Ink Is Thicker Than Water (19 page)

“Right…and I want to talk and you want to do homework. Which is weirder?”

She doesn’t look up and so I can feel that the conversation is over, whether or not I’m still standing there. Still, I give it a chance, wait a minute to see if maybe something will snap into place in her brain and she’ll be normal Sara again.

But nothing snaps, and nothing happens. It gets awkward that I’m still standing there, so it takes me a few more moments to leave the room and head to my own. I turn on music (a Herman’s Hermits album, even though even for
me
they’re pretty dorky) and scan through a list of people in my head I could text at this hour about how things with my boyfriend are sometimes weirder than I want them to be and of course that my sister’s pulling further and further away. But Kaitlyn and Sara were my one in the morning people. Oliver’s the closest thing I have now, and not really.

I can remember how I felt when I applied for the paper. It was straight out of a self-help book. (Mom bought us plenty of those after the divorce.) I’d thought,
I want to be more
, like my hard-hitting editorial on the smell of poop was some big step forward for mankind. But right now, I don’t feel like more. Right now even with my column and new friends and Oliver, my world seems a lot smaller.

The next day after work, I meet a bunch of people from the
Ticknor Voice
at Pin-Up Bowl, where none of us actually want to bowl. After hours it’s a bar, but before nine they don’t care if you’re twenty-one or not. You can’t drink, but you can hang out. There’s red velvet everywhere and shiny red couches, where we pile in to drink soda and eat homemade gourmet Pop-Tarts.

“Have fun, Brooks.” Adelaide shoves Mitchell, who’s sitting on my left side, and squeezes in. I guess it’s funny we just let her, but with Adelaide, you
just let her
. “What’s with your face?”

“This is just my face,” I say, even though of course I know despite the soda and the pastry and that I’m literally surrounded by new and old friends, I am not in my best mood ever. I am not even close.

“Aw, leave Kellie alone,” Chelsea says, a brave move countering Adelaide in any matter. “She’s fine.”

Chelsea’s sat at our lunch table since she started dating Mitch last year but clearly can’t tell my moods apart. She could never be a one in the morning friend, Adelaide-bravery or not.

I get out my phone to text Oliver. Even if maybe he’s being kind of clingy, I know he’ll respond with lightning speed and I’ll have tangible proof I’m important to someone right in this moment.

Ugh, I sound so pathetic. Only in my own head, but still.

“How’s the boyfriend?” Adelaide asks.

“He’s fine,” I say, then reconsider because
fine
sounds like how your grandma’s doing, not the guy you’re making out with. “He’s great. How’s Byron?”

“Also fine and great,” Adelaide says.

“It’s so cool you guys have college boyfriends,” Chelsea says.

“What about me?” Mitchell asks. “Aren’t I cool?”

We all laugh because even though Chelsea’s in love with him, none of us would exactly use the
cool
word as a descriptor. And Oliver texts back that I’m right about the awesomeness of Pop-Tarts, gourmet or not, so I guess I’m back to thinking he’s, for real, great and not just fine.

After we get kicked out of Pin-Up Bowl, Adelaide wants to see a foreign film at the Tivoli, but the rest of us talk her out of that and we get food at Blueberry Hill instead. The truth is that their food isn’t that great, but it’s practically a music museum, so we pretend it doesn’t matter that as far as the eating’s concerned we might as well be at the school cafeteria.

My phone buzzes again, and I assume it’ll be Oliver being cute again, but instead it’s his brother.
Yo Kells. Any word from Sara?

I don’t want to, but I understand Sara pulling away from us. She’s like a little perfect piece of metal being drawn back to a perfect magnet. But what did Dexter do? He’s in her perfect orbit.

she’s home but barely talking to us. sorry!!

It feels weird that a guy like Dexter needs me, but I send a second message, just to be nice.
i don’t get it. she has no reason to ditch u.

My phone buzzes just a moment later:
She has no reason to ditch you either, Kells.

Chapter Eighteen

The Ticknor Ticker

The Defeated Meatless

By Kellie Brooks

T
icknor Day School has a certain “reputation” in our community. Other schools might brag about test scores and sports teams, but here at Ticknor we’re independent and free thinking.

One thing that seems to go together with a lot of free-thinking people is being a vegetarian. And Ticknor recognizes this, even including mention of it on their website: “Vegetarian students will be excited by the array of meatless options!!”

In addition to the fact that I don’t know anyone literally excited by cafeteria food or the startling use of the double exclamation point, this statement doesn’t exactly ring true. Here’s what I had to choose from for lunch yesterday: pizza, salad, chicken tenders, tiny cheeseburger. (Side note: has anyone noticed how tiny the cheeseburgers are at Ticknor?)

Here’s what my hypothetical vegetarian friend Leafy McGreens had to choose from (no, Leafy doesn’t exist, but there are vegetarians here, just none I am personally friends with): salad with fewer toppings, tofu tenders, pizza if you’re comfortable ripping off the sausages and pepperonis. Not even a tiny tofu burger! My stepdad is a vegan, and I’m not sure he’d have anything to eat at our school besides plain lettuce. What kind of existence is that?

