Come Back to Me (20 page)

Only Kyle
would be in no position to take me, not now, and that option would mean
traipsing back down to the beach.  For a moment, it felt like all my problems
would have been solved if only I just drank at the beach, because then I could
have coasted on a wave of detachment until the party was over.

If wishes
were horses, then beggars would ride.

The saying
popped into my head.  What did that mean?  Was it from Gosley?  I couldn’t
remember.  I was so sick of all the stupid motivational posters at Gosley and
the chalkboard quotes at TEA.  I was so freaking impressionable.  When would I
just freaking think for myself?  Except look where thinking for myself got me? 
Standing inside Jake Adler’s house like some wild girl.

Again.  I went
from one extreme to the next.  Drinking all the time.  Cutting my hair. 
Spontaneously taking the job at TEA.  Falling for Evan. I felt weak, even my
chin trembled in self-disgust, which was why I shrugged and took his offer.  What
else did I have to lose?

We didn’t
talk as we walked to his car, but I couldn’t stop sneaking glances at him. Heat
rushed through me as I thought of his hands on my waist, his mouth on mine, his
breath on my neck, his thumbs rubbing circles on the patch of bare skin where
my shirt rode up.

I swallowed
and shook my head, but as I settled into the passenger seat, my gaze followed
his dark eyelashes, down his straight nose to his lips, which formed a sideways
heart, and I pushed away the strong urge to reach out and trace them.

It would
only reinforce my penchant for extremes, my crazy.

Evan stopped
at the four way stop at the end of Dogwood Road and checked for traffic.  When
his head turned in my direction, I dropped my head down, concentrating on my
feet.  Crumpled paper bags and cups from TEA littered the floor.  His car,
unlike his looks, was a disaster.  The chaos didn’t match the even keel of
Evan’s normal everyday demeanor.  I resisted the urge to shove it all in the
plastic bag near my feet.

“Did your
trash bag explode or something?” I asked, as my nerves detonated, their ends
fraying, allowing laughter to bubble without my consent.  Then all the pathetic
reared up and swallowed the earlier judgment from Evan. “How do you live like
this?”

I heard
myself hesitate over my words.  Besides sounding majorly defensive and petty, I
was sure I sounded like my tongue was too big for my mouth.  It reminded me of
being drunk and that made me feel even more pitiful.  He probably thought I was
drunk, too, even though he never actually said anything.  The judgment I felt
was my own.  Here he was doing me a favor by taking me home, and I judged him?

Evan glanced
at me—no stared at me, until my insides tumbled around again.  But he didn’t
say anything.  Instead, I felt the burn of humiliation as he faced forward and
moved through the intersection.

I squirmed
against the tendrils of unease as they took up space next to this new anger,
which as I thought about it, included Kyle for bringing me anywhere near the
Adler’s house.  Only that was stupid.  I went willingly.  It wasn’t like I
could blame Kyle for partying either.  He never pretended to be anyone
different.

My mind
festered with a lot of unproductive crap, like jumping from being embarrassed
to checking Evan out.  More extremes. I knew I was in a free fall over the
whole Colson rejection thing, and it was screwing me over.  Without Colson, I
didn’t know what I had left, or where I was supposed to go.  It didn’t mean I
had any right to take it out on anyone though.

Evan
remained quiet.  Curious, I peeked at him as he drove.  I couldn’t read him,
but I knew the right thing, the polite thing, to do was apologize.  With that
intention, I took a deep breath but stopped after he pulled into my driveway
and shifted in his seat to face me.

I squirmed, completely
exposed.  I felt as if his gaze revealed every single flaw I had.  Still I felt
that shiver—the one that reminded me I was nervous, because I was still wildly
attracted to him (which also pissed me off).  Only now, it made me cringe, because
he wasn’t in any way sending out playful vibes.

My face
turned hot at the realization, and I found myself wishing for that spontaneous
combustion that felt imminent earlier, because it would’ve been a lot easier to
disappear into a tiny pile of ash on his passenger seat.

