CAITLIN BARLOW LAY ON her bed, her stomach feeling like it might burst. But what had she actually eaten? With her headphones blaring the latest Pink single into her ears, she thought about everything that had gone into her mouth. One piece of turkey. Some green beans. A forkful of mashed potatoes. She’d piled the plate high with other things—sweet potato mash, stuffing smothered with gravy and that sickening-sweet cranberry jelly her mother insisted on making every year because it was a family recipe and God forbid they didn’t honor the dead by consuming things that should never have been created in the first place. She hadn’t touched any of that. Still, what she had eaten was more than what she had come to consume in one sitting lately, and her stomach was simply no longer used to the feeling of fullness.
It was torture, these five days. Thanksgiving was for families, which meant she would be stuck in this house for the duration. Secluded from her friends and, worse, subjected to her perfect brother and worried parents, she really had no idea how she would get through it. Maybe the way she had been. One hour at a time.
The meal had been the worst of it, though it had been perfect as always. It was one of the things her mother seemed to have down, the annual recreation of family traditions. Every year, the oval table in their formal dining room was decorated with linens, china, silver and crystal, antique figurines and miniature pumpkins, candles burning softly in their silver holders. Then there was the food. From the kitchen came the distinctive smell of roasted turkey with rosemary stuffing, and from the dining room the sweet odor of wine that filled the glasses. Somehow, in the midst of her mother’s charity work and manicures, shopping and constant prodding, she had managed to create a lasting tradition. And in spite of everything Caitlin had ever carried with her into that room, the anger and fear and overall unhappiness, it was impossible not to be overwhelmed by the assault on her senses and the feelings that were provoked—good feelings about family, tradition, a sense of belonging to something even if that something was corrupt to its core.
This was the conflict that stirred inside her as she waited for the feeling of food to disappear from her body. The need to belong somewhere, and the sole outlet for this need a family she couldn’t understand, and that didn’t understand her. Even the comfort of the babies, having known them since their birth and watched their every monument of growth, was muted now as she saw the easy affection they elicited from the others simply by being young. That would change soon enough, the moment their misbehavior—which was now a source of endearment—became an embarrassment. And if not, then later when the expectations began to creep into their carefree lives.
It had started already for the twins. With the third grade came homework and after-school sports. Hockey and squash would begin this winter, baseball and golf in the spring. Summer would be spent on the swim team with tennis clinics thrown in around the four-hour practices and meets. And fall, which was winding down, had been nonstop travel soccer. They had their own nannies this year just to shuttle them around. If Cait bothered to look hard enough, she was sure she would see it in their eyes—the slow mourning of their youth as their time was gobbled up in the name of personal development and growth.
The thought of it made her want to scream. A few years felt like a death sentence. Day after day, working and working. School, homework, squash. Then stuffing herself down this well so she could exist within her family. If she told them the truth, that she hated every minute of her life, what then? Impossible. It was so much easier to be the reluctant teenstranger, bitter and angry, but always doing what she was told.
Lying in her bed, she wrapped her arms around herself and held on as she turned her thoughts from this hypocrisy to the reinvented version of Caitlin Barlow that lived in the world of Kyle Conrad.
There was a loud banging on her door, which she felt more than heard with the iPod still blaring. She gathered herself back from the place that had just begun to make her smile as she lay in her bed with her full stomach. They came in before she could get up.
“What’s up?” It was her older brother, Brett, and his buddy Reed, who was a habitual presence at their house. His parents were divorced and living in the far corners of the world. The Barlows had all but adopted him.
Cait removed the earphones. “Nothing.”
Brett walked to her desk and pulled out the chair. He turned it around and sat in it backwards, his legs spread-eagle, arms draped over its back.
“Wanna come to a movie?”
Reed walked in now and stood in the corner. “Yeah. Come with us.”
“What are you seeing?”
The boys looked at each other and shrugged. “Does it matter? We’re getting the hell out of here to smoke a joint. Come on. What else have you got to do?”
Cait studied their faces. It wasn’t like them to cajole her into accepting an invitation. It wasn’t like them to extend one in the first place. They had each other, and when they went anywhere, it was usually to the arcade, which was about as dreadful a place as Cait could imagine. Even compared to this house.
“Mom told you,” she said after a moment.
