I throw the trapdoor to my tree house open and launch myself at the nearest floor pillow, preparing to give myself over to a full, hard cry when a voice stops me.
“Whoever they are, they’re not worth it.”
I whirl around, wiping at my cheeks to find Ethan’s mom sitting on the ice chest.
She offers me a soft smile that’s more sardonic than sympathetic. “Then again sometimes a good cry is the only thing we can do, hmm?”
I sit up slowly, staring at her. Alone. In my tree house. “Ethan’s not here.”
She gives me a look that makes my cheeks heat in embarrassment. Obviously he’s not here. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”
I open my mouth to answer that Mr. and Mrs. Kelly just took him out to dinner to celebrate his improved progress report, but I stop myself. I need Ethan right now. It’s not fair that she gets to show up whenever things are going well for her and rip him away without a care that things might be going well for him here. And it’s far too easy to convince myself that I’m doing the wrong thing for the right reasons when I say, “They went camping for the weekend.”
“Of course they did,” she says, crossing her legs and leaning back against the wall. “My parents and their trees.” She eyes me then, thoroughly studying me until I’m nervously tucking my curls behind my ears, sitting up straighter, and generally trying to look as trustworthy as possible. I must pass scrutiny because she sighs. “So why are you up here doing your best My So-Called Life impression?” I frown at her and she waves me off. “Why are you crying?”
When I hesitate, she laughs.
“Sweetie, who am I going to tell?”
It only takes a moment to realize that she’ll be gone again soon and, apart from Ethan, there’s no one else she could tell. And since I tell him everything anyway...
“My friend’s parents are getting divorced so I skipped school to go to Sunsplash to cheer her up. My mom caught me trying to erase the school’s robocall message and grounded me without even letting me explain.”
She laughs again, deep and from her belly. “Well, no wonder he likes you so much.”
I don’t really understand what she means, but by then it’s too late.
Joy lets me talk the whole thing out, the unfairness, my mom’s cold reactions. There are more tears and finally the motherly hug I’ve been craving for what feels like my whole life. That coupled with praise for the kind of friend I am, makes me lean—physically and emotionally—on her all the more.
“And where does your mom think you are now?”
I sniff as the remnants of my tears finally fade. “In my room.”
“Won’t she come check on you?”
I shake my head. “She’ll wait till my dad comes back from fishing tomorrow and make him deal with me.”
Her smile stretches wide and she draws a flat metal bottle from her purse. “Well, then I have just the thing for you. Just a sip,” Joy adds when I hesitate. “A little is fine. I give it to Ethan sometimes when he’s sick or can’t sleep.”
My gaze shifts from the bottle to her face, apprehension creeping in and cooling the easy, warm feelings that had sprung up between us. Ethan told me about the times he “got sick” like his mom and I know he had to have been talking about something like this. “What if I throw up?”
“That’s only if you drink a whole lot of it. And I won’t let that happen.” She urges the bottle to my lips. “Go on. I promise it’ll make you feel better.”
I take the bottle, not because I believe her, but because I believe Ethan. He said it made him sick, but also that afterward his mom cried and brought him to his grandparents. I don’t want to throw up, but I don’t want Ethan to have to leave this time. And if I drink it with her, she won’t be able to give it to him.
So I drink way more than a sip. The drink burns, sending liquid fire igniting down my throat and blazing in my stomach. I cough and new tears stream from my eyes.
Joy laughs and takes a healthy swig for herself without so much as batting an eye. “That warmth curling in your belly? Hard to feel sad when you’ve got the sun inside you.”
I don’t feel sad anymore, just determined. The faster I drink the faster she’ll leave. I drink more while Joy talks. Then more. I still sputter and cough, but less so. “It’s like drinking fire,” I say when I get control of my voice back.
“Mmmm,” she murmurs around her own pull. “Wait till your whole body feels like that.” She sets the bottle down and runs her fingers up and down the insides of her forearms. “All tingly and buzzing, like you’re floating and flying at the same time.”
I am feeling kind of loose and buzzy, not sick at all. But I still need Joy to go before Ethan gets back so I reach for another drink with an arm that feels weirdly heavy and uncoordinated, but she moves it away.
“You think that maybe that’s the way you were meant to feel, and everything else starts to feel empty, blank, like you’re asleep all the time.” She curls the bottle in her lap, gazing at the liquid that sloshes inside. “All you want is to be awake, but it’s not as easy as it used to be. And then later, you look back and realize you’d give anything to be able to sleep again.”
Her gaze isn’t focused on me until I reach for the bottle again and somehow fall over.
“Shit,” she whispers, then again and again, the words soft and yet somehow harsh.
It all seems very funny to me and I laugh before slapping a hand over my mouth.
Suddenly she’s right in my face, taking me by the shoulders and shaking me hard enough for my head to snap back and forth. “Let her yell at you, do you hear me? Let them ground you and lock you in your room and tell you who to stay away from. Let them be unfair and hate them if you have to, but let them do it. Otherwise, you might end up so awake that you can’t even see what’s wrong with giving alcohol to a child.” She settles back to sit on her heels and a laugh that turns watery slips free. “In a damn tree house full of pictures your kid painted.” And then she’s not laughing at all.
Her hands run through her hair, clutching together when they meet at the back the same way Ethan sometimes does.
“You’ll go now?” My tongue feels sluggish and I laugh again at the slurred sound of my own voice. “And leave Ethan?”
She looks around everywhere but at me. “Look, just stay up here for a while, okay?” She tugs a sleeping bag over to me and almost roughly pushes me down onto it. “You sleep up here sometimes, right? Sure you do. That’s fine.” Her voice is getting faster. “Just stay here and don’t—” She breaks off. The tree house falls silent except for the cicadas buzzing outside and the mourning doves calling to each other. She grabs her purse and the nearly empty bottle. “Don’t tell Ethan I was here.”