by McKayla Box
I feel like I'm going to throw up.
“And it's totally going to be worth it,” she says. “Because of the expression on your face. Right here, now. As you realize your perfect little life is going up in flames. And no one is rushing to put them out.”
I look down at the floor.
“Look at me,” she says. “Look at me, you little bitch.”
I hesitate, then look at her.
She steps in closer to me. “I told you not to mess with me. And I told you I'd figure out who you really were. You were so stupid not to believe me. And now it's all gone. Everything. Your reputation. Your bitch-ass friends. And your knight in shining armor.” She pauses. “And you can bet that when the time is right, I'm going to make sure I'm there for Archer. And I'm going to make sure he forgets all about you.”
Archer.
I turn around, but he's not there.
He's gone.
The DJ is still playing music, but it seems disconnected from everything else that's happening.
I need to find him.
I turn in a slow circle, looking for him.
And then, finally, I see him heading for the door. His back is to me and he's leaving.
“Don't even bother,” Reese says. “He's gone. He's so done with you. You blew it, bitch.”
I hesitate, then walk away from her, avoiding all of the looks being thrown my way.
There is one thing screaming in my mind, one thing on repeat, over and over.
I need to talk to Archer.
Chapter 37
“Archer!” I yell. “Wait!”
But he's not waiting. He's crossing the street toward the parking lot, his hands jammed into his pockets.
I kick off my heels and run across the street to catch him. “Archer! Will you stop, please?”
But he doesn't stop. He keeps walking.
I finally catch him when he gets to his truck. I cut in front of him and get between him and the driver's door.
“Move,” he says.
“Not until we talk,” I tell him.
“I don't have anything to say,” he says.
“Well, I do,” I tell him. “I have a lot to say.” I wipe at my eyes. “I have a ton to say.”
“I'm not interested.”
“I don't care,” I say. “I need to get it out. I'm gonna talk. Then you can leave.”
“Get out of my way, Nola,” he says.
“My mom has been an alcoholic my entire life,” I say, ignoring him. “I don't remember when she didn't drink. I would be having breakfast and she'd be having a screwdriver with her toast. She drinks all day long. And it was for as long as I can remember. You know how there's just some normal things in your house that you take for granted? Maybe the TV being on or something always being in the fridge? For me, it was empty vodka bottles on the counter. I don't remember any apartment I lived in not having an empty vodka bottle on the counter because she couldn't even bother to throw them away when she moved onto the next one.”
He looks away. I have no idea if he's listening or not, but I need to get it out.
“She's been a fuck-up my whole life,” I tell him. “I basically raised myself. I cooked my own meals. I didn't get help with homework. Shit, half the time I'd have to walk the rent money down to the office because she was passed out in bed and I knew it was due. I did everything. And all she did was drink.”
I take a deep breath and gather myself. My hands are shaking and I grab my right with my left to make them stop.
“My grandparents tried to get involved a long time ago, but she refused,” I say. “She wouldn't take their help, and she wouldn't let them get involved with me. She kept me from them. I have no idea why. It was like I was her property or something.” I take another deep breath, trying to steady myself. “And guys were in and out of our apartments all of the time. She never lasted more than a month or two with any of them and then they'd just disappear. Always.” I pause. “And I would just sit in my room and pray that I'd make it to eighteen so I could get the hell out. That was the only thing I wanted.”
He still won't look at me, but I'm on a roll now and I'm getting it all out.
For the first time in my life.
“And then she announces she's going to get sober,” I say. “About a year ago. She's going to go cold turkey and just stop. And I don't even listen to her because everything that comes out of her mouth is bullshit. But she stops. At least as far as I can tell. And for the first time, she gets a job. Like, an actual job, not the bullshit jobs she had at gas stations and liquor stores and temp agencies that never seemed to last more than a month.” I pause. “She got a job at my high school.”
He shuffles his feet, but still won't look at me.
“She was like the secretary in the counseling office,” I explain. “She answered phones, greeted people, that kind of crap. And, at first, it was weird having her there and I purposely avoided going to see her. I just figured she'd get fired or quit like she did every other job. That was how she worked.” I pause. “But she kept showing up. She was sticking around. So I sort of gave in. I'd go by the office once in a while to say hi. I told my friends it wasn't terrible to have her there. Whatever. It started feeling normal.” I stop for a second to try and catch my breath because it feels like the words are just sort of spilling out of me. “And then Todd showed up at the apartment one day after school.”
Archer finally looks at me.
“The kid she killed,” I say. “The kid she was sleeping with.”
He looks away again.
