The Last Time We Were Us (24 page)

Lyla steels herself, lowers her voice. “Are you still hanging out with him?”

There is so much I want to ask her. If Skip was the first person she slept with, or if she made a mistake like I did. If she’s ever found herself so caught up in someone who, by every account, by all opinions, is the opposite of right. I want her to stop being the bride, to stop being Skip’s ex-girlfriend, to stop being one of the many people who got hurt by whatever happened that night. I want her to just be my older sister, here for support and advice.

But I’m afraid. “Why are you even asking me this?”

Her voice rises a pitch higher. “Because you promised me!”

And with those words I know: she cannot be my sister above all else right now.

I don’t tell her that it was inappropriate for her to demand that promise. That one night doesn’t undo a lifetime of friendship. Instead, I look at her, tell her the only thing I think she can stomach. “I’m not. Chill.”

There’s more to the story, of course. There’s the fact that I would be seeing him if he’d only let me. But some secrets are just too heavy to share, even with your sister.

“I’m glad,” she says cautiously, even though she doesn’t sound very glad—or very convinced.

She turns back, heads for the door, but then she stops, returns, sits back down on the bed. Her engagement ring catches the sunlight, and she looks particularly perfect right now, every hair in place, her makeup set. “I have to say this, Liz, and I don’t want to, but I have to.”

“What?” My heart beats faster at the harsh tone of her voice.

“If you are seeing him—” She takes a breath, then spits the words out fast. “I’m sorry, but if you are, I can’t have you in the wedding. You can come and all, but you can’t stand up there next to me. I can’t take it.”

The first thing I feel is fear. That she’ll find out I have spent time with him, that she’ll keep her word. But the anger comes quickly enough. How
could
she?

“But I’m your sister.” I raise my voice.

“You said you weren’t seeing him.”

“I’m not,” I say. “But geez, Lyla, is that necessary? You’re supposed to love me no matter what.”

“I do love you.” Her eyes fill with tears. “So very much. But this is
my
day. I can’t have you standing there beside me if you’re doing this.”

She doesn’t wait for a response. Just folds her hands together, stands up, carries herself out the door, as pretty and perfect as if she were walking down the aisle.

I wait for her to come back and poke her head in—
Psych! Boy, you really are on edge. What’s wrong with you?
—to laugh about how bad she just got me. To hug me and tell me she supports me no matter what. To tell me she’s my sister, and that a boy will never come between us. Isn’t that one of the cardinal rules of sisterhood?

But I hear her talking to Mom, then the open and shut of the front door, and the rev of the brand-new engine as she pulls away, and I know that she won’t.

I
LOCK MYSELF
in my room for the rest of the afternoon. Listen to angry music. Try not to think about the two new missed calls I have from Innis.

I text Jason.

how are you?

I can see him typing—maybe he didn’t mean what he said—but then he stops, and I’m left by myself, staring at my phone. Suddenly, a thought shocks me, shames me even more. Am I a Ladder Girl, as Veronica used to call them, one of those annoying serial daters who won’t let go of one boy until she’s got the next one in her grasp? I know deep inside that Innis and I are not right for each other, but am I only so sure because I think that Jason is on the sidelines, waiting for me?

That is not who I am. That is not me. And I have to prove it.

I bound down the stairs, grab Lucy’s leash. She pants at me eagerly, and we head outside.

It’s gray today and windy. Looks like it’s going to rain. Lucy loves it because it means she can scamper about without overheating. I turn her away from the neighborhood, towards the path that leads to the pond. I don’t have the energy to parade her around, in front of all the people, all the neighbors who expect me to be this person that, more and more, I know I’m not.

Lucy shuffles around and squats in front of the tree where Innis Taylor held my cheeks in his hands, tried to make it work with us only two days ago.

Lucy and I wind around the pond, and when we get to a bench, I sit down. She curls up next to my feet, plops down.

I pull out my phone, afraid to lose my resolve.

Innis answers on the first ring.

“Liz,” he says. “Hey.”

