She's the Worst

by Lauren Spieller

  “What if I’m wrong?” I ask. “What if she’s somewhere else?”

  “I don’t think she will be, but even if she is, it’ll be okay.”

  “No, it won’t. If I’m wrong and she’s somewhere else, I might as well bake her a big cake that says, SORRY I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOU ENOUGH TO FIGURE THIS OUT.”

  The light turns green. Nate changes lanes, and we speed forward. “You can’t think that way,” he says. “I’m sure Jenn isn’t.”

  “Trust me, that’s exactly how she’s thinking.” I cross my arms again. “I screwed up so many times today. I don’t want to do it again.”

  Nate comes to a stop at yet another red light and turns to me. “Even if this is the wrong place, and even if Jenn does give you a hard time about it, that doesn’t mean you’re a screwup, or a bad person, or any of the other terrible things you’re always saying about yourself. You need to believe that.”

  I take his hand and give it a squeeze, but I don’t say anything. Because even though my head tells me he’s probably right, my heart isn’t quite so sure.

  I check the dash again. 7:54.

  “We’re not going to make it,” I say.

  Nate tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “Yes, we are.”

  The light turns green, and Nate punches the gas. We surge into the intersection, and Nate cuts in front of oncoming traffic to turn left. A few cars honk, including a police cruiser, but we’re already flying down a side street. I turn around in my seat, but the police car is miraculously not real—it’s just somebody driving a repurposed black-and-white Chevy.

  We turn left onto our street, and Nate speeds down the block. We’re almost there—I can see my house—when Mrs. Iniguez steps into the crosswalk up ahead with her new puppy. Nate slams on the brakes. “Shit.”

  Mrs. Iniguez wags a finger at us and continues to cross slowly.

  “Hurry up,” I mutter under my breath. “For the love of dogs, please hurry up.”

  She continues to walk at a snail’s pace. “I think she’s doing this on purpose,” Nate says through gritted teeth. “I saw her jogging less than a week ago.”

  7:57.

  Mrs. Iniguez finally clears the crosswalk, and Nate punches the gas. Two seconds later, we park in front of my house and jump out of the car.

  “Go, go, go!” Nate cries. “I’m right behind you!”

  I sprint up the driveway, praying that the door is unlocked so I don’t have to fumble for my keys. But I don’t have to worry—my dad opens it before I get there.

  “There you are,” he says, and holds up my cell phone. “You left this at the store—”

  “Thanks!” I say, snatching the phone out of his hand.

  “Hey!” he says as I continue into the house, Nate right on my heels. “Where are you guys going?”

  “No time!” I call over my shoulder as we race up the stairs and into the bathroom. “Help me with this window,” I say to Nate. “It sticks.”

  Together, we push it open, and I throw my leg over the windowsill. Then I step out.

  The roof is just as I remember it. Dusty stucco stretches thirty feet in front of me, studded by an old TV antenna, a half-deflated soccer ball, a Frisbee, and two folding chairs. The only thing not up here is Jenn.

  “She’s not here,” I say as Nate steps onto the roof.

  “She’s not here yet.”

  We walk over to the pair of grubby folding chairs Jenn and I dragged up here years ago and sit. Los Angeles stretches out before us, a carpet of lights extending all the way to the mountains to the east and the ocean to the west. Jenn’s right. This is almost exactly the same view as from the stairs.

  I check my dad’s phone. 7:59. One minute to go.

  “What if she’s not coming?” I ask. “What if this is the wrong place?”

  Nate takes the phone from me and puts it aside. “She’ll be here. Have a little faith in her.”

  I take a deep breath and turn back to the view below us. I’ve been all over the city today, first trying to cheer up my sister, and then trying to convince her to stay. But again and again I’ve gotten it wrong. That’s what Nate doesn’t understand—it’s not that I don’t have faith in Jenn. It’s that I don’t have faith in me.

  “Please, Jenn,” I whisper. “Please.”

  CHAPTER 30

  APRIL

  It’s 8:05.

  “She’s not coming.”

  I close my eyes, shutting out the city lights. I’m suddenly exhausted, so I lean sideways and put my head on Nate’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I really thought she’d be here.”

  He waits for me to reply, but there’s nothing to say. I hug my knees to my chest.

  “Can I get you anything?” he asks. “Are you hungry?”

  I cringe at the pity in his voice—it just makes me feel worse. “Can I have some tea?” I ask, just to give him something to do. “Please?”

  “Sure.” He kisses the top of my head. “Be right back.”

  He stands and walks toward the window. I watch him step through, then I turn back around. I’ve only been on the roof for a few minutes, but it feels like I’ve been sitting here all day, waiting for my sister. I thought today was about trying to convince her to cheer up, and later, to stay. But as I sit here, staring out at the city with my chest aching, I realize what I’ve really wanted was for her to want to be here. Not because of Los Angeles. Not because of the store. Not even because of our parents. I wanted her to stay because I needed her, and I wanted that to matter. I wanted to be reason enough.

  CHAPTER 31

  JENN

  My lungs are going to explode.

