  I mumbled that I guessed so, not really wanting to get into it.

  “And did you have fun at his party?” my grandfather asked.