Sean stood in the doorway. “That guy is here.”
“Are we just not using Max’s name anymore?” she asked. She figured that’s the only person it could be. He had sent her a few texts after the first one she deleted, but she hadn’t answered any of them. Then he stopped trying.
“No. It’s the other one. The small one.”
“Charlotte!” Leo’s face appeared over Sean’s shoulder intermittently as he hopped up and down. “Hey! We’re going to a party.”
Charlotte pushed herself off of her stomach and sat back on her heels. “Thanks, Sean.”
“Thanks, Sean,” Leo repeated as Sean left them. Leo did a weird sort of half-bow in Sean’s direction before he threw himself down on her bed. “Connor Hickey is having a party tonight.”
“The tenth grader with the pool?”
“Well, he’s in grade eleven now,” Leo said, “keep up. But yes. We should go.”
Charlotte groaned and leaned forward, folding her arms to use as a pillow. “I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t think I’m even allowed to be at things anymore.”
“I need a wingman.”
“You have a boyfriend.”
“No, I mean at beer pong. And I can’t take Max since he’s been acting like it’s the end of the world because you haven’t talked to him for three days.” Leo looked at her meaningfully. “You broke his heart.”
“I did not,” she said testily. “His heart is perfectly fine.”
“He’s been locked in his bedroom listening to The Smiths for the last three days. The Smiths, Charlotte. Jesus. I wasn’t aware we were living in an indie film. And there was a documentary on called The Red Scare and You and he didn’t even record it!”
She scoffed. “He’s probably seen it.”
“Why the Cold War, anyway?”
Charlotte picked at her quilt and didn’t look at him. She’d been ignoring Max’s texts since Sophie’s warning, and the other night was the first time in what seemed like a very long time he hadn’t slept on her floor. “I just don’t think there’s a point in us being friends.”
“Okaaay,” Leo sounded like he didn’t believe her. “Well. I’m getting you out of the house. We’re going to Connor Hickey’s.”
“Is Max going?” She remembered what he’d said about not going to things anymore.
Leo had already rolled off the bed and was out the door, and apparently hadn’t heard her question.
She insisted she drive, so she could abandon ship whenever she wanted. Leo didn’t seem to mind, because it meant he could drink. She picked him up at eight and drove the ten minutes to Connor’s house. The majority of their high school was already there and drunk by the time they arrived.
Charlotte linked her arm through Leo’s as they walked up the path to the door. “Ready to do this?” she asked him.
Leo knocked. “Born ready, baby.”
The door swung open. “Hey—”
Max’s expression fell comically fast, his arms draped across the shoulders of Delilah Cooke and Amy Chamberlain. “Oh,” he said blankly. “Hi.”
Charlotte felt the air rush out of her. Leo stiffened. She never thought she’d be so thankful for Delilah Cooke, but she was the one who broke the silence.
“Come on, Max, let them in,” Delilah slurred in a singsong voice. “Let’s go sit.”
Max gave the two of them a look—mostly surprise and mostly aimed at Leo—but allowed himself to be dragged away by the girls.
Leo patted Charlotte’s arm comfortingly. “See. It can’t get any more awkward than that. So it’s over. Like a Band-Aid. I’m the one who’s going to get in trouble, anyway. Now we can enjoy ourselves.”
Charlotte took a deep breath and steadied herself. “Let’s go play beer pong.”
Beer pong was shockingly hard when you weren’t drinking, Charlotte reflected. After a while she was only hurting Leo’s game. She was half-sitting on the back of the sofa, facing the game and serving as moral support. She didn’t think Leo even noticed.
Charlotte found herself kind of enjoying the quiet in the middle of the party. No one was paying her any attention, which she liked. The novelty had worn off. The newest River John scandal was a rumour going around that eleventh-grader Wesley Walker had bought a secret engagement ring for his girlfriend.
She could see into the kitchen, where Max was sitting on the kitchen counter. Delilah Cooke stood between his legs, toying with his collar and nuzzling his neck and rubbing his chest. Charlotte was reconsidering her decision to stay sober. She could always walk home. She rather aggressively tore at a loose thread on the back of the sofa. Delilah’s makeup was smudged under her eyes and she was looking dangerously close to Charlotte’s memories of Martini Mondays back at boarding school. Max looked up, catching her staring. Shit. She had been staring. She met his gaze bravely, until Delilah noticed his lack of attention and pulled his face back toward hers with her fingers, brushing her lips against his. Charlotte shifted and looked away.
“Greetings. May I join you?”
She looked up. John O’Neil, whom she would have graduated with, stood before her with a red plastic cup in his hand. She’d spoken to him only a few times in all the years they went to school together.
“Um. Be my guest.” She waved to the edge of sofa beside her.
He settled down next to her. “So, how’ve you been?”
“Um.” She was trying to process what exactly John wanted from her. “Fine?”
“Come on.” John adjusted his glasses. Were there even lenses in those? The kid was a mystery. “I heard things have been kind of hard for you since you got back.”
She looked at him. She didn’t really like that that was general knowledge. Or something everyone gossiped about.
