Social Skills (17 page)

The
moment his lids fluttered open, the repose crumbled away. Ninety percent of his
relationship with Jared had taken place within the four walls of his room, and
every piece of them now echoed with memories that mocked him for his
foolishness. He’d gone and fallen for someone so unattainable, so
unavailable—he should have expected an end such as this.

Because
everyone knew taking a break was just a way to save face when breaking up.

His
tears pulsed back to life. As if subconsciously seeking more pain, he unzipped
his case to retrieve the rose. The red petals were just beginning to darken
with the first signs of death, and he held the flower tightly in his hand,
willing it to last just a little bit longer.

A
thorn that had escaped the removal process pricked his palm, and the sharp
physical pain brought his tears to a standstill. He uncurled his fingers to look
at the tiny circular pool of blood that formed. After a moment, he pressed it
into the sheet and let the blood seep into the fabric.

He stared
at the spot of red on white until sleep came.

Chapter Sixteen

Even
when his mother was whispering, her voice still carried. The hushed murmurs
were spiked with just enough attitude to make it clear she was complaining, and
most likely about him.

But it
barely registered. Connor retrieved the pitcher of water to set at the dinner
table, ignoring how the room grew silent again as he took his seat. Even
Melissa kept her mouth shut for a change.

“Richard.”
His mother broke the quiet. She shot his father a prodding look over the plates
of brisket and potatoes.

He
coughed, then addressed Connor directly for the first time that day. “How are
your classes going this semester?”

“Fine.”
Connor shredded a piece of meat with his fork, but didn’t bring any part of it
to his mouth. He’d had no desire to eat, lately.

“We
really need to start trying to find you a summer job. Something that will help
in getting into law school.”

“Fine.”

“And
maybe we could even start looking at specific programs, so you can begin
tailoring your applications.”

“Fine.”

“Look
at your father when he is speaking to you,” his mother snapped.

Connor
managed to bring his eyes up for a second, but his father did not meet them. “May
I be excused?” he mumbled in his mother’s direction.

“No
you may not!” She brought her palm down on the table, making the silverware
clatter. “We eat together as a family. You may be able to do whatever you like
at college, but don’t forget your father and I are the ones paying for that
experience.”

Connor
said nothing. He turned his attention back to his meal and took a slow bite,
just so it was clear to everyone that his mouth was occupied with food.

His
mother placed her hand against her temple. “I just don’t know what I did wrong.”

Again,
he ignored her. He couldn’t be bothered with her right now. Not when simple
acts, like waking up each day, were so much harder. Not when his body ached,
his skin so sensitive even the shirt on his back felt painful. Not when every
forced social interaction reminded him of how alone he truly was.

“I’d
like a summer job,” Melissa threw in.

His
mother’s glare seemed as though it would bore into him for ages, but after a
few seconds she turned away. “You’re too young, Melissa. You can volunteer at
the library, with me.”

“Oh.”
Melissa blinked once before continuing. “Sure, Mom. That sounds like fun. But I’d
also like to learn some more difficult pieces for next year’s piano
competition, and summer’s the best time for that…so I might not be able to help
a whole bunch.”

“Of
course not, dear. Maybe just a couple of hours a week, if you’re not busy.”

“Sounds
great.” Melissa beamed.

Connor
redoubled his efforts to keep his eyes on the brown and beige of his meal. Melissa’s
smiles were like one stabbing insult after another. He couldn’t even remember
the last time he’d seen her frown.

Thankfully,
she filled the void for the rest of the meal—at least she was good for
that—by chatting on about how ready she was for ninth grade and was far
too mature to have to spend another day within the confines of middle school.

Connor
rose when everyone else did and made his way into the kitchen to complete his
chores. He was lucky it had been a brisket night—even if he didn’t care
for the food. It meant there was no pile of pans to be scrubbed, and hopefully,
within a few minutes, he could be safely ensconced in his room once again.

