The next hour is spent mediating the fallout from Amber’s manipulative game. Me making peace with Justin over beer pong, and unfortunately drinking in the process. Tiny convincing Ella she did nothing wrong while Amber is neither apologizing nor speaking to any of us. Ella avoiding any and all eye contact with me. It’s not handled by a long shot and our plan is wounded, but at least the fighting has died down and everyone seems to have fallen back into the rhythm of the party.
I stand with Tiny in the hallway on the endless bathroom line, eyeing the ten girls in front of us and wishing I didn’t drink that beer. “I’m considering peeing in the bushes.”
“Holden McLover, if you pull your peen out at this party for any reason, I will personally kick your butt,” Tiny says.
I laugh despite this crappy night. “I’ll just go upstairs. You coming?”
She hesitates, her eyes following Leah toward the dining room, where all the snacks are. “Bathroom will have to wait.” Without looking at me she adds, “Give me a few minutes after your pee before you join me and Leah, ’kay?”
“Text me,” I say, and we move in opposite directions.
I head up the stairs and around the partiers perched on them. The music is still audible up here, but less intense, and even though there are a handful of people in the hall, it’s lower key. The first room I come to has four girls hanging out on the bed and no bathroom. And the second is locked.
I make my way to the third door, but before I can grab the knob, it opens.
“Oh,” Ella says like she’s both surprised and unsure.
“Sorry,” I apologize reflexively, for more than just startling her. “I was just looking for the bathroom.”
“All yours,” she replies, pushing the door open behind her but not stepping out of the doorway.
I immediately feel uneasy. I’m not supposed to be talking to her, especially alone, not if we want to maintain peace here. But I’m not going to push past her or make her feel like she’s done something wrong. She hasn’t. And neither have I. Ella could have easily followed Amber’s directive on that dare and gone in for a French kiss, but she didn’t because she’s not that person. Sure, I enjoy talking to her, but that’s hardly a crime.
“I’m sorry, too . . .” Ella says, looking unsure. “About all that drama before.”
“You don’t need to apologize.” I hate the idea of behaving as though we were guilty just because Amber declared we should be.
“Amber just . . . Never mind, it’s not a big deal.” She’s not really looking at me but also not walking away.
Once again I feel the dissonance between knowing I should find a way to end this conversation and wanting to comfort her.
“You deserve better than Amber and—” I cut myself off before I say Justin’s name, shocked by my own directness and attributing it to the beer I drank. This definitely isn’t Tiny’s strategy or any strategy we’ve ever used; this is August and it’s not appropriate. “Sorry, Scorpio, I overstepped. I’ll just be using that bathroom now,” I say, my heart beating like a beast.
For a quick second she searches my face, but then just as fast her gaze moves past me and she says, “All yours,” again, gesturing toward the bathroom.
Before I can turn around, Justin starts speaking with an alcohol-affected slur. “Baaabe, there you are.”
I make my way into the bathroom, imagining Tiny reaming me out for almost screwing that up. And the truth is, I don’t know why I did it other than maybe I care too much, which I’m definitely never admitting. Because Justin reminds me too much of Kyle, because it’s possible Ella has helped me more than I’ve helped her, and I want to repay her kindness. Because maybe on some level I understand why Tiny always wants me to take the central role on cases—it’s hard when you get attached.
I quickly use the toilet, wash my hands, and splash water on my face, taking a long look at myself in the mirror. But just as I’m about to walk back into the hallway, I hear Ella’s and Justin’s voices through the door, and I pause.
“You taste like tequila,” Ella says.
“Derek,” Justin replies by way of explanation. “Want some?”
She laughs. “Not tonight. I do have to go home at some point. And my parents will be pissed if I come in stumbling.”
“Tell them you’re staying at Leah’s. And then just stay here. My parents are gone.”
There’s a pause.
“I have to write in the morning,” she says hesitantly, and it almost sounds like she knows it’s not going to land.
“You can skip a day.”
“I can’t, though. I have a deadline.”
“It’s a stupid blog.”
Another pause.
Justin grunts. “What’s that look for? Lighten up. You write an astrology blog. It’s not like you save lives.”
And I’m instantly pissed. Despite the fact that a couple weeks ago I thought astrology was ridiculous, it’s important to Ella; it’s the thing she shared with her grandmother; it should be important to anyone who cares about her.