  When this is over, I’ll start doing cardio. I’ll go to the gym three times a week. Hell, I’ll live at the gym if the universe gives me the strength to keep running just a little farther.

  I round the corner, and our house comes into view up ahead. Ignoring the ache in my side, I put on a burst of speed. April is there, I know it. And if I can just keep running a little longer, I’ll make it on time. For the first time today, I’ll be there for her instead of the other way around.

  I reach the house and fly up the driveway and through the front door.

  . . . and nearly collide with my dad.

  “Whoa there,” he says. “Where’s the fire?”

  “Can’t talk,” I gasp, clutching the banister. “Have to find April.”

  Nate is at the top of the stairs, disappointment written across his face. “You’re late.”

  “I can’t be,” I say as I continue up the stairs. “It’s only—”

  “It’s 8:07,” he says, glancing at the grandfather clock outside April’s bedroom. “You were supposed to meet at eight.”

  My stomach sinks, taking every ounce of energy I have left with it. “Is she out there?” I ask.

  He steps to the side in answer, and I continue climbing, taking the remaining stairs two at a time like April always does, before hurrying down the hall and into the bathroom. Luckily, the window is still open, so I don’t have to ask Nate for help. I simply step through and find myself in the one place I should have known to come from the start.

  April is seated on the other side of the roof in one of our old folding chairs, facing the city. But instead of looking out, she’s hunched over, her face in her hands. The sight of her there sends a fresh wave of guilt through me.

  “April?” I say quietly, so as not to startle her. “Are you okay?”

  She spins around in her chair, her face lit up with surprise. “You came!”

  “Of course,” I say as I cross the roof. “I’m sorry I’m late, though. To be honest, I had a little bit of trouble figuring out where you were going to be.”

  Her expression turns stony. “Harder to come up with something meaningful than you thought, huh?”

  I stop short. “Yes,” I say. “It was.”

  She nods, apparently satisfied, and turns back to the city. I hesitate, one hand on the back of th
e second folding chair, unsure how to proceed. Should I apologize again? Should I explain what happened? Or should I just leave her alone until she’s ready to talk?

  “I thought you weren’t coming,” she says. “I thought you were still angry at me for manipulating you, so you decided to teach me a lesson or something.”

  “I’d never do that,” I say, but even as the words come out of my mouth I know they aren’t true. That sounds exactly like something I’d do.

  April glances at me. “Where did you look?”

  I’m tempted to pretend I checked out a bunch of places that were totally special and just happened to be wrong. But April will be able to tell I’m lying, and that’ll make everything worse. So instead, I tell her the truth. “I went to the soccer field because you like soccer, and to Van Leeuwen because you like ice cream, and to the mall because you like . . . actually, I don’t know why I went there. Because you like shopping, I guess.”

  April shakes her head. “Tonight wasn’t supposed to be about what I like. It was supposed to be about us.”

  “I know,” I say. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

  “It’s fine,” she says. “I probably don’t have a right to complain after all the shitty stuff I did to you today anyway. I was a total bitch.”

  I turn the second folding chair so it’s facing her and sit down. “April, listen to me. Forgetting that you puked at six years old or that nobody came to my seventh-grade birthday party doesn’t make you a bitch, nor does trying to get me to climb some stairs. And as for what you said about my friends . . .” I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It really hurt me, but I understand why you said it.”

  I know she’s waiting for me to continue, but suddenly I’m nervous. Despite everything that’s gone wrong today, April and I have both ended up on this roof together. We could call a truce and let it go at that. But sitting up here with her, where we’ve spent so much time together, I’m realizing I don’t want a truce. I want us to be close again, like we used to be.

  “I have been so angry,” I say at last, the words escaping like air from a balloon. “For the last three years I’ve worked at the store almost every single day, and Mom and Dad are barely ever there even though it’s their store. And then when they do come in, they spend the entire time arguing, which is even worse because it means I have to run the business and make sure they don’t kill each other. It’s like all I am to them is an employee and a therapist. There’s no room for me.”

  “That’s awful,” April says.

  “It is,” I agree. “But no matter how badly I wanted to get out of here, I should have thought about the effect my leaving would have on you, and how much worse I was making it by lying. I’m really, really sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

  “It’s okay,” she says. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize how much pressure you’ve been under. I mean, I knew they fought a lot, but I had no idea things were this bad.”

  “But how could you not know?” I ask as gently as I can. “You see them fight at home. You must have realized it would be the same at the store.”

  April looks down at her hands. “Maybe I didn’t want to know. It’s not like I could do anything about it.”

  “You could have helped me talk to them—”

  “I did! Back when you and Tom first started dating, I was the one who had to deal with them because you were never home.”

  I try to think back, to visualize all the times I helped Mom and Dad at the store, or stepped in when they were fighting. But all I remember is how it felt to be falling for Tom.

  “At first I thought maybe I was just talking to them the wrong way,” April continues, “like maybe I needed to try a different approach or something. But I think the real problem was—is—they don’t care what I think.”