“That’s just what Sophie says, at least.”
Charlotte sucked in a breath, suddenly bitter. “Well, thank god I have someone like you looking out for my feelings.”
John squinted at her. “Is that sarcasm?”
“Would you be offended if it was?”
He cleared his throat. “Okay, well, anyway. I was thinking about driving into the city this weekend—do you like foreign films?”
“They aren’t really my thing—”
“Can you read subtitles?”
“English subtitles?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re asking if I can read English subtitles?
“I know you can read, I was just wondering if you could, like, watch a movie and read subtitles.” John rolled his eyes. “It might cheer you up a bit.”
She wondered if she could throw herself off the back of the couch hard enough that it would give her a concussion and put her out of her misery. “I’m perfectly cheered, actually, but thanks.”
“So, do you wanna hang out or not?”
“Can I have your drink?” Charlotte asked.
John frowned. “No.”
“Then I gotta go. I need to be drunk after this.” She jumped to her feet, but he stopped her.
Grabbing her forearm, John yanked on her so hard she fell back down into her seat.
“Ow. Let go of me, John,” she said, wrenching her arm away.
She glanced back toward the kitchen, where she saw Delilah untangling herself from Max and stumbling out of Charlotte’s line of sight.
“Where are you going? Listen, I just need like two grams. If you want, we can go back to my place and smoke and—”
“I, uh….” She peered past him. Max was gone from the kitchen. Charlotte snapped back to her senses. “I don’t have anything.”
“Doesn’t your brother sell?”
“No. Not anymore.”
“I got some from him a month ago.”
Charlotte chose to ignore that.
“Well,” John said slowly. She could feel his hand on
her knee. “We can still go hang out if you want.”
She shoved his hand off and twisted away from him. “No, thanks.”
John looked offended and scoffed. “Sophie said you were easy.”
“Yeah, but it looks like I’m still drawing the line at hooking up with you.”
“Whore,” John spat, louder than the rest of their conversation.
Charlotte’s stomach was doing angry flips as she stalked away from him. She didn’t get more than a few steps before a staggering crash had her whipping back around.
John had been thrown backward off the edge of the sofa, knocking a few glasses and bottles off the coffee table. His red cup bounced sadly onto the ground and his drink stained the carpet.
“Apologize to her.”
Charlotte looked up to see Max standing behind the sofa. He was a whirlwind and the rest of the party was at a standstill. John looked startled and red was creeping into his face.
Charlotte made a mental promise to go with her gut from now on re: going to parties she didn’t want to attend. Shit. If word got back to Sophie that Max was throwing people around to defend Charlotte’s honour, Sophie would not be happy. She should leave—now. John and Max were both looking at her but she didn’t wait to hear if any apology came. She didn’t want one anyway.
She was glad, at least, that she had her car. She could be home and in bed in ten minutes. She checked in with Leo, who told her he had to stay until he was the resident beer pong champion and was okay to walk home. Slipping outside, Charlotte took a five-second pause on the porch. Sophie probably already knew by now.
The door opened behind her and Max sauntered onto the porch, his head swivelling around like he’d been looking for her.
“You’re leaving?” he asked. He was holding a half-crushed box of cigarettes in one hand and digging around for his lighter in his pocket with the other.
“What’s your problem?” she countered. “Why do you have to make a scene?”
“You never minded before,” Max said. With Nick, she added silently for him.
“Bite me,” she said, “I don’t need you to fight my battles, all right? And I especially don’t need you to act like I’m your property.”
He swore under his breath and looked away, and she felt a sense of relief that he wasn’t going to continue the conversation. But a shuffling in the dark gave her a half-a-second heart attack and the unmistakable sound of puking followed within a few seconds. Charlotte leaned forward, looking past a cluster of bushes beside the porch.
“Hello?” she called.
Delilah Cooke turned around, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand as she straightened up. “Ugh. It’s always pink.”
Charlotte frowned. “It’s the hard lemonade.”
Delilah spun around and puked again.
“Actually, it’s probably because she kissed you,” Charlotte told Max, who didn’t seem to have heard. He blew some smoke toward the lawn and coughed a bit.
“I gotta go home,” Delilah said when she was back upright.
“I’ll drive you,” Charlotte offered. “I was just leaving.”
“I’ll go too,” Max announced.
Charlotte’s car was parked a little ways down the road. Max was following after like she was forcing him to come. Charlotte considered telling him he was perfectly free to walk home, but couldn’t find the energy. Delilah was holding on to Max’s back belt loops for balance along the gravel shoulder.
“Charlotte, d’you have a light?” Delilah asked.
“No.”
“’s dark,” she mumbled.
“It’s not too bad.”
“Scary.”
“Max’ll protect you.”
They reached the car and Charlotte helped Delilah into the back as Max climbed into the passenger seat. He thankfully remained silent as she gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles fading to white. She was angry. At herself? Definitely at Max. At Sophie, too.
“Sseat belt,” he slurred as Charlotte started backing out of the spot. She glared at him.
“It’s because I never checked,” he explained messily, “if Sophie was wearing hers.”
