UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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Mama’s voice carries into my bathroom while I’m blow-drying my hair.
“Hey, Claire, can I drive you to school this morning on my way to run errands? I need a new lens.”
My mom. Awake. At seven thirty on a Monday morning. It’s all I can do not to pinch myself.
“Sure.”
I text Megan that I don’t need a ride today. She’s been MIA this weekend (not a good sign), and my stomach is in knots with wondering what happened between her and Luke, but there’s no way I’m turning down a ride from my mom. I practically skip downstairs and into the kitchen to make my scrambled eggs. Libby sits at the table with a bowl of peaches ’n’ cream oatmeal and a shocked expression.
“You okay?”
She points to the counter, where two insulated lunch bags sit side by side.
“She made lunches too?” I whisper.
Libby nods.
I peek inside. The food is totally normal. A chicken-salad sandwich, some fruit, a yogurt. My mom’s heels click toward the kitchen, causing me to shove the bag back into place and pretend egg scrambling is an all-consuming task. Wait a minute. Heels! I glance down. She is wearing heels. And makeup. And pearls. Before everything went wrong, I thought it was weird that she got all dolled up even to run to the grocery store. But in the years after, it was much stranger to watch her leave the house with a messy ponytail and haunted eyes.
“We’re leaving in five minutes,” she announces before breezing out of the room.
Libby shovels in the rest of her oatmeal, and I eat my eggs straight from the pan. Then we pile into the car, me riding shotgun, Libby in the backseat. Mama and I make awkward small talk. Libby doesn’t say a word—even when we drop her off. She just leans in between the seats to give Mama a hug before running inside.
I’m still thinking about Libby when we pull up to the turnaround in front of George P. Rutherford High School.
“Have a good day at school,” Mama says. She smiles a brilliant smile, like the ones she used to smile all the time before Timothy.
“Thanks.” It’s all I can think of. I hover by the car window, wishing I could say so much more. Her eyes search mine, still smiling, and she gives the tiniest of nods. I think she knows.
When I slide into my chair at lunch, the first thing Megan says to me is, “I know you’re mad.”
“Huh?”
“You didn’t ride with me this morning because you’re mad at me about Luke?”
“No. My mom wanted to drive me.”
“Oh. Well, that’s great.”
An awkward silence follows.
“Should I be mad at you about Luke?”
I start to feel queasy when she takes so long to answer.
“We’re together,” she finally says.
Those two words are like a punch in the gut. I knew this was going to happen. The girl gets everything she wants—and apparently Luke falls into the category of everything. But for a little while at the football game, and on the swing Friday night . . .
“How did this happen?”
“When he drove me home from the luau on Friday, I was really upset, and he was so sweet about it. And when I tried to kiss him, he didn’t let me because I was drunk. He’s such a gentleman. So I said I had to make it up to him, and could we go to dinner the next day—”
“Wait a minute. You broke both rules. We weren’t supposed to kiss him or ask him out. That was the deal.” A deal that apparently meant nothing to you.
Megan waves a hand as if to swat away what I’m saying. “This is bigger than rules. Luke and I are supposed to be together. We have this connection. I can’t explain it.”
I open my lunch bag and inspect my chicken-salad sandwich, willing myself to stay calm. I will not cry. I will not get angry. Not in the middle of the cafeteria.
“And don’t act like you’re so innocent, Miss Wait-on-the-Porch-So-You-Can-Catch-Luke.”
“That wasn’t what I was doing. You’re just trying to make yourself feel better about what you did.”
Hurt flickers in Megan’s eyes. “Okay, maybe you’re right. But the thing is—”
“No. That is not how this works. You don’t get to make excuses and pretend like it’s all okay. You made your choice and you got what you wanted. Well, I hope you’re happy with Luke. I hope he was worth our friendship.”
I don’t know if I mean it or not, but I sure as heck want her to think I mean it. I take my delicious homemade lunch and eat it at the soccer girls’ table. I can feel Megan looking at me every five seconds. I make it a point not to look back. Let her worry.
At the end of lunch, Megan waits for Luke so she can say good-bye before she leaves for her internship. I shouldn’t watch, but I can’t tear myself away as she bounces up to him and throws her arms around his neck. As he leans down to kiss her with lips I’ve imagined kissing about a thousand times, I want to throw up. Fortunately, we had a quiz in English today, so I was saved from having to make awkward conversation with Luke. Unfortunately, when I get to the park this afternoon, Luke is the only other person on the field. Greaaat. He starts a game of keep the soccer ball in the air without hands. We bounce the ball back and forth with our heads, knees, and feet.
