Cracked Up to Be (15 page)

“Nothing is going on between me and Jenny Morse—”

“That’s not what Parker said!”

I close my eyes.

“What? You’re taking Parker’s word for this? She’s drunk off her ass! When we dragged her in here she was telling us what a beautiful person Becky is! I am not fucking Jenny Morse!”

“Oh, really? Because that’s not what Jenny Morse told me and she wasn’t drunk off her ass when she said it!”

She starts to cry.

“Oh, Jesus, Jessie. Don’t cry, please. . . .”

“I can’t even look at you right now. Get out.”

“No, please, Jess—we can figure this out. I’m not leaving this room until we do. Don’t do this. Please.”

“There’s nothing to figure out, Evan.”

“What does that mean?”

Silence.

“I asked you what that meant.”

“What do you think it means? I don’t want you here. Get. Out.”

All of a sudden I’m being jerked upright. My stomach lurches. I try to tell whichever one of them it is to stop and leave me alone, but I can’t move my mouth.

“Parker, sit up. You can’t stay on your back because if you get sick—” Jessie sobs and taps my cheek, once, twice, three times. Stop. I want to sleep. “Parker, come on.”

“I hope she chokes.”

“Nice, Evan. Would you just leave?”

“Not until you talk to me about this.”

“If I talk to you about this now, I’ll just say something that you really won’t like—”

Their voices disappear and so does everything until seconds, minutes, hours later, I don’t know, Evan’s shaking me, grabbing me roughly by the shoulders.

I try to push him off me, but my arms don’t work. I think he’s crying.

“—Because you couldn’t keep your goddamn mouth shut—”

“Jessie.”

I open my eyes. I’m pressed up against Jake’s left side and the flat screen mounted to the wall is rolling the end credits for the movie I didn’t watch. I rub my eyes and straighten up. Chris and Becky stare at me.

“Welcome back,” Jake says.

“Trust you guys to pick the most boring movie in the whole store,” I grumble.

“It kept the rest of us awake.”

I lean forward, rest my head in my hands and try to shake the sleep off.

“Who were you dreaming about?” Chris asks.

My eyes travel from him to Becky.

“Nothing. No one.” I stand. “I’m going to get some air.”

“Come back in soon,” Chris says. “We’re popping out the bubbly.”

“Really?”

“Coke’s bubbly, isn’t it?”

Becky giggles and rests her head against his shoulder. He puts an arm around her.

I’ve never met a girl so content to be a growth.

Outside, I stand in front of the woods, but I don’t go in. All I can think about is getting caught, the cameras that could be recording my every move, that memory-dream and Bailey’s my dog and Evan’s coming back and there’s a bottle of Jack in my locker Becky gave me and Jake’s allowed to kiss me and this isn’t at all how things are supposed to be going. I wanted to be alone. It’s safer that way.

After twenty minutes or so, I hear footsteps behind me.

“I’ve kissed Jake,” I say.

“I know.”

I turn and there’s Chris, all washed-out in blue moonlight.

“He told me because he felt guilty,” he explains. “I told him to go for it.”

“I don’t like you with Becky. She’s not a very nice girl.”

“I don’t like you with Jake. He’s not me.”

“Do you remember that party at the end of junior year . . .”

I trail off and look up. The stars are out tonight, full force. They’re pretty.

Of course he remembers.

“How could I forget?”

“I’m a different person now.”

He regards me for a long time before he says, “No, you’re not.”

“Yeah, I am. I am so,
so
far away from all of that.” I don’t even know why I’m saying this. It just feels like I should. “It’s all totally behind me.”

“Whatever you say.” He holds out his hand. “Let’s get back to the house.”

“She’s nicer than me, though.”

“Who?”

“Becky.”

“Come on, Parker. Let’s go in.”

“Wait; I—”

I turn back to the woods before I realize what I’m doing. I didn’t even get to—

“Are you okay?”

“No. What?” I want to shake myself. Stop looking over there; you can’t go over there, so stop. I run my hand over the bracelet on my wrist. There’s nothing else there that I don’t have. “I mean, yes. I’m just tired. I was hard on you, wasn’t I? I never let you get away with anything.”

