How It Ends (11 page)

I shake my head as Courtney scales the ladder and disappears from view. This girl is going to get me arrested.

By the time I heave myself over the ledge and onto the roof, Courtney is wrestling two camping chairs from a stack stashed in a corner. “You come prepared,” I joke.

“A bunch of us hang out here sometimes,” she explains, nodding toward the edge of the roof. “Check it out. The neighborhood looks totally different from up here.”

I peer over the side and feel dizzy. Courtney's right. The neighborhood seems bigger somehow. Less claustrophobic.

She pops open our chairs and digs two blankets out of her duffle bag. We wrap ourselves up and then sit, looking out over the streets of the town.

“I've lived here most of my life,” Court says, raising her beer in a sweeping arc over the streets below. “And I've never, not even for one day, felt like I belong here.”

I raise an eyebrow at her.

“Oh, not in an ‘I'm an outcast' way. More like in an ‘I was born for bigger things than suburbia' way.”

I shrug. “I can see that, I guess. I'm not a big fan myself.”

“See, that's how I knew we'd be friends. You don't belong in this shitty town any more than I do. The only difference is, you've actually gotten to live in the city, and I've been stuck here forever.”

“Your mom really loves it here that much?”

Courtney snorts. “She can't stand it. I begged her to move after my dad left. I figured we could go anywhere, you know? Make a brand-new start somewhere different. But she wouldn't leave. It's pathetic, but I think she's still waiting for my dad to come back. She's afraid to leave in case he changes his mind and can't find us.”

I sneak a sideways look at her as she cracks open another beer and hands it to me. “I'm sorry,” I tell her. “That sucks.”

She shrugs and grabs another drink for herself. “So explain the Halloween thing to me, city girl. I mean, I know why
I
turned down the invite to Jon's booty-call party, but I'm not sure why you did.”

I shrug and take a sip of the beer. “Bad memories.”

“We've got all night,” she says, clinking her can against mine.

I look over at Courtney and think about her mom waiting in a house she hates, hoping that her deadbeat ex-husband will come back for her. If anyone understands heartache and loss, it's got to be Court.

“My mom died on Halloween night six years ago,” I tell her. God, I remember it so clearly. It was two weeks after picture day and the Friday before a spelling test. Mom had driven out to some small-town gallery that wanted to display her paintings. She normally worked from home, and I remember being mad that they'd chosen Halloween, of all days, for their meeting.

“It was pissing down rain that night, and the streets were slippery.” I blink back tears as I tell her how Dad and I waited for Mom to pull into the driveway. Even though she hadn't said anything, we knew she'd have take-out. McDonald's, maybe. Or Wendy's. Dad and I were both starving, but she'd trained us well, and we knew not to snack before she made it home.

I was sitting at the front window, watching the way my breath made little circles of fog against the glass, when Dad came through the kitchen and spotted me. “Hey, monkey,” he said. “Don't worry. She'll be home soon. Traffic is probably a nightmare.”

His voice was light, but I saw him look down the street and frown as he came up beside me. Mom had called to say she was on her way almost two hours earlier.

Dad perched on the edge of an armchair beside me. It was nearly five o'clock and starting to get dark outside. In my mind's eye, I saw kids in houses all up and down the street finishing their dinners and starting to get into their costumes. Mom had promised to be home in time to curl my hair and help me into my princess costume. I was getting mad.

“Where
is
she?”

Dad's hand was warm on my shoulder. “She'll be here, hon. I'm sure she's going as fast as she can. Everyone's rushing home in time for trick-or-treating. I'll bet she's stuck in the drive-thru of that slow McDonald's.” He was trying to joke, but I could tell he was freaked out.

At five thirty I found him in the kitchen, trying Mom's cell over and over again. He hung up when he saw me, and suggested that we eat some sandwiches to tide us over in case we needed to start trick-or-treating before she made it home.

“But Daaaad!” I can still remember the way I whined, and it makes me feel so ashamed. “You don't know how to curl hair like Mom does, and she has my tiara in the trunk of her car!”