He
cleaned the inside of the crockpot, running the water hot enough to make his
skin splotch red. He studied the marks that formed—strange blobs of color
against too-white skin. Skin that stayed indoors. Skin that
should
stay
indoors, away from the normal, happy people who found life something worth
living.

Before
he could finish clearing away the juices from the meat, a hand reached over to
shut off the faucet. Connor stared down at it, his eyes skirting along the blue
veins, thin fingers, and protruding knuckles.

His
mother let out a sigh, and though he tried not to look, he didn’t miss the grim
expression on her thin-lipped face.

“I
gave birth to you, you know,” she said, pressing her palm to her heart. Connor
had to bite back an acrid smile—his mother had always had a flair for the
dramatic. “And now you can’t even be bothered to carry on a conversation? You’ve
barely said a word to us since coming back for break.”

This
time, he couldn’t control his reaction, and his eyes rolled of their own accord.
His mother’s pupils flashed in outrage and her arm flew up, as if preparing for
a strike.

He
shrank back. It wouldn’t have been the first time her temper had gotten the
better of her.

A
moment later, she dropped her hand and pulled it tightly against her side. “Connor,
you will show respect so long as you are in this house.” She shook her head,
muttering as she walked away.

Connor
stood still as the shock from the confrontation slowly abated. As soon as it
had, though, he wanted it back—she’d robbed him of some of the numbness
he’d acquired that day.

Why
wouldn’t she just give up already? He’d never be the son she wanted. He didn’t
even have the energy to pretend anymore.

He
finished the dishes and retreated to his room, firmly closing the door behind
him. He would have locked it, but on the off chance his mother returned to pick
up where she’d left off, he’d never hear the end of it. He was not meant to
lock doors that didn’t belong to him.

It
would be hours before he’d be able to fall asleep, so he debated his
options—random Internet surfing, reading, or staring at the ceiling. Whichever
he chose, he promised himself he wouldn’t cry anymore. It made his eyes look
terrible—all dark and puffy in a gaunt, ashen face.

Not
that he had anyone to impress.

He
took a book off his shelf—making sure it contained no romantic storylines—and
lay on his bed with it. But the written words weren’t enough to drag him out of
his life, and he hadn’t even made it through a single page when his door
creaked open a few minutes later.

“Can
I come in?” Melissa asked. Without waiting for an invitation, she planted
herself at his desk.

He
didn’t greet her, praying that would be enough to get her to go away.

It
wasn’t.

“So,”
she began, running her palms along her pink bunny pajama pants. “What happened
to the guy?”

Connor
turned away from her and back to the book in his hands. He couldn’t remember a
single word he’d just read. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh
please. I know you were dating that hot guy who was over for breakfast.”

Abandoning
the book, he began idly pressing his fingernails into his palm and staring at
the crescent moon shapes they left behind. “Get out.”

Melissa
crossed her arms and set her jaw in defiance. She looked a little like his
mother when she did that. “Jeez, Connor. You don’t always have to be such a
jerk to me. I didn’t tell anyone anything, you know.”

“There’s
nothing to tell.”

“Nothing
to tell, huh? So you’re switching back to girls, then?”

Connor
squeezed his nails in even deeper. How hard would he have to press to draw blood?

“Really,
I don’t know what the big deal is,” Melissa went on. “I said I wouldn’t tell
Mom. Why don’t you want to talk about the guy? I mean, he’s hot. Way hotter
than I thought you’d ever get. If I were you I’d be bragging all over the
place.”

He focused
on the pain in his hand. Hot tears prickled at his eyes, but he managed to keep
them at bay. There was no way he was going to cry in front of his sister.

“What,
he dumped you?”

His
silence wasn’t going to sway her, it seemed, but it was all he had to offer.

“He
did, huh,” she surmised. “So that’s why you’re acting all crappy again.”

A
tiny flame of anger ignited within him, and he actually welcomed it. Anything
was better than complete desolation. “Melissa, get out.”

“Yup,
back to your usual stupid self.” Melissa made no move to depart. She stretched
out against his desk, arching her back like she was trying to enhance the
appearance of her barely-there breasts. “So, what are your plans now? Hide in
your room and piss off Mom until you die of old age?”

