28

LUCY KISSES A TRAIL from my collarbone to the nape of my neck. She rakes her fingers through my hair and trembles with every movement I make, and I smile against her lips as I touch her chest.

"I can't believe you hid these from me," I whisper.

She laughs. "Shut up. I hate them."

"You're insane."

"Elliot?"

"What?"

"Elliot?"

I'm zapped back to Mrs. Pickle's office. Her eyes narrow beneath her circular glasses.

It's the same old shit—I can tell I'm frustrating her, but I don't have it in me to feel bad today, or to pretend to be okay.

Mrs. Pickle sighs. "Why don't you tell me about the girl, Elliot?"

"What girl?"

"The girl you just mentioned."

I blink.

"I asked if something had changed recently, and you said there was a girl."

"I don't remember saying that."

Her face tightens.

"I mean, I was just spaced out."

A long, exasperated breath escapes her lips. "Elliot, I know you're only here to make your parents happy, but I can help you if you let me. Or you can go see your psychiatrist."

"No, I don't wanna see her. She just wants to put me on pills. I'd rather talk to you."

"Then talk to me."

God, this makes me feel like such a pussy, but if it gets Mrs. Pickle off my case then fine. Let's do this. "I was hanging out with this girl and I thought she liked me, but she bailed without telling me why. It's really been fuck—" I clear my throat. "Sorry. Messing with my head."

"Right. And you have no idea why she left you?"

"None whatsoever."

"And if you knew why, do you think that would help?"

"Yeah. At least then I could move on."

"Yes, closure is always good..."

"But she won't even answer my texts. It's been over a month."

"Well, we can't control the way other people act or respond to us."

"I know that."

"When you say that it's been messing with your head, what exactly do you mean? Have you been having any... thoughts again?"

"No, I don't think so. I do feel like shit though."

"But not like—"

"No. Not like that."

"Okay. You would tell me if you did, right?"

"Yeah." Maybe.

The bell rings. I stand and sling my backpack over my shoulder. "Thanks."

"Elliot."

I stop at the door.

"If you can't talk to me about what happened, maybe you should talk to someone else. One of your friends, perhaps. But don't keep it all bottled inside. It can't be good for you."

I half-smile. "Thanks."

With heavy eyelids, I pass through the guidance office to the halls of Saint Jacob's Academy. Mrs. Pickle's right—I should talk to someone, but who?

"Hey Dad, I got fucked and chucked, any advice?"

"El, you goddamn moron, did you use protection?"

Yeah, no thanks.

I slump to my locker and yawn as I open it. In the mirror, my zombie-like reflection stares back at me: messy hair, sunken cheeks, pasty skin. What would Lucy think of my burgundy Catholic school uniform? The stupid striped tie, the blazer with the crest, the tan slacks. I bet she'd burst out laughing. But I'd be okay with that. I miss her laugh.

Resting my head against the inside of the locker, I block out the hallway chatter. Nothing makes sense. Why'd she sleep with me if she was gonna leave? Did she even like me? Or did she just need a place to stay for a few days?

No, I don't buy that. Lucy liked me. I know she did.

So what did I do wrong?

A nearby chuckle makes my hair stand on end. Luke stands down the hall with Eric and Mason, and when they see me, I rummage into my locker and pretend to be busy. It's too late—Luke's hand slams my door shut.

"What's up, Wexler?"

Jaw clenched, I face him. "What do you want, Luke?"

"You know you can't fucking avoid us forever, right? What the hell's wrong with you? Where were you at practice last night?"

"I was sick."

Mason grabs my backpack. I try to snatch it, but Eric holds me to my locker by my chest, and honestly, I'm too tired to give a shit. They rifle through until they find a dime bag full of weed.

"Wow, shocker," Eric says.

Luke scoffs and shakes his head. "Unbelievable. Some fuckin' prodigy you are. Skipping practice so you can get stoned like a lazy idiot."

Red clouds my vision. I'm not a lazy idiot. They have no idea what I'm going through.

"Keep fucking up and we'll bring this to Coach," Luke says. "The playoffs are next month, man. Snap out of it."

They take my weed and leave. Joke's on them, because I have more at home.

By the time I reach the cafeteria, my eyelids are so heavy I could pass out right here. I try to wake myself up with root beer and a slice of pepperoni, but it doesn't work, so I drift toward my next class like a ghost or some shit. I'm scrolling through my phone, not caring if I bump into people, when a Facebook reminder for Amber Blackwell's party pops up. She always invites me but I never go, obviously. Sometimes I feel like people only invite me to shit so they can make fun of me.

At the same time, it's Friday, and as always, I have zero plans. When I get home tonight, I'll sit in my room, get high, play video games, get bitched at by Dad for ditching hockey, then stare at the ceiling for several hours until I eventually drift into a restless, empty, unfulfilling sleep. It's been forty-five days since Lucy left me and I've done nothing. Mrs. Pickle is right. I need to get out more.

And an excuse to get wasted doesn't sound so bad.

