All We Left Behind (2 page)

I scrub at the damn charcoal on my palms, but it won't come off. Fuck it. I wipe my hands on my pants, getting them dirty.

There's a holler and Rory and Troy drive up with coolers and bags of groceries in their backseat. I start helping them unload when Troy wrestles me into a headlock.

“Hey, Rory, you owe me ten bucks. I told you this douche would show up.”

“Excuse me?” I twist out of Troy's grip and turn the tables so it's me with my arm hooked at
his
throat. “What's this? You two making bets on me?”

“Hey, I bet
on
you man, not against.” Troy struggles and Rory laughs. “Lay off.”

I don't let him go.

“You know, your chances of getting laid are better if I'm
not
here,” I say to Troy.

“True,” he agrees, still struggling. “But you're always so much
fun
when you're drunk.” That's a dig. I rarely drink, and when I do, well, “fun” isn't not the word I'd use to describe it. I'm not mean. Not one of those raging assholes or anything. I'm just not . . . happy.

“You don't need to be drunk to get a little ass,” I say. “Well, maybe
you
do, but—”

“Hey, not all of us were blessed with your pretty face.” Troy jerks, taking a pretend swipe at my chin with the jab. “Some of us have to use our charm.”

“Charm?” I press my weight into him, maybe more than I should. “Charm like making bets on who's going to show up and whose pants you're going to get into?”

“Well, I wasn't planning on getting into yours!”

I twist Troy just enough to make him stomp his foot on the ground and I wait for him to call uncle.

“Hey!” Conner stalks up to us with a giant bag of briquettes. He chucks it at me, forcing me let go of Troy in order to catch the bag and keep it from knocking us over. Black dust kicks up as it slams into my chest. “You two done making out? There's a fire that's not going to build itself.”

“Jealous?” I smile at Conner, but he glares at me with his stop-fucking-around face.

“Sorry, Dad, geeez,” Troy says, rolling his eyes and tossing
me a look like we're both in on the joke. Only, Troy doesn't know when enough's enough. “Hey, Kurt,” he continues. “Is Josie coming up from BU tonight?” He straightens his rumpled shirt and throws me a grin. “I mean, if there's one piece of ass you're not going to cockblock tonight, that'd be it.”

The briquettes hit the dirt, and somehow Conner's forced his way between me and Troy before I can pummel him. Troy laughs loudly, thinking this is all part of the game we're playing. But if he could see how hard Conner's actually gripping me, how much effort it's taking him to hold me back, Troy would shut up.

“Forget him,” Conner says in my ear. “He doesn't know what he's saying.”

“Come on,” Troy prods. “You two used to be the life of the party. Well,
she
used to be anyway.”

I step off Conner and pull my weight back. “This is why I don't come to these things,” I say to Conner under my breath.

“Fine,” Conner says, and for the first time it looks like he regrets making me show up. “Why don't you go for a run. Blow off some steam.”

My hands are fists. I'd rather break Troy's nose.

“What makes you think my sister would step out on her college education to hang out with you?” I throw at Troy, but he shrugs. He doesn't really care. He's just busting my balls.

“Once a cheerleader, always a cheerleader,” he says.

Conner grips my shoulder and points to the woods.

“Run, Medford,” he says. “We can set up the fire.”

“Right.” I laugh, only it's edged with sarcasm and Conner knows it. “You trust
them
with matches?”

“No.” Conner looks me square in the eye. “I trust you to shut the fuck up and do as I say.” He tosses me a water bottle and I head for the trees.

I follow the shoreline, so I don't get lost, and cut through the underbrush. My feet pound against the dirt and I forget Troy. Forget Conner. Forget all of them.

I put one foot in front of the other and run. I don't try. It just works. It's like there's something else in there that turns on and goes. Like it isn't me. Like it's some superhuman-fast me. I don't know where it comes from—God or something, that's what Mom would say. Not that I think I'm superhuman. Not that I think God has anything to do with it.

