Invincible (30 page)

“That's the past,” I say, smiling big enough to wipe the slate clean. I will my tears to stop. “I want to focus on right now. Right here, with you.”

I lean into him so his face is all I can see. I kiss him until I am sure he no longer wants to talk, until his body takes over and we have avoided the conversation. Our kisses make the past go away. I put my hand on his belt and we both forget.

I keep my eyes open as we make love. I look into the night sky, saturated and dull with all the lights of the city. There is a smattering of bright stars, but not many; only the strongest and brightest shine through. I know there are so many more up there, infinite, but we can't see them. They're light-years away, burning their hearts out, but we're so crowded down here, too busy to notice. I almost feel sad about this, but then Marcus moves against me in a way that makes me close my eyes and forget the sky.
Finally, I am truly here, truly with him, and my mind stops wandering, stops wanting other things, and I only want him, I only want now, and my body finally feels everything it wants to feel.

When we are done, wrapped up and warm in Marcus's blankets, I say, “Let's run away together.”

“Okay,” he says sleepily. He doesn't know I'm serious.

The white noise of traffic lulls us to sleep. We are tangled in each other's arms, cradled in this sea-smelling womb we have created. Maybe this is what freedom feels like: making a bed between two pieces of driftwood, being hidden from every direction except up. The sky is the only one who can see us and no one knows where we are. We can forget. We can be forgotten. Maybe this is what it feels like to win a tiny battle against the world.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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I WAKE UP WITH A DOG'S NOSE IN MY FACE. I SWAT HIM away, and he sniffs around us and pees just a few inches from my feet. My head is cloudy after a night of shallow, troubled sleep brought on by too much alcohol and sleeping on the ground.

Whatever magic we managed last night is most definitely gone.

The sun is too bright. The air is thick with the salty decay of a dirty beach. I look at the sand around us and it is filthy with rotting seaweed, flies, cigarette butts, beer cans, plastic bottles, broken glass, and unidentifiable other trash, none of which I noticed in the darkness of last night. I hear voices and look up to see a group of men in wet suits just a few yards away, getting kite boards ready. The dog runs up and down the beach, barking, rattling my fragile head in its second consecutive day of hangover. The stillness of last night has been replaced by howling wind.

This isn't a romantic private beach. This is the kind of place gangsters dump dead bodies.

“Hi,” Marcus says as he sits up next to me.

“We have visitors,” I say.

“Oops,” he says, and leans over to kiss me. His morning breath makes my stomach turn.

The beach ends at a road that goes alongside the freeway. I see two trucks parked near the abandoned bus stop where we climbed over the fence and I skinned my hands.

“We could have driven here,” I say. My body burns with the surprise of feeling so furious so soon after waking. “We could have slept in Bubbles. Why didn't we do that?”

“A car parked overnight would have given us away. We would have been caught.” He puts his arm around me. “Plus, wasn't it way more fun to go the way we did? Wasn't it cool to go back to where we first met?”

“It was stupid, Marcus. You made me sleep on the ground like a fucking homeless person.”

Marcus pulls away, as if I hit him. The hurt shock on his face makes me want to eat glass. “Shit, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. That was really mean. I'm just really hungover. It's making me an asshole.”

“You're right,” he says, looking away. “It is.”

“Hey,” I say, pulling him close. “I'm sorry. Last night was wonderful. Thank you. And sorry I got so emo. Alcohol seems to have a pretty unpredictable effect on me.”

He meets my eye and smiles with one side of his mouth, as if he is only thinking about forgiving me. “Should I drop you off at school?” he says. “It's a little after nine. I hope you didn't miss too much.”

“Ha-ha,” I say, because I assume he's joking. But when I look at him, there's no humor on his face.

“I need to go home and take a shower so I can make it to school in time for my afternoon classes,” he says, completely serious.

“You're going to school today?”

“My morning classes on Monday are throwaways, but I have calculus and AP American History later and I can't miss those.”

AP American History? Who is this guy?

“Hello?” he says, staring at me. “Evie? Is anybody there?”

“Yeah. I mean, no. Don't drop me off at school.”

“At home, then?”

Those are my only two options, aren't they? Where else am I going to go? I'm sick and exhausted and I need to sleep and the only place that's free and mine is my bed in my room in the house of my parents. I can't be done with them yet. As much as they hate me, as much as I'm sick of them, I'm still theirs. They still own me.

“Fine,” I say. “Take me home.”

“Hey. Are you okay? Why do you seem so mad?”

“Sorry. I just don't want to deal with my parents right now.”

It's after ten when Marcus drops me off in front of my house. We managed to patch things up so that I'm pretty sure he's not mad at me, but I can tell he's worried now, like everyone else. He was supposed to be the one person I could count on, the one person I could be free with. But now he's turning out to have some of the same fears and expectations as everyone else. I don't know what to think about this. I don't know what to feel. All I know is I need to sleep for a very long time, and as soon as possible.

Mom storms out of the kitchen as soon as I walk through the door. “What the hell were you thinking?” she says.

“I'm tired, Mom. Can I sleep for a few hours and then we can talk about this when I wake up?”

“Not until you tell me where you've been.”