“I didn't know him,” I say. “My high school there was pretty big, so I didn't know him even though he was in my grade. So I answer the door this one day and he's standing there and it's really awkward. And he tells me he came by to drop off an envelope for my mom. For school. Something about a recommendation letter for some scholarship or something, and how he was supposed to drop it in the counseling office and forgot, so she told him to bring it by. It all sounded like bullshit, but I wasn't seeing it yet.” I shake my head. “So I say sure, whatever and he comes in and my mom's all happy to see him and acts like it's no big deal and she takes the letter from him and then walks him out to his car. Weird, but whatever. My mom had done way weirder shit up until then.” I pause. “And then he just kept popping up. I'd stop by the counseling office and he'd be there. I'd go out to get a ride from her after school and he'd be there. I saw his name pop up on her phone one time. And the whole time, she's just telling me that it's nothing, that he's a nice kid and that she's just trying to help him and he's a little needy or whatever bullshit line she gave me.” I pause again. “And then a friend of mine saw them. At a motel.”
He shuffles his feet again and his hands are still jammed into his pockets.
“She texts me and says 'hey is your mom with that Todd kid?'” I tell him. “And I'm like what are you talking about and she says well I just drove by this motel to pick up Chinese food and I swear I saw them in the parking lot.” I take another deep breath, exhale. “And I tell her no, no way. She's wrong. Probably confused.” I paused. “And two minutes later, she texts me a picture. And it's absolutely her and him standing next to her car in the parking lot of a motel.”
I lean back against his truck. My entire body aches. I just want to shut up and walk away.
But I can't.
“So I wait until she gets home and then I just ask her,” I say. “I literally said 'Are you fucking Todd Grisham?' And do you know what she says?” I laugh. “She says 'Nola, you know I hate it when you swear.' No denial, no bewilderment, nothing like that. She just doesn't want me to say fuck. And I immediately know it's true.” I shake my head, remembering every second of that night. “I lost my mind. I just started screaming at her. I don't even remember what I said, just that I couldn't believe it and didn't she know that was a crime and what was she thinking? And she told me I was overreacting, that it was nothing, that she was just trying to help this kid who was struggling a little bit. And as s
he's telling me this, she walks over to the cabinet, reaches behind all of the baking stuff, pulls out a bottle of vodka, pours herself a glass. Just like that, like it's no big deal. Her hand was shaking but as soon as she slammed that drink, her hand steadied. So not only was she fucking this kid, she was drinking again. And I'd been oblivious to all of it.” I try to laugh, but tears come out of my eyes and it sounds more like I'm choking. “Just totally oblivious.”
Archer clears his throat and I think he's finally going to say something.
But he doesn't. He's still silent.
“So I tell her it has to stop and that if it doesn't, I'm going to tell the school,” I say. “And the school will tell the police and then she's going to go to jail. She'll be just like those people we see on the internet and go what the fuck were they doing? She literally is one of those people.” I take a deep breath, try to get my heart to stop racing. “And she says okay, fine. She'll break it off with him, as long as I don't tell anyone. It's as close as she ever comes to an admission to me that she's sleeping with him. But she tells me she'll end it the next day.” I wipe at my eyes. “And that's the night she drives them into the fucking telephone pole.”
My temples are throbbing and my throat is dry, but I can't stop now.
“The police show up at the apartment,” I explain. “They ask if my father's home and I get to tell them I don't have a father. They ask how old I am and I tell them. Then there's all of this talking around me and I just know something's wrong. I ask them where my mother is and someone finally tells me she's in jail. They ask me if I have any family and the only person I can think of is my grandmother, so they end up calling her. She's on a plane maybe three hours later from California to Florida. They take me into the police station and start asking me a million questions about my mom and then about Todd. And I'm just thinking someone else must have told them about them, you know? I don't realize that anything's happened. And then I'm just sitting there because they've called me an advocate from Child Protective Services because I'm a minor and I see these people walk in. A man and a woman. I remember she was wearing a Florida State T-shirt. I have no idea why I remember that. But she is crying and the man is pale like a ghost, and then some officer tells them to follow him and he says their names. Mr. and Mrs. Grisham. And, at first, I just assume they're finding out about what was going on with their son and my mom. And then I hear this weird crying in another room. And I realize it's not his mom. It's his dad. And I know it's way worse than I thought.”
I fold my arms across my chest as the breeze picks up. I shiver as it blows across us.
“She'd gotten hammered before agreeing to meet him,” I say. “At a liquor store. A shock, I know. He met her there and she told him she needed to talk to him, so they went for a drive. And she had no business driving a car, but I'm sure she'd done it a million times before, so she thought one more time wouldn't be any different. Except she missed a corner, jumped a curb, and smashed the car into the telephone pole. Todd died right away, apparently. My mom was totally busted up and doesn't even remember the accident. They arrested her for being intoxicated and then in her drunken stupor, she started telling them about her relationship with Todd.” I spread my arms wide. “And now you know everything you need to know about my mom. She's a real fucking gem.”
Archer clears his throat but other than that, there is just deafening silence.
“Except that's not the end of our story,” I say. “Because now I'm all alone. My grandmother gets there and I'm turned over to her. It's incredibly awkward because we barely know one another and now she's my guardian and we have to figure out what to do. She, of course, wants to bring me here, but I don't want to go. I have friends in Florida. I think I have a life there. But guess fucking what?” I say, the tears streaming out of my eyes now. “My friends all disappeared. I was toxic as fuck to them. No one wanted anything to do with me. And then other people started saying shit about me online. And I realized the last place I wanted to be was there. So we packed up my shit and that was it. My mother pled guilty because apparently being sober forced her to think clearly for the first time in her waste of a life and they gave her fifteen years. She'll probably do half of that, but whatever.” I clap my hands together. “And that is really the end of our story. I moved with my grandmother here and you know the rest.”