I felt like Halloween was ruined.

“It's raining, anyway,” he reasoned, a sharp edge in his voice. “Curling your hair would be a bit of a waste when it's going to get wet.”

I stomped up the stairs and he followed. My dress was on the back of my door, and I grudgingly let him help me into it. It was pink and sparkly and had a little crinoline and hoop underneath that made it fall in a bell shape. I felt gorgeous.

“I have an idea,” Dad said. He slipped out of my room and came back with Mom's pearls. “I don't think she'd mind, as long as you're careful.”

I felt my grumpiness fall away as he fastened the pearls around my neck. I'd never worn anything so beautiful. Dad brushed my hair till it shone and pulled the sides back with a sparkly barrette. I remember hugging him in thanks as we heard a knock at the door.

“Mom!” We must have left the door locked, I realized as we raced each other down the steps. I couldn't wait for my mom to see me looking so beautiful. I knew she'd squeal and clap her hands and hug and kiss me. And I knew I'd wiggle away and pretend to be embarrassed.

But when Dad opened the door, there was a dripping policeman standing there with his hat in his hands.
This guy is way too old for trick-or-treating,
I thought. I reached for the second-rate candy we gave to the older teenagers in pathetic costumes. I stopped, though, when I heard a moaning sound coming from my dad. I looked beside me and saw that he had sunk to his knees with his hands over his face.

“Sir,” the police officer began. “I need a moment of your time.
In private,
if possible.” He was trying to get rid of me, that much I understood.

My dad seemed to jolt awake with the realization that I was still there. “Go upstairs.” It was not his regular voice.

I stayed where I was. I wasn't being disobedient . . . I was mesmerized. I felt as if the pieces of a puzzle were sliding around in my mind but hadn't yet fallen into place. I didn't want to leave.

“Upstairs, Annie.” His voice was harsh. I blinked back tears.

The officer stepped in. “Annie? Is it Annie?” he asked. Funny, the things you remember. He had the kindest eyes and a voice straight out of a Disney movie. I nodded my head at him. I wanted him to like me.

“I need you to go upstairs so I can talk with your dad for a bit. He's not in any trouble, and neither are you. I'll call you back down when we're done, okay?”

I nodded again and walked upstairs like a good little girl. I waited in my room for a few minutes till I was sure they weren't going to check on me. Then I went to the landing and listened to every word.

“That's how I learned that my mother had died,” I tell Courtney. “I was sitting in a sparkly pink dress, wearing her pearls and waiting for Chicken McNuggets with fries. I heard the policeman tell my dad about the six-car pileup on the freeway. I heard him say her car had flipped over several times and that they had done all they could. I heard him give his condolences and leave. Then I waited for my dad to come get me.”

Courtney reaches across the space between our two chairs and takes hold of my hand. “I'm sorry,” she says, and I can tell she means it.

We sit in silence, and I feel peaceful in a way I haven't in a very long time. “I've never told anyone that story before.”

She winks at me. “I figured it had to be something pretty major to keep you from making out with loverboy at Jon's party.”

I swat at her shoulder and nearly drop my beer. “He
is
a pretty great kisser,” I admit.

“I know,” Court says. “He's my ex.”

My whole body goes cold. “Wh-what?”

She laughs and waves her hand at me. “Relax. It was ages ago.”

I grip my beer and try to read her expression. “Why didn't Larissa say anything? She practically threw me at him at her party.”

“Like I said, it was years ago. A stupid eighth-grade thing she's probably forgotten about. We've hooked up a few times since but kept it a secret, so she really had no idea.”

Hooked up a few times since?
I have a million questions I want to ask her, but I have the feeling I'm treading across a minefield. “And you're okay with us going out?”

“Don't look so nervous,” she says. “I'm not my mom—I don't go backwards, and I'm not waiting around for some guy to come back to me. Scott and I are done.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

“Just . . . be careful, okay? Scott's great, but he's a bit of a player.”