Ticknor, everyone thinks of you as the weird hippie of schools. Shouldn’t the weird hippie be the first one to let our non-animal-eating friends have more to eat?

Chelsea’s party is in—is
full swing
what parties get up to? well, okay—full swing by the time Oliver and I arrive on Friday. We would have made it there sooner, but we got pretty distracted when he picked me up, considering Finn was at Russell’s mom’s, Mom and Russell were both still at the shop, and Sara was—shocking to no one—nowhere to be found. (Also then we had to repair our costumes from making out damage. Oliver’s zombie makeup got rubbed off, and therefore, I had his zombie makeup on my face and a few areas of my Batgirl costume to wipe off.) Yeah, this is a party, so obviously if Oliver and I really want, we’ll have ample opportunity to—well, not
be alone
but at least make out all we want. Maybe it’s because he’s in college or maybe because I don’t like the thought of people from school being able to walk in on me making out, but I feel like we’re beyond that.

We squeeze past the group on the porch, smoking every variation of whatever could be smoked besides, you know, crack, and make our way inside, where Paul is playing a weird, beaten-up guitar, the kind that has crazy strings popping loose like a hairstyle gone bad, and along with Scott and a few other guys from newspaper, singing with the stereo.

“Hey,” everyone kind of greets me in grunty dude unison. One of them hums the Batman song, but it’s done so half-assedly I can’t even locate its source.

“Hey. This is Oliver.”

I introduce Oliver to all of them, and he shakes their hands, which makes Oliver look like a huge nerd, so I sort of make a joke out of it before pulling Oliver with me in search of the rumored keg. It’s in the kitchen, along with a dozen liquor bottles each holding a few inches of something.

“Here.” Oliver hands me a cup of beer and gets one for himself. “You want to go out to the backyard? Looks like that’s where everyone is.”

I agree and follow him out. Mitchell and Chelsea are there. Oliver says hi to them with more handshaking, like he’s interviewing for a job and not just some guy dating their friend. But neither of them acts like he’s weird, so that’s a relief.

“Kellie Brooks.” Adelaide appears out of nowhere, trailed by Byron. I’m pretty sure she’s dressed as Eleanor Roosevelt. “I’m glad to see you, this party needs more than culturally unaware pop-punk-listening drones competing at who can be the drunkest.”

“Hey, Adelaide,” Oliver says.

“Hello, Oliver. It’s good to see you, too. See, Byron, I told you someone else who’d already graduated would be here.”

“Solidarity,” Byron says, tapping his fist against Oliver’s.

“Why are you Batgirl?” Adelaide asks. “What’s the significance?”

“My little brother had most of this stuff already,” I say. “The significance is laziness.”

Adelaide loops one of her arms through mine and tugs me away from Oliver. “Just so you know, Kaitlyn’s here.”

“What?” I follow her line of sight. Kaitlyn is standing there like she belongs, which feels pretty dishonest when she’s put all this effort into leaving us behind. She’s dressed as a “sexy” pirate. “Why? Isn’t this stooping way too low socially for her?”

Adelaide shrugs. “There are a lot of people here, Kellie. News of free booze spreads fast.”

“‘Booze’?” I laugh, even though I also want to puke. Josie is talking right into Kaitlyn’s ear, and they both laugh in a stupid, uproarious way. No one’s ever as funny as you want other people to think you are. “Maybe I should go.”

“I’ll kill you if you do,” she says.

I stick my tongue out at her but return to the crowd, leaning back into Oliver like we’re the kind of couple we actually aren’t. But if Kaitlyn catches one glimpse of us, I want to firmly control that glimpse. Probably that isn’t any better than uproarious laughter, but I’m only so strong.

When our beers are finished, I volunteer to head inside to refill our cups, which makes Oliver laugh and run after me. Inside the kitchen we sneak in a few kisses in the rare moments we’re actually alone.

“Ahem,” someone says, like someone actually says the word
ahem
. I pull away from Oliver to mock whoever it is, but who it is turns out to be Kaitlyn.

“Oh,” I say. “Sorry. We were just—”

“I’m getting a drink,” she says.

“So were we.” It is a dumb thing to say because clearly we were doing more than that. I can’t even stand the thought of being in the same room as her, so I grab Oliver’s hand and pull him into the next room, which has also emptied out. People seem to be either out on the front porch or in the backyard, with only a few in here intent on whatever is being played on the Xbox involving vampires and several buckets’ worth of blood.

“Everything okay?” Oliver asks me.

“Sure, except I hate her.” I grab the collar of his jacket and pull him to me, kiss him like life depends on it.

“Hey.” Oliver jerks back from me. “We can head out if you want to mess around or whatever, but—”

“‘Mess around’? This is what we always do.”

“Yeah, in my room or your room or our cars. Just—” He shrugs. “Who are you doing this for? Doesn’t seem like me.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, even though I know
exactly
what he means. Of course Oliver deserves to be made out with only when I actually want to, not when it’s to prove to Kaitlyn I’m doing just fine.

