Someone to Love

by Melissa de la Cruz

  “I just thought you should know,” Felicity says, pulling away to leave for class. “Since you love his work so much.”

  When someone like LeFeber dies, someone who created so much beauty and love, the world feels so much dimmer, like a bright star in the night sky has been extinguished never to return. What if he had passed away without ever making his art? What if he never turned his pain into beauty? I need to take LeFeber’s life as an inspiration. I need to be more motivated to work on my art. What legacy will I leave behind?

  I’m heading toward class when I hear a familiar voice.

  “Liv. Hey, Liv.” It’s Sam.

  “Sam. Hey.” I try to smile.

  He puts an arm around me and squeezes. “Guess what? We won the tournament. I think the suit really helped! It’s regional championships next, and guess what else?”

  Sam’s beaming with genuine happiness. How can I possibly tell him about LeFeber? Or Zach? Or everything that’s wrong with me? I need to let him be happy.

  “What’s the big surprise?” I ask.

  “I’m going to Costa Rica for part of the summer. I got another counseling job at a surf camp. The town’s between the beach and the rainforest. It’s going to be killer.”

  My first thought is that I should be excited for Sam—and I am—but I also know how unhealthy I got over this summer because I didn’t see him or Antonia much. I spent half this year without them. I don’t think I could survive a few more months right now.

  “That’s amazing,” I say. “Really...really cool.”

  I feel so stupid about my fight with Zach. I wish I could tell Sam, but he’ll act like Antonia about wanting to confront him. Probably worse.

  “Maybe you could convince your parents to let you come visit me...” Sam keeps talking, but I can’t pay attention. It’s too late. Sam will be gone all summer. Zach’s never going to talk to me again. And now LeFeber’s dead. Why is everything I touch cursed?

  I can’t even keep my body from screaming at me.

  Eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat.

  It takes all my energy to refocus on what Sam’s saying.

  Then I get a text from my mom.

  I glance at it, then at Sam. “It’s my mom. I better go...”

  “No problem,” he says. “Glad I ran into you. I’m so stoked.”

  He’s already down the hall when I realize I don’t want him to leave.

  “Yeah,” I say, wishing I could be as happy as him. “Me too.”

  I look at the text and already hate what I’m seeing.

  MOM: Coming to Dr. Larson’s this weekend?

  MOM: I’m going to pencil you in. Ok?

  MOM: Miss you xoxox

  She’s assuming I’ll want to go to please her. That’s one of Mom’s tricks. To make you seem like you’re such a wonderful person that of course you wouldn’t mind helping her. I don’t have the energy to write her back. There’s no way I’m going again.

  LeFeber. Gone. Dead. This hurts.

  I’m devastated by everything. My fight with Zach, Dad’s campaign, Mason planning to tell our parents about my drinking and my eating disorder, Royce and Jasmine’s breakup, LeFeber’s death. Mom obviously suspects something. She wouldn’t be asking me to go to a therapist otherwise. I have to be even more careful now.

  My secret is starting to split apart. It’s getting harder and harder to hide. When I close my eyes, this blackness starts to wrap around my organs, gripping them, twisting, contorting, eating through their fatty flesh until they begin to shut down, one by one.

  I’ll never be enough. I’ll never be able to do enough.

  I’m not like LeFeber. I’m no visionary.

  I’m not an angel. Even a sick one.

  I feel like cutting again. Right here. Right in the open.

  And I want Zach back. Right now.

  t h i r t y - f o u r

  “Above all, be the heroine of your life, not the victim.”

  —Nora Ephron

  “I don’t know what came over me,” Zach says.

  We’re outside the school sitting in his car. After I found out from Felicity that LeFeber died, I sent him a text asking him to talk. I’m listening, but just sitting next to him makes me feel uncertain and queasy. Should I really get back together with him?

  My gaze follows his fingers, not his eyes.

  Maybe I was wrong to reach out.

