Cracked Up to Be (19 page)

He shrugs. “Ask him yourself.”

I corner Chris on his way to his last class.

“Aren’t you still best friends with Evan?”

He blinks. “I like your hair. I’m getting used to it.”

“How come you didn’t invite Evan to that stupid old car exhibit?”

“Because Evan’s not into stupid old cars?”

“Evan wasn’t into a ton of stuff you liked and you made him do it anyway. So are you still best friends with him or what?”

“Why?”

“I have to know.”

He glances at his wristwatch.

“I don’t have time for the ‘things change’ speech, Parker.”

“So give me the CliffNotes version.”

“Okay. You ready?” he asks. I nod. “Things change.”

“Chris.”

He makes an exasperated noise.

“He just got back and there happens to be this event in Whitney that I think I’d probably have a better time at if I took Jake along. Over Evan. Satisfied?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Everything feels wrong. I start snapping my fingers again. “But what about me? How do you feel about me? You’re still hung up on me, aren’t you?”

“Parker—”

“This is your fault,” I say. “You made me go to the dance.”

His mouth drops open.

I go to the girls’ washroom and pace because my brain is telling me to do something and this is it. Pace. This is
so
annoying; last week I had the whole school and everyone in it and now things are different and I hate it. The door opens, but I pace in spite of it. Anyway, it’s Becky, so it doesn’t matter.

“Oh,” she says when she sees me. She walks over to the sink, pencil case in hand because that’s where she keeps her makeup. “Hi.”

I watch, still pacing, as she takes out her lipstick and gets to work.

“What do you and Chris talk about?”

The lipstick hovers above her lower lip. She stares at me in the mirror.

“None of your business?”

“Do you talk about, like, the deep stuff? Important stuff? Or just basketball and cheerleading? Or is it a sex thing and you don’t talk at all?”

She does her lips and caps her lipstick before she even dignifies that with an answer, which drives me crazy.

“What did you and Chris talk about?” she asks.

“Everything,” I say quickly. “Our conversations were deep and profound.”

“Would you quit pacing?”

I can’t stop. I want to tell her that, but I don’t.

And I wouldn’t stop anyway, now that I know she wants me to.

“Do you talk about Evan and stuff?”

“And stuff,” she repeats faintly, smiling a little. “And stuff? Yeah, we talk about Evan ‘and stuff.’”

“Do you talk about me?”

She crosses her arms. “What is
wrong
with you, Parker?”

“Is Chris over me? I mean—” I stop pacing. “Is he?”

“Your name doesn’t come up so much anymore.”

I snap my fingers. Both of them. Again and again.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“I don’t believe you.”

I leave the washroom as the bell rings, Becky calling after me.

I’ve got my usual meeting with Grey, and for once in my life I’m glad. Finally, someone I can predict. I enter her office, sit down, and we say nothing and I feel a little better. At least there’s still one person in this school who can be counted on.

After the first fifteen minutes of quiet, she starts flipping through a magazine.

I blink.

I’m on the lawn, by the bushes where I threw up. I blink again and I’m next to Chris. I blink again and Jessie’s dancing, making out with a new mystery guy, different from the last one. Where do they all come from? I blink again and Evan’s there, screaming at both of them. I blink again and someone’s pulling Chris away because something’s broken, a lamp or a vase.

I blink again and I’m alone, in front of the drinks table set out on the lawn. I’m here because I’m thirsty. My hands drift over the booze and go straight for the bowl of punch for the designated driver. I fill up a cup with shaking hands and drink it, then another.

It’s passion fruit or strawberry Hawaiian something and it tastes good.

Then, a voice behind me:

“Someone spiked that, like, an hour ago.”

I drop the cup and moan.

“Oh, God.”

Becky laughs. “Good one.”

I shuffle over to a soft patch of grass and sit down. Someone will probably have to peel my alcohol-bloated corpse off the lawn come morning.

“Chris wants me to get you inside,” Becky says, grabbing my arms and pulling. She stumbles forward and giggles, her face in my face, beer on her breath. “Come on.”

