Sister Pact (12 page)

I wake up in Leah's bedroom, covered with her blankets, heavy and soft. My phone is next to me, and I squint at it. Messages and texts wait for me, but Leah and Sophie are both gone. I prop myself on my elbows and look around. Leah's things remain as she left them, carefully arranged, clothes hanging neatly like little soldiers in her closet. She used to tell me that she liked to be able to see everything she owned, like a king surveying his land. I laughed at her being a king. But maybe she thought a queen would be powerless, like Mom. And me.

I push myself out of her bed, ignoring the massive headache from my overindulgence last night and trying to ignore the pain between my legs from my hookup with Nick. I lower my feet to the floor and go to Leah's desk. My fingers trail over the sea glass picture frames. Leah and Brittney. A close-up of Sophie. One of the two of us taken on our ski vacation in Vermont last year, Mom's last-ditch effort to keep Dad from leaving.

I loved that trip, even though Mom and Dad were fighting pretty much the whole time. Which left me and Leah on our own. Alone with Leah was always good. She could always find the fun.

“Let's pretend we're in college,” she said as we got on the ski lift.

“Which one?” I asked.

“University of Boulder, where the snow is way finer than this, so fine it'd make you cry. Not like this broke-down, chewed-up slush we're skiing on.”

Nothing was ever good enough for Leah. She wanted better clothes, better grades, and now, apparently, better snow. I always wondered if her standards were too high or if mine were too low.

“Now we need to make Dad pay, like, huge.”

She was right. He needed to pay. So we made him. That weekend especially. He paid for everything and anything Leah wanted. That meant new ski clothes for her. I said mine were fine, but she made me buy a new ski hat and gloves anyway.

“He should be glad I don't buy a new set of skis,” Leah joked, but her face was dead serious.

“I guess,” I said, browsing the sale rack.

She turned to look at a pair of gloves, hot pink, to match the stripe on the new ski pants that were hanging over her arm. “You hear about his new ‘get clean' program for Mom?” Leah asked.

“More than his raids on her stashes? Not that he'd find them all.” I picked up a sweater from a table.

She slid in front of me. “He's making her take drug tests.”

“What?”

“I heard them argue about it. He has a stash of them in their bathroom. A stockpile. And he made her pee in front of him. I heard it all.”

“Oh my God.” I couldn't believe it. Why would she let him? “You think Dad's going to leave her?”

“Are you kidding me? She should leave him. It's like he's trying to make her leave.”

Emery comes bursting in the room, jolting me back to the present. “Hi. The wardens relax your restrictions? You're allowed in here now?”

“No. Mom up? We gotta get out of—”

“Relax. Let myself in.” Emery holds up the key I gave her. “She didn't hear me.”

“Oh.” I get the picture. Mom crashed on the couch. Yeah.

We sit, cross-legged, looking around Leah's room.

“I'm sorry about the pep rally. I never should have said those things.” Emery's gaze lands on Leah's ballet bar. “This year's show won't be the same without her. She was the best dancer.”

It's true. Leah was the one everyone watched when she was on stage. She was it. The one. She was special.

Until she killed herself.

Tears run single file down Emery's face. I join her, but I cry sloppy. Not neat like a trained actress. I breathe out. Maybe it's time to change the subject.

“How was last night?” I ask. Big date with Michael Maddox.

“Whatever.” Emery says.

“I'm sorry.”

“It's cool. Like I need Michael Maddox. Plenty more where he came from.”

“You wanna tell me what happened?”

“Nothing that a little retail therapy won't help. What about you and Mr. Baseball? He score?”

I smile but can't help how sad my face must look.

Emery puts her arms around me, and we go back to my room, where I pull on jeans and a T-shirt.

“He was there. With her. Wasn't he?” Emery asks.

God, I feel stupid. I try not to cry about Max. Stupid. He's not into me. Why do I care so much? Nick's totally into me. Why can't that be enough?

“You make it too easy for him. You need to start acting like you don't care about him. Let him see you happy with someone else.”