I bowed my
head.  God, this night sucked.  I didn’t even know how to party or let loose
anymore—with or without alcohol.  I didn’t know what to do about all the
edges.  The stress pushed in at me from all sides, and it was like sharp
corners jabbing at me.  I wanted out of Bloom, but I even screwed that up.  I
didn’t have a plan, and I was well on my way to engraving invitations for my
pity party.

“I’m not, I
mean I didn’t-” I started to explain that I didn’t drink, but then Evan flipped
the switch, unlocking my door, and I jumped.  I felt the need to explain, but
the words were stuck, and all I could think about was the last stupid thing I
said to him, the words echoed embarrassingly in my mind.

How do
you live like this?

I tried to reassure
myself that maybe my question had somehow registered with him as funny.  A
joke.

But of
course, it hadn’t.

Because when
Evan finally responded, he said, “How do you?”

* * *

I tried to
craft my way out of crappiness.

But as I
glued and glittered, my stomach churned with a haphazard crew of butterflies
that didn’t understand the definition of synchronicity.  It made me feel sick,
and it was scary close to a hangover.  So close, that I started to compare
everything that happened with Evan to drinking.  After all, the last weeks with
him were like a high.  Just thinking about him turned me light-headed.  I felt
free and happy, and it wasn’t unlike the first couple of drinks of alcohol when
life buzzes, turning temporarily awesome.  And just like when I drank, I
completely lost my focus.  All I could think about was Evan.

I didn’t
have a plan at all anymore, and it scared me, because once again, I clung to
the high of fleeting emotions.  Okay, so maybe this time, it wasn’t illegal,
but it distracted me the same, pulling me off course.  Because I’d been one
hundred percent focused on Evan, and I didn’t have time for that kind of distraction. 
Where would it lead?  Love?  Coupled with the empty loneliness and guilt, it
seemed like a deadly combination that could only lead to poor choices.

In an
attempt at some sort of plan, I showed my dad the letter from Colson.

I tried to
fix it myself, but after leaving messages at the admissions office, and at my
high school guidance counselor’s office, I realized no one was in any hurry to
get back with me.

So, I turned
to my dad.  He was used to getting his way, and I figured in the Colson case,
it could work in my favor, and well, I was desperate.

He read the
letter, then put it down next to his plate.  Again, he seemed to scan it, this
time with narrowed eyes.  Then he picked up his fork and took another bite of
roast.  He chewed.  It was typical.  My dad only said what was necessary and
usually after much forethought, as if words waited to swoop in and damn him. 
He maintained his legal right to remain silence.

Finally, he
put his fork down.

“Don’t
worry.  This is a phony attempt at cracking down on senioritis.”  He talked
about precedence and something being contingent on my performance while he
pointed his fork in my direction.  I tuned out the lawyer speak after he said
“senioritis.”  It sounded like such an odd word, or a simple word, to describe
my second semester plummet of grades, my drinking, my ruined friendship, and my
grief.  At least my dad seemed to think there was a simple solution.  He asked
for all my Colson paperwork, including my acceptance letter, then finished by
saying he would make some calls.

Still, I
worried.  Colson zeroed in on my weakness.  Well, the consequence of my
weakness, because they didn’t know what caused the shift in my grades—not the
real reason.  For all they knew, I partied in Cancun over spring break and went
clubbing every weekend, instead of hanging out in my room and drinking.  Oh and
reading to my grandmother on Sundays.  Either way, it still resulted in a less
than desirable candidate (maybe not the grandmother part, because that probably
fell under charitable service, but the rest described your basic loser).  If I
were on the admission committee, I wouldn’t want me either, but Colson had been
my lifeline for so long, I didn’t know what else to do.

I thought of
my safety schools, the ones I’d happily declined months ago.  In my memory, the
idea of them flickered, hazy, like a mirage.

They were
just out of reach.

