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Authors: Robin Bridges

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BOOK: Dreaming of Antigone
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Alex closes his eyes and rolls back off me and sits up. “I'm sorry,” he whispers. “I shouldn't have . . .”
I scramble away from him, suddenly chilled from his body's absence. My heart is still pounding, so hard I'm afraid he can hear it.
He's still staring at me, sad and confused. “I didn't mean . . .” He rubs his face with his hands. “Shit.”
This is not my eloquent desk poet talking right now. This is not Alex Hammond, cool rock god of Athens High. This is a boy who needs a friend. “It's okay,” I tell him, sitting back with my legs folded under me. “Blame it on the stars. Regulus is a bad influence.”
He laughs, even though I know he's not really sure what I'm talking about. I'm babbling. But the intense, haunted look on his face is gone, and before he can say anything else, Hank spots us and yells across the parking lot. “Pluto! Where have you been?”
Dammit.
Alex frowns at me. “Busted.”
This makes me smile. “Busted for being the only sober ones here?”
“Something like that.”
Hank is pulling a drunk Trista by the hand. She has a black jacket over that sleeveless top she insisted on wearing tonight. “Dude,” Hank slurs. His eyes are red. “What are you doing in the back of your truck?”
“Stargazing.”
Hank blinks at Alex, and thankfully doesn't even notice me. He looks up at the sky and squints. “Cool.”
Trista, however, does see me in the truck bed with Alex. And she is about to say something when Natalie skips over, with Thomas following her. “What are we doing?” she says. “Is it time to go home? I'm freezing!”
Thomas rolls his eyes. “I thought y'all had a gig tonight in town.”
Hank shakes his head. “That's tomorrow.”
Natalie blinks, her eyes glassy. “Oh no! What are we going to tell our parents when we want to go see you? My mom thinks we're at the Indigo right now watching you guys play. She won't believe me if I tell her I want to see you play again tomorrow.”
“Why not?” Caleb says, joining us. “Calcifer's groupies are very devoted.”
Erin giggles as she stumbles up behind him and throws her arms around his waist. “Extremely devoted,” she slurs. “Obsessive, even.”
Natalie is shivering still. Caleb disentangles himself from Erin in order to take off his jacket and give it to Nat. She blushes as she puts it on. “Thanks,” she whispers.
“Anything for a fan,” he says, smiling to her.
“Hey,” Erin pouts.
“What I want to know is,” Trista says, “why in the hell are Andria and Alex hooking up in the back of his truck?”
All six pairs of drunken eyes turn toward us.
“Oh, for God's sake,” Alex mumbles.
Natalie reaches for my hand and tries to pull me out of the truck. I climb out on my own, and Alex jumps down from the back.
“Get away from him,” she says. “You need to come home with us so we can talk about him and all these other lovely boys.” She glances from Thomas to Caleb.
Alex's face is clouded with worry, but he makes no move to hold on to me. “Wait, no one is in any condition to drive right now except me.”
“And Andria,” Trista says. “Oh no, that's right. She can't drive either.” She pouts and hangs on to Hank. They are barely able to hold each other upright.
I'm trying to figure out if she's being malicious or just stupid as Alex runs his fingers through his short hair in exasperation. “All right,” he says. “Trista, where is Selena?”
Trista shrugs as she glances around the park. “Jack was supposed to meet her when he got off work. But I don't see his car either.”
“Perfect,” he says with a sigh. “All right. I can take two people in the front and smuggle the rest of you in the back. But God help us if we get stopped.”
“Woot!” Hank jumps up into the bed of the truck, with Caleb, Erin, and Thomas trying to climb up after him. Thomas grabs the blanket and covers up the giggling pile of drunk teenagers.
“I want to be inside where there's heat,” Natalie says, opening the passenger door.
Trista hops in right after her. “Me too. Fuck riding out there.”
Alex grabs my arm, gently pulling me with him. “Get in on my side. We'll make room.”
I'm not thrilled at the thought of practically sitting in Alex's lap, but it's a much better option than riding in the back with the drunken horde and freezing to death.
