Sister Pact (14 page)

Nick isn't waiting for me when I get to English class. The bell rings. I go inside, glancing over my shoulder for him. He makes it in at the echo of the bell. Miss Lafrance looks up from her desk but nods once at him and goes back to talking with the students who are gathered around her.

“Hey,” I say as he slides into his seat.

Head down, he ignores me.

“You okay?” I ask.

“All right, class, I want you to get out your essay on…”

“Holy crap! That was due today?” I whisper.

“You didn't do it?” His voice is icy.

“No. I forgot. You?”

He passes his paper to me, and I hand it to the person in front of me.

What's up? He couldn't be mad at me for not doing my paper. Could he?

A hand goes up. Shirley Counts. “Miss Lafrance,” her sweet voice sing-songs.

“Yes, Miss Counts.”

“I forgot mine.”

“That's terrible,” Miss Lafrance murmurs.

The class laughs.

“Turn it in tomorrow for ten points off. Ten points every day you're late. You're juniors; you know what's expected of you.”

I pull out my cell and text Nick.

What's wrong?

The back of my neck starts to sweat. I have no idea why he's mad at me. I just know he is.

My phone vibrates. I hold it in my purse. It's a picture. But it's blurry at first while my cell downloads the image. It's a picture of John Strickland pulling me into his bedroom. Another text comes. A picture of me smoking weed. The third image is of John Strickland kissing me.

My heart beats so hard and fast that it feels like a herd of buffalo charging. The blood drains out of my face, and my ears are overwhelmed with sounds. Nick tapping his pencil on his desk. Jenny Berlin cracking her gum. Michael Flemming snorting from his allergies. David Hawthorn drumming his fingers against his leg, making the change in his pocket jangle. The sounds get louder and longer and more mixed together, and my vision narrows till it's like I'm in a tunnel.

In my haze Leah comes to me. “Lie to him; he'll believe.”

What should I say?
I didn't kiss John Strickland? I didn't go to the party to see him like you think I did? I didn't really want to smoke the pot; it just seemed rude not to?
All the excuses pile up between us. My excuses, his hurt, layered like a chocolate cake. I bend my head and watch as my tears pour out of me, almost in slo-mo or something.
Splat.
They spill onto my open English book.

I text him.
I can explain.

His reply comes back. Lightning fast.

Don't bother.

My throat feels like it's closing. I try not to choke on my sadness.

Leah reaches into my purse, taking my hand with her. She positions it on that green pill. The one that was supposed to loosen me. At least I tell myself it's Leah. But that's not right. It can't be. It has to be me. I know that.

I need a little something. Shouldn't I just own that? Why do I need to hide behind my sister's ghost? I slip the pill higher, holding it tight between my ring finger and my thumb. I swallow the little green pill and tell myself it's not too late with Nick. He might still believe in me. I wish I believed it.

The rest of the period goes by, and I'm practically floating on the ceiling by the time the bell rings. I don't try to stop Nick as he stuffs his books into his backpack. I couldn't if I wanted to anyway; my legs belong to someone else. Leah comes to me, this time for real, and leads me out of class.

“It's okay to skip just this once.” She points me to the back exit. I take off toward the woods. I can't face anyone or anything. I shouldn't have to. When I get to the softball field, I lie down in a patch of grass and let the sun bake on me. The ground is cold and dewy. I put my hands over my head and fall asleep.

I wait out back on the bleachers, next to the baseball field the girls' softball team uses.

It's not their season, so I'll be able to avoid everyone while keeping an eye on the parking lot.

I shake but not from the cold. I look at my phone. No more texts from Nick despite my pleading. And no answer from John Strickland either. I texted him an hour ago.

What's keeping Emery? I want to go home.
I hug my arms around myself. When I see John Strickland walking straight for me, my heart pounds hard.

“Hey, Allie.”

I climb down the bleachers. It's all I can do to keep from scratching his face raw. Or trying to before one of his powerful hands holds me immobile. Someone has to pay for the pictures.

“You called? You okay?”

My throat constricts as if he's holding it tight, squeezing all the life out of me. I can see it in the way he stands firm, his shoulders squared and his arms crossed. He's too much for me. He's way too much for me to handle. I should have realized he'd never help me. It's all business with him. Nick is bad for business. So he ended it for me. End of story. I let the pot and the pain make me see him as something he isn't.

“You don't look happy to see me. What's up?” he asks, moving closer to me.

I smell the cinnamon gum he's chewing. He lifts his sunglasses so I can look into his eyes. The pupils are pinpoint tight, like my one-millimeter Staedtler drafting pen, the one I use to do my sketches. Coal black. “Tell me,” he says. The smell of dead cigarettes mixed with the spicy gum comes off him in waves, triggering one of my headaches. I try not to gag. “You need something?”

A tear slides down my face. I hold out my cell. “Why?”

He takes the phone. The smile leaves his face. “I didn't.”

“Sure you didn't. Nick just happened to get these pictures of me this morning. And you have no idea from who or why?”

“I swear I didn't. I have no idea.”

“You don't have like a camera set up or something?”