“You're the actress, not me.”

“It's time you start. It's what Leah would say if she were here.”

But she's not. It's just me here, alone.

“You deserve to be happy. And if Max isn't making you happy, cut him loose.”

I play with a strand of my hair.

“I know what'll cheer you up,” Emery squeals. “Let's get you a haircut and some highlights.”

I nod. Emery's right. There are healthier ways to numb my Max pain than to down pills, smoke weed, and sleep with guys. Retail therapy comes with a return policy, so very few regrets. That kind of works for me.

Emery starts her car. “What do you feel like?”

“You choose.” I sit back, my feet propped on the dashboard. She pushes them off.

I smile. It's good to argue about the usual with Em. I reach forward and play with the radio dial, tuning in my favorite station, which is playing “Bad Romance.”

“Dork,” Em says as she puts the car in reverse, looks in the mirror, and pulls out onto the street.

I take my cell out of my pocket, bracing myself for the worst.

Gnite. Sweet dreams.
Nick texted last night at 12:22.

Morning.
from him at 9:12.

Then
U ok?
at 9:36.

And
U mad?
at 9:54.

My shoulders tense. Nick. I should text him back. It's the nice thing to do. But what should I say? What says “noncommittal greeting without promising any future hookups”?

I finally decide on a simple
Hi.

My phone jumps out of my hand. Like he was waiting for me to text.

How r u?

“Hey, watch it, asshole!” Emery shouts at the person who just took the parking spot she wanted.

I breathe out a big sigh. How am I? I suck. But it's not like I can say that.

Ok. U?

My phone vibrates again.

“Nick is really into you, isn't he?” Emery smiles at me like she's trying to talk me into Nick. “Won't leave you alone.”

U free tnite?

I don't waste any time replying.
Sorry.

Next time.

“He's cute. You should give him some play.”

I want to tell her I'm not even sure if I'm into him. But how can I? When I've already let Nick think he's it for me. At least last night, in the moment.

“Let's get your hair cut,” Emery says. “You'll feel loads better.”

“Okay.” I follow like the little lamb I am. Maybe I always have been. It's time to face facts. I'm not that strong. I'm easily led. Starstruck. Tagalong. Leah's dorky little sister who is too stupid to see what's right in front of her face.

• • •

Emery and I walk the mall.

“Love the blue highlights,” she says, grabbing pieces of my hair. “You look more like yourself again.”

I look at my reflection in the Forever 21 window. I almost think I see Leah standing behind me, but her image flickers and fades. Out of the corner of my eye, I see another reflection that makes me nervous. John Strickland. He doesn't seem to be a mall-troll kind of guy. What's he doing here?

“Wanna get a frappé?” Emery asks.

“Okay. I'll be right there.” I point to the sign for the bathroom. She nods.

I duck into the hallway to the bathroom, wait to see if John follows. He doesn't. I breathe out and go inside. My image in the mirror shocks me. Emery's right, my hair looks like it used to: shiny, bouncy, and fun, but I wonder, does a makeover change anything? I'm looking for my colors. I'm pretty sure they don't come out of a box or a bottle. I'm pretty sure your colors come from inside you. Even still, I'm glad I've got my war paint back on. I can hide in my camo. Like Dad does.

“Is that how you see me?” I hear Leah ask again.

I shiver. I'm not sure I can keep this up. I'm not sure I can give her life. It may be hard to be dead, but it's also hard to be the one who lives.

• • •

When I get to the food court, I find Emery sitting at a round table with three coffees topped with whipped cream and chocolate drizzle.

Emery motions with her head. Beastie Brittney walks to the table, and I remember why I stopped coming to the mall. When Leah opted out of life, so did I. Now I'm wondering if I didn't come back a little too soon. I do not want this meeting. Not here. Not now.

“Allie. How are you?” Brittney kisses me on the cheek.

“Hi, Brittney,” I mumble.

Emery shoots me an “I'm sorry” look.

Brittney slips into the seat across from me. Then she turns to Emery. “Can you give us a few?”