I tuck my chin to my chest for a minute and cry. I just let it all out. I don't care what he thinks. I just need to get it out. When I'm done, I wipe hard at my eyes and I see mascara streaked across my hands. I can't imagine what my face looks like, but I don't care.
“So I am sorry I didn't tell you,” I finally say. “You made it very clear how much the truth matters to you and I am so, so sorry I lied. I lied because I was worried that you and everyone else would turn on me like people did in Florida. I'd just be her daughter again. And I was scared of losing you. I've wanted to tell you. I've tried to tell you. I swear I have. But I was too afraid. And I'm so fucking sorry you found out like this. I'm so sorry.”
He doesn't say anything. His hands are still jammed into his pockets and he stubs the toe of his shoe against the ground. We stand like that for what feels like forever.
Then he finally looks at me.
I look at him.
“That it?” he asks. “You say everything you wanted to say?”
I nod.
“Okay then,” he says. “Can you move so I can leave?”
I stare at him, then shake my head in disbelief. I move away from the door of the truck and step to the side. He opens the door.
“So that's it?” I say, the words catching in my throat. “That's it? You're just going to walk away?”
He steps up into the truck, but doesn't close the door. “You're the one who said it.”
I frown at him. “Said what?”
He looks down at me. “You're the one who told me it's easy to walk away.”
He pulls the door shut and the truck rumbles to life. It lurches forward and then he makes a U-turn. He exits the lot and makes a hard left without stopping, disappearing down the street.
And he never looks back.
Chapter 38
I walk home.
I don't go back in the gym.
I don't put my shoes back on.
I just walk home.
I don't know what time it is when I get there, but the lights inside are already out, so my grandparents have gone to bed. I go into my room, strip out of my dress, turn the shower on, and step in.
And then I stay in there for a long time and just cry. The hot water stings my neck and I just cry. The makeup streams off of my face in long, narrow, black lines, running from my face to my chest and down my stomach, and I just cry. I sit down on the tile and stay there until the water turns lukewarm.
I stand up and turn the water off. I grab the towel from the door, wrap it around myself, walk to the counter. The tears still come.
For a long time.
When I finally stop, when I'm just shaking and the tears have finally dried up, I grab one of the hand towels off the rack on the wall and bury my face in it. My eyes sting, my throat burns, and my chest hurts. I pull the towel away from my face and look in the mirror.
All of my makeup is gone. My eyes are red and swollen. My cheeks are bright pink, like I've gone for a run. My wet hair is a rat's nest. I look like a completely different person than before I left for the dance.
And maybe that's appropriate because I think I am different now.
No friends.
No boyfriend.
I'm back to where I started.
I walk into my bedroom, pull on my sweats and a T-shirt, drop the towel on the carpeting next to my dress, and get into my bed. The lights are off, and it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the darkness so that I can see the ceiling above me.
I have no excuses. The way Reese and Ricky did this to me is unforgivable, but ultimately, it's my fault. I made the choice to lie to my friends, so the responsibility is mine. M
ercy's disbelief, Archer's anger…it's all understandable.
And I can't take it back.
There's a soft knock on my door and it startles me.
“Nola?” my grandmother calls out. “Are you in there?”
“Yeah, Grandma,” I say, my voice hoarse and raspy. “I'm in here.”
She pushes the door open slightly. “I thought I heard the shower. You're home early.”
“Yeah.”
“How was the dance?”
My initial inclination is to tell her it's fine, to push it all to the side so I don't have to explain it all. But that instinct has gotten me nowhere. So I settle on the truth instead.
“Awful,” I say. “They all know now. About Mom. Everyone knows.”
She steps through the door and she comes closer to the bed. “Nola. I'm sorry. Did you tell them?”
“Nope,” I say. “Reese did. The newspaper interview thing she told you about? She set the whole thing up. She found out the entire story and then blasted it out to the entire school. During the dance.”
She gasps.
“Yeah,” I say. “So that's how the dance was, and that's why I'm home early because now all of this is just like it was in Florida. I'm on my own again. No one wants anything to do with me. And I'm not me anymore. I'm the girl whose mother killed the kid she was having sex with.” I laugh. “Same thing, all over again. Except this time, I managed to make it worse by lying about it to people I care about.”
She sits down on the edge of the bed. “Do you want to talk about it? I can make you something to eat or get you something to drink.”
“No,” I tell her. “Not tonight. I'm all talked out and I have nothing left to say. Maybe tomorrow.”
I expect her to try and pull more out of me.
Instead, she leans down and kisses my forehead. “Alright. Maybe tomorrow then. I hope you can sleep a little. I'm sorry the night was so bad.”
“Thanks.”
“But, Nola, I want you to know one thing.”
“What?”