She's the Worst

by Lauren Spieller

  I run my finger along the dashboard, tracing patterns in the dust. Beside me, Nate waits patiently, the edge of his arm brushing mine as he reaches to turn on the AC. I’m suddenly aware of how close we’re sitting, how easy it would be to reach for his hand again—

  You’re supposed to be thinking about your sister, I scold myself, not about Nate. I sit up straight in my seat, close my eyes, and force myself to focus. Where would she go? What’s the one place that has always been meaningful to both of us? I picture all the things we used to do together before she started high school. All the fun we used to have, especially during those long, hot summer days while Mom and Dad were at work—

  “I’ve got it,” I say, and open my eyes. “Turn right.”

  CHAPTER 26

  JENN

  I should get up. I’ve been sitting on the top step, hoping to overhear my parents discussing my fate downstairs in the living room, for the last twenty minutes. But they’re not discussing it. They’re not discussing anything. Instead, they’re sitting together watching TV, which might seem normal, but is completely bizarre for them because usually they can’t agree on what to watch and the whole thing devolves into an argument within a few minutes. But not tonight. Tonight, they’re happily watching Modern Family reruns. Maybe I should be happy that for once my parents aren’t fighting, but it’s difficult considering the only reason for the cease-fire is that for once in their lives they’re in complete agreement on something—that I am absolutely not leaving for Stanford tomorrow morning.

  When it all gets to be too much—and my butt begins to hurt from sitting, unmoving, on the hardwood stairs—I slowly make my way down the hall to my room. On the way, I notice April’s door is open and the lights are on. I peek inside to see if she’s home, but the room is empty. I’d normally turn off the light and close the door, but instead I step inside.

  I’ve never been in here alone before. I tread carefully as I walk around her room, my fingertips brushing against her paper-strewn desk, her collection of soccer trophies, her unmade bed. I find myself lingering there, next to the nest of sheets and blankets, and before I can change my mind, I kick off my shoes and lie down on her cold sheets. I’m immediately enveloped by the smell of detergent, plus a hint of the apricot antifrizz serum April uses on her curls. The smell is so distinctly my little sister that I’m caught by surprise, and before I even know it’s happening, I’m crying.

  I don’t know what I’m doing—not just here, in April’s room, but with my entire life. I’m used to having everything under control. I’m responsible, I have a contingency plan for every scenario, my friends come to me with their problems . . . or, they used to, before I started spending all my time with Tom. But now everything is a mess. I am a mess.

  I hear a noise in the hall and immediately tense. April might not care that I’m in her room, but she’s going to be confused when she finds me crying in her bed. But she doesn’t come in—no one does. I sit up and wipe my eyes. Where is she, anyway? I figured she’d come back from the store with Mom and Dad, but she’s not here. I try to remember if she mentioned doing anything tonight, but the only plan we talked about was my ill-fated dinner.

  Except . . . I do remember her saying something about meeting at eight o’clock.

  Oh, shit.

  The conversation comes back to me, and I bury my face in a pillow. April’s idea is totally ridiculous, and chances are she already forgot all about it. But if she was serious, I’ll look like a total asshole if I don’t show up.

  I get out of bed and head toward my room. The first thing I need to do is find out where she’s actually going to be. I grab my cell phone and I’m on the verge of dialing when I realize I have a missed call from Tom. My finger hovers over his name, as if magnetized. I want to call him back. I want to do it so badly that it feels like a physical need. But I know Tom, and once his mind is made up, that’s it. It’s over. So what is there left to say?

  I steel myself, then delete the record of his call and dial April instead. I drum my fingers on my desk as I wait for her to answer, but after ringing a few times, the call goes to voicemail. April never listens to them, so I hang up and try her number again. The phone rings and rings. “Pick up,” I mutter. “For once in your life, pick up your phone.”

  The call goes to voicemail again. Of course.

  The brass alarm clock by my bed reads 6:50, but it’s twenty minutes slow, which means I have just under an hour until we’re supposed to meet. If we’re supposed to meet.

