It Was You (31 page)

“
Bor-ring.” Jada yawned for emphasis.

“
Truth or Dare?”

She gave an exaggerated sigh.

I agreed, but not out loud. It wasn't as if I was coming up with any stellar new ideas. I was relieved the conversation had turned to games; I'd just suffered through an hour of having my life picked apart. Suggestions offered and advice dispensed—all unsolicited.

“
How about I Never?” Drew spoke this time. He sat across from the three of us, on a different horrible blanket, with Carter next to him.

Logan looked at him. “What's that one?”

“Well, one person starts by saying something they've never done. If someone else has done it, then they have to...” He stopped, as if remembering something.

“
They have to what?” Logan's curiosity was piqued. He loved a good game, especially if it was something new. I was intrigued, too because I knew, as a last resort, that Logan would resort to telling jokes. And he was the worst joke-teller ever.

“
Uh, it probably won't work,” he said. 

“
Why not?” Logan demanded.

“
It's sort of a drinking game.” 

“
Oh.”

It wasn't as if we were all straight-laced, goody-two shoes or anything. Well, not really. Logan's dad was a minister so he was pretty straight and arrow and Carter was his best friend so he sort of followed suit in that department. Jada and I...well, the situation had never come up. At least not for me. 

But I wanted to know. “Tell us, anyway.”

He used his finger as a pencil and drew in the sand. I craned my neck to see, thinking this was some aspect of the game he was about to describe, but he carved out a series of symbols, swirls and circles all intertwined, seemingly lost in thought.

“You say something you've never done. If someone else in the group has done it, they take a drink.  That's all.”

“
Oh.” It was my turn to offer a one-word response.

An uncomfortable silence fell. Logan stared into the fire, probably wondering why he'd invited the guy who liked drinking games. Carter shifted his legs on the blanket, moving even further away from Drew. I imagined what he was thinking:
Get me away from the gay freak
. Jada gazed across the dying fire, directly at Drew. Probably imagining kissing him. I sighed. What was I thinking about? That the night was coming to an end and I would have to go home. 

Carter cleared his throat. “I think I'm done. I'm beat.” 

“Yeah, me, too.” Logan glanced at his phone. He pushed a button and it glowed, a shimmer of neon green in the darkness. “It's almost ten.”

I looked around at both of them, incredulous. “Are you serious? We never go home this early.”

Logan stood up. “Carter and I have a youth group thing tomorrow...some service project in Chula Vista. We have to be at the church by eight.” He picked up his discarded flip flops and held them in one hand. “You guys ready to hit it?”

Jada looked at me and I shook my head no. I wasn't ready. She widened her eyes, a mute form of communication we'd perfected over the years. I shook my head again and frowned, widening my own eyes in response. 

She sighed. “We're gonna stay, I guess.”

Logan scowled. “How are you going to get home?” He was the only one with a license.

“I can drive them home,” Drew offered. I guess he had his, too.

Jada beamed. “Awesome!”

Logan was miffed. “Fine.” He motioned to Carter. “You ready, dude?”

Carter grabbed the blanket and scrunched it into a ball. He readjusted his Padres cap, squashing his dark curls underneath it. They left.

“Come sit by us,” Jada invited, patting the empty spot on the blanket. 

Drew's feet kicked up a tiny spray of sand as he moved to sit next to Jada. They talked about school and where Drew had moved from. After a few minutes of polite listening, I tuned them out. Maybe Logan was wrong about him. And maybe Jada didn't need any matchmaking help from me.

My thoughts drifted to what I knew waited for me at home. I tried to think of something else but I couldn't. The memories sucked me back in. I couldn't go back there, to that suffocating place that reeked of misery, that threatened to swallow me whole. I couldn't face that closed bedroom door, knowing what hid behind it.

“
Megan.”

I looked up. Jada and Drew both stared at me. “What?”

“We're ready.” Jada said. “To go.” 

“
Oh.” I wasn't. I couldn't. Not then, at least. “Um, I think I'm going to stay.”

“
Meg.” Her voice was filled with disapproval.

“
I don't want to go home.”

“
So don't. Spend the night at my house. My parents won't care.”

But they would. A planned sleepover was one thing but me showing up unannounced at eleven o'clock? That was not something that would be well-received, at least not by her parents.

“No.”

Drew spoke up. “She's right, you know.”

“What?”

He nodded toward Jada. “You don't wanna be down here alone.”

“How would you know?” It wasn't like he'd lived here all his life like I had.

“
I'm just saying. It's late. It's dark. You'll be alone. Not a good combo.”

Jada stood there, her arms crossed, nodding her head in agreement.

“I'll be fine,” I snapped.

He stared at me and said nothing.

“I'm staying.”

Drew exhaled slowly, like he was trying to keep from saying something. Something he knew I wouldn't like. “Okay.” He turned to Jada. “She wants to stay.”

She tried to get my attention but I refused to look up. I didn't want her convincing me I was being reckless or persuading me to go somewhere I didn't want to be.

Jada's sigh was loud, exaggerated. “Fine. Call me in the morning so I know you made it home alive.”

“I will.”

“
Be careful,” Drew said. It sounded like an order.

She glared at me one final time and they left. I watched as the embers in the fire pit turned to ash, grayish-white in the moonlight. The surf crashed behind me, a deafening, rhythmic roar that  complemented my quiet solitude. I sat for a long time, torn between staying on the beach and going home. I didn't want to do either. I should have gone with Jada because, more than anything, I realized I didn't want to be alone. I didn't want to give my thoughts and memories a chance to breathe and grow.  I couldn't let the sadness and hopelessness consume me like it did my mother.

I stood, shaking off the sand clinging to my legs as I tried to dislodge the thoughts haunting my mind. I picked up the blanket and, after giving it a firm shake, folded it into a crooked square and tucked it under my arm. I grabbed my sandals and shuffled, tortoise-like, toward the steps that led up to the boardwalk, burying my feet in the cool sand as I walked.

The sidewalk was mostly empty. Off to the left, a group of guys huddled on a bench under the dim, salt-encrusted street lamp. Two of them held cigarettes and the tips danced in the dark like red fireflies. A couple walked by, an older man with graying hair holding hands with a much younger woman. I thought of my dad and looked away.

I wiped my feet on a small patch of grass and bent down to put my sandals on.

“
Megan? Megan Reilly?” A boy's voice. An unfamiliar voice.

I looked up, startled, into the face of Aidan Westwood, a senior from my school. Blond-haired and blue-eyed, he ran with the surfer crowd at school.

“What are you doing here?” His expression was puzzled, friendly.

“
Having a bonfire.”

He looked around at the empty boardwalk. “By yourself? Or with them?” He nodded his head toward the guys on the bench.

“No, with some friends.” I was flustered. “They left a while ago. I wasn't ready to go home.”

He lit a cigarette. “And you're ready now?”

“I guess.” I stared at him. I couldn't help it. None of my friends smoked.

He took a long drag and exhaled, blowing the smoke away from me. “OK.” He paused. “Well...see you at school.”

He turned to go.

“
Wait,” I said. “Where are you going?”

Aidan motioned to the beach. “Back down. Just needed to grab some smokes.”

I scanned the mostly empty beach and noticed two bonfires still blazing orange. “Who are you here with?”

He shrugged. “A few kids from school.” He took another drag as he studied me. “You wanna come?”

I hesitated. Aidan Westwood was not a friend. We didn't know each other. In a high school with almost two thousand kids, our paths had crossed only once, a P.E. class my freshman year. 

“
Well?” He dropped his cigarette and ground it into the sidewalk.

I made my decision. “Sure.”

*****

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