“I
said, get out.”

“You
know, I’m not surprised things didn’t work out with that guy. You have to
actually carry on conversations with people if you want to keep their interest.
Why don’t you ever talk like a normal person?”

A normal person.
He released his clenched fist and something broke free inside him,
turning the flame into a full-blown fire. Thank God Melissa was the only one
there.

“Jesus
Christ, Melissa! You’re a fucking
moron.
Didn’t it ever occur to you
that I don’t
want
to be like this? That it’s fucking
hard
for
me to talk to people and say the right things? That I berate myself far more
than any of you ever could?”

She
blinked at him a few times, then broke into a grin. “Do you suffer from
depression?” she quipped, mimicking the voice of a commercial spokesperson. “Maybe
you should try the pills that make that bouncing blue ball happy.”

He
drew in a deep breath, but not to calm down. “
Get the fuck out of my room!
”

Melissa
curled in on herself, wincing. “Whoa. You’re serious, huh? I always thought you
acted all strange and unfriendly to piss off Mom.”

Drained,
he sagged against the bed. The rage was gone, but the embers were still
smoldering. “Why the hell would I
want
to piss off Mom?”

Melissa
snorted. “I can think of more than a few reasons.”

“What?”
He looked up sharply. “What are you talking about? You’re like her best friend.”

“Please.”
Melissa puffed out a breath that sent her bangs flipping off her forehead. “I
know Mom’s crazy. She wants to control everything we do, ’cause she thinks if
we’re great, it’ll make her look great, too. I just know how to handle her, is
all. The trick is to do what she wants while she’s watching, so she’ll leave
you alone more, and you can do what you want when she’s not.”

Connor
gaped at her. So her perfect fit in their family was just an act? Maybe there
was more kinship there than he’d thought.

Her
sudden candor had him opening his mouth again when all common sense told him to
keep it shut. “I…I guess I don’t know how to do what she wants. But I don’t do
it to piss her off. I don’t do it to piss anyone off. I just…I’m not good at…dealing
with people. And just when my life was actually starting to get better—”

He
stopped short. What was he thinking? He couldn’t say it out loud—
he
didn’t even want to hear it, let alone
have it revealed to his little sister.

Melissa
furrowed her brows, the levity gone from her expression. “I’m sorry about the
guy, Connor. But you know, you’ll have other…
boy
friends.” She giggled,
then straightened her lips out with some effort. “I mean, I’m only thirteen and
I’ve already had two.”

Connor
resumed making little moons, now along his forearm.

“You
wanna know what I think?” Melissa twirled around in his desk chair.

“Of
course not,” he muttered.

She
rolled her eyes and continued anyway. “How’d you get good at violin? How’d you
learn all the pieces you know?”

“What?”

“How’d
you learn the difficult parts?”

He
lay back in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. It hadn’t been his first choice
for how to spend the evening, but it looked like the direction he was headed
now.

“Practice,
right?” Melissa answered for him.

“Sure.
Practice.”

“Practice,”
she repeated, nodding her head like a bobble-head doll. “You have to practice
to get better. ’Cause sometimes, you kinda suck when you first try, and when
you hit those high-pitched notes slightly off it makes me feel like someone is
scratching fingernails against my brain.”

Had
he any venom left, he might have brought up how she pounded at the piano keys
in frustration when she messed up a run. But he didn’t, and she was prattling
on again within a couple of seconds anyhow.

“So
to get better at something, you have to practice. At first it’s hard, and you
kinda suck, but eventually, you make progress. That’s what you should do with
people. Just practice being normal until it starts to sink in. You won’t get
any better if you keep hiding from them.” She smiled proudly as though waiting
to be praised for her conclusion.

Connor
closed his eyes and counted to ten. “Melissa, please get out of my room.”

“See,
that was better already! Much more polite than ‘get the fuck out’.” She spun
around in the chair once more. “Keep it up, though, you’ve got a ways to go.”