“Where’s Jessie?”

“Somewhere. I was just talking to her,” she says brightly, pulling on my arm again. She gives up and sits beside me. “She and Evan are so over, by the way. Well done, Parker. I should console him.”

“You would.”

Then I remember it’s my mission to fix what I did, because it’s wrong and I don’t do things that are wrong. The goal swims in front of my mind and starts to drift away, but I try really hard to hold on to it. And then I close my eyes.

Maybe after I sleep.

“Did you see them fighting by the pool? So over,” she says again, giggling. My head snaps up. “Big surprise. Me and Evan, we’d make a much better match.”

“Parasite,” I say. I blink several times, trying to snap myself out of this fuzzy place. “It’s never going to happen.”

“It will. We have tons in common.” Tipsy Becky is a thousand times more annoying than sober Becky, and that’s saying something. “So when are you going to relinquish captaining duties to me, anyway?”

“Fuck off and die first and then we’ll talk,” I mumble, feeling my head go forward. It wants to sleep. No. I jerk upright. It doesn’t really help.

“I’ll be captain in a week.” Her voice is hard, too hard, and it dawns on me through the murk that she’s only pretending to be drunk, which is one of her favorite party tricks because she’s under this bizarre delusion it’s cute. “You’ll finally snap or the rest of the girls will vote you off the squad. Whichever comes first.”

“Brave to say so in front of me.” I struggle to push myself up from the ground, but it’s just not happening. “I could ruin your life.”

“You won’t remember any of this,” she says.

“What makes you think you deserve to be captain?”

“I’m nicer than you, for starters.” She goes quiet for so long I think that’s it, I can pass out, but no, she starts talking again. “I’m nice to everyone and no one gives a damn. You tear people down and act like you’re doing them a favor and they act like you’re Jesus because they’re stupid enough to believe it. At least they’re starting to catch on now. Not even being Chris’s girlfriend is helping you. And I’m so looking forward to making everyone realize how much better they could’ve had it with me.”

“That’s really pathetic.” I have to force every word through my teeth. “And I’ll remember this, Becky.”

She snorts.

“Where’s Jessie?” I use Becky’s shoulder to get into standing position. The world tilts. For a second, I think I’ll be sick, but I’m not and I’m standing and it’s a miracle. “Becky, where is she?”

“I talked to her for a minute, after she and Evan fought. She was crying her eyes out. She said she was going to run away. Drama Queen.” Becky looks up at me and smiles. “Nice going, Parker.”

“Where did she go?”

Becky points in the direction of the woods.

nineteen

They could be talking about me, like, right now.

Chris and Jake.

I hate that.

So after I choke down dinner I decide to take Bailey for a walk. I slip on my shoes, call him from the living room and hook him up to the leash. He figures out what’s going on and squirms and slobbers all over me.

“I thought dogs were supposed to mellow with age,” I tell him. He flicks his tongue at my face and I back away just in time. “Jesus, Bailey.”

“Parker, don’t talk like that in the house,” Mom says. “It’s disrespectful.”

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.

“I’ll see you guys later.”

“Have a nice walk, sweetheart.” Dad.

“Be home by nine.” Mom. I don’t say anything. “I mean it, Parker.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say, and then, for good measure: “Whatever.”

So I leave and we walk, and it’s an okay walk. I steer Bailey onto Chris’s street without realizing it. Actually, that’s a lie. I know what I’m doing.

I know what I’m doing and it’s stupid.

But Bailey pulls me forward at a happy trot, his tongue always and forever hanging out of his mouth. The closer we get to Chris’s house, the more uneasy I feel, but maybe I’d feel better to pass it once and then go home.

So that’s what I’ll do.

We’re practically there when this string of cars go by, one after the other, and I feel criminal, caught. It makes me want to turn back, but I can’t because the thought is there, that I should pass the house. So I have to.

This is
so
stupid.

