The Last Time We Were Us (10 page)

“Who’s that?” she demands, her voice louder now. Mrs. Barton looks up. Erica raises her eyebrows, eager for something juicy. If you’re going to be Lyla’s BFF, you have to develop an appreciation for drama.

“I don’t know, Lyla. I’m standing right here.”

“If that’s—”

“Girls,” Mom says, flitting her eyes from Erica to Mrs. Barton and then back to Lyla and me. “Please.”

Amy has stopped now, too, and everyone is looking at us on our pedestals.

My phone dings again, and Lyla hikes her dress up and jumps down. “I can’t take this. Is that him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Lyla.” Mom’s voice is stern. “Mrs. Barton hasn’t finished pinning you.”

“Can I have five?” she asks, with all the politeness she can muster. Mrs. Barton nods, giving Mom a look that says she’s dealt with her fair share of nightmare brides before. She and Amy head to the next room.

As soon as they’re gone, Mom turns to us. “What’s gotten into you two?”

“Me?” I ask. “What did I do?”

“What did you do?” Lyla asks. “My wedding is
six weeks away
, and you’re running around with Jason Sullivan.”

“Lyla,” Mom says. “Keep it down.”

“God, Mom, it’s Erica. She already
knows
.”

Erica pretends to be fascinated by one of the straps of her dress, and Mom shakes her head. “Still, just keep your voice down.” The last thing she wants the shopgirls to hear is that her younger daughter makes a habit of carousing with
bad boys
.

“I’m not
running around
with him. I went over there once. Can you stop crucifying me already?”

Lyla throws her hands up in the air. She’s full on crying now. “He ruined my life. He turned Skip into a different person. And you. You . . .” She looks to Erica for backup.

“Maybe not the best idea, Liz,” Erica says weakly.

Mom puts her arm around Lyla and glares at me. And I feel so bad, I really do. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it would mean that much to you.”

“How could you not realize?”

“I don’t know. I won’t do it again.” It’s the same promise I made in the car, but it means more now, because she’s my sister. I’d do anything for her.

She looks at me, the bottom of her eyes smudged with mascara. “You promise?”

“Yes.”

Mom wipes Lyla’s eyes with a tissue, leads her back to her spot, heads to the front, and in a few minutes, Mrs. Barton and Amy are back, and we’re dolls again, being fitted for our dresses.

Lyla smiles at me, like we’re perfect sisters.

Like she’s totally forgotten about the one who ruined her life.

But I haven’t, even if I never see him again. I don’t think I ever will.

Chapter 9

I
WAIT UNTIL
I’
M HOME AND SAFE FROM
L
YLA
’
S PRYING
eyes to check my phone.

There are two texts, one of them from Innis.

My room seems to spin and I let myself fall back onto my bed, grinning wide and toothy. I read the words over and over again, drunk on the notion I was wrong.

hey, was on a fishing trip, how are you?

Just a few short words, and Innis Taylor isn’t over me.

My hands shake, and I decide not to text him right away. He left me hanging for four days. I should wait at least a few minutes. MacKenzie picks up on the second ring.

“Girl, I was just about to call you.”

“I have news,” I say.

“Me, too. You first, though.”

“Okay,” I say. “I don’t think Innis hates me.”

“Duh.”

“I mean, he finally texted me back.”

“I told you he would.”

I sigh, immediately steeling myself, preparing. “It doesn’t mean anything for sure, of course. It still took him a long time. And he could still be into Alexis.”

“Trust in your fabulousness,” she says.

I laugh. “I’ll try . . . it’s good though, right? He wouldn’t have texted if he wasn’t interested at all?” I grip the phone, waiting for her answer, for judgment from on high.

“Relax,” she says. “All you have to do is relax.”

“Okay.” I breathe deeply. Good things can happen, I tell myself. Innis Taylor, the boy I’ve had my eyes on for months, might just like me back
.
Why is it so hard to believe?

“So what’s your news?” I ask.

There’s a patter of steps and then the shutting of a door.

“Okay,” she says. “We went to the movies last night, and afterwards, we were driving, and we went over to that spot near the woods, the one I told you about? With the good views?”

“Uh-huh.”