“So. You and Megan?” I ask. I want to ask him so much more than that. Like, What about our trip? Or do you go around promising those to every girl you meet? What did you talk about with her that could have been more special than that? But I’m a chicken, so I don’t say anything else.
The ball hits the ground with a thunk.
“Yeah. It just sort of happened.”
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re apologizing?”
“I don’t know.” He stares at me until I look away. “You should know I . . .” He sighs. “You’re a really cool chick.”
I’m still trying to work out the hidden meaning under all the layers of vague when a bunch of other people show up. Luke gives me a sad smile before picking up the ball and running away.
After the scrimmage, Sam drives me home. A really horrible country song comes on the radio, but I don’t belt out the lyrics with him like I usually would. He turns down the music.
“You okay?” he asks. “About Megan and Luke, I mean.”
“Yeah.”
“They suck.”
“Call me if you need someone to pee in his soccer cleats.”
I half smile at him. “Deal.”
I’m cornered. Britney and Amberly are hell-bent on facilitating a Claire-Megan make-up, even though it has only been twenty-four hours since my lunchtime explosion. I am in no mood for apologies/tearful embraces/talking about feelings of any kind. I’m in the mood for listening to angry music and punching things.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Why do I have to act like it’s okay every time she steals my boyfriend?”
Britney frowns. “Luke wasn’t your—”
“Because she’s a really good friend when you need her,” says Amberly.
It’s true. But it isn’t what I want to hear right now.
“She owes me a big apology.”
“She’s scared. You bitched her out the first time,” says Britney.
“She deserved that. And ‘Luke and I have an amazing connection’ does not count as an apology.”
“I think you really need to hear what she has to say. There’s more to that night than you know,” says Amberly. “If she did apologize, would you listen to her?”
This whole girl-code thing is a load of crap. It always seems to work against me. I let out an exasperated sigh.
“Maybe. But I’m not talking to her first. She has to do something.’ I recross my arms in an attempt to get some of my bravado back, but now that I’ve caved, the gesture doesn’t have the same oomph.
Amberly grins and forces a hug on me. “This is why I love you.”
Megan just got bitch-slapped via email. For the first time in her life, she’s been dumped. She sits slumped over her desk, unable to tear herself away from her computer screen.
“He says we’ve grown apart. And, get this, he’s bringing someone else home for Thanksgiving in two weeks.” Her voice is angry and raw. Tears threaten to spill down her face.
“What a jerk,” I say from where I’m flopped on her bed. “I am so so sorry.”
“A month ago, right after we had sex, he said he couldn’t imagine his life without me. And now I have to wonder if he was with her that whole time. How could I have been so wrong about him? I thought he was the One. I actually tried to imagine myself staying in Pine Bluff because I know that’s what he wants.” That’s when she really starts bawling.
This is more serious than I thought. I hop up from the bed and kneel in front of her, squeezing her hands tight in mine.
“You know he doesn’t deserve you, right? He’s a stupid hick who goes to a stupid college and has no life skills other than being good at baseball. And you’re beautiful. And strong. And talented.”
Megan sits up straight in her pink desk chair.
“You’re right.” She sniffs. “I’m Megan McQueen. Boys don’t dump me. I dump them. And then they spend the rest of their lives trying to get over me.”
“That’s the spirit. Are you going to talk to him when he comes home? Try to get some closure?”
“Oh, I’ll give him closure.” Her fingers fly across the keyboard, googling something.
Megan’s “closure” takes the form of Operation Crabs. Yes, crabs. Like the STD. Apparently, you can order them online. A week later, a cardboard box arrives in the mail. The box contains a plastic bag, and the bag contains dozens of tiny specks. Crabs. Just looking at them makes me itch more than a school announcement about a lice outbreak. Megan adds the plastic bag, still tightly sealed, to a box filled with pictures, a teddy bear, dried flowers, and a pair of Chase’s boxer shorts. She used to sleep in them almost every night.
We drive to his house together. In his driveway she cuts open the bag and carefully sprinkles the crabs into the boxers.
“Be free,” she says. I shudder.
She knocks on the front door while I wait in the car. Thirty minutes later, she’s back, and I can tell she’s been crying.
“You okay?”
“I need ice cream.”
I’ve never seen Megan this upset over a breakup. When I stop by her house the night of Jimmy Marcus’s field party, I find her wearing all black (black pants, black top, black pashmina draped over her head) and lighting candles. Things are worse than I feared. It’s a good thing I’m armed with cupcakes.