And then this explosion of sound fills the street, like a small bomb going off—an engine backfiring—and Bailey yelps and tears loose because I’m not holding the leash tightly enough. He runs into the road and before I can call him back or go after him, there are all these other sounds, smaller sounds, this dull thud, squealing tires.

And then silence.

Just like that.

He lies in the middle of the street, his legs splayed out before him the way they are when he sleeps on the living-room floor. I go to him, kneel down in front him. He stares up at me, pitiful but alive. But what kind of—

What kind of asshole
hits a dog and drives away
?

Bailey shudders.

“Bailey. Bailey—Bailey . . .”

I spew his name. I say it a thousand times in three seconds. I rest my hand on his stomach and it comes back red and he makes a noise, this awful whimper.

“Stop that,” I snap. “You’re fine. We’ll just get you off the—”

I wrap my arms around him so I can drag him off the road, but I don’t have the strength to lift him and my shirt gets red. I have to let him go.

I wasn’t holding the leash tightly enough.

“Don’t,” I tell him. “You’re fine. I’ll get someone. I’ll—”

I stand. I don’t have a lot of time. I need—

Chris. Chris can fix this; he’s rich.

I run to his house and pound on the door and ring the bell at the same time and it seems like hours before the door actually opens and there he is.

Chris.

“What the fuck—” He stops, his eyes traveling from my face to my hands to my shirt. The parts of me that are red. “Parker, what happened?”

“My dog got hit by a car. I don’t know what to do.”

He stares at me uncomprehendingly and then Jake appears behind him and gives me this surprised look and Bailey is dying.

“What’s going on?” Jake asks.

I don’t have time for this. I’m wasting time. I run back down the driveway and they both follow after me, calling my name.

But they quiet when Bailey comes into view.

“Oh God,” Chris mutters.

My pulse is in my ears, loud and insistent.

When we get to Bailey, he’s still.

“I’m so sorry, Parker,” Jake says.

For a second, I think my heart is going to explode.

But then the feeling goes away.

“This engine backfired or something; it really scared him.” I stare at Bailey’s body. It doesn’t even look real. “I wasn’t holding the leash tightly enough.”

“Did you see who did it?” Jake asks.

“No—I thought there’d be time to do something for him,” I say stupidly. I wish his eyes would close. Bailey’s. “Sorry for dragging you out. . . .”

“It’s okay,” Chris says.

“No, it’s not. I should really go.”

I stand and start heading down the street without looking back at either of them. I want to get far away from Bailey’s body. Take a shower. Get his blood off of me. I pull at my shirt. Off of me.

“Parker, where are you going?”

I stop and turn. I hear the question, but . . .

“Your house is that way.” Chris points in the opposite direction.

“I’ll get there eventually.”

“Why don’t you come inside and I’ll make tea or something.”

“No thanks.”

“I know you,” he says. “You won’t go home.”

“I
can’t
go home.”

“You can stay at my place tonight.”

No.

“You have that car show.”

“Forget it,” Jake says.

Chris holds out his hand.

“Come on.”

“I wasn’t holding the leash tightly enough.”

I don’t know why I say it again. They look at me funny. And then Chris takes me by the elbow and the three of us walk up to his house.

I can’t feel my feet.

I can’t feel my feet and the night has all caught up with me, but I soldier on. The farther I get from the house, the louder the music sounds. A heavy bass line and an earsplitting drumbeat winds its way into the woods from Chris’s open bedroom window. And then there’s the splashing sounds from the pool and everyone’s laughing and talking and shrieking and having a good time.

Because Chris’s parties are the best except when they’re not.

Twenty-five steps into the woods, I think about lying down or turning back. I can’t feel my feet, I can’t feel my legs, anything, and my head is barely attached to my neck, but I’ve got to fix this because I’m supposed to be better than this and what if everyone finds out I’m not.

A few more steps. I hear something and I stop.

“Go to the guest room, take a shower and grab a nightshirt. You know where everything is,” Chris says, closing the door behind us. “Come down and we’ll have . . . tea.”

“Tea,” I repeat faintly. “Do you even know how to make tea?”