What We Knew (11 page)

Slipping into my shorts and shirt, I wasn’t ashamed or anxious or fearful. I wasn’t anything but alive. I kissed Foley good-bye and then smiled and blushed all the way to the corner. I tried holding on to the floating all the way home, but then gravity pulled me back to earth.

Adam.

How could sleeping with Foley be the rightest thing and the wrongest thing at the same time? I went from feeling strong and sure to sick and weak. A crushing shame that made my stomach ache. Was that how my father felt the first time he cheated on my mother?
No. Because he wouldn’t ever have done it again.

When I walked through the front door, my mother was in her bathrobe on the couch with a bowl of ice cream. Her eyes were red from crying. On the coffee table was the invitation to her reunion.

“What’s wrong?” I said.

“Nothing.” She shut off the TV and patted the cushion next to her. I plunked down and stole her spoon. Peanut Butter Fudge. My favorite. I was starving, but that was my own fault. I was supposed to be at that Italian restaurant with Adam. I gave her back her spoon.

“I’ve been thinking,” my mom said. “You say I hide from the truth, but you’re wrong. I just choose not to dwell on the ugly ones. Like that your father has someone to take to that stupid reunion and I don’t.” Her voice cracked.

I tugged at a thread on her robe. “You’ve got time,” I said. “Maybe you can find a date. That would blow his mind, wouldn’t it?”

She shook her head, hopeless. “You want the truth?” she asked. “Here it is: my son won’t talk to me because I didn’t throw a parade when he told me he was gay. I was in shock. What was I supposed to do? And you? You’re growing up way too fast. You think I don’t know what you do, but I was sixteen once, too.”

I blushed like there was a sign flashing above my head. Where was her intuition when I’d needed it before?

If you’d fought harder there would’ve been something for her to notice.

“That’s how it’s supposed to go,” she continued. “Your kids grow up and move out, and you and your spouse get to be people again, husband and wife—your life is your life again. But now everything’s changed.”

She pulled a tissue from her bathrobe and wiped her nose. “When you leave, what’s left?” She squeezed me to her, and I winced. My arm was still sore from the shot.

“I don’t know where I’m going anymore,” she said, sounding as lost as I felt.

twelve

The one night I wanted to stay home, Lisa called, begging me to drag myself out of bed and over to Trent’s. I told her I was in my pajamas. She told me to bring them because I was sleeping at her house anyway. I frowned at the T-shirt and shorts balled at the foot of the bed and sighed.

“Your lover boy’s here.” Lisa giggled. “Say hi.”

I panicked—Foley?—but then Adam’s voice asked sweetly, “Hey, you feeling any better?”

Earlier, I’d canceled our dinner date—again. I hadn’t felt good all day. My stomach was tense and fluttery and I had this strange urge to hide. The thought of seeing Adam made me dizzy. There was no way to undo what I’d done. I had to move forward, but someone had tied cement blocks to my ankles. I felt them dragging behind me on the way to Trent’s, scraping the sidewalk, catching on hydrants and curbs. It took forever to get there. But not long enough.

I was barely through the door when Adam tackled me to the bed. I struggled to free myself, but then everyone closed in on me. Rachel flopped down and inspected my roots. Lisa frisked me for gum. Gabe pried the cap off a bottle and knocked it against my ankle. I broke through the tangle of limbs and chugged. Whistling, Trent offered me another.

“I’m good,” I said, checking my phone. It was pushing nine-thirty, and Lisa’s curfew was ten. “We have to go soon, don’t we?”

“Larry pulled his back at work.” Lisa smiled. “He’s zonked out on painkillers. We can stay as late as we want.”

What about Katie?
But maybe Lisa had come to her senses. “In that case…” I grinned, making grabby hands for the pint on the dresser.

“Wait,” Adam said, tugging on my shirt. Scissoring his legs, he launched himself upright and took my hand. “Come with me. I want to talk to you for a minute.” Our palms clasped together, he led me to Trent’s brother’s room—didn’t he ever stay home?—and locked the door behind us.

“Remember when you asked me to always be honest with you?” he said, circling my waist with his arms. I did—when we first started seeing each other. Dealing with the aftermath of all that had happened with my dad, and then Scott, I was on an honesty kick. Alarm shot up my spine. Did Adam know I’d cheated? His arms were like a Chinese finger trap: the more I pulled away, the tighter he held. In the dark, his lips shivered across my collarbone. His hand crawled up the back of my shirt and I stiffened. “Whoa,” I said. “What’s this all about?”

