Use Somebody (6 page)

Grateful for the distraction, I climbed to the top bunk, only to find a bag of skittles on my pillow. I glanced at Ricky, but he had his back to me with his earphones in, busily sketching away. I tossed a skittle at him. It missed and landed on his desk. He picked it up and ate it without turning around.

I laid on my stomach, ankles twisted in the air, popped a few candies into my mouth, and opened the book to the beginning.

* * *

“Ricky?” I whispered into the dark.

I had no clue what time it was. At some point he had stopped sketching, turned out the lights and crawled into the bottom bunk. I stayed silent when he called out to me, feigning sleep. But now, restless, I was drowning in impossible sorrow.

“Hmm?”

He never minded when I slept in his room on nights like this to escape the fighting at home. But things had changed since those early days. I’d give anything to go back to that time of innocence, where the only thing that haunted me at night was the sound of yelling.

“Does it get easier?”

As a general rule, we avoided any serious topics at all cost. Our time together was intended to be an escape, not a group session. And Ricky was even less inclined to open up than yours truly. He had his own demons to deal with. While I didn’t expect us to hold hands and sing
Kumbaya,
I was hoping he wouldn’t deny me a few words of encouragement. He always had a way of grounding me.

He let out a long-suffering sigh. “It’s not the same thing, Scar.”

“I know,” I admitted quietly. I was rolled into a ball on my side, arms wrapped around my knees. “But it still hurts.”

In the last month, I learned the worst kind of pain went far deeper than muscle or bone. Grief had burrowed its way under my flesh, decaying one piece of my soul at a time. That kind of pain was a long, inescapable, tortuous suffering. A heavy mass pressing on your shoulders, weighing you down everywhere you went. It was so many emotions, you eventually stopped trying to distinguish them, until all you felt was a vacant numbness.

He was quiet for a long time before he finally took pity on me. “It’ll always hurt,” he said bluntly. “But you know what’s stronger than hurt?”

“What?” I asked anxiously. Anything… I’d give anything so long as I didn’t have to feel like this forever.

“Anger,” he confessed in the darkness. It was so low, I almost didn’t hear it.

I laid there and processed his words. I had known anger. I was familiar with its flame. James certainly had a fiery temper, which he inherited from our hot-blooded father. Ricky, while controlled most of the time, had a history of getting into fights as well. But not me. I had always been positive and level-headed. Until recently.

“Love betrays you; anger strengthens you. Channel your anger and nothing can touch you. Not grief or guilt or any person. You have a lot to be angry about, Scar. Just focus on that.”

[Present]

“You’re a girl, right?”

I made a face at Vance that said,
Yeah. A girl who could kick your ass.

“Can I ask you a question?” he said. “You know, guy to girl?”

“No,” I said blandly.

He continued, unfazed. “What would you want for an anniversary gift?”

An anniversary?
I chewed the corner of my cheek in thought. I’d never really been big on gifts. I had only celebrated one anniversary before… with Miles. We got dressed up and went out for a fancy dinner. Quite honestly, I would have been fine if we’d skipped the expensive restaurant altogether and just got coffee cakes at the Starbucks where we met.

I tried to think about what I knew of Vance, but all I had was his love of fishing and music. “Maybe… make her a mixed CD of her favorite songs.”

His head tilted and he looked at me like he wasn’t sure if I was serious. “I think she’ll want something more than that. It’s our four-year anniversary.”

“Four years?”
I shrieked. At eighteen, I couldn’t even conceive of a teenage relationship lasting that long.

He nodded. “I should probably spring for Tiffany’s. Right?”

“Who the hell is Tiffany?”

He released a quick burst of laughter. But when I remained serious he cleared his throat.

“Tiffany’s is a jewelry store. Exclusive sterling silver, heart pendants, that sort of thing.”

“Oh.” Didn’t really sound like I was missing out on much.

His amused grin made me self-conscious. “What?” I said. Why was he looking at me like that?

“Come on,
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
? Isn’t that movie like a rite of passage for girls?”

I scoffed rather stupidly. Of course I’d heard of the movie but I had never seen it, and always assumed it was about a restaurant. “Well that’s what you get for coming to me for advice. I’m sure if your girlfriend is into that sort of thing, she will love whatever expensive name brand accessory you decide to buy her.”

“I like spoiling her,” he insisted. “It makes her happy.”

I got it. My old friends had liked pretty things, too. Designer shades, expensive jeans and shiny jewelry. But none of that had ever been important to me. I liked my CD idea; it seemed much more personal than some standardized silver pendant. Especially if the guy put a lot of thought into the songs to make it special. “Music makes me happy,” I offered. “And I’m sticking to it.”