“Megan, why are you dressed like that?” I try not to smile.
“I’m in mourning,” she says solemnly. “For my relationship.”
“Well, I brought you something to cheer you up.” I hold up the cardboard box from The Little Cake Bakery.
“Those aren’t?”
“They are your most favorite favorite cupcakes that I convinced Tanner to drive three hours round-trip so I could buy. So now you can’t be sad.” Not that it took much convincing. Tanner has had his license for all of three weeks and he’s always looking for an excuse to use it.
“You bought me Marie Antoinette cupcakes?”
“Yep.” I ease open the box so we can admire them in all their cupcakey glory.
Megan and I grab a cupcake apiece and gingerly peel back the wrappers. It is important to take the largest bite possible when eating these cupcakes so you can taste all the flavors at once. The vanilla cake with its raspberry center. The European buttercream. The homemade crushed-almond toffee on top. You have to practically unhinge your jaw in order to pull it off, but it’s totally worth it. After we’ve polished off our cupcakes and licked our fingers and, okay, fine, the wrappers too, it’s time for me to lay down the law.
“C’mon. We’re getting ready for the party. And I’m not letting you wear that.”
Megan crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m not going. Everyone knows I got dumped.”
“No one cares. How many boys have called you since you and Chase broke up?”
She smiles. “Eight.”
“See?”
“But it isn’t the boys I’m worried about,” she says, her eyes scared.
“That’s exactly why you have to go. You have to show them it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference.”
“I don’t know,” she says, but I can tell she’s caving. I pick out a red dress that screams, Chase who? and Megan reluctantly puts it on.
Later, Britney and Amberly come over so we can go together. Megan drives us down to the field in Britney’s 4Runner even though she still only has a learner’s permit (being DD guarantees she won’t be sending Chase any drunk texts). The woods are so dark you can barely see the gravel road that winds through Jimmy Marcus’s property. She hunches over the steering wheel, inching the car along until the flickering lights of a bonfire and a clearing lined with cars begin to take shape.
A ton of people are already clustered around the fire by the time we get there. I look around for Tanner—I can’t wait to see him! We’ve only been dating for five weeks, but it feels like so much longer.
I find him lounging on an overturned log, a junior girl I don’t know curled up beside him. Her hair is dyed alternating stripes of dark brown and brassy blond. She giggles and touches his arm. For a second I’m jealous, but as soon as he sees me, he jumps up and weaves through the huddles of people holding Solo cups so he can kiss me hello.
“Hey, cutie, want some apple cider?”
I take a sip. There is more to this cider than just apples. I drink up. My alcohol intake has definitely increased this year. I’m gearing up for a few hours of making out in the back of Tanner’s Jeep when a tricked-out truck pulls up. A truck I can’t believe I’m seeing. I pull away from Tanner and find Megan—stat. Chase hops out of the cab, and I’m praying Corey isn’t with him. He rushes past the beams from the floodlights mounted on top of the cab to open the passenger door.
Oh no he didn’t.
Out of the truck pops a girl who is obviously determined to redefine white trash.
He did.
And she is wearing tighter-than-tight cutoff denim shorts, cowboy boots, and a shirt that says, I kid you not, Dixie Pride. In rhinestones.
Megan has already spotted her. Her eyes flash. “That bastard. I can’t believe he’s here. And with another girl.”
Her bottom lip quivers, and I cross my fingers that she’ll be able to keep it together. But I’ve just noticed something else. “Hey, Megan—”
“How could he do this to me?”
“Megan.”
“She looks like such a skank. Everyone is talking about it. Who comes to high school parties when they’re in college anyway? He’s doing it just to torture—”
“What?!”
“He’s scratching.”
“Seriously?”
Chase glances first left, then right, then surreptitiously tugs at the crotch area of his faded Wrangler blue jeans with his middle and index fingers. We start giggling and can’t stop. Megan looks like normal again.
“Let’s be honest,” she says. “Things were never going to work out with Chase. He doesn’t even know what arugula is.”
“True. Plus, he has crabs.” We burst into giggles again.
Megan tries to compose herself. “I can’t believe I actually thought about staying in Pine Bluff for him. I could never be happy here.”
“No. You couldn’t.” And neither could I. I love that about her—that her dreams are as big as mine. She keeps me from feeling like an outcast for wanting something different from everybody else.
“We’re making a pact, right now. That no matter what happens, we get out of this town.”
“Done.”