It's just sweat and grass, and digging in your heels, and running till your heart wants to burst. Running till you don't have to breathe anymore. They say that happens when you skydive, that the air around you goes so fast that you don't have to take a single breath. The oxygen goes right through your skin. It gets inside.

I look down at my hands. They're still covered in black. I dump the water from the water bottle all over them, but it doesn't help.

The bonfire crackles and I
step closer to the blaze. My arms heat, but I force myself to stand with those other girls who let the flames singe the hairs from their skin. The back of my throat stings with alcohol and I wonder if I should get another drink, if all of this would be easier if I were drunk. If that's part of what makes Lilith able to dance with the fire.

I thumb the apple that's still in my hand, turning it to hide the bite Lilith took. I lift it to my nose, pretending it's untouched, pressing the waxy skin to my lips. I don't know what it is about apples, but they've always reminded me of Abe, my lab partner, and sitting next to him freshman year, under the tree in his backyard. An uneaten apple always feels like that moment—that perfect space before—waiting for him to kiss me. My lips part and I wonder if Abe will show up tonight, or if he's too smart for a party like this. I inhale the tawny apple scent and imagine what it will taste like.

Sweet. Slightly sour. Soft yet sharp.

Would it be like that to kiss Abe again? Not that I have a chance with Abe anymore. Not that I didn't ruin us a long time ago.

“Are you going to make out with that apple? Or eat it?” Lilith says, appearing from behind the flames. I chuck the apple at her playfully and she dodges it, the fruit rolling into the fire.

“Down, girl!” she mock scolds, sidling up beside me and hooking her arm through mine. “You got a crazy streak in you, lady!”

“You ain't seen nothin',” I joke back. “Imagine if that had been a papaya.”

“I'd probably be dead.”

“Be thankful we live in New England, where exotic fruit doesn't grow.”

“Oh, I am.” Lilith hands me her flask and I take a swig, forcing myself to keep the burning liquid down. I shake my head as my ears start to buzz. Lilith laughs and takes a drink herself, squeezing her eyes tight as she swallows. “Woooo!” she exclaims, raising her arms and twirling. Her skirt lights up like a parachute and the curve of her legs becomes silhouetted by fire. People watch. A few clap, and several boys stare at her legs. I want to join her. I want to kick off my shoes and twirl with her laughter, because somehow everything is easier if it's done with Lilith. She makes anything seem possible.

But then it would be my legs under those eyes. My broken flip-flops left in the sand.

I look past Lilith to the lake. It ripples silently, reflecting the dusky sky. Only, my gaze is drawn to the edge of the water where a reflection of black trees disrupts the surface. It's in that patch of darkness that you can see the slimy rocks and the mud and all that the lake is hiding. It's where one might fall in and silently drown.

Lilith loses interest in her performance and drapes herself against me, half-drunk and searching for balance. “I love you,” she says, nuzzling my neck.

“I know,” I say, holding on to her weight. She hums for a moment and I watch the skin of my uneaten apple curl back in the fire, turning black with the heat.

“I wasn't kidding,” she says, her voice getting low. “When I said this should be our best year. I meant that. We've only got so much time left. We should drink. Have fun. Live it up. You know?”

“Absolutely,” I agree, the sparks behind us blinking from orange to ash.

“Exactly!” She squeezes my arm, and the sentimentality in her voice is gone, replaced by her normal frisky charm. “So, seriously . . .” She turns us in one motion, like we're attached at the hip, and faces us in the direction of a group of soccer players. “Mar-i-doodle, this is the first big party of the year. And, I thought, you know . . .” She nods to the boys. They're the same group of soccer players that has been
touching elbows and waists and hair. “Well, I thought this could be a good
opportunity
.”

My neck goes tight when she says the word “opportunity.”

She's not talking apples.

She's talking cherries.

The bonfire's blazing when I
come out of the woods. I hear the clank of beer bottles and I'm surprised to see how many people have already shown up. I didn't think I was out in those woods for very long, but maybe I was.