Was that cheeky grin permanently etched on his face? “I see that. Well, one day some lucky guy will find it incredibly easy to shop for your anniversary.”

Ugh.

When the bell over the door chimed I was glad to have a reprieve from that conversation.

The person who walked in was a smartly dressed girl with sandy blond hair and a dazzling smile. Correction: She didn’t so much walk into the shop, she glided.

“Summer Elliott!” Vance greeted the girl with a matching grin and leaned on the counter. “What a surprise!”

Summer was another fellow employee at Mooshi Treatery. I’d met her when I was first hired on. Due to her busy social life, she typically worked morning hours, which meant our shifts together were pretty limited.

“Hey, you! Cole mentioned something about fishing this weekend.”

“He did, huh?” he winked. “Thanks. Tell him I’m in.”

A wink, too? Okay. Maybe he’s just flirty like that with everyone.

Her answering smile sparkled, then she turned to me. “Hi Scar. How are you liking it here at Mooshi?”

I shrugged. “It’s pretty easy.”

And it was. I needed a job without meticulous analysis or important projects hanging over my head. I could totally handle this pace—getting paid to zone out and eat free ice cream. Safe.

“And Vance here isn’t being too bossy with you?”

“Not really. He’s just a bit of a goober.”

At that, Summer threw back her head gracefully, the sound of her laughter like tinkling bells. “A goober. That’s pretty funny.”

“I guess.” It wasn’t
that
funny.

“Aw, you wound me, Rosie,” said Vance, clutching his heart dramatically. “Why must you scorn our love?”

“Rosie?” Summer asked, glancing between us with an amused look.

“See what I mean?” I shook my head. “Goober.”

This time she didn’t laugh. She just studied me up and down until she succeeding in making me uncomfortable.

It didn’t take a mind reader to guess her thoughts. Little did she know, the old Scarlett might’ve gotten along great with someone like Summer. But the new me clashed in every capacity. She was pretty, polite and poised; I was all dark and unapproachable. She was likeable; most days I didn’t even like myself.

Finally, she tilted her head in thought. “Scar, I have a very important question to ask you.”

My brow furrowed. “Okay…”

“When was the last time you had a manicure?”

Didn’t see that one coming. “Um… prom?”

* * *

Somehow, I’d ended up with a different ride home that night, and—despite my protests—a detour.

Making friends had never come naturally to me. Even before this year, I’d always been more introspective than outgoing. Not that I was antisocial, mind you. I suppose there was a fine line. I engaged in conversation when I was comfortable and the opportunity arose, but generally I didn’t seek it out. I’d found my one clique long ago and stuck with them for almost seven years, so I was a little rusty when it came to socializing.

Pile on a whole new set of issues and the task proved to be daunting. I had now crossed the line from introverted to antisocial.

I tried to contribute to the conversation with Summer, but most of the time my tongue felt huge and awkward in my own mouth, and the things I forced myself to say sounded stupid.

Summer didn’t seem to mind though. She did just fine holding the conversation on her own. She talked about all kinds of girly things—clothes, makeup, dieting—and I had no clue how to relate to any of it. I hadn’t gone shopping or done my makeup in months. My diet consisted of whatever crap I could force myself to swallow on any given day. And waxing? Eff that.

It was, however, nice not to depend on Vance for a change. Summer seemed like a handful, but she was significantly less intrusive overall.

Her parents’ house was in a beautiful gated community even further north than mine. It was decorated in spring colors of light greens and lavenders with silk flowers in colorful vases. Vaulted ceilings and shiny marble floors were accompanied by large windows and long drapes. A crystal chandelier dominated the elegant dining room.

She led me through the pristine home to her meticulously organized bedroom, and pulled out a plastic container, its contents jumbling around.

“I have every color you could possibly imagine. Thirteen different shades of pink alone. I even have glitter, gemstones, oh and I saw on Pinterest—”

“I’ll stick with black.”

“Oh… yes, of course.” She appeared a little deflated that her vast variety of design ideas would go to waste, but recovered quickly. She rummaged through the little glass bottles until she found the shiny black one. Giving it a few good shakes, the tiny marbles mixed up the polish inside.

“When was prom? A year ago? You’re going to need the full treatment. Cuticles… Buffing… Exfoliating… Usually I’d go into a spa for this kind of work, but you’re lucky because I have everything you’ll need right here!”

She clipped. She filed. She shined. And she talked. It was the kind of small talk where the most substantial subject to discuss involved her glory days of cheerleading in high school. Which was fine with me. I’d spent a great deal of time alone recently, so my share of conversational topics was pretty limited.