“And we do something big with our lives. We, um, we live out our dreams in the wide world beyond.”
I give her a serious nod. “Pact number three: No matter what happens, we will escape from Pine Bluff and live out our dreams in the wide world beyond.”
Megan repeats after me and spreads her arms wide as if embracing the forest and the field full of cow pies. Then she frowns.
“That band chick is hitting on your man again.”
It’s the same junior. I shrug.
“He’s with me.”
“I can’t believe you’re not worried. Don’t you know what they do on those band trips?”
“Um. Play musical instruments?”
“No. It’s like a band-nerd make-out fest.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, I’ll see you later. I better go keep an eye on ‘my man.’”
I walk up to Tanner and tug on his belt loop.
“Hey.” Then I kiss him while Junior Band-Chick Skunk-Hair Skank is midsentence flirting with him. Megan should be happy. I’ve done everything but pee on his leg.
“Hey,” he says back.
“I’ve hardly gotten to talk to you all night.” I push out my bottom lip. “Come on.”
I lead him to a nearby bale of hay.
“What did you want to talk about?” he asks.
I smile what I hope is a sexy smile. “Nothing.”
We stay on our hay bale, not talking, until the bonfire dims a little and Tanner’s cell phone buzzes.
“I’ll be right back. I have to get this,” he says.
“Okay.”
While I wait, I rub my arms to keep warm. Seth Wong plops down in Tanner’s place and keeps me company with jokes and marshmallows. He makes up a song on the spot about how s’mores are awesome, but they’re not as sweet as me. That kid is hilarious.
“Can I talk to you about something?” he asks.
“Sure.” I’ve never seen Seth so serious. He plucks stray pieces of straw from the hay bale while I wait for him to talk.
“Tanner’s my best friend, but, you know, he has trouble staying with just one girl.” He squeezes my shoulder. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“What is it with everyone tonight? This is the second time.” I spear another marshmallow with too much force and shove it into the fire.
“I know it’s none of my business. Just be careful. You seem really sweet and . . . maybe a little naive.” He practically mumbles that last bit.
Why doesn’t anyone think I can take care of myself? Taking care of people is all I do these days.
“I knew Tanner’s rep before we got together,” I say. “He’s changed. I know what he was like with other girls, but he’d never do that to me.”
“Okay. I’m just saying, you’re an amazing girl. You deserve a guy who sees that and treats you like that.” His gaze is so intense it’s like he’s trying to memorize my every pore.
“Thanks.”
I can’t decide whether to feel complimented or annoyed, so I add, “And Tanner is that guy. Oh, crap, my marshmallow’s burning.” I blow it out, but it’s already a charred sticky mess.
“I’m gonna go get another cider.”
Even though I blow off Megan and Seth, their words swirl around in my head for the rest of the night, so I can’t concentrate later while Tanner and I make out in his Jeep. The first few times we parked on the dirt road near my house, I was so nervous. Partly because I worried we’d get caught and partly because after what happened with Corey, the idea of being alone with a guy with no one in shouting distance made my breath catch in my chest. But then I realized Tanner wasn’t Corey and he’d never do anything I didn’t want him to, and now I’m 100 percent comfortable with him. Usually. I’m kissing him and running my hands over his sinewy back muscles, but half of me is somewhere else. He stops fumbling with my bra strap.
“What’s wrong?”
I push myself up from the seat and rearrange my shirt.
“I don’t know. I just. I just wonder sometimes how much I really mean to you.”
“Baby, how can you say that? You know how much I care about you.”
“Some people at the party were talking about your reputation, and it freaked me out. Like, maybe I’m stupid for not worrying about it.”
“Don’t let them mess with your head. I know how I used to be, but it’s so different with you. I don’t even want to be that guy I was before.” He cups my chin in his hand. “I love you.”
It’s the first time he’s ever said it, so of course my heart practically explodes with happiness.
He kisses me, a slow, sweet kiss. Then he unfolds a creased-up sheet of notebook paper from his back pocket.
“I wrote you a song.”
“You did?” See what I mean? Tanner is all gooey insides, no hard shell around me. Megan and Seth have no idea what they’re talking about.
“Yeah. I hope you like it.” He rubs at his nose, a nervous habit that I love because it connects cool, rock-god Tanner to the shy, nerdy Tanner of the past.
He taps out a drumbeat on the seat, my legs, the Jeep bars overhead, really anything he can find.
The way I feel when you’re with me,
My spirit is a bird that you’ve set free.
With love on its wings,
It soars through the sky,
Coming to rest somewhere in the stars.
