Suffer Love (2 page)

I force a dry heave down my throat and push myself off the wall, straightening my shirt. “Her boyfriend? Since when?”

“Since whenever we say, bitch.”

We've attracted the attention of half the room, all the conversation replaced with laughs and wide-open stares. Sloane either doesn't notice or doesn't care. Her green eyes are unflinching on mine, and I struggle to school my expression.

“Oh, let me guess,” she says. “You had no idea they were together.”

“No. I didn't,” I say, battling to keep my voice even. I try to focus on steadying my heart rate, the hardness of the floor beneath my feet, the feel of my nails digging into my palms. It's no good. All I can think about are dozens of tiny papers fluttering in the wind, my mother's silence and her mouth an open circle of shock, my father dragging his hands through his hair.

“Yeah, right.” Sloane shoves my shoulders. Jenny winces when I smack the wall, but still says nothing. My chest constricts, ready for her to yell at me, say anything to me, but she just stares at her feet.

Kat slips her hand into mine. “Sloane, calm down. Hadley really didn't know.”

“Stay out of this, Pussy.” I feel my best friend shrink next to me as Sloane spits out Kat's horrible nickname from middle school.

“Why don't
you
stay out of it, Sloane?” I say. “How is this even about you?”

She leans in close, her fruity smell twisting my stomach. “It's about me because
I'm
about Jenny. No one effs with—”

“Whatever,” I snap, turning away from her. Jenny watches me, her expression a mix of sadness and curiosity and simmering anger. “Jenny, I didn't . . .” But my voice trails off into the music, into the blood roaring through my ears.

Do you have a girlfriend?

A beat. Heavily lidded eyes on mine.
No.

I let him kiss me. His mouth was warm, gentle. A relief.

Are you sure?

I think I'd remember.

“Look,” I say, letting my anger take over. It's fiery cold and numbing, like snow blanketing a volcano. “Your problem is with Josh. He told me he didn't have a girlfriend, so he's the asshole here, not me.”

Jenny's mouth falls open, but Sloane gets in my face again. “You're done,
St. Clair.
” Then she grabs Jenny's hand and stalks off through the gawking crowd.

“Oh. My. God,” Kat says, pressing her hand to her chest. Everyone resumes dancing and talking and sucking up all the oxygen in the room. “Jenny and Josh? I had no idea they were together. Must be super recent.”

I swallow hard, but it gets stuck. “I need some air.”

She frowns and squeezes my shoulder. “Hey, I bet no one will remember this by Monday. Josh is a jerk, so what? Jenny didn't even look mad.”

“I just need some air.” I push through the crowd and make my way out the back door, ignoring the whispers that follow me. I walk quickly through the expansive yard, littered with blue and red plastic cups. When I hit the woods at the back of the property, I break into a run. I run until I'm out of breath and my head aches and the sounds from the party have faded behind a fortress of trees.

I stop at a huge oak tree and press my palms against the cool, rough bark. My eyes spill over as I turn, sliding down the trunk until I hit the ground. The October night air is cool and thick. Leaning my head against the bark, I look up into the dense leaves and try to breathe normally. Something red and diamond-shaped is caught in the gnarly branches. A kite maybe.

Minutes pass and with each one some guy's face blooms in my memory. Guys I barely knew except through Kat or from my old neighborhood swim team. Guys who really meant nothing to me.

I wrap my arms around knees, pulling myself in further and further. I drop my head onto my arms, breathing in the earthy, damp smell of the ground below me. I shiver, but it has nothing to do with the cold. Instead, my own anger and embarrassment pull goose bumps from my skin, exposing them to the wind. I always ask the guy if he has a girlfriend.
Always.
And I've trusted myself to be able to sniff out a lie. I've had enough experience with lying assholes, that's for sure.

Jaw clenching, I push myself to my feet and make my way back to the house. I run again, nerves and anger coursing through my veins, surging me forward. The back deck is packed when I jog up the steps. Music blasts out of the open door, and bodies move in its rhythm. I elbow my way through the crowd, my eyes searching for Josh.

“Hadley!” Kat calls, edging through a clump of dancing girls.

“Have you seen him?”