* * *

Ollie stuffs his beer belly into the band of his jeans as we stand on the front porch of Amber Blackwell's three-story house. Don't ask me why I brought my twenty-one-year-old brother to a high school party—I guess I didn't want to show up alone. I haven't been to one of these things since the guys ditched me.

"Trust me, bro," Ollie says, "there are always college dudes at senior parties. High school girls love guys my age. Besides, I know Amber. I bet she remembers me from when I went to Saint Jacob's. Don't forget, I was a legend."

"I couldn't care less, dude. Just don't hook up with any sixteen-year-olds."

"I have a strictly eighteen policy, little bro."

"Nice, Ollie. I'm sure they'll love the fact that you're twenty-one, have a kid, have no job, and live with Mom and Dad."

"What they don't know won't hurt them."

Inside, the lights are dim. The smell of booze and candles surrounds me, and bass rumbles the hardwood floor. Dancing bodies shake the photos on the walls.

"This song is hype," Ollie says.

I cross my arms and regret coming. "I dunno what it is."

"Believe it or not, people don't cry and listen to Coldplay at parties."

I stab him with my elbow.

As I kick my boots into the chaotic heap of shoes by the door, I can't shake the feeling everyone's looking at me. When we cross through the kitchen, everyone is looking at me. Amber breaks away from a crowd of people taking shots and runs at me with open arms.

"Oh my God, El! You came!" She hugs me. Amber has freckles, but they're faint and orange on her pale white skin. They're nothing like Lucy's. Fuck, why does everything have to remind me of her?

"Yeah," I say. "I brought my brother. I hope that's cool."

Amber hugs Ollie, too. "I remember you! Grade nine dance? I was a freshman, you were a senior..."

Ollie smirks. "See, El? Told you she'd remember me."

"My friend Macy had the biggest crush on you."

"Oh, sick. Is she here?"

"Yeah, she's dancing in the living room. Here, let's go find her."

Ollie smacks my shoulder. "That's my cue. Catch you later, bro."

I reach out to grab him, but he slips away. Both Amber and Ollie leave me. Like an idiot, I stand alone near the kitchen table. I have no idea what to do, so I pull out my mickey of rum and take a giant swig. It burns all the way through, but I'm instantly numb. Numb is good. If I drink enough, I'll forget everything for a while.

Someone waves to me in my peripheral vision. In the living room, Katie cradles a bottle of beer, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glazy. We haven't said a word to each other aside from what's been necessary at work, so I have no clue why she's acknowledging me now. When she signals me over, I look behind me to see if there's anyone else, but it's just me. With a lump in my throat, I enter the living room. Multicoloured lights from the disco ball flash over the furniture, and the music's so loud it pounds my eardrums. Katie says something, but I can't hear her, so I yell, "What?"

She keeps talking. Still can't hear her, so I gesture to my ears, annoyed. Katie grabs my hand and drags me down the hall, into a dark room. We're alone. The bass thumps through the walls, and she presses her back to the door like she doesn't want me to escape.

"Um, hey," she mumbles.

"Hi?"

Katie throws her head back before she goes over to the desk and sits on it, shoving paperweights and photo frames out of the way.

"We shouldn't be in here," I say. "This is her dad's office or something."

"We're fine. Amber's my friend, remember?"

"Right... well, I gotta go."

"El, hold on. Don't." There's a sad whine in her voice that I don't get. I thought Katie was happy without me. I thought she was better off. "I'm such an idiot," she slurs. "I messed shit up with my boyfriend and my best friend all in the same day. El, I've never been so lonely."

I don't reply, just swig from my bottle. Somehow, I'm already at half. My brain feels hot and woozy.

"I made such a big mistake." Katie holds her head low, her blonde curls grazing her jeans as she sits on the desk. "Especially with you."

"What are you talking about, Katie?"

She pats the spot beside her, so I hesitantly join her. Her smell of strawberries reaches my nose and forces nostalgia down my throat. Before I met Lucy, Katie was the only girl I ever thought about. That part of me only existed a few months ago, but it feels like ancient history, like dinosaurs were alive when I actually liked Katie Starling. She used to make me so anxious and happy and excited. Now, I'm just numb.

"I miss you, El," she says. "So much. Can we be friends again?"

I laugh and take another drink. "Are you kidding me, Katie? No. I'm not going back to just pretending nothing ever happened."

"We don't have to do it like that. We can start over."

"Stop. You're wasted."

"Come on." She touches my hand, and I turn to stone. Katie nibbles on her bottom lip, her eyes half-lidded and drunk, and honestly it's like something pulled out of one of my hormonal fourteen-year-old fantasies—but that was also the look she gave me on the night we hooked up. And I can't think about that without remembering what happened after.

"Don't," I mutter. "We're not doing this again."

"Listen..." She bops her knees together. "When we hooked up before—about what I said after. I lied."

It takes me a moment to process her words, before the anger burns through me. "You fucking lied? Seriously? Do you have any idea how gross you made me feel?"

"I'm sorry, I was just confused okay? I never thought I'd like you like that. When I imagined growing up and getting married it was never to you."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better? Because I did think about you like that, Katie. My mom and dad always said that if I was gonna marry anyone it'd be you. And I guess because I was dumb I believed them."