  I hurry downstairs, not bothering to say goodbye to my parents as I pass by the living room on my way out the front door. I’m fiddling with my keys, looking for the one to my bike so I can go pick up the car, when I come to an abrupt halt.

  Shruthi and Katie are sitting on my driveway in the dark, the only light coming from the streetlight half a block away and their cell phones.

  “What are you guys doing here?” I ask. “Shruthi, I thought you were going home.”

  “I did,” she says, “but when I told Katie about the conversation you were having with your parents, she thought we’d better come over in case you needed us.”

  I grip my keys. I know I told Shruthi about lying to my parents, but I wasn’t prepared for her to tell anyone else. And even though it’s just Katie, it still feels weird talking about this stuff with anyone but Tom. “That was really nice of you,” I say. “Thank you.”

  “Of course,” Shruthi says as she gets to her feet.

  Katie gestures at my house. “So, how did it go?” she asks. “Did you tell them?”

  “Yeah,” I say, even though technically it was April who broke the news, not me. “They don’t want me to go, and they won’t help me pay for all the expenses financial aid doesn’t cover.”

  “That sucks, dude,” Katie says.

  “Maybe you can transfer to UCLA next semester?” Shruthi asks.

  “Maybe,” I say, looking back at the house. The idea of living here for another six months makes me feel sick to my stomach, especially after the fights I had today with my parents and with April. “I don’t want to think about it right now,” I say, turning back to my friends. “It’s been kind of a long day.”

  “So what do you want to do?” Katie asks.

  “This is going to sound weird,” I say, gesturing for them to follow me to the car, “but I made this deal with my sister . . .”

  CHAPTER 27

  APRIL

  It smells like feet,” Nate says the moment we walk into the Marina del Rey Ice Rink. “Why would Jenn come here?”

  “Because we loved it as kids.” I spin across the floor, narrowly missing a woman and her husband as they step off the ice. “We did kiddie skating when I was in first grade and she was in third, and we spent almost every day here the summer before she started high school. We couldn’t always pay for skates, so we’d just hang out in the stands and people-watch.”

  I lean over the edge of the rink. Kids of all ages zoom by, while the adults wobble around the rink slowly, clutching each other’s hands as they move in fits and starts. I’m underdressed for this freezing skating rink, but I don’t care. All I want to do is get out on the ice.

  Nate stands next to me, but instead of watching the skaters, he’s looking at me. “Why’d you stop coming?”

  “Jenn stopped wanting to, then the school year began and she met Thomas. Once they started dating, it was pretty much the end of us hanging out.”

  A girl our age skates past, her hands tucked into the pockets in her dress like she’s simply strolling down the street. As I watch, she turns and begins to skate backward, a small smile on her face as she navigates the rink. They look nothing alike, but there’s something about the way she’s smiling, perfectly happy to be here on her own, that would have once reminded me of my sister. But now that I know what it’s like for Jenn, working at the store all the time while our parents bring down the house with their arguing, I wonder if she actually likes doing stuff on her own after all . . . or
if she does it because she thinks she has to.

  “Bo and I used to hang out a lot more when we were younger,” Nate says. “He was seven years older than me, so of course I thought he was super cool.”

  I turn way from the ice, glad for the distraction. “What did you guys do together?”

  “All kinds of stuff. He taught me how to play basketball and video games, and he always defended me when Dad threatened to send me to a Korean after-school program if I didn’t stop goofing off in class.”

  “You, goofing off in class?” I say, clutching my chest. “I cannot imagine that.”

  Nate smiles. “He got busy when he started high school and started caring about different stuff. Like his grades and his friends. And, to my horror, girls.” He laughs. “He still made time for me, though.”

  “And now?”

  He looks down at his feet. “I don’t really know him.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I know what you mean. I barely know Jenn at all. I mean, I thought I did, but after today . . .”

  “You do know her, though. You know the stuff that counts.”