Brett looked at Reed, who shrugged, and looked back at Cait. “She didn’t have to. It was, like, the first thing we heard when we got home.”
Cait nodded, her arms crossed now as she sat on the bed. “Great. That’s just great.”
Brett leaned back, trying to be casual. “Well? What’d you expect? News is news.”
“And I’m news all of a sudden? Who told you?”
“Reed heard from Mark, who heard it from his sister. Cbow, it was in the fucking hallway. Everyone knows.”
“You guys suck. Did you come here to rub my face in it?”
Reed, the softer of the two, stepped forward and sat on the bed next to Cait. “No. Of course not. We just wanted to see if you’d come to a movie.”
Brett echoed the sentiment, though Cait didn’t believe them.
“Look. If you wanna talk about it, that’s cool. I just wanna say one thing, and that’s it.”
“So say it.”
Raising his eyebrows as though he were digging for the perfect words, Brett told her exactly what she knew he would. “Cbow, you can’t do that shit. From a guy, I gotta tell you. That’s not how to get a boyfriend. Girls who do . . . you know, that shit. They don’t get boyfriends.”
Cait felt her entire chest tighten. “How do you know what they get? You don’t even live here anymore.”
“Cbow—we spent ten years at the Academy. And besides that, you think it’s any different at Choate? Reed—tell her. . . .”
Reed was reluctant. He reached out and rested his hand on Cait’s shoulder. “He’s right, Cbow. I’ve known Kyle since first grade.”
“And what? There’s no way he’d actually like me? A lot has changed since you guys left. A lot.” Cait got up and went to the bathroom, slamming the door. The tears were coming, and she couldn’t bear the humiliation.
Reed followed and knocked gently on the door. He glanced back at Brett, who shrugged. How the hell should he know how to talk to a girl?
“Cait?” Reed whispered.
“Leave me alone.”
“Cait! That’s not what we’re saying. It’s just that you deserve better than Kyle Conrad. He’s . . . I dunno . . . he’s like always trying to prove something because his parents have no cash.”
Cait was shaking her head on the other side of the door. “What the hell is wrong with you? He has a perfectly nice house on South. He’s like the most popular guy in the junior class.”
“He’s a fucking loser, Cbow.” It was Brett this time, not mincing words. “Any guy that would do that . . .”
Brett couldn’t finish. Somewhere inside him was anger, rage even, that this punk whose family didn’t even belong in Wilshire had done this to his little sister. It made him sick. It made him want to kill Kyle Conrad and his whole fucking family. The testosterone was pumping. He took a breath to keep himself under control.
Then came his sister’s voice through the door. “So—you guys never got head from a girl who wasn’t your girlfriend?” She said the word as though it were the most ridiculous concept to begin with.
There was a collective sigh and then a moment of silence, which revealed the answer, and Cait felt within her a bolt of rage. Fucking guys. They could do whatever they wanted and no one ever judged them. Not ever. There was a fate attached to being a girl, the fate of longing and waiting and seeking—always on the other side of the pursuit, always trying to figure out what had to be done to get a guy, and then doing it without any hesitation. What would those assholes know about that?
Ignoring her last comment, Brett decided to press forward. “He’s a fucking loser, Cbow. At least pick someone who’s a good guy next time.”
“Like you two? Are you good guys?”
Reed was feeling defensive now, and for the record, had never gotten head from any girl. But that was something Brett didn’t need to know. “We are good guys. Now come to the movie with us.”
“No way.”
Reed knocked again. “Come on, Cbow. We won’t say another word about Kyle. Just come out with us. Get out of this house and get stoned. When was the last time you got stoned?”
Cait thought about the oxycodone. Did that count? “Last time you jerks were home.”
“See—you’re long overdue. Get your ass out of there, and let’s go.”
There was a slight pause, but then the sound of the doorknob turning. Reed stepped back, letting Cait emerge at her own pace.
Her eyes were red, her cheeks flushed, and Brett pulled her into his arms. Was there anything worse than watching his sister cry? “Come with us,” he whispered as she pulled away.
Cait wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, then looked at her brother. He would never understand her, never see her as anything more than his little pet, his little awkward Cbow. Still, it did beat the hell out of staying home.
“Fine,” she said. Then she followed them out the door.