"I'm sorry." Her bottom lip trembles as tears drip down her cheeks. "Just—we can still fix it. I know you were waiting for me. I could still be your first."

I already had my first. I'm trying not to remember Lucy's face, but fuck, my heart hurts. I can't stop seeing her smile and remembering how special she made me feel and how happy I was. Chasing the numbness, I take another drink.

Katie stands and corners me into the desk, and my cheeks get hot. "You still want to hook up with me though, right? We can still do that."

I need to get out of here, but I don't move as Katie's fingers inch closer to my waist. Maybe it's the booze, or maybe it's the empty inbox of my phone, the pathetic number of texts I've sent to a ghost who never replies—but for a brief moment, I consider letting this happen.

Lucy left me. She had sex with me then bailed without even saying bye, just a stupid, meaningless note on my kitchen counter. Every day I feel hopeless, drenched in fucking darkness, like I'm drowning.

So when Katie smashes her lips on mine, I kiss her back. She tastes like cranberry vodka. Lucy tastes like hot chocolate. Katie smells like strawberries. Lucy smells like thrift stores and roses and my shampoo.

Katie shoves me onto the desk chair and clumsily straddles me, peeling off her green hoodie. I imagine taking Lucy's shirt off on our last night, how fast my heart thumped, how my stomach had Mentos and Coke in it.

I don't feel that now. Not even close. Anxiety squeezes my throat as I say, "Katie, stop. Stop." I have to grab her wrists to make her let me go, and she's instantly in tears.

"I'm sorry, El."

"You're wasted. You don't wanna hook up with me."

"I just want Luke back." She collapses to the floor and holds her head between her hands. I sigh. For a moment, I do feel bad for Katie. I'll never understand why, but Luke made her happier than I'd ever seen her—I can't blame her for wanting that feeling back, especially since I'm going through the same thing with Lucy. One minute, she'd made me feel invincible. The next, I'm empty inside, and all I want is to be with her again.

I pat Katie on the back. "Let's just pretend this never happened, pal."

Katie's so drunk she's passing out, so I hoist her into my arms and drop her on the loveseat beside the window. I pull a quilt over her body, and within seconds, her breathing calms. Light from outside traps her a cool blue glow.

I don't know what you need, Katie, but I hope you find it.

Well, that sobered me right up. Fuck this party, I'm going home. But as I'm leaving the room, some commotion stops me—definitely Ollie shouting, so I speed to the living room. When I spot Charlotte draped over the couch next to a pile of vomit, her skirt riding up her ass, I clench my fists. People are laughing and taking pictures while Ollie shoves Devon Nichols—this guy in my grade—into the wall.

"What the fuck is going on?" I ask.

"We were just joking, chill," Devon says.

"Ollie." I grab his arm. "Come on, man. Help me get her out of here."

The entire party watches us as we each take one of Charlotte's arms and drag her limp body through the room. Someone shouts, "Nice Wexler family reunion!" over the music, and I sort of want to die—but I can't worry about the humiliation right now. We need to get Charlotte out of here.

Outside, the freezing February air wakes her right up. Charlotte kicks and flails against us. "Let me go!"

"Char, chill, it's us," I say and hold her with an iron grip.

"Ollie? El? What the fuck, let me go!"

"No, you're going home now," Ollie says. "Mom and Dad are already on their way."

Charlotte opens her mouth to yell at us more, but projectile vomits into the snow. Her body goes limp again, so we set her on an electrical box by the sidewalk.

"Ugh, nasty," Ollie mutters. "Mom and Dad should be here any minute."

"What is she doing here, Ollie?"

"No clue, man. I guess someone invited her."

"She's only fifteen."

"Trust me, I know. Mom and Dad are gonna trip."

Charlotte's tangles of dark hair contrast with the snow. She looks so peaceful. Like she used to when we were kids and she'd curl up next to me on the couch and pass out watching Dragon Ball Z with me. Looking at her now, with vomit still on her lips—well, it's hard to imagine she was ever like that at all.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I take it out. The name on my screen sends everything to a screeching halt. My chest swells and tightens like there's a balloon ready to pop in there.

"Ollie," I say, "it's Lucy."

He sits next to Charlotte. "Go on, answer it. I've got Char."

Mouth dry, I thank him and pace up the street. I take a deep breath before I press accept. "Hello?"

"Elliot?"

I'm silent. I have no idea what to say, but her voice is something pulled straight out of a dream. Because ever since she left me, that's all she's been: a distant, unattainable dream.

"El? Are you there?"

"I'm here. Lucy, what the hell? Where are you? Are you okay?"

"I'm okay." Her voice shakes, but she sure as hell does sound okay. "Can we meet?"

"Where have you been? It's been forty-five days, Lucy, what the fuck?"

"You're mad, I get it. But we need to talk face-to-face."

Mad is an understatement. I'm shattered. There's so much I want to say, like I'm sorry for kissing another girl—it meant nothing, I swear, and I won't be mad that you left me if you just tell me what's going on. But as of right now, I'm pissed and hurt and broken.

"Lucy, I—"

"Meet me. Please."

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sigh. "Okay. Where?"