“I’ve been waiting to make sure this is real,” he said. “This is me being honest. I love you.”

No. No, you don’t. Take it back.

For the first time ever, I was the one wiggling away. This was what I’d wanted—for him to want me—but I was suddenly paralyzed by my secrets. I could feel them both—Foley and Troy—slowly leaching the oxygen from my blood until my lungs seized and my heart stopped pumping. I couldn’t breathe. It was too hot in the room, too hot in his arms.

“I’ll be back,” I said. “Give me a minute.”

I followed the steady buzzing coming from Trent’s room. It sounded like my father’s shaver. Close. Electric clippers. Rachel was cutting Trent’s hair. The pint on the dresser was gone. I found it in Lisa’s lap, who was in Gabe’s lap.

“Where’s your sweetie?” she said.

I snapped my fingers for the bottle and tipped my head back and let the fiery liquid rush down my throat. My stomach kicked. My limbs tingled. I drank until my face went numb. I was rubbing Trent’s stubble when Adam came looking for me. I exhaled in his face and he winced. “Minty,” he said. “Are you okay? How much did you drink?”

I touched the top of the red-and-white label and slowly dragged my finger down, down.

“Have you eaten?” Adam looked concerned.

My head flopped heavily. My hands started shaking. Then a quivering in my belly started as my insides began to lurch upward. The bathroom was on the second floor. I’d never make it. I pushed past Adam and Rachel and slipped on Trent’s hair. Lurching down the hall, I tried holding down the rising sickness. It couldn’t be stopped. My throat opened as I clutched the radiator for support. I managed to make it down the stairs and out the back door before I puked again.

My stomach was a mess, but my head was even messier. If I didn’t love Foley, then why didn’t I want to undo what we’d done? Some of what I felt was guilt, but mostly it was fear. I was afraid of getting caught. I was a coward, just like my father, slinking, sneaky. I got down on my back and slithered under Trent’s car, into the shadow of its underbelly.

The porch door creaked. Someone rustled the bushes. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Lisa called. I was pretty sure I was invisible, but then there was a bagel in my face. “Eat it,” Lisa demanded, peering around the tire. “It’ll soak up the alcohol.”

I didn’t think it would stay down, but I took a small bite. All I tasted was oil and gas. The sharp tang of corrosion. I concentrated on chewing and waited for my stomach to protest.

“What happened?” Lisa asked.

I love the sound of crickets. I listened for a pattern in the chirping and managed another bite.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

More crickets and then the neighbor’s dog barking through the fence.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Lisa asked. “Do you want to write it down?”

I didn’t want to talk or walk or write. I wanted to be left alone. I didn’t deserve Lisa’s concern. Me, Miss High-and-Mighty, throwing the stuff about Trent in her face, and then riffling through her calendar that night at the diner to see if she’d lied. What I had done was so much worse.

“Are you mad at me?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“Is it so bad that you can’t tell me?” she said. “Tell me.”

But I couldn’t.
Breathe in, breathe out.
I didn’t want to be sick again.

“Come out from under there,” she said, softly. She felt around and then stuck her finger in my side. I hit my head on something.

“Ow!”

“Remember the rule?” she reminded me. “No cars when we’ve been drinking. In them or under them.”

Lisa assisted me up and brushed the gravel off my back, helping me down onto the grass because my legs were shaky.

“I belong with Adam,” I said. “I do. I really do.”

“Why does that make you sad?” she asked. “Why are you shaking your head?”

My neck was a spring. I bobbled around until Lisa steadied my head on her shoulder and softly sang me a song about wind and wings and friendship and strength.

“Why are you still crying?” she asked.

“Because you’re beautiful.”

“Okay, Drunky McDrunk. It’s time to go. You wait here. I’ll grab you another bagel and say good night. Where’s your bag?”