“That’s a crappy thing to say and you know it,” she says.
“You know what else is crappy? That you never put me first,” he retorts.
I stood in front of Des’s cracked door, my hand raised to knock. After Dad left, I only occasionally said good night to Mom, but I never once missed saying it to Des. And it had become important in a way I didn’t expect, like Des was my touchstone to knowing the world was still an okay place to be. But before I knocked, she started talking.
“Can’t,” she said. “Maybe this weekend.”
“You can’t take care of everyone all the time, Des,” Kyle said.
I rolled my eyes. It was always Kyle these days. He was starting to annoy me.
“Says you,” she replied, and I could hear her smile.
“Have another sip of beer.” There was a beat, and he continued, “How about this . . . You come out for one hour. Just one teeny-tiny hour. No big deal.”
“I have work tomorrow,” Des told him.
“I’ll help you wake up,” Kyle countered.
Des laughed. “Like I believe that one.”
Another pause.
“What?” she said after a few seconds of silence.
“Nothing. I’ve said it before—I’m always last. You choose me last.”
“Kyle,” she said in a way that I knew meant he was successfully playing on her sympathy. “I don’t choose you last. It’s just that August—”
“Has his friend sleeping over. He’s fine.”
“Yeah, but—”
“But nothing. You’re not his mom, Des. He’s a full-grown teenager, not a baby. You need to stop treating him like one.”
His words instantly pissed me off, mostly because they were true. I knew I relied on Des too much, that she had taken more than her fair share of responsibility these past few years with me, the bills, our mom, all the while juggling her college classes. But who was he to comment on it? I dropped my hand, though, not wanting to prove him right that I was a drain on my sister. For the first time since I could remember, I walked to my room without saying good night.
And what I didn’t know then was that I’d never get the chance to say good night to her again.
“Are you kidding? I always put you first,” Ella says, and the memory of the night I lost my sister spears me right through the heart. I type a fast and furious text to Tiny telling her to get up here because she needs to call Justin out. Now.
“I gave up the school newspaper for cheerleading so we could spend more time together—” Ella continues, but Justin cuts her off.
“Are you serious right now?” Justin says like she’s barely making sense. “Am I supposed to feel guilty for wanting to see my girlfriend? You know football took a ton of my time.”
“Right, and when it’s football, it’s fine. But when it’s my blog or my college—”
For a second, I have a glimmer of hope that she’ll tell him she’s choosing herself.
“Then break up with me,” Justin says like a challenge, and the anger that wells up in me is irrational. That is the lowest way to manipulate someone. I text Tiny again, my fingers pressing hard on the keys.
“If I’m standing in the way of you and some crap school in London,” Justin says, “then let’s call it quits, because I’m not falling in love with someone I’m just going to lose.”
And now he throws in love? What an absolute chump. I can hear Tiny in my head railing about how love means wanting what’s best for someone even when it’s not best for you. I check my texts with Tiny, but there’s no response.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You know I want to be with you.” There’s guilt in Ella’s tone.
“Then prove it,” Justin challenges. “Prove it by staying the night.”
“Justin . . .” she says, and her voice gets a little farther away, like they’ve moved down the hall, probably toward his room. I have to crack the bathroom door to still hear them. “I want to, just . . . not tonight.”
“Well, I guess I have my answer then.”
“Hang on,” she says, and I can hear how uncomfortable she is.
“I’m starting to think you’re not who I thought you were,” he says like she’s so disappointing.
I groan. What a line.
“How can you—”
“Choose, Ella. Are you staying here with me or are you walking away?”
For a second, they’re both quiet.
Then he softens his tone and adds, “Look, El, I just want to make this work. Make this work with me?”
My heart sinks, frustration swirling through me like a storm. We agreed that Tiny would intervene between Ella and Justin, but once again I feel like that kid on the other side of the door, stuck in an impossible situation. And I’m not making the same mistake twice.
I check my phone one last time, but there’s nothing from Tiny, and so I open the bathroom door and step into the hallway.
Before I can stop myself, my mouth opens. “Dude, lay off her.”
Ella’s eyes flit to me, widening in surprise.
Justin turns. “What did you just say?”