  “I missed a lot, Nate. Like, a lot.”

  “Maybe,” he says. “But you also notice a lot too. You thought something was wrong when you saw her in the kitchen yesterday, and you were right.” He gestures at the rink. “And you knew she’d come here too.”

  “No, I think she’ll come here.” The things she said to me in the car, about how I only care about myself, come back to me, and my confidence disappears. “I’m probably wrong.”

  “Well,” Nate says, checking the clock on the wall, “we won’t know for forty-five more minutes. What should we do while we wait?”

  Another little girl in a pink skating outfit passes by and waves at me. I wave back at her. “We should skate.”

  I pull Nate toward the rental booth. We pay, then lace up our skates on a narrow bench a few feet away.

  “I don’t remember how to do this,” Nate says when his skates are securely on his feet. He wobbles a few steps and grabs my shoulder to steady himself. “Actually, I don’t think I ever knew how to do this.”

  I stand slowly, careful not to push him off balance. “You know how to Rollerblade, right? It’s just like that.”

  We make our way to the ice, but Nate hesitates at the entrance. “I might fall.”

  “Come on, you’re not going to fall. And even if you do, it won’t be that bad.”

  “Maybe.” A smile breaks through the solemn expression on his face. “But I think you should hold my hand. You know, just in case.”

  “Oh!” I say. “Um, sure. If you want to?”

  “I do.” He holds out his hand, and for the second time tonight, his warm fingers close over mine.

  “Now I’m ready,” he says. “Let’s go.”

  We step onto the ice. I’m a little unsteady at first, but then my legs remember how to glide around the rink. Nate takes to it immediately, and soon we’re flying past the other skaters, hand in hand. It’s exhilarating, and for a few minutes I’m able to forget about everything—about Jenn leaving, our parents fighting, even Eric. All that matters is Nate’s hand in mine and the wind in my hair as we whip around the rink, laughing as we dodge and weave our way around the other skaters.

  By the time we’ve gone around the rink three times, my face is sore from smiling. I keep expecting Nate to let go of my hand, especially when we come upon a group of kids skating slowly in the middle of the ice. But instead he speeds up, then turns and skates backward so we’re facing each other. Suddenly, our hands aren’t the only thing linking us—we’re also staring into each other’s eyes.

  “I’m really sorry about what happened earlier with Eric,” he says. “That really sucked.”

  I nod, but with Nate looking at me the way he is, Eric is the last thing on my mind. “It’s okay. I’d rather be with you anyway.”

  He looks surprised, and I realize my mistake. “Oh my gosh, that’s not what I meant. What I was trying to say is, I’d rather be here. Not with you.”

  “So you don’t want to be with me?” he asks.

  “No, I do, it’s just . . . I didn’t . . .” I search for the right thing to say, but the words don’t come. Because it turns out, I meant exactly what I said.

  I only want to be with Nate.

  “April?” he asks, his voice low and soft despite the noise around us.

  I swallow and lift my chin. If I’m going to embarrass myself, I might as well get it over with. “I want to be here,” I say. “With you. No one else.”

  Nate slows down so we’re only a few inches apart. We’re still skating, but so slowly that it’s more like dancing. “You don’t want to be with Eric?”

  I shake my head. “Not anymore. And not just because he’s seeing other people.”

  “Then why?” Nate asks.

  We continue to skate, hand in hand, as I think through what I’m trying to say. “When we first started hanging out, it made me feel special that someone as popular as Eric was into me. But I felt nervous around him too.” I remember the ride he gave me and Jenn earlier today, how abruptly his mood changed the moment I took Jenn’s side. “It sometimes felt like he might stop liking me if I said the wrong thing. I didn’t realize it until today, but I’ve spent a lot of time trying to please him because I was worried that if I didn’t, he might lose interest.”

  “That’s not right,” Nate says. “You should never have to worry about that.”

  “I know,” I say. “And when I’m with you, I don’t have to worry about anything, because I know you’ll like me no matter what.”

