The Last Time We Were Us (14 page)

I put the article away, close the box, slide it back under the bed.

But it’s no good, because with all my heart I
want
to believe that Jason isn’t lying. That there’s more to the story than I know.

It would make the world make sense again.

From downstairs, I hear the dryer kick into full gear and Mom’s feet on the stairs. She religiously spends the hour the clothes are drying curled up in bed with an embarrassing paperback novel.

I meet her in the hall.

“Going somewhere?” she asks.

“I was thinking about taking Lucy for a walk.”

I squeeze past her, but she stops me, holds me tight for a quick second. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Lucy knows the deal as soon as I get downstairs. She hops off the couch and runs to meet me, panting and pacing until I hook the leash to her harness.

We walk on our usual loop, up past Luke Brown’s house, his ultramanicured front yard, with a brick fence, lush azalea bushes, and neatly pruned crape myrtles. At Bradford Court, we turn, Lucy does her business, and we head down the treelined street, past houses with white siding and dark shutters and all the things that are almost too beautiful, that don’t allow for any mistakes, don’t forgive.

Lucy trots along like she’s the queen of the world, and soon, we’re at the end of our loop, coming down the sidewalk, almost to Jason’s house. She tugs at me to go faster, but I slow down as we walk past the truck, anxious to see what Payton has done. There’s a spiderweb of scratches from the driver’s door all the way to the tailgate, and in the clear daylight, it seems cruel and unnecessary. This is just a car, I remind myself. Skip is disfigured forever. And yet it doesn’t change the queasy feeling in my stomach. I think about Innis last night, how he announced this development so casually, as cool as if he were ordering off the menu:
I’ll take auto vandalism to start, please. Heavy on the scratches.

everything is not what you think

I walk quickly back to my house, open the front door, let Lucy off the leash, and give her a treat. I glance at the clock. Mom will be reading for at least another forty minutes. I slip out the back door, traipse across the grass, around the magnolia tree, and up to his door.

It feels awfully strange, but I reach up, knock.

“Who is it?” Jason says brusquely.

The windows are open, but the blinds are tilted so I can’t see through them. I wait in front of the door like a guest would. “It’s Liz.”

There’s an immediate turn of the doorknob, and then there he is.

“Lizzie.”

The weirdest thing happens. Seeing him standing there, smiling at me, it’s like his energy is contagious, like all the good things in our past are, for a second, our present.

“Hey.”

“Come in.” He makes way, and I step onto a sheet of plastic as the smell of paint hits me. It reminds me so much of us being kids. Both the Sullivans loved color—they were always trying out one shade or another.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know—”

“Don’t worry. I need a break anyway.”

The cabinets are covered in tape and plastic, and a soulless beige is already on half the kitchen wall. A fan blows the fumes into the next room and through the open windows.

“You decided to paint?” The red kitchen was always my favorite room. Mrs. Sullivan used to say she picked the color so if she got crazy with the pasta sauce or wine, no one would know the difference.

“The realtor says it’s hard to sell colorful houses.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Yeah, it is.” Then he just stands there, gazing at me, his eyes so wide I think I must have spinach in my teeth or a huge zit on my nose.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “I really didn’t think I was going to see you again. Not if you had anything to do with it.”

I run my hand along the counter. “So why are you sending me cryptic texts?”

“I have to try, don’t I?”

“Why do you have to try?” I look up at him, but he ignores my question.

“It’s hot in here.” He runs his hand across his brow. “Do you want some water?”

I shrug. “Sure.”

I follow him over layers of plastic into the nook behind the counter. He grabs the only two cups in the cabinet and fills them from the tap.

He downs his in a few gulps, but I hardly touch mine. He leans back against the counter, cool and relaxed. His arms are strong, and his eyes are kind. His hair is mussed, half matted down with sweat, the other half flecked with tiny droplets of paint, almost like he’s been out in the snow.

I place my hands back on the counter, propping myself up, and all of a sudden I’m telling him about the awful bridal fitting and how I can’t see him, even if I wanted to, and I don’t even know if I want to, because I’ve made this promise.

