Part 3 (2/2)
”None taken.” I shrug. I'm used to the guys all coming over just so they can be doted on by my mom. Even when we have school trips, the guys try to bribe me to get her to be the chaperone. Suddenly my living room, which has always seemed like a cave when I'm alone, feels too hot, too tight. The AC is on, and I'm still sweating. I want to tell everyone to get out so that I can jump in the shower, but that would be rude.
Ryan combs his fingers through his slick blond hair, a telltale sign that he's getting ready for a speech. Aside from being on the archery team, he writes for the Thorne Hill High School Press and is treasurer of the senior cla.s.s. He has parents who are still married, don't hate each other, and work in the city. They live in the Sea Breeze gated community not a five-minute drive from here.
Sometimes it annoys me how perfect he is. It's like he can do no wrong. When we took a school-required test that's supposed to tell you what you should be when you grow up, he got ”President of the United States.” I got back an empty piece of paper, because they'd lost my results. And it bothers me even more because he always says he was born to be something great. He just knows it in his heart, and so does everyone who's ever met him.
Everyone who meets me likes me, sure, but I'll never be suave like Angelo, and I'll never be as smart as Ryan. I don't even know what I'm going to do tomorrow, didn't even know before my near-drowning. So I've got that going for me.
”So,” Ryan starts. ”I was thinking of getting a group together and heading down to the Wreck. They're having some end-of-the-world party all week long. Who's down?” He looks at me eagerly.
I'm not, but I say, ”I'll think about it. They gave me this prescription that makes me want to sleep.”
Layla gives me a sideways glance, because she knows we weren't at the hospital long enough for them to give me a prescription. ”I just got a text from Maddy. She just invited me to the same thing.”
”Dude, I'm surprised she's not here,” Jerry says. ”She was pacing in front of your hospital room for like days. I only went the one time. It was so crowded. But she was definitely there a while.”
”Yeah, she was there when I went too,” Ryan adds.
Layla's quiet, arms crossed over her chest. She looks small, like she's sinking into the couch. I get up from the floor and sit next to her. So does Jerry.
”Why'd you guys break up anyway?” Bertie asks. The whole room turns to look at me.
”When I broke up with Rebecca-” Ryan starts, but Bertie has his hand up. ”Hold up. No, man. We've already heard the Rebecca story a bajillion times.”
I asked Maddy out three months ago. I think the pigtail braids did it for me. Plus, we were already friends. I don't want to talk about me and Maddy. I don't want to talk about it ever. I want to jump in some cold water. But they're not going to let it drop until I at least say something.
”She's nice and all, don't get me wrong. But she wanted to be with me every single minute. She wanted to call me as soon as we got home from school and watch TV together over the phone. She waited by my locker. She waited in my lobby downstairs before school.”
”Did she let you kiss her?” Bertie raises his thick black eyebrows and wiggles his head, giving him the effect of a cartoon bobblehead.
”I mean, yeah?”
”How far did you guys go?” Bertie leans over Layla to ask me this.
Layla's body feels hot next to mine. I glance at her. I can't say it. Not in front of her.
”Don't you dare say a word, Tristan Allen Hart,” she says, evoking my whole name as if it's the ultimate command. Her eyes squint at me like she has lasers and they're about to slice right through me. Oh G.o.d. I want to bang my head against the wall. I want to jump out the window. She knows. Of course, Maddy told her.
The guys take it the wrong way. Even Wonder Ryan high-fives the other guys for me. I try to deny it, but they talk over me.
”Look, she'll get over it. It's not like you're going to be the only one.”
”Plus, that friend of Samantha you made out with at the bonfire was ten times hotter than Maddy,” Jerry blurts out, emitting a round of manly man cheers.
The bonfire. The night before the storm. The reason I was hungover the next day. I'm not a good drinker. I'll have a beer and a half and be plastered. That's why I don't usually drink. I just nurse the same bottle the entire night and pretend like it's always a new one. The Hot Mess that was with Samantha. She saw I was miserable. I was trying to avoid Maddy the whole day after she told me she was madly in love with me and then started undoing my belt buckle. I could've stopped her, but I wasn't exactly thinking with my brain.