I stepped
out of the craft store at Bloom Town Center only to run into Kiki Stone and a
group of girls in front of Starbucks.  They all carried venti-sized drinks with
whipped cream.  Kiki wore a white ribbed tank top that read
love
,
spelled out in pink crystals.  They were laughing, having fun.  Being normal.  Jealousy
pinged from not so far away.

Kiki elbowed
one of the other girls, and they all laughed again.

I thought of
how she tried to get in touch with me after Katie died, but her efforts might
as well have been smoke signals disappearing into the sky, because I was beyond
lost.  So much so that I didn’t even know I needed or wanted any connections. 
Evan reminded me of all that.  Even if I screwed up my relationship with him, I
knew I didn’t want to go back to the cold, the loneliness.  I didn’t want to be
lost anymore.

Suddenly, I
remembered climbing up the ladder into my tree house.  Whenever I reached the
top of the ladder, I would poke my head through the hole in the floor, smell
that lumber smell, and see all the posters we put on the walls.

My heart
thudded, more than a little afraid that the memory might set off some scary
Katie chain of events, but when I thought about how much we laughed in there,
it’s rhythm evened out.  I imagined our laughter imprinted on the walls and in
the tree, seeping into the roots below.

I smiled.

“Whitney.”

I looked up
to see Kiki and her group standing in front of me, a cluster of blended coffee
and crystals.

Kiki
hesitated before bending down and pulling me into a hug, the straw in her cup
almost stabbing me in my ear.  I guess she wasn’t offended by my attitude at TEA
a couple of weeks ago, and I was glad.  One less thing to feel stupid about.

“You know
Annie and Dina, right?”  She pointed out the rest of the trio, turning enough
so I saw the back of her top.  It read, Mrs. Dasher, also spelled out in
crystals.

Kiki didn’t
seem to miss a beat, because she followed my eyes, then turned, modeling her
shirt.

“I’m not
engaged to him or anything.  Dina made this for me.  She’s always calling me
that anyway.  Victoria Dasher.  Sounds good, right?  Annie thinks it sounds
like a soap opera character.”  Kiki crossed her eyes at Annie, while still
grinning.  “I guess I am in love though.  Crazy, right?”

I thought of
Evan again, and my stomach knotted up.  It seemed so easy to want to just be in
love with him and think only that forever and ever.  Except I’d ruined that
relationship, too.

“It’s not
crazy.” I managed a smile, because I didn’t want to be the Debbie Downer. 
Besides, Kiki’s smile was contagious.  Her constant push to be positive rubbed
off.  Maybe it would be an antidote for my lovesickness.

Fake it
until you make it, but this time, it was fake in a good way, not how I always
defined it.  Anyway, Kiki Stone was one of those people who had tried to contact
me after Katie died.  She was still being nice, even though I’d ignored her. 
She kept trying.  I had to admire her persistence, especially when she wasn’t
selling anything.  She had no agenda.  It was just simple kindness, probably
why it was so easy for Katie to become her friend.

For some
reason, that thought didn’t hurt as much.  Maybe it had something to do with
seeing Kiki, amped on love, a little caffeine, and crystals.  I had to start
somewhere.  I was so sick of riding the waves of suckage and non-suckage.  The
back and forth was nauseating, and I just wanted to have some sort of control. 
But control wasn’t totally realistic, because there were no guarantees.  Love,
friendship, life—they all had the capacity to spark or suddenly fizzle.

Or surprise
you.  Standing in the middle of the sidewalk between Starbucks and the craft
store, Kiki got serious.

“Um, okay.” She
sighed, and her smile was nervous, fragile as she pulled a piece of paper out
of her wallet-sized messenger bag.  “I’ve been wanting to give this to you
forever, but I never knew when it was the right time.  Anyway, um, I found this
in my room a few days after…”

I nodded,
because as her voice trailed off, I knew she meant Katie.  Then she handed me
the folded square.  I stared at it.

“You don’t
have to look at it now.  I just wanted to make sure you had it.”