Drive Me Crazy (17 page)

Chapter Thirty
Cassie

I
didn’t tell anyone—there isn’t anyone to tell—but last night, when we got to the hotel in Skenetta-whatever, I turned off my phone again. The party was over by then, and I still hadn’t heard from anyone. Kendra Mack had nothing to say when I told her I didn’t really have a crush on Cory Baxter, and not even Izzy Gathing had a put-down about it. No one responded either to the group text I sent—
Miss you guys so much! Have a great time!
—in hopes that at least one person would write back.

Not a single word, all day long.

So I turned it off. I didn’t want it reminding me of all the fun I wasn’t having, the world I was losing. Or the one I’d already lost, with Fiona, when all of this started.

I didn’t turn it on again until I was in the safety of my little room at the house in Maine. When it finally
bing
ed and buzzed with messages ringing in, a surprised little laugh came out of my mouth. Maybe they really were sorry I wasn’t there. Maybe my life wasn’t over.

But it was only photos Kendra Mack sent to all of us of everyone posing together around the pool without me. Those, and a message from Izzy Gathing:
You should’ve been there. But then again, it’s not like we really missed you.

I decide to call Kendra Mack direct, to see what my fate really is.

“Hi, Cassie Parker!” she says when she answers.

“Hi, Kendra Mack.”

“Did you see the pictures?”

“I did, thanks. And I’m still so sorry I couldn’t come. We’re in Maine now, though, and it’s totally gorgeous. Like the coast of Australia or something.” At least, I think it might look like that. It’s too dark now to tell.

“Oh,” she says, dismissing it.

“So how did things go?” I ask.

“Well, you kind of had to be there.” She tells me about Perez Joynanda and Harper Warren showing up in inappropriate bathing suits, and I pretend to be shocked. “It was all I could do to get my mom not to send them home.
I only invited them because Billy Keegan asked me to, but I won’t be making that mistake again.”

“Yeah.” I laugh, trying to do it in a throaty way that masks my shakiness. She’s chatting away like everything’s fine, but I’m still uncertain. “Just like I won’t make the mistake again of telling you about a crush. Even a fake one. You guys got pretty carried away.”

“Are you still thinking about that?” Her voice rises an octave and then falls. “Obviously you were kidding. That was days ago, anyway. Just Izzy Gathing bored with her brother’s phone.”

I feel the blood drain from my face. I knew that was what had been happening, but until now I didn’t Know It.

“It was totally fun while it lasted, though, right?” she says. “When you sent the picture of that tacky little arcade? And your dorky selfie? Totally priceless. We were cracking up for hours.”

I’m more embarrassed than I thought possible. The only solace I feel is at least the conversation’s about to be over. All I have to do is laugh it off, wind things down, and—

“Wait,” Kendra Mack gasps. “You’re not really in like with Cory Baxter, are you? That’s not why you’re calling me now, right? Because then I would feel
so
bad.”

I swallow hard. I can’t tell whether or not she means that. I can’t tell if she suspects the truth but is pretending
I’m in on the joke. Maybe she’s trying to get me to confess, so she can use it against me more.

All I know is, a real friend wouldn’t do any of this. I need to get off the phone with Kendra Mack this minute.

“No, of course not,” I say, hoping it sounds true.

“Well,” she says, “thank goodness you were kidding, because I think Gates Morrill has a crush on you. He was asking about you a lot at the party.”

I make some kind of neutral noise, but I would never have a crush on a boy like Gates, real or fake. He’s just an obnoxious rich kid who doesn’t care about anything but himself. Fiona was right about him, for sure.

And really, I think, she was right about Kendra Mack and everyone else too. She may even have been right about me.

“I have to go,” I say.

“Oh. Well, when will you be back?” Kendra Mack asks.

I realize I don’t even care. “I’m not sure. We’re staying here a few days, and it’s a long way back to California.”

“Okay. Stay in touch, I guess,” she chirps.

“Yeah,” I say, but my thumb’s already pressed end.

It’s dark outside, but I need to move around, get some fresh air, and I need to think. In the living room, Nono and Howie are sipping wine and playing Othello together. Lana isn’t anywhere.

“Cassie, are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Nono says.

“I think I need to take a walk.”

Howie looks back toward the sliding glass door. “You just missed Lana. Probably catch her if you head out now.”

I slip on my flip-flops and step outside, where the air is breezy and welcoming. The sky is not-yet-black indigo, and tons of stars are twinkling. I choose a random direction and walk toward the sound of the water.

“She was pretending,” I tell myself, testing it out. “She knew all along that you really liked Cory, and she’s just trying to play you more. They’ve been laughing at you this whole time, and they’re only going to keep laughing.”

I walk along the shore, thinking that over, my hands jammed into the pockets of my cardigan. The idea of it is terrible, but not being able to know either way feels worse.

“But if that were true, she would’ve been meaner on the phone,” I argue back. “Everything’s fine. She genuinely missed you at the party, and she’s still your friend.”

I stop, right there in the middle of the beach.

“But that’s not the kind of friend you want,” I say.

I stare out across the water, its rippling surface sparkling with moonlight. My whole friendship with Kendra Mack has been full of lies—lies I’ve told and lies I’ve gone along with to keep up with her group. There’s so much I’ve been
pretending, I’m not sure I even know what’s real. And I don’t want to do it anymore. I want to be around friends who are honest, even if I don’t always like what they have to say.

Like Lana,
I think. Who’s only kept secrets from me because I was too self-absorbed to listen to her.

“Lana?” I ask out into the dark beach.

Lana didn’t tell me the truth about her mom, but I haven’t told her the truth either. I said last night she shouldn’t act like she cared, but Lana cares about everything. She hasn’t been pretending—I have. Pretending I’m mad when I’m not, that I don’t have a crush when I really do and I have a boyfriend when I don’t, pretending I like things that I think are stupid, just so I can pretend I’m as popular and perfect as Kendra Mack or Tom.