He nods, waits for me to stop. “I know,” he says. “But I’m still glad you came over.”

“Why?” I ask again.

He lowers his gaze. “You’re my best friend.”

“No, I’m not. We didn’t even hang out before you left. Remember? You wanted nothing to do with me.”

“Is that what this is about? Middle school drama?” He steps closer, practically pinning me against the counter. There’s no AC in here, and the two of us only seem to make it hotter. “I was thirteen. I wanted to be popular. You do stupid shit when you’re thirteen.”

I can’t tell if I want to laugh more or cry more because “stupid shit” you do when you’re young is what got him in this mess in the first place.

“Why did you text me?” I ask again. “What did you mean by it?”

He stands up straighter. “I meant what I said. It’s not what you think. The story is not that simple.”

“So tell me.” I cross my arms. “If there’s anything you could say to explain, then tell me. Don’t you think I want to hear it?”

He shrugs. “Can’t you just believe me? You’ve known me forever. You know me better than anyone. Can’t you trust me now?”

“People change,” I say unconvincingly.

“I haven’t changed. I’m still me.” He steps closer then, just inches from my face, so close that I can almost taste his breath, and his eyes catch mine and my heart beats faster and the bad stuff fades to the background and he is the Jason he always was. And I am Lizzie.

His lips are on mine before I can think to stop them, his mouth open, his tongue soft and velvety. His hands are on my cheeks, and I can feel cool sticky paint on his fingers. Our arms are around each other, and we know each other like we never have before, and all I feel is
want want want
.

And then I realize it, a delayed reaction, like a hand placed on a burner, you don’t even feel the pain until you’ve already been burned, and I pull back, shake my head.

“No.” I push him away with both hands. “We can’t . . .”

I squeeze away from him, my feet crunching against the plastic, rush out the door before he has a chance to stop me.

Back home, in front of the mirror, I see beige fingerprints all over my cheeks.

And I scrub as hard as I can until my face is clean again.

Chapter 13

M
AC
K
ENZIE CLEARS HER THROAT.
“T
O ACHIEVE SEX-GODDESS
status, you have to truly master his man bits.”

We’re stretched out on her lawn in our swimsuits the next afternoon, reading cheesy sex tips from a magazine. MacKenzie’s been out here all morning, but I got here a half hour ago, as soon as I finished babysitting and grabbed a snack. I haven’t told her about Jason yet. I crafted three texts last night, but I didn’t have the guts to send them. In this weird way, the kiss felt inevitable¸ like a Tetris piece fitting into place. But that doesn’t change the fact that it was wrong.

“What does that even mean?” I try to sound humorously critical and not overly naive. It’s the first time we’ve read sex tips together when one of us has actually had sex.

“They give a detailed explanation right here.” She pushes the magazine to me. It’s detailed, indeed, and very graphic. “Have you actually done stuff like this with Payton?” I can’t imagine doing any of the things listed on that page with a straight face. Not with anyone.

“Not exactly,” she says. “But anyway we did have sex four more times.”

“You’re counting?” I adjust the back strap of my swimsuit.

“It’s a fun thing to keep track of! It’s really awesome once you get the hang of it.”

“I’m sure it is.” I push the magazine back at her.

Her eyes dart down the page, and I prepare for another ridiculous tidbit, but suddenly she shuts the magazine, tosses it aside. “Is something going on with you? You’re acting strange.”

I try to assume a normal, innocent face. “I am?”

“Yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “You haven’t said a single word about your date with Innis. I didn’t want to ask, in case it went badly, but I figured you’d volunteer even that, eventually. And you don’t even seem to care that Payton and I are having wonderful sexytimes together.”

“Sorry. I’m excited for you. I really am. And I texted you yesterday about Innis.”

“Yeah, but now we’re in person. I want
details.
”

I shrug. The excitement of everything, including MacKenzie’s boy developments, is muted by the weight of the guilt I have around the kiss. If Jason had just kissed me, it would have been one thing, and all day I’ve been trying to tell myself that that’s how it was. But I know I kissed him back. Just for a second or two, for a
thrilling
second or two, but still.