Pictures hung all over her wall of friends at school, at the beach, at parties, cheer camp, and everywhere in between. One in particular caught my attention. It looked like a selfie of three people. I recognized Vance making a goofy face, of course. Summer was smiling brightly in the middle. And another boy’s face was cut off with just an ear and a bit of blond hair showing. They looked a little younger, but not much. There were trees in the background that reminded me of the canyons by my house.

“Has Vance really had a girlfriend for four years?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes in a fond kind of way. “It’s really closer to three and a half. Cole and I have known him for way longer. Since we were all, like, six.”

“Oh. Is Cole your boyfriend?”

“Ew! Gross! No. Cole is my brother. My twin, actually. And Vance’s best friend. He used to work at Mooshi, too. Then he got a job taking reservations at some fancy schmancy hotel. He wears a suit to work every day now, but he will still always be my stinky brother. Sometimes I can’t believe I’m related to
that butt!”

It was the first time I ever heard a girl wearing a cardigan and pearls shout the word
butt.
And it totally made my night.

I decided Summer Elliott was cool. She kinda reminded me of Lexi, except she wasn’t obsessed with boys. And she wasn’t a bitch.

And duh—Colton Elliott. I vaguely remembered him from school. How did I not know he had a twin sister?

“There. All done. Doesn’t that look much better?”

I splayed my fingers and admired the perfectly painted nails. Admittedly, I hadn’t taken very good care of myself these last few months. Before tonight, if someone had asked me if I wanted a manicure, I would have told them I didn’t give a crap about that shit. But now that I was here, pampering myself a tiny bit, I realized it felt kinda… nice.

“It looks great. Thanks Summer.”

“Fabulous! Now, who did your dye job?”

“Um… I did.”

Her amused smile appeared again. “Well that certainly explains a lot. You missed a few spots underneath, and the color’s looking a little washed out.”

“Oh.”

“What do you say we give this D.I.Y. thing another shot? There’s a drug store open twenty-four hours on Route 66.”

I looked down at my nails again. It was great that she was taking my social deficiencies in stride, but I couldn’t help but feel like a project. Is that what everyone saw when they looked at me nowadays? Someone they felt compelled to help? That wasn’t what I wanted.

I exhaled deeply. “I know what you must be thinking.”

Her pretty face scrunched in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I know I’m a bit of a mess… I’m kind of awkward, and all this black… but you don’t have to do this.”

She smiled kindly. “Oh, Scar… I’m getting carried away, aren’t I? We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. My friend Kiki is in cosmetology school, and I thought we could help her out, too. That’s all.”

“Oh.” I fiddled with a few stray pieces of hair. She was right. It was a crappy dye job. And the dry ends told me it was due for some care. What was the harm in it? “Okay. I guess that’d be fine.”

* * *

“Now it’s a party!” Kiki tossed up both hands upon her entrance. The girls squealed and hugged.

Kiki was blessed with a head of hair to match her exuberant personality: bright orange layers flipped out around her chin, short enough to show off her huge gold hoops and lightly freckled skin. Green eye shadow made her sparkling eyes pop, obviously applied by a semi-professional.

Kiki may have been attending cosmetology school, but she worked part time at Mooshi as well, sharing the majority of morning shifts with Summer. It was clear the ice cream shop loved hiring family and friend references because it seemed like every employee there was connected to somebody else.

Arm in arm, the girls laughed and skipped down the driveway like they were off to the Emerald City. I felt out of place among them, dark and drab compared to their vibrancy. I shuffled behind, hands tucked in the front pocket of my hoodie. It was just a stop at the drug store, not sure where all that giddiness came from. I resented them for being so carefree. I envied them for it, too.

“Shotgun!” Kiki called, ready to pile into the passenger side of Summer’s Lexus.

I tensed, my skin prickling with sweat. I watched the smiling girls climb into the car, but couldn’t get my own feet to advance. No matter how I told myself I had nothing to worry about, I was fine, we were all fine, I couldn’t control my body’s physical reaction, kick-started by one little word.

Summer looked up when she noticed I made no move towards the car. “You coming?”

As if I weren’t awkward enough already.

“I can’t—” I cleared my throat. “I… get carsick in the backseat.”

Summer’s perfect brows puckered, but Kiki just smiled and grabbed my arm, pulling me forward. “Then you get permanent front seat privileges in Summer’s car,” she spoke up. Bless her.

“Thank you.” I shot her an apologetic look, but she’d already let it roll off her shoulder.