  “Anyway,” he says, hitting the auto lock and starting the car, “I just wanted to apologize for my behavior. I’ve never done anything like that to anyone before. I was frustrated and should never have left you... How did you get home?”

  His hands run along the curve of steering wheel as if he doesn’t know what to do with them. I’m trying not to think about whether his excuse is lame or not. I was out of it at the cemetery. I know I had some kind of breakdown. I don’t want to have another one.

  “One of my friends picked me up,” I say.

  “Who?” Zach asks.

  Why does he care? He’s the one who left me there. I stare at him until he realizes I’m not going to respond. I’m not going into the details about what happened after he left.

  “It’s all right,” he says. “So, are we cool?”

  I’ve got too much on my mind to fight with him. He apologized. I take this into account. Most guys don’t say they’re sorry for anything.

  It wasn’t like Zach physically hurt me. He wasn’t trying to run over me with his car. He stopped when I told him to. Maybe he just let his emotions get the better of him.

  I’ve been there before. I’d be a hypocrite not to forgive him.

  Zach’s trying not to fidget. I want us to be good again.

  I want to be the golden couple.

  “We’re cool,” I say.

  “Awesome,” he says, taking my hand. “I missed you. I really did.”

  I’m glad we’re back together, but I have so many questions for him. Why was he being so distant and weird at the cemetery? Why was he acting that way at LeFeber’s installation? What’s his reason for being so hot and cold? I still don’t understand.

  “Do you want to go to a movie or something?” he asks. “Wait, I have an even better idea. How about a drive up to the observatory?” His suggestion sounds pretty good, but then he adds, “We can get some food afterward. Let’s do that.”

  The last thing I want to think about is eating food in public. Every meal has become something to fear. Every trip to the bathroom something to lie about. It’s exhausting coming up with excuses about why I’m not hungry or I have a sore throat or a stomachache. It takes all my energy to walk around at school. I’m so tired.

  I wish I could sleep forever.

  “What about taking me home?” I ask.

  “You don’t want to go home, do you?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he takes off, holding my hand as I wonder if I have any feeling in my fingers. My nails are painted dark purple to hide their newly blue tint. I’m wearing a ponytail to keep any clumps of hair from falling out.

  My body is finally being obedient. Shedding off excess.

  I don’t have anything to say, so I just smile even though I’m not really sure if I’m happy. I shouldn’t be feeling so numb, so lifeless. This is Zach Park’s hand I’m holding. I should be happy, overjoyed, beside myself that he wants to give me another chance. Everyone will be jealous all over again. All the girls wanting him will want to be me.

  The drive is beautiful. And terrifying. Zach is a speed demon. He takes every curve like a Formula One race, every straightaway as if his life, our lives, depend on getting to the next curve. I pull my hand away to hang on for dear life. One second I love the speed, the next it feels like we’re about to sail off into the clouds. My stomach can’t decide what it wants to do.

  Behind us is a gray-blue haze
of suburbia, the snakelike back of the freeway, houses blending into hills. And then the hills themselves take over everything. It feels so open up here, like I can finally get my arms around the world.

  Zach slips the car into a lot and parks. We sit in silence for a moment, then he leans across the seat and wraps his arm around my shoulders. Only, I don’t really feel like being held. I know we just made up. But I don’t feel romantic. He feels strange. Not the same Zach as before. Like LeFeber telling me he’s sick, going to die.

  We can hear cars whiz past. There’s a breeze and rattling leaves. He wants to kiss me, and we do, but only for a little while. I already can’t breathe.

  I pull away and say, “Can you believe all this?” I try to laugh, but it comes out weird, just like what I said. I try again. “I mean, what was this like when there was nothing? Only trees and grasslands and these hills. No cars. No jets in the sky. Just all of this and people. Natives, explorers. Settlers. And all the sounds that came with it.”