Emery looks to me for confirmation, and I nod.

“I've been meaning to call you…” Brittney says.

There's too much between us. Love. Hate. Sadness. One big emotional salad that neither one of us wants to dress. I pick up my coffee, draw a sip, and wait. Sitting across from her is hard. Like breathing. And living. Without Leah.

Brittney and Leah were always together. Always. I wonder what that feels like for her. Is it like some phantom limb where she imagines that Leah is still there? Does she still expect Leah to finish her sentences? Does she go to text her and then remember? Does she look for her calls on her phone? Like I do?

“Allie, I'm sorry. I just wanted to tell you that,” Brittney finally manages, her eyes starting to fill.

“Sorry for what?” I stare at my drink, playing with the straw. Seeing Brittney cry is too much.

“For everything,” she finishes.

“Okay.” I say. I hoping that'll end it. Air cleared. All good. Kiss, kiss. We can move on. Brittney was never exactly deep anyway. This was probably a lot for her. I feel myself breathe out. It's over. Till it's not. Brittney can't let it go. Nobody's taught her to fold and run.

“I want you to know that Sean and I were never together when Leah was…”

“Alive?”
Is she kidding me?
I had no idea. It's all I can do not to throw my drink in her face.

My hand goes into my purse, the napkin that holds those little pills, my insurance policy, my John Strickland pills, promising relief. But I don't want to go down that road. I don't think it's the way to be. I know Leah said it would take a lot of pills to kill myself, but I do think the road starts with one or two. I hope to God I don't need this dose, but it's not looking good.

“Come on, Brittney. I'm not stupid. Neither was Leah.”

“I mean it. We weren't. I mean, I always thought he was cute. But I would never. Never.” She shakes her head as if to emphasize that point. I mean, no one could
possibly
lie while shaking their head, right? “Even after, it seemed wrong, a little.”

“Look, Brittney, you date who you want. It's cool. Leah's gone. He's up for grabs. I get it.” I draw a huge gulp of coffee, hoping to show how over it all I am.

“I know you're mad. I just wondered.” She leans forward. I stay put. I'm not going to meet her halfway or a quarter of the way or
any
way. Not beastie Brittney. No way. Her voice lowered, she says, “Do you think Leah would mind, if she, you know, knew?”

“What do you think?” I snarl. “You were with him at the party, weren't you? That night?”

I remember Brittney texting me on the way back from the party. I had wondered why she wasn't texting Leah. Then my phone rang. It was her. I tried to hand it to Leah, but she batted it away. I had wondered what that meant. Leah and Brittney never fought. They were tight. As a drum.

“You okay, Leah?” I'd asked.

“I'm fine. Just rethinking my loyalties. I can be really stupid about people.”

“I didn't mean for it to happen. It didn't mean anything.” Brittney's lies fall out of her mouth like marbles spilling out of a jar. I hear each one ping as it hits the table.

“It must be hard for you,” I say. “Wondering if…”

Brittney deflates. Her face sags. Her head bends. Mascara melts down her face, making her look like she's behind bars. And I love it. I love the power I have over her. Like Nick last night. Only better. Let her feel me. Allie the Terrible.

“It's horrible. I think about it all the time… If only…” She wipes away the black mascara, which just gets transferred to her fingers. Some marks are hard to wipe away.

I want to make her pay. Tell her we'll never know. I want to smack her across the face. This time, my rage can't be blamed on the pills or the drink. This time it's all me.

I shake my head, slip the pill out of my purse, hold it between my fingers, and bring it to my lips. But stop there. Something makes me stop. I'm not sure what. Maybe I'm just thinking the pain needs to stop.

I lean forward. Brittney looks up. Is this the truce she was hoping for? I'm not sure what I'm going to say until the words form in my mouth. “It wasn't you.” I pause. “But it sure didn't help that you were a boyfriend-stealing bitch, did it?”

“You are right,” Brittney says, misery coating every syllable. “You know what though?”