“Turn the heater on!” Trista and Natalie scream as I get in.
Alex gets in right after me and starts up the engine. I scoot over as far as I can without sitting on top of Natalie, but my thigh is still pressed up against Alex's. My skin is on fire long before the heater kicks in and thaws out my friends.
Alex looks straight ahead and is silent as he drives back into town, stopping first at Caleb's house. Hank pokes his head out from the blanket to yell a “Woot!” at Caleb before Thomas smacks him upside the head.
Erin's house is next, in the same neighborhood.
Thomas and Hank get out together at Thomas's house, which is the same fancy riverfront neighborhood where Natalie lives. Trista rolls down her window so Hank can lean in and kiss her good-night. “Call me,” he says.
His beer breath has now infected the whole inside of the truck. Alex rolls down his own window.
“Jesus!” Trista says, rolling hers up. “We're going to die of pneumonia.”
“Fresh air is good for you,” Alex says as he pulls out of Thomas's driveway. He puts his arm across the top of the seat, and the hairs on the back of my neck come alive.
I wonder what he would do if I laid my head against his arm. If anyone else would notice.
When we pull up in front of the Romans' home, Trista opens her door. “Oops,” she says, tripping as Natalie pushes her out of the way. They both fall onto the dew-filled grass and burst out laughing.
I don't look up at Alex. I don't know what happened between us tonight, but it feels . . . weird. And scary. And maybe a little . . . nice?
“See you Monday,” he says.
“Be careful,” is all I can think to say. At least all the drunks are dropped off someplace safe. I hope Natalie's parents don't wake up with all the noise these two are making.
“You too.”
I shut the passenger door and wonder what he thinks I have to be careful about. The only thing I'm in danger of right now is falling in love with the wrong boy.
CHAPTER 16
Seven Days
 
It's after eleven on Saturday morning, and I'm the first one awake. I sneak downstairs to the kitchen to find something to take my pills with. I have this morning's doses in a blue old-lady pill container.
Natalie's mom is frosting cupcakes. It smells like coconut and cherries and something else. “The first creature emerges from the lair!” she says. “Coffee?” she asks, nodding toward their Keurig. “Mugs are in the cabinet above.”
I smile. I love Natalie's mom. “What kind of cupcakes are you making?” I ask as I poke through her basket of K-cups. I pick out a mocha.
“Amaretto. These are for a friend's baby shower this afternoon. But there are chocolate donuts in the oven for you girls.”
“Smells heavenly.” I'm dumping my third spoonful of sugar into my mug when Natalie drags herself into the kitchen and plops herself on a barstool.
She puts her head down on the bar. “I need sugar.” Her voice is muffled by her crossed arms. “I'm dying of low blood sugar.”
I grin at Mrs. Roman as she pulls the donuts out of the oven. She arranges them on a pretty china plate and sets it on the bar. “Voilà. Sugar.”
“It's like magic!” Natalie says, lifting her head back up. “Thank you, Mommy.”
Mrs. Roman rolls her eyes. “Okay, girls. Don't make yourselves sick. I have to get these cupcakes over to Bethany's house. Andria, is your mom picking you up or do you need a ride home?”
Not having a license sucks. “My stepdad can get me. Mom's got an open house in Dogwood Trace.”
Mrs. Roman nods as she finishes packing up her cupcakes. “Pretty houses out there. See you girls later.”
As soon as her mom leaves, Natalie puts her donut down. “So, was I imagining things or were you hanging out with Alex Hammond last night?”
“We were the only two sober people there.”
“So you weren't, like, hooking up?” I can't tell for sure, but it looks like there's a glimmer of hope in her eyes. Or possibly worry.
“Are you kidding me? Why would I be interested in him? And why the hell would he be interested in me?”
She shrugs with a sad smile. “I guess it would be weird, right?”
“What would be weird?” Trista says, yawning in the doorway. “Ooh, caffeine.” She rummages through the basket of coffee.
“If Andria and Alex started going out.”
Trista lets the Extra Bold Mountain Blend cup fall out of her hand as she stares at me. “Beyond weird. Alternate-universe weird. Andria, are you alternate-universe Andria? Have you come in peace?”