“Hi.” My voice sounds weak, because I feel the fear all around me, the recoil deep inside. What I’m about to do is not only undoable, it’s not what you’re supposed to do. It isn’t the natural order of things. It doesn’t follow script.

“I knew you would call.” He sounds kind and confident, like he’s got our whole future mapped out, like I only need to hop on the bandwagon and enjoy.

“It’s not that kind of a call—”

“I’m sorry I hurt Jason,” he interrupts me. “But it has nothing to do with us. I meant what I said. We’re good together.”

I swallow, speak softly. “I know.”

“So maybe tonight? I have to be home for dinner, but then I’m free. We could go to a movie or something. Oh, and my mom told me to ask you what the exact date of the wedding is—your dad said early August, right?—because my other suit needs to be fitted or something.”

His confidence snaps me into action, gives me back my voice. Because here he is, knowing I’ve been upset with him, ignoring him, and he just assumes he’s still my date to the wedding. It’s like he’s never not gotten something he wants. It’s like he feels . . .
entitled
. . . to me. As if he’s earned me, with fancy French dinners and family galas and awkward first-time sex and the ultimate honor, the grand title of “girlfriend.”

“Innis, I only called to tell you that I can’t really see you anymore.”

The line is silent a minute. Lucy nuzzles my feet, but I shoo her away.

Finally, “What do you mean, you can’t
see
me?”

I force myself to soften my voice. “I’m sorry, but it’s over.”

“But what about the other night?” he asks. “Correct me if I’m wrong but you usually lose your virginity to someone you want to be with.”

“It was a mistake,” I say.

“A mistake? Did it mean nothing to you? Because it sure as hell meant something to me.”

And that’s the thing. For months, I have been telling myself that Innis is what I want, that all I have to do is find a way for him to like me. I’ve been so focused on the grand plan, the Perfect Senior Year, landing the most popular guy in school, even though I’d always been just a regular girl before, that I forgot to ask myself if it’s what
I
really wanted.

And it is so clear now that it’s not.

“You’ve slept with lots of girls.” I force the shakiness out of my voice. “Don’t act like this was any different.”

“It was different.” His voice is strained, pleading. “What have you been doing all summer? Pretending to like me just for fun?”

“No,” I say, a note of pleading in my voice now, too. “I thought it would be different.”

“You mean you didn’t expect dear sweet Jason to come home.”

“No, I—”

“What, like you’re not thinking about him? That lying dick.”

“Innis, stop.”

“Tell me it’s not about him, then. Tell me everything didn’t change because I gave him what he deserved.”

The line hangs, waiting.

“Tell me!” He’s yelling now, and even Lucy seems to sense the tension, she paws at my legs, scratching.

“I don’t know what to say to you.”

“Screw you, Liz.” He hangs up without another word.

Chapter 22

I
DON
’
T GET THE GUTS TO GO OVER TO
J
ASON
’
S UNTIL
early evening. I pull a pack of peas out of the freezer and neglect to tell Mom where I’m going, practically asking to be punished at this point.

Mr. Sullivan answers the door. “Lizzie,” he says. “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“It’s a bit of a surprise. I hope I’m not interrupting. I brought peas for Jason.”

“So you heard.” He shakes his head. “I knew working at a gas station was a bad idea. I told him he should wait until he finishes his last year of school and gets on his feet. But he was adamant, wanted to keep busy, help out.”

“The gas station?”

“He didn’t tell you where it happened?” Mr. Sullivan heads to the kitchen and pours me a glass of sweet tea. “Two guys attacked him as he was leaving work. I told him to quit. Too many shady people hanging around there.” His eyes get a bit watery. “I can’t risk something like that happening again.”

He hands the glass of tea to me, and all I can think of is Jason’s kindness towards me. He could have told his dad that it was my fault, but he didn’t. “Thanks.”

Mr. Sullivan brushes his hands over his eyes and composes his face. “I was actually about to head out. I hope you don’t mind. Jason’s in his room.”

“No problem. Sorry to show up unannounced.”

“You’re welcome anytime,” Mr. Sullivan says. He grabs a leather messenger bag and tosses it over his shoulder. “He’ll be happy to see you.”