“Who?”

“Josh-I'm-a-lying-jackhole-Ellison.”

She frowns. “I saw him leave with some guys from the team.”

“Dammit!” I shove my hands through my hair and slump down onto the rough wooden bench that encircles the deck.

A lip-locked couple bumps into Kat, propelling her forward. She shoots them a halfhearted dirty look and sits next to me. “Why do you want to talk to Josh?”

“I just do.”

Kat shakes her head and sighs heavily. “Just let it go, Had. He's a jerk, but it's done. Let it go.”

I dig my nails into my jeans, but say nothing.
Let it go, Hadley.
Those words are in every look my dad gives me, every irritated sigh issued from my mother's lips. Every wary glance from Kat.

Kat says something about making her curfew. We weave through the crowd and into the house, making our way toward the front door. In the living room, I see Jenny balled into one corner of the love seat, knees tucked to her chest. Our gazes lock and she shakes her head slightly before looking away.

Just get over it, Hadley.

If I've learned anything in the past six months, it's that life is a fickle little bitch and there's not one damn thing I can do to tame her. It's almost laughable, really. That after everything, I'm back in Tennessee about to waste away in one of Nashville's suburbs.

“Have you talked to your dad since you got back?” Ajay asks. He's laid out in a ratty hammock strung between two reddening maples in the backyard of our new rental house. Livy and I are sprawled on the prickly grass nearby, taking a break from the sea of boxes that seem to multiply every time I manage to empty one.

“Nah,” I say.

“He knows you moved again, right?”

“I think my mom told him.”

“You think?”

I sigh. “Does it really matter, Age? He's like a thousand miles away. And he has my number too.”

“Ah. I almost forgot about this whole
Whatever, man
with a side of
I don't give a shit
dish you've been serving up lately.”

I grin. “Refreshing, isn't it?”

“Not even remotely.”

“Sam's not like that,” Livy says, twirling a dandelion between her fingers. “He gives a shit about a lot of stuff.”

“Whoa.” Ajay grabs the hooks in the hammock, pulling himself up. He tosses me a bewildered glance that I don't return. “When did this start? What's up with the foul mouth, little elf?”

“You started it.”

“Yes, but I'm an uncouth, ill-mannered seventeen-year-old boy.”

Livy shrugs as she ties the stem of the browning weed into a knot.

Ajay's dark eyes squint at my sister through the dwindling evening light, and he frowns. He hasn't seen us since June, when my dad moved to Boston and my mom bolted out of Nashville like a fugitive, reluctant kids in tow, to live with my grandmother in Atlanta. A lot can change in four months. Livy used to look like a freaking descendant of Legolas, with her white-blond hair and pale blue eyes. Now, barely fourteen and clad in black from eyelids down, she looks more like some undead character from a vampire show. Her occasional brush with expletives is the least of my worries.

After his careful study, Ajay sighs and scrubs a hand through his black hair. It sticks up from all the junk he uses to make it look effortlessly messy. “My little elf is all grown up.” He lies back down, avoiding my eyes. He knows “growing up” has crap to do with Livy's whole goth-girl persona.

“Can I borrow your drill?” he asks. He rocks his body from side to side and the hammock pitches sharply. I'm just waiting for it to dump his ass on the ground.

“What for?”

“Let's just say mine's insufficient for my current project.”

I laugh and shake my head. I don't even want to know. “Sure. It's in a box somewhere.”

“Excellent.” Ajay slows the hammock and beams at me, that freaky I'm-the-next-Doctor-Frankenstein glint in his eyes. He's my age, but started taking AP classes in ninth grade. He's technically got enough credits to start college as a sophomore, but his mom thinks he needs a “developmentally appropriate social environment” and refuses to let him take courses at Vanderbilt or Belmont. So he's a senior with about two minutes of actual classes during the day who spends his abundant free time reading Gogol and welding crap together in his garage. If I hadn't known the guy since I was six, I'd probably report him as a terrorist threat.

The back door creaks open and Mom sticks her head out. Livy stiffens next to me and I give her arm a gentle nudge. She reaches into her pocket and takes out her inhaler, tossing back a few lungfuls of the medicine.