I roll my eyes. “Don't worry. All is still right with this universe. Alex and I are not going out.” I glance at Natalie as I grab a donut. “And we never will.”
She sighs. “I still think he's a little unstable. But you would look cute together.”
Trista goes back to brewing her coffee. “Because he looked cute with her twin sister. That's messed up, Nat. Besides, didn't we see him with Erin yesterday?”
Natalie licks chocolate glaze off her fingers. God, why can't my mom make homemade donuts instead of quinoa and flaxseed muffins? “But then Erin was with Caleb last night.”
“Anyway, I think you were right when you said Alex was still not over Iris,” I say. “And I'm not into drug addicts.”
Trista hmmphs as she brings her mug of coffee to the bar and grabs a donut. “Even if he's not an addict anymore, and even if he wasn't still hung up on Iris, you can do much better. Pluto Alex has a billion issues. And I don't think you can fix that.”
Natalie shrugs. “Well, he is a . . . complicated person.”
I huddle over my coffee and frown. “What I want to know is, why are you with Thomas when Caleb is your knight in shining armor? You wore his jacket home last night.”
Natalie blushes. “He chose to hang out with Erin. And Thomas would have given me his jacket if I'd asked him.”
“But you didn't have to ask Caleb,” I point out, taking my pills out of my baggie. I line them up on the counter. Pink circle, blue oval, pink oval. My coffee is cool enough to swallow the pills without burning my throat.
I hate taking medicine in front of my friends. It reminds them that I'm not like them. And so very different from Iris.
“Seven days!!!” Natalie squeals.
“Are we still going to Six Flags?” Trista asks.
“Ugh. Not with me driving.” My stomach is starting to hurt again. I grab another donut.
But Trista doesn't argue. “Selena can take us,” she says. “If we don't mind paying for her ticket and for gas.”
“We have to pay for Andria's ticket too,” Natalie says. “It's her celebration.”
“No, I'm happy to pay. If my mom lets me go. She thinks rides can cause seizures.”
“So we don't tell her where we're going and we buy your ticket.”
Trista sips her coffee in silence. She probably thinks I'm afraid of having a seizure. And she's right. Losing control in front of my friends is one of my biggest fears.
“I'd better call Craig,” I say, sliding down from the barstool. “Tell your mom the donuts were wonderful.”
“Aw, don't leave yet,” Natalie says. “We could go get lunch.”
“At the Indigo?” Trista's face lights up with a malicious grin.
I scream at them in frustration as I make my way back up the stairs to find my phone.
 
My stepdad picks me up within the hour, with the roof down on his Mercedes. He has been golfing with potential investors in his new subdivision west of the Perimeter. He's been begging Mom to let us move out there, and promises her the house of her dreams. It's in a better school district too, but Mom loves our historic neighborhood. I don't think he can talk her into moving.
“How was your pajama party? Lots of pillow fights and girl talk?”
Dork. “Yep,” I mutter, throwing my bags in his backseat.
“Are you hungry? Want to get some lunch?”
“No, thank you.”
“I get it, you've probably been eating all sorts of yummy stuff made by Mrs. Roman.” He grins. “Don't worry, I won't tell.”
“Ha-ha. I don't know what you're talking about.”
His cell phone rings, and when he sees the number on the display, he sets the call to private instead of answering on his steering wheel. “Business,” he whispers to me. “Hello, this is Craig Williams.” It's silly, though. With the top down, it's not like he could hear on speaker anyway.
I push my hair out of my face and try not to eavesdrop as we drive down Broad Street. Someone is walking out of the Lutheran church. Alex.
“Yes . . . yes,” Craig is saying. “Of course.”
Alex looks up just as we pass by, and he recognizes me. Instead of smiling or giving a friendly wave, he frowns.
“No, I'm afraid that's not possible right now,” Craig says. He turns off Broad, and I stare straight ahead. What is Alex's problem?
I try to remember if I said anything last night to piss him off. Maybe he didn't recognize me, but I'm almost certain he did.