“I looove Sophie,” Delilah said. “Where’d she go?”
They didn’t speak again the entire drive. They reached Max’s house first, Charlotte pressing on the brake just enough to make him lurch forward abruptly in his seat.
“Okay, ride’s over,” she barked when Max didn’t immediately throw himself from the car. He groaned and shifted toward the door, pushing it open. She heard him make a retching noise toward the grass beside them. Charlotte rolled her eyes. Charming.
She hopped out of the driver’s side and walked around the front of the car. Anything to help speed the process along. Charlotte drummed her fingers impatiently against the window. “Get out of my car, Max.”
“Charlie,” he whined, leaning his head against the side of the door. “Can you please be nice for like, two seconds?”
“She is nice, Max.” Delilah rolled down her window and popped her head out. “Jesus.”
“Thanks, Delilah.” Charlotte shot her a small smile. Delilah stuck out her tongue.
Max was falling asleep against the side of the car.
“Go sleep it off, Max.” Charlotte huffed, reaching in to undo his seat belt.
He was faster than she’d thought he’d be. He reached out for her, looping a hand around her wrist. “Look—I’m sorry, all right?”
“You’re not sorry, you’re drunk.”
“Yikes,” Delilah said quietly.
Max scrubbed at his face in frustration, letting out a sigh. His eyes were bleary from the alcohol, his mouth opening and closing a few times. Finally, he seemed to collect himself and looked directly at her. “Whadid I do to you?”
“Nothing,” Charlotte said quickly. She thought about the last time he’d slept over, when he’d held her and stayed in her bed.
“’sit because of the other night?” he asked, as if reading her mind.
“No, Max,” she said quietly, her anger ebbing away the tiniest bit. “We…shouldn’t be friends. We don’t have anything in common,” she lied.
Max laughed bitterly. “We have one very big thing in common. This’s because of Sophie, isnit?”
Charlotte didn’t say anything.
“You wanna know what I felt when Sophie broke up with me? Relief—”
Delilah shrieked, scandalized.
“—and I hate myself for it. She and I both knew we were over, but if I said that to her then I’d be the asshole who dumped his girlfriend who was in a wheelchair.” Max gestured around the driveway in the dark, as if to help him explain. “So she did me a favour and did it for me. But I hate myself for feeling relieved that it happened,
and also that I was too afraid to do it myself. That I cared too much about what other people would think of me that I forgot to treat the girl I loved like a human being, and respect her enough to be honest with her. I hated that I was treating her differently because of the accident, which is exactly what she didn’t want.” Max was stumbling over his words and sometimes circling back around, but he held a steady force behind them. “So I’m not doing that again. I don’t care what people think anymore. I like you—”
Delilah gave a high-pitched squeal.
“—Things are better when I’m with you.”
He stopped himself, and they both seemed surprised that he had managed his speech in his current drunken state. Delilah applauded. Charlotte felt like she’d dropped priceless china or blown a stop sign or been struck by lightning.
“Max, I—” Charlotte shook her head, searching his face. She thought of Sophie. Of everything. If it weren’t for the accident, Sophie and Max would probably still be together. They might have a baby together. Charlotte and Max would barely be friends. If Max knew wh
at she did, would he still feel the same?
“I know. You can’t. I get it.” He slid out of the seat and stood up on the grass. Leaning forward, he placed a messy but affectionate kiss on her forehead, nearly missing when he swayed off balance. The action sent a jolt, like lightning, through her body. “G’night. Night, Delilah.” He saluted to her in the back seat.
Delilah turned her head and jerked the side of her face in his direction, tapping expectantly on her cheek with her pointer finger. Max kissed her cheek.
Charlotte watched him make his way unevenly toward the house.
“Can we go to May’s?” Delilah asked.
Charlotte looked at her. May’s was open until 2 a.m. on Saturdays. Egg rolls were scientifically proven to aid boy problems, friend problems, all problems.
“Yes, we can.”
twenty-three
september
eleven months earlier
A person running through a hospital only ever meant one thing.
Charlotte was crying by the time she reached the elevator. The man in scrubs behind the desk had directed her to the third floor. It was fine, it was fine, she would know by now if Sophie wasn’t okay. Charlotte closed her eyes and gripped the railing behind her as the elevator rose three levels painfully slowly. She would have taken the stairs but didn’t know where they were. The doors finally rolled open with a resounding ding. The lobby before her was the opposite of the deserted first floor. A cluster of police officers stood at the far side, chatting quietly with solemn expressions. At a bench against the wall, she saw Delilah and Leo. Team number five. Delilah was crying.
A few other kids Charlotte recognized from school and from the car rally were sitting together, clutching paper cups of steaming coffee. Amy Chamberlain leaned against a wall, looking flustered as she furiously typed messages into her phone. Charlotte wondered how many people knew what had happened by then. Then she realized she didn’t even know what had happened.
“Charlie.” Max appeared out of nowhere. Charlotte gasped. His right arm was wrapped in a sling, cuts and bruises decorated his face and peeked out from under his T-shirt.
The Last Time I Saw Her Page 18