Ever since Fiona lost her diary—maybe even before that—I’m the one who’s been selfish. And I want, more than anything, to stop.

I turn back toward the house, walking at first, then running.

“Lana?” I call again, searching the beach while also keeping an eye on the rocky ground in front of me.

I pass the house where we’re staying and keep going. Lana’s out here somewhere, I can feel it. And something tells me she needs me right now, as much as I need her.

I hear her before I see her, crying like her heart is broken.

“Cassie?” she says as I get closer, more sob than question.

And then I spot her, crumpled in a heap not far from the gently lapping water.

“What are you doing?” I crouch down.

“Nothing,” she moans. “I’m trying, but I just can’t.” She shakes her head and wipes her face. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s the matter?” I ask.

She tosses a rock into the ocean, making twinkling ripples that glow with sparkly white dots. “Aren’t you more worried about your other friends?” she says.

I wince, but I know I deserved that. I’m not going to pretend I don’t.

“Listen, Lana. I’ve been terrible, and I’m sorry. I should have realized it long ago, but those people back home aren’t my real friends. I’ve been pretending they are, because, well, that’s not important right this minute. What’s important is that you’re upset, and I’m here, and Rule Number Fourteen is going to be No More Pretending, Period. I know about your mom. I know there are things you’ve needed to share, and I haven’t let you. But I want to listen. You’re always so smart, and strong when you say things right out. I like you so much that way. So I want you to
trust me, and do it now. I promise I will, too.”

I’m not sure what she thinks about all that at first, but in the moonlight, and the spooky lit-up ocean, I see one half of her mouth lift in a smile.

That makes me smile, too.

She rubs her nose with the back of her hand and straightens up. “Rule Number Fifteen has to be You’ll Tell Me Later What Really Happened at Kendra Mack’s Pool Party, though.”

“I promise, I’ll tell you, but this feels more important. You’ve been acting like nothing’s wrong, and if anyone knows how terrible that feels, it’s me.”

She looks at me with a question in her eyes before staring across the water. Maybe she’s remembering all the ways I haven’t exactly earned her trust. I’m afraid she’s going to brush me off, but instead she lets out a quivery breath, and starts.

It takes a long time, and there’s a lot of crying in between. She tells me about her mom’s headaches and naps—having to tiptoe around the house, pretending her mom’s just a little tired, or a little stressed. She tells me about having to do more around the house and not getting as much attention, and how mad she’s been about her parents not trusting her with the truth. How wrong it feels to be mad at someone who’s sick. She talks about what she’s
afraid of—brain damage from the surgery, or worse, cancer and her mom dying. She says her parents are so close that sometimes they forget to include her. Or that they treat her like a grown-up, which she likes most of the time, except for when she just wants to be coddled instead of having to act so mature. She tells me she worries a lot, but that she feels like she can’t share that with her parents or even our grandparents, because she doesn’t want to be one more person for them to worry about.

“But it’s their job to worry about you,” I say.

“I know.” She sighs. “But the way our family is—it’s kind of my job to take care of them, too.”

“If you’re busy with that, though, and they’re busy with taking care of each other, who’s taking care of you?”

She smiles sadly and shrugs.

“There’s Nono,” I say. “And Grandpa Howe.” It’s what Lana calls him, but even in my voice now, it sounds right.

“They take care of me, of course, but ever since the wedding I haven’t wanted to be a third wheel. I know they love me, but they love each other, too, and I feel like I should—”

I grab her by the shoulders. “You should lean on me, then.”

“But you live hours away.” She starts to cry again.

I stand up and face the ocean. “We’ll figure that out.
Rule Number Sixteen is From Now On, It’s You and Me No Matter What, and I’m going to prove it. So, what’s the problem here?”

She reaches for a rock and stands too. “I can’t get the stone to skip seven times. I’ve gotten the firefly, and there’ve been a dozen shooting stars, but this part”—she gestures feebly with the round, flat stone—“I just can’t do it.”

The Magic Moment. Of course. I take the stone from her hand. I’ve never skipped rocks before—I haven’t even seen anyone do it in real life, since Tom prefers books and skateboards—but it happens all the time in TV and the movies. It can’t be that hard. Only, maybe it is, if Lana’s been out here trying all this time and can’t. Chances are, I won’t be able to do it either.

I’m just going to try my best, for my friend. My true friend.

“Okay.” I take in a breath and grip the cool, smooth stone in my hand. I cock back my wrist and give it a toss. It sinks immediately.

I pick up another one and try it again. Lana, rigid and hopeful, counts the splashes under her breath.

One.

Two-Three.

Four.

Five-Six-Seven.

“You did it!” She claps.

I can’t believe it either.

“Now the firefly,” I say fast.

She stumbles after one of at least a dozen glowing around us. I’m not sure, but they didn’t seem to be there before.

“Got it.” She clasps her hands together, holds it for a heartbeat, and lets it go.

“Now look up.” She moves back over to me. We stand together, the surprisingly cold water lapping our toes and our faces tipped toward the sky.

It’s not pretending,
I tell myself, taking Lana’s hand. I’m not pretending I want this, because even though I don’t really believe in the Magic Moment, Lana does, and wanting it to be true for her sake is absolutely real.

When she squeezes my hand back, two bright streaks gleam across the sky, one after the other. We gasp and look at each other in surprise.

“Quick, make a wish.” Lana shuts her eyes.

I know Lana’s wishing for her mom to be okay. I’d wish it too, if I doubted any of Lana’s urgency. But there’s another thing I want to wish for, one that she needs just as much as her mom getting better—and that I need too.