“Yeah, but you never let anyone get away with anything.”

“You were worried about me.”

“I worry about you.”

“You know, even when I was really hard on people and not very nice, they always thanked me afterward because you couldn’t argue with the results.” I kick at the ground and give a bitter laugh. “Couldn’t argue with perfection.”

“You were running yourself into the ground.”

“I didn’t want anyone else’s mistakes jeopardizing my track record. And God forbid
I
made a mistake. Because if it ever turned out wrong, what would that say about me? I mean, what would happen?”

“The world would end. You wouldn’t even know how to cope,” Chris says lightly. “And that’s what did happen.”

“No, it didn’t.” I shake my head. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you: I’m not Perfect Parker Fadley anymore. I never was. I know who I am now and I’m more in control of my life than I’ve ever been.”

“You’re a perfect mess. You even have to do
that
perfectly.”

“Look, I’m trying to tell you not to worry,” I say impatiently.

“I’ll do what I like.” He sighs. “We should really go in.”

Becky and Jake are talking happily when Chris and I return to the house. They each have a glass of Coke. Chris pours one for me.

“So,” Becky says as we crowd around the island. It feels like those moments after everyone has left the party and before you start cleaning up. “Ms. Abernathy told me all these old cheers the squad used to do, like, way back in the day, so at the next game, we’re going totally retro. Old-fashioned music, chants, everything. I think it’ll be great, like nothing we’ve done before.”

“What about the outfits?” Chris asks. “You’re not going to go retro with those, are you? When Abernathy was a cheerleader the skirts went down to the ankles.”

The guys laugh like Chris has told an amazingly funny joke.

“Oh, don’t you worry, Chris,” Becky says, touching his arm. “You’ll be able to see our gitch. Gitch? Gitches? Is it ‘gitches’ in plural?”

I raise my glass. “Whatever it is, it’s classy.”

“I know.” She eyes me. “What do you think, really? Think it’s a good idea?”

I shrug. “Can’t be any worse than the cheers you’ve been doing lately.”

“I can’t believe you were cheerleading captain,” Jake says to me.

Becky smirks. “Cheerleading Nazi.”

I set my glass down.

“Jake, walk me home? That way Chris doesn’t have to get the car out.”

So he does.

“It’s nice out,” he says, as we tromp down the driveway. “I mean, it’s definitely getting warmer out.”

“Yeah. . . .”

“My mom doesn’t talk to me.”

“What?”

“My mom doesn’t talk to me,” Jake says. “Because I chose my dad. He cheated on her with Wanda. I guess she thought I’d stay with her because of what he did, but I’ve always had more in common with him.”

It’s the kind of thing that interests me, but I don’t want Jake to think I’m interested, so I swallow the million questions fighting their way up my throat until I can’t.

We’re pretty close to my house at that point.

“So do you forgive him?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Jake says. “I mean, he’s sorry.”

“Do you forgive your mom?”

“I didn’t think I needed to.”

“She should talk to you. You’re her son.”

“Yeah, but it’s more a case of her having to forgive me, isn’t it?”

“But are you sorry?”

He pauses. He looks sad. “No.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because . . .” He shrugs. “I don’t know. Because I want you to know we’ve all got something?”

“Oh, Jake. You’re so melodramatic and angsty.”

“Yeah, we have a lot in common.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Did you mean what you said before?”

“What did I say before?”

“The more I know about you, the less interesting I am. . . .”

“I guess not,” I say. “Lucky you.”

“Lucky me,” he repeats. “I’m going to kiss you.”

So he does.

fifteen

Something’s not right.

I set my book bag down and listen. There are the usual sounds coming from the kitchen; Mom puttering around, getting dinner ready maybe. That’s normal, almost welcome. But something’s missing. Not right.

I round the corner. My perfect test is stuck to the face of the fridge, the way my childhood drawings used to be. Mom’s gearing up to do the dishes, but Dad’s not at his usual spot at the table.

And Bailey didn’t run to greet me when I stepped through the door.

“Where’s Bailey?” I ask.

Mom looks up.

“Your father had to take him to the vet.”