“Hey, guys.” Mom walks down the steps and into the yard. “I'm back. Why are you just lying around? We have a ton of unpacking to do.”

I nearly snort in response. Mom hasn't unpacked crap. We'd barely gotten home from registering Livy and me at Woodmont High School this morning before she was back in the car, a glowing smile on her usually wan face as she hightailed it to the sticks-up-their-asses private school where she got a job teaching creative writing because the regular teacher's out having a baby or something. The school she didn't want us attending with her. Well, didn't want
me
attending with her.

“We're taking a break,” I say. “And Livy's room is completely done.”

“Fine.” She pulls her blond hair out of its tight bun and runs her fingers through it. “I know we have nothing in the house, so I thought I'd order Indian for dinner.”

Before I can respond, Ajay pops up in the hammock. “From where?” he chirps.

Mom startles. “Oh. Ajay. I didn't see you there. How are you?”

“I'm excellent. How are you, Mrs. Bennett?”

Mom flinches and tries to cover it up by scratching her nose. “I'm well. And
please,
Ajay, call me Cora.”

“Oh, I don't think I could do that, Mrs. B,” he says in his best parents-love-me voice. Although right now, his syrupy tone is having the exact opposite effect on my mother, which Ajay knows perfectly well. “And you should try Sitar in downtown Woodmont. It has the most authentic Indian food around here. Excellent naan
.
”

“I'll do that.” She smiles tightly. “Sam, may I have a word?”

Jesus, here we go.
I groan and roll myself off the ground. Grass sticks to my legs and a few blades from my hair inch their way down my shirt collar. I shake them out, keeping my head down as I reach Mom.

“Maybe you could ask Ajay if he wouldn't mind giving us a little space to settle in,” she says. “We've had a long day and I think we could use some family time tonight.”

Family time?
“He hasn't seen us in months. He just stopped by for a while. I don't think he's planning on moving in.”

She presses her fingers to her temples and takes a deep breath. “Sam. Please. We just got into town last night and I'm exhausted. I want a quiet evening.”

“Every evening is a quiet evening, Mom.”

She lifts her eyes to mine and they harden, two blue lakes in the dead of winter.

“Samuel, your sister has to start high school all over again in a couple days. I need you to help make this transition as smooth as possible. For her.” Her eyes soften a little as she looks over my shoulder toward Livy, who's still lying in the grass, ankles crossed and hands folded on her chest like a corpse in a coffin. “Is that something you think you can do?”

My fingers curl into my palms. I want to tell her to piss off, that watching out for Livy is all I've done for the past six months and I'll keep doing it despite Mom's passive-aggressive request. But I don't tell her that. My mother is the people-believe-whatever-the-hell-they-want theory personified. So I just walk away and go tell my best friend of eleven years to get out of my house.

Hours later, after a virtually silent dinner on paper plates and virtually silent unpacking and virtually silent shuffles to our own rooms, I lie in my bed and blink at the plastered ceiling. Since last April, sleep hasn't come easily, and it sure as hell won't come easily in this unfamiliar house stuffed full of a bunch of familiar shit I'd just as soon toss in a dumpster than bother unpacking.

Dishes my parents got when they married.

Framed pictures starring a family of four, plastic smiles glued to their faces.

Old baseball trophies, both mine and Dad's, dating back to his days playing at Auburn.

Literary magazines featuring Mom's short stories and essays.

Just trash it all.

I flick the switch to my bedside lamp and leave it on for a couple minutes. Flick it off again. The stars on the ceiling, left by the previous tenants, glow a sickly green. There are a ton of them, arranged in chaotic patterns and swirls, covering nearly every inch of space. I stare at them until they fade and then disappear altogether.

A soft knock on my door brings the room back into focus. I sit up and glance at the clock. Past midnight. I flop back on the bed and rub at my eyes. I was wondering if this would start up again.

“Come on, then,” I say.

Livy slips inside and clicks the door closed behind her. Orange from the streetlight pours in through the window, lighting up her purple and black flannel PJs. She doesn't say a word. She just drags her puffy green sleeping bag next to my bed and crawls inside, curling her body in the fabric so that she looks like an inchworm.