  I want to tell her that’s not true . . . but I don’t. I’m done assuming I know what April’s gone through. If today has taught me anything, it’s that neither of us knows each other as well as we thought we did.

  “So I stopped trying,” April says. “The honeymoon phase wore off between you and Tom, so you were around more. Plus, you were better at it anyway.” She scowls. “You’re better at everything. You’re basically perfect.”

  “I’m not,” I say. “Just look at how badly I’ve screwed everything up this time! I lied, not just about Stanford, but about why I wanted to get the hell out of here in the first place. What you said in the car was exactly right—I should have just talked to them. Who knows, if I had been honest with them from the beginning, maybe this whole situation would be different.” I shake my head. “If I had even once told them the truth about all the fighting, maybe their marriage wouldn’t be such a mess.”

  “Don’t put that on yourself,” April says, leaning forward in her chair. “You did the best you could to help them. They’re adults, and you shouldn’t have to take care of them. It should be the other way around.”

  There’s a noise from inside the house, and we both turn to look. Nate is halfway through the window. “Sorry,” he says, standing up. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. But I brought you both some red wine I stole from my house. I know you asked for tea, April, but I thought wine might be, uh, more helpful given the circumstances.”

  He reaches back inside for three mugs, then carries them across the roof to where we’re sitting. “I figured it’d be easier to sneak it past your dad if it looked like hot chocolate or something,” he says.

  “Smooth,” I say, accepting a mug. I turn back to April and realize she’s grinning at him, so bright and huge that it’s like a light has been turned on. I look back to Nate, and he’s looking at her the same way.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  April puts her mug down on the ground. “You know how you said Eric likes to go out with a lot of people at once?”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “Well, you were right,” she says. “Nate and I went for ice cream at Van Leeuwen—you weren’t totally wrong about where to look for me, by the way—and we saw him there with another girl.”

  “Oh, April,” I say. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks,” April says. “But it’s okay, because it turns out he’s not the person I want to be with anyway.”

  She looks to Nate, who holds up his mug. “Surprise?”

  “No way!” I say, looking back and forth between them. “Oh my gosh, that’s amazing! You guys are adorable together.”

  “Thanks,” April says, flushing. “It’s not official or anything, though—”

  “Wait, it’s not?” Nate asks.

  April goes still. “I mean . . . it can be? If you want?”

  “I totally want,” Nate says. “For sure.”

  April grins again, and I shake my head. “You guys are such nerds.”

  “Speaking of nerds,” April says, picking up her wine again, “where’s Thomas?”

  The sound of his name hits me like a punch, but I breathe through it. I’m going to have to get used to this, so I might as well start now. “We broke up.”

  April’s face falls. “No way! Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know, to be honest. It’s still really new. I need to sit with it for a while.”

  April nods but doesn’t push further. Instead, Nate grabs a bucket to sit on, and the three of us stare out at the city, drinking wine and breathing in the night air. I feel a rush of relief, as if I’ve been walking around with a broken bone that’s finally been reset. But even though I’m happy to have been honest with April, clearing the air has left room for me to worry about the other thing that’s been in the back of my mind ever since I left the house a few hours ago—college.

  “I told them about Stanford,” I say. “And about how I needed them to help me pay for housing and other stuff.”

  April looks at me sharply. “And?”

  “They said no.”

  “That’s it? Just ‘no’?”

  “They told me the same thing as last time: They need me to be here to help
with the store.”

  “But you hate it!” April protests. “You hate working there, and you hate working for them. Did you tell them that?”

  “I can’t, April. Can you imagine how it’d make them feel? Hey, your fighting makes me miserable and the only thing that will help is if I leave Los Angeles entirely. And besides, they said the only way they can handle the store without me is if you work there every day after school. And I know I was a jerk about it earlier, but I get it now—you can’t do it, and you shouldn’t have to.”

  “But that’s still not fair.”

  “No,” I agree, “it isn’t.”

  For a moment it seems like that’s going to be the end of it, but then April jumps to her feet. “Come on. We’re going downstairs.”

  “Why?” Nate and I both ask.

  “Because you’re going to tell them the truth,” she tells me.

  She holds out her hand to help me up, but I don’t take it. “There’s no point,” I argue. “It’s not going to change the way they feel. They already made that perfectly clear.”

  “Maybe not,” she says, “but it might change how you feel.”

  I chew on my bottom lip, considering. If I tell them the truth, it’s going to hurt their feelings, and it’ll probably make living here even worse. But if I don’t, there’s no chance of anything ever changing. And more than working in the store, more than staying in LA, that’s what I’m afraid of—that it’s going to be like this forever.

  “Okay,” I say, taking her hand. “Let’s go.”

  She pulls me to my feet, and we head inside. Together.

  CHAPTER 32

  JENN

  We find our parents in the kitchen, making a late dinner like they always do when April and I aren’t home to eat with them. For some reason, cooking is the one thing they can do together without fighting. I think it has to do with all the fire and sharp objects—they must subconsciously realize it’s best not to argue near weapons.

  “Where have you three been?” Mom asks, noticing us in the doorway.