I raise my eyebrow. Too angry to speak.

“He's still not into me. He keeps wanting me to be…her. I think he really loved her. And he doesn't love me. Not like that.”

Brittney's admission is stunning. I put the pill away and pick at the wrapper from the straw. Like Leah used to. Brittney's eyes zero in. She remembers too. Of course she does. They had been best friends since kindergarten. I make her pay in small amounts. Like ant bites. Not deadly all at once. But painful. And sharp.

“I know you don't believe me, but I miss her too. So much. And I would never have gone after Sean or been with him if I didn't think she had already moved on.”

I look her over. She's skinny like me now. Her nails are trimmed but bare. It's like Leah's death spread like a disease. Or an atomic bomb.

“I believe you,” I say, my voice small.

She reaches across the table and takes my hands. “Thank you.” Her smile is weak, but it's sincere.

“Look, maybe you can help me.” I twirl my cup around and take a sip. “Can you tell me why Vanessa said Leah wasn't going to be captain of the dance team?”

Brittney coughs. “Vanessa caught her doing something. Leah never told me what. I told her we could easily take that bitch down. But she said not to bother. It was over.”

“What did she mean by that?”

Brittney's lips turn downward. “She was quitting the team.”

“Why would she do that?”

“She just said that the little bitch finally got her way. But there was something else. Someone else. Leah was seeing someone else. She admitted that much,” Brittney confides.

“Who?”

“She never told me.”

Her secret love. “When did this start?” I ask.

“I don't know.” Brittney dabs at her eyes with a tissue. “She was pissed at me that night because I told her it wasn't right. So she shut me out. Wouldn't tell me anything. I took her phone when she wasn't looking. We'd both used the same password for ages. But when I tried it, it wasn't the right one. Who changes their password all of a sudden?” She wipes more mascara off her face. “I told her it was stupid to give up Sean for some secret guy. I told her Sean was way better for her. So she got pissed. And just like that, after seven years of friendship, she cut me off.”

Does she really want sympathy from me? Leah did change her password. We did it together. When Dad gave us the phones. It wasn't about what Brittney did. But Leah let her believe it was. Leah could be toxic. All this missing her and remembering and wanting her back doesn't change that.

“Look, I've gotta go. But I'm glad we talked. I miss her. Every day. I can't tell you how many times I've wished I had been a better friend. Really.”

I stay silent. I'm sure she does wish that. But there's no going back, is there?

She nods and rises. When she's taken a few steps, I almost call to her. Almost. But my tongue is caught in my throat and the words shrivel and die.

“That looked interesting.” I hear John Strickland's voice and turn, shocked to see him.

“Hi,” I say. “We're friends all of a sudden?”

“May I?” he asks. “Brittney's such a bitch.”

His smile is slow and completely captivating. His blond hair falls over his eyes, and he doesn't do anything to brush it away. But that's not what makes me interested in him. John Strickland is a little intoxicatingly dangerous. He swivels the chair around and sits on it backward. He leans forward, placing his hands together on the table in front of me.

I look at him and wait. John's not the kind of person you interrupt.

“You realize Brittney's full of shit, don't you?”

“Tell me how you really feel.”

“Come to my house tonight. I'm having a party. And I'll tell you what I know.” He reaches over the table and pulls my cell out of my hand without even asking. I stare at him as he unlocks my phone then programs his number and hands it back.

I almost ask him how he knows my password, but I'm too stunned by everything that's just happened so I stay silent.

“How to get me,” he says. “Trust me. You'll want to hear what I have to tell you. And I won't hold back like that little bitch Brittney. I'll tell you everything I know. Scout's honor.” He stands. “Starts at eight. We'll be going all night. But if you want coherent conversation, you might wanna be there by nine. After that, no promises.”

He leaves. And I breathe out.

Emery passes by him on her way back. “What was that about?” she asks.

“He says he knows something about Leah. And he'll tell me. Tonight. At his house. Party.”

Emery's face screws up. “I'm coming with you.”

“I was counting on it.”