I don’t know how Lisa got me home. I don’t remember walking. We must have passed the woods, unless she took the long way, which I couldn’t imagine. When we got back to her house, Larry was snoring in the recliner. It’s weird seeing a friend’s parent sleeping. It’s like running into a teacher at the mall or catching your father in his underwear. Lisa put her finger to her lips, and I swayed in place, trying not to giggle as she grabbed a couch pillow and raised it above Larry’s head.
Dare me?
she mouthed. Larry’s leg twitched, knocking the remote to the floor. I froze. Behind me, the studio audience laughed at something stupid. Lisa slowly lowered her arms. Lower, lower, until Larry was breathing his own breath. The menacing set of her jaw made me think she’d do it. Eyes wide, I silently commanded her to stop. If she woke him, I was dead. I was too drunk for Larry to ignore. He’d call my mother and she’d ground me. Some lame catchphrase sent the audience into convulsions. Lisa tossed the pillow on the couch. Everyone applauded.

“I think there’s pizza in here,” Lisa said into the wedge of light from the refrigerator.

“I think I need to be flat,” I said. “Where are we sleeping?”

“Katie’s room,” she said. “Do you mind?”

I shook my head. I think I shook my head.

“You want something to eat?”

I’m pretty sure I shook my head again.

“Go on,” she said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

I dragged my bag down the hall toward the buttery light spilling from the open door. Katie was sprawled on a comforter on the floor. I flopped down on the bed and inhaled Katie’s smell—fabric softener and ranch dressing—which started my stomach churning. I tried my back, but the stars on the ceiling started spinning, faster and faster. I struggled upright. That’s when I saw them resting on the plastic crate Katie used for a nightstand. My head spun. I choked back the sickness rising up my throat and hid them in my bag where no one would see. I thought they were meant for me. They were the right color—brown, just like Foley’s. His warning was as cold and clear as those eyes.
I’m watching you, too. I know your secret.

thirteen

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Subject:
SOS

In Troy, it was a chocolate under the couch, wrapped in silver foil and clotted with dust.

Our mother is so nosy.
What are you doing on the computer? Who are you e-mailing? Can’t it wait till morning?
No, it can’t wait. I have to go back. To the woods. None of this feels real. I keep hoping it’s just another nightmare, but I know it’s not. It was an accident. It’s not like we went in there with a gun or a knife. Our only weapon was a flashlight. We used our hands and feet, too. I guess that’s evidence, the bruises on my knuckles. I don’t know how to explain what happened, what came over us. Do you think we could claim self-defense? Because that’s how it felt, like we were defending ourselves. Like we were fighting for our lives. But he didn’t fight back. Like me that day in Troy. But the guy in the woods didn’t have a chance, cocooned in that musty sleeping bag, buried beneath those blankets.

What’s my excuse?

fourteen

“Tracy got busted!” Lisa sang as she pocketed her phone and relieved me of the armload of dresses I’d been schlepping around the thrift store for her. I covered my face with my hands, trying to ward off the panic. All afternoon I’d been trying to figure out how to confess. What happened with Foley was gnawing at my insides. I had to tell someone. “I was going to tell you,” I said.

“Really?” Lisa cocked her eyebrow. “You were so wasted, I’m surprised you remember.”

My brain sputtered. If not Foley, then what? The eyes? No. I’d hidden them that morning after lying to my mother about losing my keys. While the locksmith was there, I put them in the one place she never cleans: my old steamer trunk. It’s my landfill of mistakes: my ninth-grade third-quarter report card, the portrait I drew of my dad but never gave him, a box and stick from a pregnancy-test kit, a slip of paper with a 1-800 number Foley had given me after I told him about the jerk from Troy.

“I think it’s funny,” Lisa said, puckering her lips at a vest straight from a seventies sitcom. “Gross but funny. Trent? Not so much. Gabe said he’s pissed at you.”

“Trent?” I said. “Why’s he pissed?”

“His mother made him clean it up,” she said, staring at me quizzically. “The puke behind the radiator?”

My shoulders relaxed as I followed Lisa around a rack of tops, my nose wrinkling at the bitter smell of fumigated polyester. I love thrift stores but hate the stench. Lisa pulled a sweater dress from a hanger and held it up in front of me. “This is so ugly it’s cool.” And then, eying the belt in my hand: “Are you getting that?”

I traded her for a psychedelic scarf and then hopped up on an ottoman and lip-synced the cheesy song coming from the ancient boom box by the register. A guy hugging a TV nodded his approval, but Lisa shaded her eyes in embarrassment. “Stop shaking your love,” she hissed, threatening me with a fondue fork. I jumped down, but she poked me anyway, and that’s when I blurted it out, right there between a rack of scuffed pumps and a grimy collection of hot-air popcorn poppers.