“What the hell, Allie? I'm not like that. I don't take pictures of anyone who isn't willing or fully aware. Someone else did this. I'll find out who. You say Nick got these?”

“Yeah.”

“How'd that go?”

“How do you think? He's not talking to me.”

“If you forward them to me, I'll have someone look into it. I'll find out.”

I nod and bat at the tears that run down my face.

John wipes them away. I hate how rough his hands feel, the drag on my skin as his fingers scrape against it. I could ask him to leave and he would. But at this moment, I want his comfort. And I get a little why Leah would go to him—the hardest guy I know acting sweet and protective feels kind of amazing. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a small clear bag with a handful of small light-blue pills. I do a quick count. Five. Baby blue. Not robin's-egg blue. Thank God.

“Xanax,” he says. “It'll help. But go easy with them.”

Just the feel of the pills calms me a little. And now I have a tiny speck of hope wrapped in a huge justification. Today sucked. These could help. I breathe out.

“What are you going to do?” he asks. “About Nick.”

“What can I do?”

“Lie to him. Tell him Emery brought you there. That I forced you. He'll believe you.”

“You don't care?”

“Seriously?” he laughs.

“What about the drugs?”

“Tell him it was your first time.”

I look into John Strickland's eyes. He slides his glasses back on and starts to walk away. He turns again. “You're going to get through this, Allie. You are stronger than you think.”

Maybe with these I am. I take a blue pill out of the bag and swallow it.

“You're going to be fine.”

He walks away. A moment or two later, Emery bursts out the back door of the school. Even from far away I can see her banging her keys against her legs, and it makes me wonder what the hell is eating her? She sees John Strickland and stops.

I close the gap between us. I want to get home as soon as possible. I can't be here anymore.

“Hey, I've gotta run an errand on the way home. That okay?” she asks as we walk to her car. Emery walks everywhere fast. Today, she's racing. I have to work to keep up, but I'm glad. The faster we leave, the sooner I can be home.

Emery checks her phone for messages. She frowns and throws her cell into her bag. She points her keys at her pastel blue VW bug and opens it. I turn the radio on. She puts the car in reverse and turns to look at me before pulling out.

“What's the matter?” I ask.

“Why are you hanging with John Strickland? He's bad news. You know that.”

I chew on my fingernail and look out the window. Max is walking to his car.

“Maybe. But he's helping me.”

His gym bag is over his shoulder, bouncing with each hurried step. His head is down, but his body is screaming mad, and he's missing practice. Not like him.

“Not what I heard. I heard Nick's pissed at you.”

“I know.” I pull out my phone to text him. But what could I say that would be different from the ten other texts I've sent him? And John's right. I'm a little over being judged by Mr. Clean.

Emery puts her hand over my phone. “What I don't get is why you spend all your time going after the wrong guy.”

Rage fills me. “I'm not going after John Strickland. And if I were, it's my business. Not yours.”

She continues. “Nick deserves an explanation. That's all I'm saying.”

“You're supposed to be
my
friend, not Nick's. You're supposed to take
my
side.”

“I know. I'm just worried about you. I like Nick. He's so much better for you than—”

“Than who?”

“Than John Strickland, who is suddenly your favorite person and also probably the reason you're getting high and taking pills. You're changing, Allie. This isn't like you.”

Is she kidding? Of course I've changed. My sister killed herself. Did she think I'd still be the same after that?

I lean my head against the window. Why won't Nick let me talk to him? Why won't he give me the chance? I get so dizzy with all this that I have to close my eyes. I pretend I'm somewhere happy. Like our house on Cape Cod when Dad and Mom still liked each other.

A text comes in. I jump.

John Strickland, not Nick.

Found the guy who sent the pics. He's on the baseball team with Nick.

What are you going to do?

Make him pay.

I lean my head back and smile.
Good
, I text. Let him pay. Let everyone pay. I'm sick of being the only one.

“Is that Nick?” Emery asks.

“No.”

“You seem sort of out of it. You okay?”

“I'm fine,” I say again, even though each minute I spend with Emery makes me feel like I'm suffocating. Plus it's getting harder to keep it all from her. The lies are exhausting. Part of me wants to tell her the truth. But that's the weak part. Another part whispers that she'll never understand. That she'll ditch me when she sees how broken and stupid I am.

“Just gonna be a minute,” Emery says. She gets out of the car and pulls her hood up against the rain that's starting. She disappears into Walgreens.

I settle into my seat and try to get those colors back, the Cape Cod colors. But every time I try to tune them in, they slip through my fingers.

My phone vibrates.

R we over?
Nick.

I look at the text, run my fingers over it. He's the one who wouldn't talk to me. He's the one who got mad without even finding out my side of the story. I stare at it. What should I do? I delete it.

The phone rings. It's him. I want to answer. I do. But my mouth feels all weird and like I've been to the dentist. I don't want him to hear me this way.

“Don't answer it.” Leah comes to me—too late.

“Hi.” My voice is low and gravelly with the tiniest slur. “I just want to talk to you.”