Her voice is a river, rushing fast and full of promise. “And, well, we stopped, and we were messing around as usual, and then, I don’t know, it just felt different, I guess, and, well—I better just spit it out . . .” She pauses for effect. “We had sex.”

“Wow.” I stifle a gasp and calm the heavy weight in my stomach. I knew they’d been fooling around a lot, and MacKenzie’s so easygoing about the idea of sex, but it’s still big news. “What was it like?”

“It was fun!” she says.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, it did hurt. Kind of a lot. I don’t know, maybe Payton is specially endowed or something . . .”

“Okay, okay,” I say. “No measurements, please.”

She giggles. “It definitely wasn’t as life-altering as you seem to think it’s going to be. It wasn’t any different than hooking up, only a little more
involved
, I guess. And everyone says it gets
way better
the second time.”

“And you don’t feel . . . different?” I ask. I imagine the bottom half of her lighting up, fluorescent arrows pointing to the zipper on her skinny jeans. A sign above reading: “Payton Was Here.”

“It’s not major surgery,” she laughs. “I mean, I guess I feel a little different. Like now I understand what everyone’s going on about, but not that different than anything else you do for the first time.”

I hold the phone closer. “Really?”

“I’m telling you, it’s not that big of a deal. Basically, I really want to do it again.”

I laugh. “So you’re happy you did it, then?”

“
Am
I?” she says. “He’s been texting me nonstop.
Pro move
on my part. And like I said, it can only go up from here.” She pauses to let the joke sink in. “Literally.”

I feel strangely prudish, because when it happens for me, I want it to be more than a “pro move.” With my proper boyfriend and my proper first love. I want it to
mean something
. Is that ridiculous and old-fashioned, or is it just me?

“Oh,” she says. “I forgot why I was going to call you.”

“That wasn’t enough?”

“The other reason. Say you’re around tonight. It’s all part of the plan.” There’s a palpable glee in her voice. She’s probably already orchestrating the loss of my virginity in Innis’s basement, after which we can all live happily ever after, smiling and sexually knowledgeable, ready for the Perfect Senior Year.

“I’m around.”

“Perfect,” she says. “Perfect, perfect, perfect. Innis is going to be at a party tonight with Payton and Alex and everyone. And we’re going.”

I hesitate. “If he wanted me there, wouldn’t he have asked me? I am
not
being your and Payton’s third wheel.”

“First of all, it’s a party. You’re allowed to go even if Innis doesn’t ask you. And second of all, you won’t be. We’ll go together. Innis won’t even be expecting you, and then you’ll be there, and it will be
magic
.” She says the last word with a sigh. She can be surprisingly romantic for a girl who calls her first time a “pro move.”

“Or he’ll be all, who is this crazy girl, stalking me at parties?”

“You’re insane. I’m going to forgive you for that one.”

“Fine,” I say. “But what do I text Innis?”

“Say you’re good and leave it at that. Play it cool. Trust me.”

“Okay,” I say, because Kenzie really does know best, at least when it comes to this.

“Come over at eight thirty,” she says. “We’ll tell my parents we’re going to see a movie. It’s going to be a good night for you.”

It’s only after I hang up that I remember I had another text.

i had a great time last night.

But I think of Lyla, our agreement, and Innis and the promise of tonight, and I know I’m doing the right thing when I hit Delete.

I
GET THE
okay to sleep over at MacKenzie’s house, so I pack an overnight bag and head there around eight. Her parents accept our plan without question—a late movie followed by milk shakes at the twenty-four-hour diner near the theater, home by one thirty.

We wear baggy zip-up hoodies borrowed from her brother, who we’ve bribed to keep silent with ten bucks towards a new video game, and we wait until we’re several blocks away before we roll down the windows, crank up the music, and de-sweatshirt.

My dress is royal blue and just a little sparkly. Kenzie’s is a slim black halter that accents all the right places. We both leave our flip-flops on. Kenzie and I are united in our dislike of heels. Plus, she’s so tall that if she wears them, she’d have a good two inches on Payton.

Kenzie has the address plugged into her phone, the GPS lady raising her voice over the pop music Kenzie listens to nonstop.

We’re almost there when I hear a direction I wasn’t expecting.