  “I will,” Nate says, pulling me close. “I always have.”

  I stare up into his face, the whole world shrinking down to the space between us. “So what does that mean?” I ask.

  “It means I want to be with you too, April.”

  My heart races in my chest, faster than it ever has before. What if things don’t work out between us? If it gets complicated, I could lose his friendship forever. Is being with Nate worth the risk?

  He smiles, and the dimple in his left cheek appears. I’ve seen it a million and one times, but standing here, in his arms, it feels like the first.

  Yes, Nate’s worth it. He absolutely is.

  I pull him into the middle of the rink, where people aren’t skating so much as standing, and I put my arms around his neck. Strangers continue to circle around us, but as I look into Nate’s dark brown eyes, everything else disappears. “Say it again.”

  “I want to be with you,” he says.

  My breath catches in my chest. “Again, please.”

  He laughs. “April, I want to be with you. I want to be with—”

  I push forward onto the front tips of my skates and press my lips to his. He freezes for a second, as surprised as I am by what I just did. Then his lips part and he pulls me closer. The kiss deepens as his hands start to creep down my back, and my heart races all over again.

  “Not the place for that,” a man says as he skates past us.

  I pull away, and Nate immediately starts laughing. “Sorry, sir!” he calls to the man’s back as he skates away. But as soon as he’s gone, Nate pulls me toward him again and leans his forehead against mine. “I don’t want to rush this,” he says. “I know you and Eric—”

  “Forget Eric,” I say. “Kiss me again.”

  He cups my face and leans down, but before he has a chance to do anything more, the overhead lights flash and a voice comes on over the loudspeaker.

  “Attention, skaters! The rink is closing for a private party. Please exit the ice, and have a great evening!”

  “No!” I exclaim, pulling away. “We haven’t found Jenn yet!”

  I skate to the edge of the rink and hop onto the side so I can search the exiting crowd for my sister.

  “I don’t see her, do you?” I ask Nate when he joins me.

  “Not yet,” he says, just as a group of ten-year-olds explodes onto the ice. One of them careens to
ward us, just narrowly missing Nate. “But I think we better get out of the way.”

  I follow him off the ice. Once we’re clear, Nate checks his watch. “It’s only seven forty-five. She might not be here yet.”

  He’s right—she could still be on her way. But she could also be somewhere else entirely. Why the hell did I suggest this stupid idea?

  “Do you want to wait outside for her?” Nate asks as we head toward the benches to take off our skates. “Or maybe you should just call her?”

  I slump onto the bench. “Yeah, I guess. Can I use your phone?”

  Nate hands me his cell. “Go for it.”

  I tap the screen, but it doesn’t light up. I try turning it on, but still nothing happens. “I cannot believe this.”

  “What?”

  “It’s dead.”

  “Seriously?” Nate takes his phone back, fiddles with it for a second, then groans. “I must have forgotten to charge it last night.”

  “Great,” I say as I yank off my right skate and drop it on the floor. “That’s just great.”

  “Don’t get upset,” he says. “We can still fix this.”

  “There is no ‘we,’ ” I snap. “If I don’t find Jenn, she’s going to be mad at me, not you.”

  Nate jerks back like I’ve slapped him. “I’m just trying to help.”

  “I know,” I say. “I’m sorry. I’m just so frustrated. This whole day has been one mess after another, and even though this meet-at-eight-o’clock thing is stupid, it feels like the only way to make things right with her.” I yank off my second skate and slide my feet back into my shoes. “She’s probably not going to even bother showing up. If I were her, I probably wouldn’t.”

  The door to the skate rental booth swings open, and a tall man in khaki shorts appears, his long, hairy legs unfolding like an erector set as he steps through the door. He looks down his nose at the swarms of people taking off skates and finishing snacks, then cups his hands around his mouth. “The rink is closed,” he barks, his voice so loud the little girl on the bench next to me jumps. “Grab your stuff and get out.”