“It was great. He took me to Cafe Rouge, and we hooked up in the car afterward.” I pause for effect. “He even asked me to go to his family’s big fund-raiser with him. My mom’s giddy with anticipation.”

MacKenzie sits up straight and kicks the sprinkler away. “So why are you acting like you totally don’t want to talk about it?”

I sit up, too. “How do you know if someone is right for you?”

She laughs. “Innis Taylor is right for anyone.”

“I’m serious. How did you know with Payton?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Why are you getting so philosophical about it? You’ve never questioned anything before.”

I turn to catch her eyes. MacKenzie is my best friend. Lately, MacKenzie is my only friend. If I can’t be honest with her, who can I be honest with?

“You promise you won’t be judgy?” I ask. “And you’ll keep a secret?”

“Uh, duh,” MacKenzie says, all smiley now. “Who do you think I am?”

“Okay.” I lick my lips, taste salty summer sweat. I go fast, ripping off the Band-Aid. “I’ve seen Jason a few times.”

She cocks her head, stares at me. Her smile is gone, her lips a thin line, her eyebrows knit in the way my mother told me would give me wrinkles if I didn’t stop.

“Jason? Jason
Sullivan
?” Her voice goes quiet on the last word. Jason Sullivan, the boy who can’t be named.

“Yeah,” I say.

“You’re seeing Jason
Sullivan
?”

“I’m not
seeing
him,” I say. “Geez. You said you wouldn’t be judgy.”

“That’s ’cause I thought you were going to say something else!” She kneels on her towel, puts her hands on her thighs, looks at me like I’m a child who’s misbehaved.

“What did you think I was going to say?”

“That you slept with Innis.” She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“What? What gave you that—”

“You were acting all strange about the sex tips, and I thought you probably felt bad about it, and I was going to remind you that it’s
no big deal,
but God, Liz, this
is
a big deal.”

“He’s my friend. Is it crazy to see him occasionally?”

“It is if you want anything to happen with Innis. He’s like his archnemesis.”

“I know.”

“And what about your sister?”

“It’s not a regular thing. I just went over to his condo to see his dad, and then he was over fixing up his old place, and—”

“And you, like, had to go over?” she snaps. “He was a dick to you. Remember? Even before everything went down. He ditched you a
long
time ago.”

“You know, I really don’t appreciate this. You don’t even know him or what happened.”

“Whatever,” MacKenzie says, grabbing her towel. “You want to ruin everything? Go ahead.”

She stomps into her house without looking back, the sprinkler still running, her magazines spread out in the yard.

I have no choice but to let myself out her back gate.

M
AC
K
ENZIE AND
I have had two fights before, both about Veronica.

And now fight number three, this time about Jason. I know she was wrong about Veronica, and I want her to be wrong about him. But I’m scared, so scared, that she’s not. That if I go back to hanging out with him, I’ll lose everything that I have now.

When he calls this time, I don’t ignore him.

“Hey.”

His voice is gentle. “You answered.”

“You called.”

The line stretches quiet between us, and I open my bedroom window, flop back on my bed, wait for the summer breeze to hit me. I want to fill the space with everything that’s unsaid.
Why did you do what you did? What did the kiss mean to you? Why did you ditch me in middle school?

How did you and I become a secret?

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says.

“Me, too.” I force a calm, even tone into my voice.

“Good.” And then he clears his throat. “Lizzie—” He interrupts himself. “I’ll never be able to call you Liz. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“You’re the only friend I have here. Before the accident, I spent all my time with Innis and Skip and Alex and Payton—and they aren’t exactly eager to bring me back into the fold, not that I want to be around them anyway. There are guys at the gas station, and next year I’m going to go to a different school, but you’re the only one I have from . . . before.”

I ignore the desire to tell him that his lack of friends is 100 percent his fault. It fades behind the other desire, to hear what he feels about me. “And?”

“And if we, I mean . . .”