“I spent the night at a friend's house. You don't know her.” I can't look her in the eye. “I was upset.”

“So you climbed out your bedroom window? You didn't answer your phone all night? You didn't even leave a note? Do you have any idea how worried we were?”

“I'm sorry.”

“And you missed your appointment with Dr. Jacobs this morning.”

“I forgot.”

“Damn it, this isn't a game. You can't just play with your life like this.”

“Where's Dad?”

“He's at work. After not sleeping all night.”

I look at the floor. I have nothing to say. He hit me. It's hard to feel bad about making him worry.

Mom sighs, taking a few steps toward me. “He made a mistake. He's sorry. He was so angry. He was so scared.”

“Scared? Of what?”

“We almost lost you once,” she says softly. “We don't want to lose you again.”

I feel unsteady, like someone could blow on me and I would crumble to the ground. I think about what Marcus and I talked about last night, about letting my parents in, letting them know who I am now. Maybe they could love her. But maybe they can't. I've made such a mess, I don't even know where to start cleaning up. I don't even know if it's possible.

“Go to bed,” Mom says. I fight the urge to fall into her, to wrap myself in her arms and tell her everything.

“We'll talk when your dad gets home,” she says. “There are going to be consequences this time, Evie.”

“Okay,” I say. I walk into my room, shut the door, and crash into my bed and a leaden, lonely sleep.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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THE CLOCK SAYS 5:12. AFTERNOON LIGHT LEAKS UNDER THE curtains and draws a beam across my hand. I pull it away, back into the safety of shadow.

I can't lie here forever. I'm going to have to face my dad eventually. I might as well get it over with.

I pull some clean clothes out of the pile of laundry on my floor. As I splash water on my face and brush my teeth, I repeat the mantra inside my head:
Don't feel don't feel don't feel. Just endure the speeches. Just nod and say yes. Don't fight back. Just get this over as quickly as possible.

I almost feel brave as I walk into the kitchen where I can hear my parents talking.

As soon as I enter, Dad says, “Are you ready to talk?”

“Can I get some water first?” He nods.

I sit across from them and wait.

“We got a call from the school while you were sleeping off whatever you did last night,” Dad snarls, ready to fight.

“James,” Mom says. “Let's try to keep things civil.”

He turns to her. “How am I supposed to keep things civil when she has absolutely no respect for us or herself?”

Mom sighs. She must be so exhausted from trying to keep this family from falling apart. “Principal Landry is worried about you, Evie. After what happened at prom. And your grades.”

“And apparently you've been skipping class,” Dad adds.

“We have an appointment with her tomorrow morning at eight thirty,” Mom says. “All of us.”

“I have to take off work for this, Evie.”

I say nothing. I take a sip of water.

“Do you have anything to say?” Dad asks.

“No.” I don't look up. I don't want to see the way he's looking at me.

“Who are you?” Dad says. “It's like you're not even our daughter anymore. We didn't raise you like this.”

“I'm sorry,” I say.

“My Evie wouldn't stay out all night doing god knows what and come home reeking of booze.”

Maybe I'm not your Evie anymore. Maybe I'm nobody's Evie anymore. Maybe that Evie is dead and gone and buried like she should have been all along.

“Say something, damn it!” Dad pounds his fist on the table and the water sloshes inside my glass. I look up and see Mom shrunken inside herself. I don't meet Dad's eyes, but I can feel them burning holes into me.

“I'm sorry,” I say again, but it means nothing.

“We think you need to see someone,” Mom says. “We think it would be good for you to talk to someone about what you're going through.”

“Since you obviously won't talk to us,” Dad says.

“What, like a shrink?”

“Yes, a therapist,” Mom says. “I talked to Dr. Jacobs and he recommended someone who specializes in PTSD and—”

“And addiction,” Dad barks when Mom can't say it. “Because of what you pulled with the pills. And who knows what else you're doing when you're out all night.”

“PTSD?” I say. “Why PTSD?”

“Because of what you went through with the cancer,” Mom says. “It was traumatic.”

“I guess.”

“You
guess
?” Dad hisses.

“James, you don't need to have that tone,” Mom says.

“Oh, don't I? And you think your approach is really working? This gentle, understanding bullshit that lets Evie walk all over us?”

“Evie, I think you should go to your room now,” Mom says. So I can let them fight in peace.

“And you won't be joining us for dinner,” Dad adds. “You have to earn that right back through your behavior.”

“She has to eat,” Mom pleads.

“Then make her a plate, for Christ's sake,” he snaps. “She can eat alone in her room.”

“Okay,” I say. I nod my head, as if the movement will keep me from crying. “Okay,” I say again, because what else is there to say when your father hates you and there's no chance of him ever loving you again?

I get up and walk to my room. I turn on my favorite of Stella's songs, the one that makes me feel tough and invincible. I turn it up as loud as possible, but it's not working. I still feel like the world's biggest piece of shit.

My door flies open and Dad storms into my room. He tears the CD out of my stereo and breaks it in half. “I am sick of this noise!” he yells. He grabs Stella's hat from my desk and slams the door behind him. Silence follows. Emptiness. A great gaping hole that can never be filled.

I text Marcus:
Meet me at the graveyard in an hour.

I grab my bag and climb out the window again.