The driveway's turned into a parking lot and I hear music up ahead. It's that angry metal crap Conner likes, where yelling is called singing, and the band can't play to save their lives. I've tried to educate Conner on good music, but he keeps insisting this shit's
the shit
. Well, at least he got one part right.

I snag a beer from a cooler along the way and halfway through it I see the golden eagle on the label. My stomach turns and everything in my mouth goes sour. Fucking freshmen! I curse under my breath and tip the bottle over, Mom's favorite seeping into the dirt. Guess, I'm
really
not drinking tonight.

“Medford!”

I turn to see Vanessa walking in my direction. Her
mouth is glossy and she deliberately tilts her head so her black hair slides off her shoulder. I chuck the eagle over the cars and into the woods, ignoring the crash of glass that echoes back.

“Where have you been?” she demands, moving in so close I could kiss her.

“Around,” I say, checking out the front of her and remembering the way she moved when we skipped class last week. I took her to the dugout behind the baseball diamond, where her mouth had that waxy lipstick taste. The rest of her was soft though. The rest of her was worth enjoying.

“Well, good thing I found you, then,” she says. “Getting
around
and all.”

I roll my eyes. She likes this game, but I don't want to play it. She knows there's only one reason this works. And when it stops working . . . well, then it stops working. I thread a finger through her belt loop, pulling her in, and she hangs an arm over my shoulder.

“Geez!” She flinches, her arm hitting the sweat on my neck. “What did you do? Work out or something?” She sounds annoyed but her fingers play with my hair.

“What? You don't like me sweaty?”

She smiles mischievously. “I like being the one to
make
you sweaty.”

I laugh and look over her shoulder to the row of parked cars. I could take her to Conner's SUV, but he's pissed at me.

“I don't have my car,” I say, knowing we could find someplace else, but there's something in the air, and for whatever reason, I don't want the easy and the booze. Not tonight.

“Kelley has a car,” she says, batting her lashes, and I smile at her persistence.

“Well, do you have the keys to Kelley's car?”

She tosses her hair again and the strap of her tank top falls from her shoulder. She probably just wants to go into the woods.

“No,” she admits, moving in to kiss me, but I smell beer, and the last thing I want right now is lipstick and golden-eagle breath. I pull away as smooth as I can and throw on a teasing smile.

“Well,” I say playfully, running a hand under her shirt, over her stomach, which makes her moan hungrily. “Why don't you find me when you have those keys?”

I inch my hand dangerously close to her breasts and she leans in for a kiss. I pull away, teasing, but she manages to pin me. The taste of wax spreads over my mouth, and I let her do it. It's not so bad, especially if I don't breathe.

“Keys,” I repeat when she releases me. I drop my hands and smile sideways, heading for the fire without looking back to see if she's pissed or likes the challenge. All I know is that I don't want to deal with her right now.

I forget about Vanessa and walk to the lake and put my feet in the water. It's freezing. But the bonfire's behind me
so I don't really mind. The water is flat. So flat it feels like it will go on forever. It makes me want to chuck a rock in it. Or ten rocks. Anything to cause a ripple.

“Hey!”

It's Conner behind me, followed by a smack at the back of my head that stings like my feet in the water.

“Stop being a douche and join the party!” He holds out a beer and I take it to humor him, ignoring the black label and gold wings.

“How far do you think that other shore is?” I ask. “Straight through. If I swim?”

Conner frowns at me like this is a trick. “I'll give you two football fields,” he says, and I shake my head.

“No way, that wouldn't even get you to the center of the lake.”

“I'm sorry, let me clarify.” Conner smacks me again. “What part of ‘don't be a douche' did you not understand?”

“Shit, all right.” I step away from him.

“Two football fields,” he repeats. “That's how far you're going to get with whatever chick you take out there. If I see you in that water
without
a girl, I will pound the shit out of you.”

“All right. Point taken.”

“Good. Now drink.”

I look at the bottle and almost turn it over so the eagle is pointed at him. But I don't want to play the mom card.