He walks to Jason’s door and cracks it open. “Lizzie’s here.”

On the way out, he gives me a kiss on the cheek.

I walk slowly down the hall and peek my head into the room.

“Hey,” he says. His face is a mishmash of black and blue and yellow, his right eye particularly puffy, his lips still full and fat.

“I brought peas for your face.” I don’t wait for him to reply, because a real friend wouldn’t. I sit down on the bed and slowly lower the package to his cheek. “You didn’t answer my text. So I thought I’d just show up.”

He winces before relaxing into the cold. “I don’t want to get in the way of you and Innis
.
”

“I’m not going to see him anymore. I told him it’s over.”

His eyes look up to mine. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know.” The pack of peas slips, and I readjust it, hold it steady. “You didn’t have to. I promise I didn’t know he was going to do that.”

He pauses, his eyes on the ceiling. But then he says: “I know you didn’t.”

“Then why did you say that I belonged with him?”

His shoulders crunch up as he winces, but then he relaxes them again. “Maybe I thought it was true, that you’d changed. You have.”

I shrug. “So have you. But we still grew up together. We still know each other better than anyone.”

He twists a corner of the sheet. “It was a long time ago,” he says finally.

“So what? It was a time that matters.”

His voice is almost a whisper. “It’s not where you start that matters. It’s where you end up.”

I stare at him a minute, and I want to ask him about what happened that night, for all of the truth, not just little snippets, but maybe for the first time, I trust him that there’s a reason he hasn’t told me everything. I need to be his friend right now, and that’s all I’m going to do.

“I don’t want to be your secret,” he says. “It’s not fair to me, or to you.”

“I don’t want you to be my secret, either. Maybe you don’t have to be.”

He looks at me, his face calm, and he looks like the Jason I’ve always known. I brush my fingers across his forehead, where the skin is smooth, where it’s safe.

“Will you sit with me?” he asks. “For a while?”

And I nod, smile. “I’ll stay for as long as you want.”

I
REMEMBER THIS
one time when we were around nine. A girl in my class was making fun of me on the playground because my sweatshirt had a cat on it. Jason tried to get her to stop at recess, but she was ruthless. When we got home from school that day, he had a brilliant idea. He took two huge fabric shears from his dad’s office, and we proceeded to cut up every piece of my clothing that had an animal on it, at least ten or twelve items by the time we were done. We thought it was hilarious. Mom was horrified. She called Mr. Sullivan, and we were both grounded for a week.

And it’s funny, but that’s the first thing I think about as I slip my key in the lock at my house that night, just past ten thirty. Me and Jason, at it again.

I’m no sooner inside than I hear Mom stomping down the hall. Her eyes, on fire, catch mine. “Where the
hell
have you been?”

“Nice to see you, too.” I squeeze past her, head for the stairs.

“It’s almost eleven. You don’t answer your phone. You miss dinner. Don’t even think about going up to your room. I’m not done with you.”

“Fine.” I turn around on the stairs. “What do you want?”

She puts her hands on her hips, takes a deep
humph
of a breath. “Where were you?”

In seconds Dad is behind her. “Why don’t you tell your mother where you’ve been, Liz?”

“Out.”

She stomps her foot. “I am tired of this
out
. You have no right to just come and go as you please in the car that your father and I generously let you drive. Now, try this again, you little brat. Where were you?”

“Please don’t yell, Genevieve.” Dad puts a hand on Mom’s shoulder.

“I’m only yelling,
Greg
, because
your daughter
thought it fit to just skip out on dinner and is now refusing to give us a hint of where she’s been.
Remember?
”

“Yes,” he says. “But let’s everyone just calm down.”

“Calm down?” Mom snaps. “Why do you
always
make me the bad guy?”

“I’m not making you the bad guy, Genevieve. I’m just trying to—”

“Useless,” she says. “You’re completely useless.”

That sets him off. He crosses his arms, as if only now realizing that all of this is my fault. “Well?” He stares at me. “Where were you?”

There’s something weirdly comforting about seeing your parents band together, just missing the turnoff for the big fight, even when their joint enemy is you.

“I went to Jason’s, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”