“Turn right in point two miles.”

As Kenzie makes the turn, I feel myself tense up. “What street are we going to?”

“I don’t know,” MacKenzie says. “Fontaine-something.”

“Fontainebleu Court?”

“Sounds right.”

I pick at the skin on my thumb.

“What is it?” she asks. “Why all the doom and gloom? Are you freaking out about Innis again?
Relax
.”

I shake my head. “It’s not Innis. It’s just that Fontainebleu Court is Veronica’s street.”

My words hang in the air. We have a rule—don’t bring up Veronica—but MacKenzie hasn’t exactly been respecting that lately.

“You know she didn’t actually call you a slut,” I say.

“Oh, thanks, Liz. I feel so much better.”

“In point one miles, turn left onto Fontainebleu Court.”

MacKenzie makes the turn, but I don’t let it drop.

“And she did have a right to be mad,” I say. “I mean, you kind of stole me from her.”

“What are you, one of her possessions? I didn’t steal you. I started hanging out with you. So I didn’t invite her to every single little thing? So what? Are you guys, like, a package deal?”

MacKenzie drives past a line of parked cars and I see a light on in Veronica’s room, the one above the garage with dormer windows that were particularly good for spying on her cute, popular, and wholly unattainable neighbor, Pip McKibben.

“The party’s at Pip’s?” I ask.

“Yeah, I thought I told you that.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I wasn’t listening.”

MacKenzie pulls the car over about three houses down, where there’s room to park. She turns the engine off. “What, you wouldn’t have come if you’d known it’s in Veronica territory? You need to chill out about this whole issue,” she says.

I cross my arms. “Veronica’s not an issue. She’s my friend.”

“So hang out with her,” MacKenzie says, her voice raised. “I’m not stopping you. Go over there right now, for all I care. I tried to give you the chance to spend time with Innis. Sorry that it happens to be next to the house of one of your friends who also happens to hate me. And I’m the one in the wrong here, right?”

“MacKenzie,” I say, but before I can do anything, she hops out of the car, slamming the door behind her.

I follow, but she’s moving as fast as she can on her überlong legs.

Loud, bass-y music pumps as I approach the lawn. I’m close enough to see Payton come out of the house, plant a juicy kiss on MacKenzie’s mouth. The two disappear inside.

When I get to the lawn, I feel more out of place than I ever have in my life. I look again at Veronica’s house. On a Friday night in another world, we’d have gone to the movies—anything would do: bad action, romcom, whatever—and we’d be in her room now flipping through magazines and talking about our crushes.

Two junior cheerleaders breeze past me without a glance, a lacrosse player trailing behind.

I pull out my phone and try to look appropriately occupied. The last text I sent was to Innis Taylor:
good
. And now I’m here, ready to throw myself at him, sparkly dress and all. My only real friend left is mad at me, probably already having sex with her soon-to-be boyfriend.

No one ever asks you if you want to be popular. There’s no door one, two, or three. No ask the audience for help. If you see your chance, you take it. When MacKenzie moved here at the beginning of junior year, she spent a good few months pretending to be content to eat lunch with just me and Veronica, but after Christmas break, she insisted we move to a more centralized cafeteria table, despite Veronica’s protests. And because she’s her fabulous self (“MacKenzie with a capital
K
”), the popular kids actually took notice. A couple months later, I was trading my ritual Friday night movies for lacrosse parties.

It’s not that I didn’t feel bad about what happened, but I guess I never felt bad enough to fix it. Is that how Jason felt when he ditched me?

Veronica’s info is still in my phone. I pull up the contact, start a new message.

i’m weirdly right next to your house, want to hang out?

I delete it, letter by letter. It’s too much, too presumptuous. Instead, my fingers tap out the only words that could possibly be worth anything.

i’m so sorry

My thumb hovers over the Send button, and I think I’m almost about to do it, when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

I turn to see Marisa behind me, a small bottle of Goldschläger in one hand, Alex right behind her. “I didn’t know you were going to be here!” She gives me a big hug, something I don’t think she’s ever done before.

“Hey, Liz,” Alex says, wrapping his arm back around Marisa as soon as she’s free from our hug.