The beer sours in my stomach. “A player?”

“I'm not saying he doesn't like you or that he's gonna ditch you or anything. I just . . . if I were you, I'd take things slow and keep it casual, you know? Just have fun.”

I nod, as if my heart isn't cracking into a million pieces. “We're totally casual,” I assure her, lying through my teeth. “There's no way I'd get serious about anyone right now.”

When we walked into English class today, Miss Donaghue was handing back our short story assignments. Finally.

From the moment I handed mine in, I couldn't wait to get it back. I've never poured so much of myself into anything before. I got inspired the day after my mall adventure with Annie, and I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning polishing it. It's the best thing I've ever written, and my first short story to get a proper ending.

“Annie,” Miss Donaghue said when she caught sight of us. “You continue to surprise me. I truly did not expect the werewolf Good Samaritan story.”

I stopped in my tracks, gaping at Annie. “You didn't!”

“What? It turned out great, right, Miss D?”

“Surprisingly so.” She laughed. “There's some good character development in here, which is difficult to pull off in a short story, and you made excellent use of humor to offset the horror elements.”

I raised my eyebrows at Annie, impressed. So much for the slacker lifestyle.

“And Jessica,” she said. “Excellent writing as usual. I really enjoyed the way you played with the conventions of fairy tales.”

“I'm so glad you liked it,” I said breathlessly, my heart leaping.

“I must admit, though, that I was hoping for a different ending.”

I blinked at her in surprise. The ending was the best part. “I . . . I wanted to turn the damsel in distress story on its head,” I explained, thinking perhaps she'd missed the point. “Instead of the princess being rescued by a prince's true love, she's rescued by friendship.”

I could feel Annie's eyes on me, and my face flamed with embarrassment. It sounded so cheesy here in the classroom, but it was different in the story.

“I see that, and I enjoyed it very much,” Miss Donaghue assured me. “But I couldn't help hoping along the way that the princess might find that she didn't need rescuing at all. It seemed as if that's where the story was going, and then the friendship solution came in at the last minute and ran off with the ending.”

I reached out to take my paper from Miss Donaghue, but she held on to it and made sure I was paying attention before she continued. “Just because that's the ending
I
wanted doesn't mean it's the way it should end, though. Do you understand what I mean?”

I shrugged. I wanted her to stop talking. I felt like the whole class was overhearing my story get ripped to shreds.

“I want to give you something to think about in case you feel like working on this story some more. Right now, the ending feels tacked on, but if this is the ending you like, there are ways of building up to it so it flows more naturally.”

I nodded, afraid to say anything. Her words were careening around inside my head, and I was having trouble piecing them together. I just wanted to escape to my desk and catch my breath.

“Come see me if you'd like some help developing this,” she said, letting go of my paper. “I think that with a little work, it could be something really special.”

“Sure,” I said, knowing I'd never touch the story again. I folded the pages and pushed them down into the bottom of my bag.

I swung into my desk and dropped my bag on the floor, ignoring the looks Annie was giving me.

My cell phone vibrated with a text from Annie:
Don't pout. She said great things!

I turned and nodded at her, faking a smile to show I was fine. I wasn't, though. I was dangerously close to a panic attack.

I took deep breaths while Miss Donaghue handed back the rest of the assignments. In through my nose and out through my mouth.
You can do this,
I told myself, just like my therapist taught me.
Imagine breathing in the calm and breathing out the panic.

By the time Miss Donaghue started passing around copies of Shakespeare's
Twelfth Night,
I was feeling better. I even managed to roll my eyes at Annie when our loser classmates started groaning about the play.

“You're going to
love
this story,” Miss Donaghue said. “In fact, some of you might already be familiar with it.” She held up a DVD case. “Who's seen
She's the Man
?”

A few hands went up.

“Isn't that the one where the chick dresses up like a guy?” Marcus Jones asked from the back of the classroom.
Great.
Whispers of
Lezzie Longbottom
echoed around the edges of my brain, shattering my calm and inviting the panic back in.