Either way. The screwed-up part is that I don't even remember the girl I was kissing. I don't remember what she tasted like. I don't remember her eyes. Nothing. I just remember Maddy walking around the big boulder and gasping. Then crying. Then throwing her beer in my face and then the empty cup at the Hot Mess. She slapped me and I let her.
Maddy was the girl I wanted to take a chance with because I was tired of dating girls who couldn't put a whole sentence together but knew their father's credit card number by heart. It's just-she wasn't the right girl.
And now sitting here, with all my friends cheering me for being alive, for being their idol, I feel lower than low. Because Layla gets up, shaking her head at me. I try to grab her hand, but she pulls away, and I don't know what I can say right here, right now to make her want to stay.
My head is pulsing. I tell Ryan that I'll make it to the Wreck, but something doesn't feel right. I know I'll probably puke my guts out and go to bed. Layla and I take seats at the dining room table with our parents, who sip on red wine, and Coach Bellini, whose mustache is tipped in beer foam.
I vaguely understand now how it feels to be a wounded puppy that wants to be left alone to lick his wounds. A very manly, strong puppy, that is.
Mrs. Santos pops a cheddar cube into her mouth. Layla is a skinny version of her mother with her dad's hazel eyes. Mr. Santos is a tall and broad Ecuadorian dude with a mustache who always smells like his cigars. He extends his arm and pats my shoulder. I tighten my body against the pain that spreads down my entire back.
”Listen here, boy,” says Coach, pointing a finger at me. Why do grown-ups seem to do that, like if they're not pointing in your direction, you're not going to know that they're serious. ”What the h.e.l.l happened out there? Don't you ever go doing anything so reckless again. Think of your momma right here. Your friends. Your team.”
”He was trying save someone,” Layla interrupts. She thinks Coach is right, but it's her nature to take the opposite side. Ms. Contrary. ”He was being heroic.”
”Firemen are heroic. Marines are heroic. You're just plain reckless.” I've never seen Coach turn so many different colors so quickly. I think even his mustache is twitching. Everyone laughs at his expression, and for this moment, it's just a regular Sat.u.r.day night with friends and family.
”I think what Arthur wants to say is that he's happy you're well,” Mom chimes in, all smiles and bright eyes. She rubs my dad's back, and everything is calm again.
But then they all take a peek out the window, and we remember that something is changing and we don't know what it is.
I've started sweating. The rash at the side of my neck is getting worse. I want to crawl into my bed, but I know if I stand up I'll fall right back down.
My mom looks at me like she's snapping out of a nightmare. ”I think Tristan needs to get some sleep.”
”Do you need help cleaning up?” Layla offers.
”No, Layla, honey.” Dad's voice is tight, the voice he uses when he's on the phone with his boss and trying to convince him he's working on a project but really hasn't started it.
”I don't feel so good,” I groan. It's rude, but I wave at them and dash for the closest bathroom, which is my parents'. I shut the door and run cold water in the sink. I splash cold water on my face and all around my neck to calm the itching, which is spreading to my ribs. My mind flickers to a vision in my dream. The silver mermaid. The rows of teeth that don't fit with the rest of her beauty. I know it was just a dream, because I'm still here. I'm still here.
The faucet in the bathtub suddenly turns on by itself. The pipes squeak with the strong water pressure. I pull the sheer white curtain open and turn the water off.
I take off my T-s.h.i.+rt and soak it in the sink, then wrap it around my neck like a towel.
The k.n.o.b jingles, but I've locked it. ”I'm fine!”
”Tristan, let us in.”
”I'm fine, Mom!”
”Everyone is gone, honey. Just let me in.”
”Son.” Now it's Dad. He pushes against the door with all his weight. ”Don't make me break down the door.”
”Something's happening.” I want to say it, but I can't. I can hear the water in the bathtub making its way through the pipe. It smells like salt, even though it shouldn't. The tub faucet comes back on, and it's like a fire hydrant during the summer. I'm turning the k.n.o.b, but the water doesn't stop coming.
In the sink, a tiny rainbow fish squeezes its way out of the faucet. I close the drain so that it doesn't get pulled back into the pipes. It jumps in the water until there's enough that it can swim in circles.
My stomach contracts. I can feel my insides s.h.i.+fting, moving apart, something inside of me breaking. My skin is on fire. My feet give out under me. I hold on to the edge of the sink on my knees, but I'm too heavy.
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