“You sound like Mom!” Leah yells.

I cover the phone with my hand so Nick won't hear her—and hang up on him by accident. I try to call him back, but my fingers feel impossibly big and can't work the buttons. I put the phone down. It's no use.

The phone rings. It's him again. I push the button to answer.

“Hi,” I breathe again.

“You sound drunk. What's going on with you?”

“I'm just…”

“Call me when you can make sense,” Nick says. And then he's gone.

“Leah?” I have a question I want to ask her, even more pressing than why she did it. I know Leah will tell me the truth. “Do I keep going after the wrong guys?”

Her eyes get sad. “Maybe. But that's kind of what everyone does. Until they go after the right ones.”

“Did you love John Strickland?”

Her face scrunches up. “Love makes you weak. I was never weak.”

Until she killed herself.

Lies. It hits me—Leah is lying. So stupid. Of course she is. She always did. She handed out little bits of truth wrapped in beautiful lies. She managed all the information. Even what she shared with me.

“I wanted you to look up to me,” she explains.

“I did. You didn't have to lie.”

“You wouldn't have understood.”

“You didn't try.”

“I wanted you to think I was perfect. Picture perfect.”

“You didn't have to pose for me. I didn't need that.”

Leah's face turns hard. “Oh no? You seemed to love it when I did. You lapped it up.”

I want to yell at her, but I see Emery walking back to the car. Leah follows my gaze. “Get ready for the crash,” she says, and I worry about her, because now her words are looping like a bad recording.

Emery opens the door and climbs back into the car, a little white bag in hand, her face pinched. I want to ask her what's wrong, but I can't. I'm exhausted.

We drive the rest of the way home without talking. Emery seems wigged, and I am just plain worn out. So is Leah. She rides in the backseat, her face cupped in her hand, her arm propped on the door. She looks as tired as I feel.

“Thanks,” I say to Emery when she drops me off.

“I miss you, Allie.” Emery looks like she's about to cry.

I come back, lean in her window.

“We'll talk soon. I just have a headache.” My usual excuse.

“Yeah. Feel better.” Emery waves as she pulls out of my driveway.

It occurs to me that I didn't even ask what was in the bag. I need to be a better friend.

• • •

Max climbs in my window as soon as I open the door to my room. He must have been watching for me. I swallow hard. This can't be good.

“Hi.” He looks at me, sheepish, like I caught him doing something bad. Did I?

“What's up?” I ask, not really wanting to know. Knowing that this moment of suck, whatever it is, has been a long time coming.

“I need to talk to you.” He looks at the floor. Not at me. Max always looks at me. “I have to tell you I'm sorry. But you're so mad all the time that I can't get to you.”

“If I'm acting so bad, then why are you the one who's sorry?”

I sit down in front of my computer and put my head in my hand. The room is spinning. His voice is echoing, bouncing off the walls. I need him to stop talking. I need it all to stop.

He kneels on the floor beside me. “You know how I feel about you,” he says.

I look at my hands that are trembling like Mom's now. “Do I?”

His phone vibrates. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him pull it out of his pocket and look at it.

“Whatever, Max. Why don't you go talk to whoever is texting you? Obviously they're more important than me.”

“No one's more important than you.” Tears slide out of his eyes. He braces his jaw. His hands go in his pockets. I've never seen Max actually cry. Whatever this is, it must be bad. “Oh God, Allie. She told you, didn't she?”

“What?” My head swivels, my stomach is suddenly cold like I've swallowed a ball of ice. Cold blood runs through my veins. Max makes my heart beat. He can make it stop too. Why do I give him so much power? Leah was right. I'm stupid when it comes to him.

“Allie, it was nothing…” Max backs up, runs his hand through his hair. I stay silent. I know who he's talking about—the only person who could hurt me more than Max. And now I bet I know what was in Emery's drugstore bag.

“I thought she was on the pill,” I say. It's a guess, but I hope I'm wrong.

“She was. I mean, she is. She was late, and she was worried.” Max looks at his hands. “I knew she'd tell you. I begged her not to. It was just that one time, and it didn't mean anything.”

“When?”

He looks out the window. “Don't, Allie, it's not important.”

I stumble across the room and start hitting him. My fists sink into his flesh over and over again, making a sickening sound. I want to beat him till it hurts as much as he hurt me. Even though that's not possible. I grab his arms and shake him. “Tell me,” I growl.

“That night.” He grabs my hands, tears running freely down his face now. “I'm so sorry.”

“What night?” I whisper even though I know.

“The night you went out with your sister.” The words come out almost unformed, like he doesn't want to touch them, like they taste bad in his mouth.

“She...she had an audition. She said she had an audition.”

“She did. I went with her. Eric was supposed to read, but he got sick.”

“Oh my God.” My hand is over my mouth. This can't be happening. My legs buckle. I sit.

“It just sort of happened.” He follows me to the ground.

I'm in a tunnel.

“She called me. I went to help.” Max is still talking. I can hear the words, but none of it makes sense. Max and Emery. Together. “It was a rush to be up on stage like that. We went to a party after. We were drunk…”