“What happened?”

“He got into a fight with another dog at the park.”

“Is he hurt?”

She nods. “He might need stitches.”

“He’s not—” I swallow. “He’s not going to die, is he?” She gets all hopeful around the eyes.

“Are you worried?”

Why do people do that? Turn nothing into something?

“I couldn’t care less either way.”

She flinches and turns back to the sink. As soon as I leave the room, she might cry about how much she doesn’t understand me anymore, how much she wants her old daughter back, but she’s not coming back. I went too far, but sometimes you have to.

“He’s not going to die,” I say.

But she doesn’t look at me and Bailey comes home with stitches on his hip and a lampshade around his neck so he won’t gnaw at them. I take pity on him and I let him sleep in my room.

“Are you going
to the dance?”

I slam my locker shut.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know. . . .” Chris wiggles his hips in a poor imitation of dancing. “The dance this weekend. You going?”

“I’m not following.”

He rolls his eyes, grabs me by the hand and drags me down the hall to the entrance corridor. There, on the wall, is a bright pink poster advertising the semi-formal this weekend. Be there or be square.

“There are only, like, a half a million of these all over the school,” he says.

“Semi-formal already,” I say, staring at the poster. “How about that.”

“So are you going or what?”

“Well, I
would,
but no one’s asked me.” I jut my lower lip out, but his eyes light up, so I drop the expression and snort. “Are you kidding me? Of course I’m not.”

“I have it on good authority that Jake’s going to ask you, though.”

“Why does Jake insist on breaking his own heart?”

“Just go,” Chris says, groaning. “I’m taking Becky. We’ll all go together, leave together. It’ll be fun times. Supervised fun times. How can you resist?”

“Easily. Contrary to popular belief, Chris, I don’t like spending time with you, Becky or Jake. Especially Becky. In case you’ve forgotten, she annoys the fuck out of me. She’s not a good argument for my going to the dance.”

“So show her up!”

“What?”

“Wear that really nice black dress you’ve got, fix your hair up all nice and show her up. She’d hate that.”

I can’t help but laugh. “She
hated
that.”

“There, see? I just gave you a reason to go.”

“If Becky knew you said that, I don’t think she’d like you very much.”

“You won’t tell her,” he says. “And I think you should go.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I’m still in love with you, of course. What else could it possibly be?” Before I can say something snide, he laughs. “Haven’t you done the whole Alienate Everyone thing long enough? I mean, how much longer are you gonna keep at it?”

“Uh, I don’t know—until it works?”

“You used to like going to dances,” he reminds me. The bell rings and we head for homeroom. “Bet you still do.”

“I can’t take
this anymore.”

“Can’t take what?” I ask, even though I know.

Jake and I are so done with the sketching part of our landscape, but because we haven’t figured out what to do next we spend most of the period taking turns tracing the same set of rocks. I don’t know why he’s so freaked out about it. It sure beats working.

He gestures to the paper.

“Unity and disparity. We need a plan.”

I rest my head on the desk. “Why?”

“Because that’s the project!”

“Head up, Fadley!” Norton yells. “Nap time’s not for another fifteen minutes!”

Everyone snickers. I raise my head.

“So-o-o . . . ,” Jake says, and I can tell by the way he protracts the
o
he’s getting ready to ask me to the semi-formal. Sure enough: “What are semi-formals like at St. Peter’s?”

Why are guys so predictable?

“And what’s a
semi
-formal, anyway?” he asks quickly, before I can answer his first question. “Does that mean dress nice from the waist down?”

“Something like that, yeah,” I answer. “Are you going?”

“I’m probably not allowed.”

“That’s convenient.”

He stops tracing the rocks and I pick up where he left off.

“No, really,” I say. “I’m not sure if I’d be allowed. I’m not even allowed off grounds for lunch, remember? Grey and Henley would probably have to okay it, not to mention my parents. It’s not as simple as me putting on my best dress and going to the dance, you know?”

“And if it was?”

“It’s not.”

“Would you go to the semi-formal with me, Parker?”

I look up from my rocks. Chris is watching us from across the room. He winks and turns back to the landscape he’s working on with his partner.