I am a jerk.

“I’m getting a beer,” he says and walks back into the kitchen.

I just stand there waiting at the edge of the room, vaguely keeping an eye on the Xbox. When someone steps close to me, I assume Oliver is back to apologize or see if I want a beer or who knows what else. But it’s just Paul.

“Hey,” he says softly, and now I wonder if Dexter was right about him. After all, I’m absolutely positive he heard Oliver and me. Sure, I knew he checked me out when he could, but I guess his interest is a little stronger than just that. “Everything cool?”

“Everything’s fine. How’s saving the princess going? Or whatever you guys are doing over there?”

He laughs and shakes his head, honestly looking pretty hot in the tall, dark, and handsome way (well, for a dude happy to sit and play video games at a party where there are both girls and alcohol). I have no idea what he’s dressed as, just some medieval-looking stuff, so I’m assuming it’s a
Game of Thrones
reference I am not catching.

“It’s okay,” Paul says. “So that guy your boyfriend? Or just some guy you know picking a fight with you for kissing him? Not that I was spying or anything,” he adds when I probably looked slightly horrified.

“Yeah, not at all. And, yeah.” Paul should know that I am not someone up for consideration. But I can’t lie and say I don’t like being up for consideration. I know the kinds of things about me that Kaitlyn thought she had to leave behind, even if she didn’t say them aloud. And I may always be a dork who’d rather drink cocoa and listen to The Who than wear something tight and sparkly and party it up at a club. But it doesn’t mean I’m not growing up, too.

Ugh, I sound too lame and cheesy, even for the insides of my own brain.

“I guess I should go talk to him,” I say to Paul, though I don’t wait for his reaction.

Oliver is in the kitchen,
talking to Kaitlyn
, but at least he smiles when I walk in so hopefully that doesn’t mean she was telling him terrible things about me—or if she was, that he was believing them. “Hey.”

“Hey. Keg assistance please?”

“Sure,” he says, then to Kaitlyn, “Good meeting you. I’ll see you around.”

She is staring sort of bug-eyed at me, her immature former friend who just happens to be there with a cute college guy, the cute college guy she was clearly flirting with. It’s thrilling, except I remind myself not to be a jerk.

“Come on,” I say, and pull him to the backyard. “Sorry if I was being—”

He hugs me tightly. Sometimes Oliver is just
so nice
. “You want to go somewhere and talk?”

I shrug because I still haven’t fully accepted Oliver as some sort of option when my brain gets way too full of crap to deal with. “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

I shrug again, watching as Kaitlyn walks across the yard to the oasis of cool in the sea of the rest of us. If aliens landed right now, they’d know right away who’s powerful here. “She used to be my best friend. It’s really hard. And Sara’s still…I don’t even know
what
Sara’s doing.”

“People mess up, Kell,” he says, with one of those Looks I know is Significant. “That’s a normal part of life. Right?”

“Right.” I hug him back. Even though he’s kind of on the skinny side, he’s like a solid wall when I throw my arms around him. “I’m not normally like this. Things are just kind of crazy, and I think it might be making me crazy, too.”

“Listen, I’ve been there. You can talk to me.” He holds my face in his hands, right next to his, which kind of overwhelms me at how close we are to be talking and not making out. “Don’t hurt me, but Kaitlyn seemed okay. Maybe you guys can talk?”

I elbow Oliver in the stomach. (I was aiming for his ribs but he’s like eight inches taller than me.) “Seriously, I don’t think she’ll ever want to. It’s like she’s this new Kaitlyn, and I can’t even see the one I was friends with anymore. You know?”

“I guess.” He shrugs, just a little. “Sometimes it’s tough when people are changing. Doesn’t mean you can’t be friends, but sometimes there’s adjusting before you can line up again.”

I remember that Sara said something not unlike that, though she hadn’t believed the lining up again was as inevitable. I guess I don’t, either, but it’s nice that Oliver feels otherwise. “Did you learn that from Hume?”

Oliver laughs and hugs his arms around me. “I learned that from life.”

I love it when people say things that make you feel possible again.

“You want to go?”

I don’t, not really. More people have shown up, and it’s easier to forget that the ones I don’t want to see are there. So we stay, and I drink a little more, and okay, Oliver and I do sneak off to make out, but it’s due to beer and standing so close for so long, and definitely not showing off for anyone. The only bad thing about it is it’s definitely the catalyst for our conversation in the car later, a conversation I’d hoped wouldn’t actually come up. Couldn’t things just happen organically without needing to talk about them?

“So I was…” Oliver cups his hand over one of my knees. I’m wearing thick tights but I can still feel the little paths his fingertips make. I’m dizzy from it. “Wondering. Maybe sometime we could…?”

“Have sex?” I ask, because I hate all of those stupid euphemisms like
take this to the next level
or
get intimate
, and if one thing could make me not want to sleep with Oliver, ever, it’d be him saying something like that.