Coming to rest inside my heart.
“That’s as far as I’ve gotten. But I’ll write more.”
Isn’t he a genius? FYI, if you ever want to make a girl fall for you, write her a song.
I am light as a feather when he drops me off half an hour later. He always lets me out in the driveway and never walks me to the door because even though Tanner loves me and I love him (officially! OMG!), I’m not ready to explain why my mom never leaves her bedroom and my dad barely speaks.
I breeze inside, ready to burn off some excess energy dancing around my room and then curl under my covers and dream about Tanner. Until I smell the smoke. I follow it to the living room, where Libby is perched like a gargoyle in front of the fireplace, stabbing with a heavy iron poker at what looks like papers.
“Libby, what are you doing?”
When she turns to me, her round cheeks are red and streaked with tears.
“You were gone, and Mommy’s always in bed, and Daddy wouldn’t play with me because he’s too busy with his stupid work.”
I rush over and snatch her away from the flames and the poker away from her. There’s barely a fire, just enough to blacken the papers and curl them at the edges. Numbers and sketches and official-looking stuff cover the white patches between the burn marks. My eyes get big.
“Are those Dad’s?”
Libby nods and sniffles. “I took them from his briefcase.”
I take a deep breath and try to figure out what to do next. First, I get a jug of water from the kitchen and dump it over the fire. Then I turn to my sister. Crap. I don’t know how to do parenting on this level.
“Okay, okay.” I run my fingers through my hair. “Libby, you should never, ever play with fire or the fireplace again. It’s very dangerous. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she says in a small, guilty voice.
“Okay, good. I’m going to go talk to Dad.” Her tears start fresh. “Don’t worry. He’s in more trouble than you right now.”
I set her up with Beauty and the Beast and a mug of hot chocolate. The fire is gone now. I scoop the charred remains into a dustpan, walk calmly to my dad’s office, and fling them on his desk. Soot and blackened paper fragments and inky drops of water fly everywhere.
“What the hell, Claire!”
He kicks away from his desk in his rolling chair. His big hands swipe at the black splotches on his shirt, but he’ll need Spray ’n Wash if he ever wants those marks out. His black eyebrows come together in the middle. He’s mad, but I’m madder.
“Those are from your briefcase. I found Libby setting them on fire when I got home because you couldn’t be bothered to watch her. Would it kill you to spend time with her? Or act like you’re the least bit interested?” I spit each word at him, not knowing if I’m talking about Libby anymore. What I really want to ask is, If I’m your one, then why do I feel like I’m in this alone?, but that thought cuts too deep.
He frowns. “You’ve been drinking.”
Of all the things I expected him to say, that was not one of them.
“Yeah. I have. I’ve been drinking for a while now. But you and Mom never noticed because you’ve stopped being parents.”
“I don’t need my intoxicated sixteen-year-old talking to me this way.”
“Oh, we’re not making this about me.” I swallow the lump in my throat because what I have to say is too important. Someone thinks I’m worth loving, even if it isn’t him, and that thought keeps me strong. “This is about our family. It isn’t right that Mama still stays in bed all day.”
His eyes widen, but he recovers. “You have to understand. She’s been through so much.”
“I do understand. I’ve been through it with you guys. But it’s been seven months. You get to a point where you have to start trying to heal. And we hit that point a long time ago.”
My dad takes what I’m saying as a personal attack. And I guess maybe it is. “You can’t expect everyone to grieve on your timeline. What are we supposed to do? This isn’t something you can snap out of. Your mother isn’t going to forget he existed just because you’re ready for her to move on.”
“I’m not asking her to forget. Hell, I’m not even asking for her to be happy. But she has to get out of bed.”
I don’t know how to fix my mother. But I do know that lying in bed and crying all day won’t fix anything. Because I’ve tried that.
“Your mom just needs time.”
I am done with giving things time and waiting to see if they get better.
“No. Mom needs a therapist. And not just someone at church—a real therapist. She needs someone who can make her want to try. And Libby needs her parents. And I need . . . I need some help around here. I’m not a grown-up.”
“Claire—” He reaches out to me, but I jerk away.
“No. If you want to hug someone, Libby’s downstairs watching a movie.”
I turn and slam the door on my way out, and then go to my room and slam that door too. I flop on my bed and look around. I better get comfortable, because between the drinking and the way I just talked to my dad, I’ll probably be in here for the rest of high school. I replay everything I said to him and wince. At least I’ll have thoughts of Tanner to keep me company.