“Let me get back to you on this,” Craig is saying. “I'm in the middle of something at the moment.... Of course. We'll talk soon.”
As he pulls into the driveway, he sighs. “I guess I'm going to have to go back into the office for a bit. Tell your mom I'll be home before supper.”
“Sure. Thanks for the ride.” I get my stuff from the backseat and dig my house key out of my purse.
He waits until I get the front door unlocked before waving and backing out. Mom's open house isn't over until five. She has left me a note on the kitchen counter:
Did you remember to take your pills???
I toss the note in the trash and head back to my room. My phone has a few missed texts when I plug it in the charger. From Natalie:
I really do miss Caleb.
And from Trista:
Nat really should be with Caleb. Let's go beat up Erin.
I smile. Natalie must have opened up to Trista after I left. I'm glad I agreed to hang out with them last night, but there is still a huge distance between me and them. And I don't know if that's a bad thing. I never was a part of the soccer team so I never was as close to all of the girls as Iris. I didn't go on the out-of-town trips for play-off games or tournaments. Rarely got to hang out with them at Pizza Hut after games or practices. Nat and I will always be friends, but never as close as Iris and Tris were. And if Nat and Tris become closer friends now, I'm okay with that.
And really, Caleb can be a nice guy. But I'm not sure if Natalie would be better off with him or Thomas. Or maybe neither.
The coffee I drank at the Romans' this morning is fading fast, and since I have nothing better to do, I lie down to take a nap.
It's not restful, though. I keep waking up, sometimes because the room is too hot, and sometimes because I've kicked the covers off and am freezing. I swear my phone vibrates, but every time I lift my head to check it, there's no new message.
I dream of Iris. At Rock 'n' Roll Graveyard. She's looking up at the stars and telling me I'm missing the best part. I tell her I know.
Mom wakes me when she comes home. My room is dark, and she fusses at me for sleeping all day. My head hurts.
I sit up and yawn. It's not like I really got any rest. Iris was telling me to look for the Pleiades.
“Did you have a good time with the girls?” Mom asks. She's going through the mail as she sits on the side of my bed. “Mrs. Roman said everyone was excited about going to see the band play last night.”
“I had fun. Thanks for talking me into going.”
She pats my knee under the quilt. “Dinner will be ready in about an hour. Want to come help me with the vegetables?”
The doorbell rings, and she tells me she'll meet me in the kitchen. But when I get out front, she's standing at the door, talking to a police officer. My stomach twists violently. It's about last night. I know I wasn't drinking, but I'm sure there's some other sort of law I was breaking. Trespassing?
“I don't understand. How can I help you?” Mom's voice is pleasant. The same one she uses when little girls come to the door to sell cookie dough.
The police officer is a tiny young man. He looks uncomfortable on our front porch step. A larger, older female cop stands behind him, her hand on her gun belt. She looks at Mom menacingly. “Mrs. Williams, I'm sorry, but we have a warrant to search your husband's office. We need to take his computer.”
“What do you think he's done?” Mom's voice is eerily calm. Like nothing is wrong. But the police are here because they think my stepfather is some sort of criminal.
“We received a phone call from a concerned parent that Mr. Williams may be engaging in inappropriate activity with one of the girls on his soccer team. Do you know when Mr. Williams will be home?”
“What sort of inappropriate activity?” Mom asks. “He said he had some work to do at the office . . . but he should be home anytime now.”
“Please, ma'am. We need to have access to his computer.” The young cop holds up a piece of paper. An official-looking paper.
“Mom,” I say, tugging on her arm. I don't think she wants to move. But she needs to let them do their job before she gets into trouble.
When she looks at me, her eyes are glassy. I don't know what the hell Craig has done, but he should burn in hell if he has hurt Mom, after everything else she's gone through. “Let them do their job, Mom.”
She lets me lead her out of the way, and the two cops invade our house. Even the short one seems larger than life in our living room. The room spins a little, and I realize Mom is seeing the same thing I am: the night six months ago when the cops stood in the living room while the EMTs carried Iris's body out the door.
BOOK: Dreaming of Antigone
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