  Zach pulls away a little. “What are you talking about?” He tries to laugh. His laugh is as strange and distant as mine. He kisses me again. I let him. My neck feels numb under his lips. His hands on my arms feel like a trap. They slip down my sides.

  I pull back. “I’m just trying to see things with different eyes,” I say. I think of LeFeber and how curious he seemed about the world. I think of that pure part of myself I’m still trying to define. Something that will guide me through all of the chaos.

  “So am I,” Zach says, hungry for me. “Come back here. You’re so beautiful.”

  I’m feeling more and more uncomfortable with his advances. His hands rub my legs, my face, my shoulders, my breasts, only I don’t feel hands. I feel the bogeyman coming in through the night. My skin is a cold layer of needles. Everything is ice. Whatever warmth that’s usually there has frozen solid. I don’t even want to move.

  “I’m just not comfortable,” I say. To add to the strangeness, no matter what he just said about me being beautiful, I feel ugly and fat. I don’t want anyone to touch me. It’s like I have no emotion left.

  “All right,” he says, taking his hands off me. “What would make you comfortable?”

  “Nothing will.” I realize this sounds harsh, but I can’t help shivering. Is it Zach? Is it the anxiety? Or the hunger?

  “Something has to,” he says. “Everyone has to have that one thing to make them comfortable. Think about the one thing that makes you feel good every time.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask. “Like when you buy something on sale that you didn’t know was on sale? Or when the clothes you put on are still hot from the dryer?”

  Zach laughs. “Not exactly.” He leans over and pulls out a small plastic bag filled with white powder from the glove compartment. He puts some of the powder on a little piece of glass he pulled from the center console and snorts it. I’m shocked. I had no idea Zach was a user. I remember Cristina doing drugs in the bathroom at the boat party. She saw me purge. I saw her snort. We both carry each other’s secrets. Only now I know Zach and Cristina were probably using together. No wonder she was searching for him at the cemetery.

  Maybe he’s her supplier. Zach knows a lot of people, after all.

  “Here,” he says, putting some more on the glass. I don’t know what to say. I’ve known people who have done drugs, but I don’t do them. “You’ll feel a thousand times better. Serious.”

  He’s really determined, and I don’t know what to think. He’s still clearing his nose, sniffing and blinking. I can tell he’s craving more. It’s not like I don’t want to forget my problems for a while. I’d love for the pressure to melt away for a few hours.

  “It’ll make you forget all your problems,” he says.

  “There are a lot of those,” I say. “Everywhere in my life.”

  “I know,” he says. “It’s too much to handle. I’m saying I understand. This stuff helps you focus. I do it before show tapings.”

  “Every time?” I ask.

  Everything I thought I knew about Zach is starting to seem like a lie.

  “Pretty much,” Zach says, hovering his hand over the glass to hide it from view. The sun is beginning to go down, but it’s still light out. “Gives me energy.”

  “Don’t you have enough energy?” I ask.

  “Not really. I probably couldn’t do it without this. Here. I want you to just try a little bit. You’ll thank me.”

  “I’m sure I will. That’s why people do that. Because it’s addictive. Because it makes them feel in control.”

  Maybe I’m being hypocritical. Maybe I’m worse than Zach.

  “See, you get it,” Zach says.

  I think about Sam’s older brother, James.

  How Sam found his body. How James died alone.

  I shake my head at Zach. “I can’t,” I say.

  “Suit yourself,” he says. He snorts the little that’s on the glass and leans back. “I’m surprised you don’t want any. Most girls like you use something to help them...”

  “What do you mean, girls like me?” I ask.

  “We’ve been dating for a while now and I’ve only actually seen you eat a meal a very small handful of times. Not to mention that whenever you do eat, you end up in the bathroom less than an hour later. I’m in the industry, I can spot it a mile away. I could tell you were that kind of girl even before I asked you out. I just didn’t say anything because you seemed like you’d be embarrassed.”

  That kind of girl?

  I sink into my seat. How could I be so stupid?

  Zach turns to me and tugs my ponytail a little. “Go a little farther with me at least. We’ve been dating for a while now. Don’t you think I deserve it?”

  My mind’s spinning. He just snorted something twice in front of me. I know I have problems, but I don’t push my disorders on anyone.

  “No,” I say. “I told you. I’m not feeling it.”

  “That’s the problem,” he says. “You won’t loosen up. Come on. Try some of what I have, or just cut loose and live a little. Don’t be the politician’s daughter all the time. Do something you’re not supposed to do. Try. You’ll get into it.”

  “Why do you think it’s that easy?” I say. “I don’t have an internal switch like guys do. I can’t just shut off my feelings.”

  “I don’t get you.” Zach turns away. “We just made up.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can order me around.”

  “So? Other people like it too.” He puts away his baggie in the glove compartment. It’s finally starting to get dark and people are parking next to us.

  “I’m not going to do drugs with you,” I say, trying to keep the thought of Sam finding James dead at bay. I’ve done a lot of messed-up things, but I don’t want to go down this path.

  “I don’t understand,” Zach continues. “You’ve already hooked up with my best friend. Am I not good enough for you?”

  “What?”

  I stare at him in disbelief. Is he really bringing that up now?

  “Yeah. You and Jackson. He told me all about it. You had sex in his car.”

  “I did not. We kissed. And that was before you were interested!”

  “Who do you think I’m going to believe? Girls like you are loose with anyone who gives you attention. Can’t ever make up your mind.”

  “Girls like me?” I sneer.

  “Cristina made the same excuses,” Zach says. “I thought because you weren’t as hot I wouldn’t have this problem with you.”

  My head is spinning. How long has he known? Did Jackson tell him, or did he figure it out? Why the lies? Jackson was bragging about stuff that didn’t even happen. How can Zach use that as an excuse to get me to have sex with him, or whatever it is he wants? This isn’t the guy I thought I saw on Sisters & Mothers. This isn’t the guy who took me to meet DJ Whuz, or who c
ame to my house to support my dad, or who told me he thought he might be falling for me. I don’t know who this is.

  “You’re not who I thought you were,” I say and get out of the car. Before I close the door, I whip around to face him. “We’re done.”

  After I close the door he rolls down the window. “Liv. Come on. This is stupid. Come back. I’m not going to leave you out here again.”

  The chivalry.

  “No, really. You can go,” I say, texting Antonia to see if she can pick me up again. “We’re done.”

  I really have to get this driver’s license thing figured out with my parents. I can’t be the damsel in distress like this all the time. It’s ridiculous.

  “Fine,” Zach says and peels out.

  “Whatever, asshole,” I say as he speeds off.

  t h i r t y - f i v e

  “Our wounds are often the openings into the best and most beautiful part of us.”

  —David Richo

  Danny and I have plans to meet after school. It’s been a few weeks since Zach and I broke up and I’ve been focusing on my portfolio, which is due in about a month—right before school gets out for the year. I finally have work to share, and I want him to know that I really do miss him and feel guilty for not getting in touch.

  He’s family. Royce and Jasmine’s breakup doesn’t really change that.

  We meet in an open art space downtown where he comes to paint on the weekends. He’s got a grant to use this space, so he’s lucky not to have to pay for it. There are many artists here. Easels, drawing pads, couches. Live models dressed in skintight clothes are posing on two different stages.

  “How’s everyone?” I ask, hugging Danny. I pull back and look at his face. He looks so much older than when we first met each other. It feels like forever ago.

  “We’re all good,” he says. “Mom and Dad are struggling a little bit with Isko being gay. But, I’m telling you, everyone loves that kid. Even Lola.”

  “He’ll be trouble in about a year,” I say. “He’s a wild one.”

  “Seriously.” Danny rolls out a chair for me to sit at his worktable. “But what’s going on with you?”