Amends: A Love Story (17 page)

I'm going back to the city. I know exactly
what I have to do.

Chapter 19: Amity

I hope to sneak into my room unnoticed, but
luck is not with me. Darcy is awake and on her computer, hacking
away.

"I guess I don't have to ask you how last
night went," she chirps, all early morning smiles. A giant,
steaming cup of Red Delicious Coffee sits on her desk, indicating
she's already had time to run to the Adams Apple and back. Just
looking at her bright, chipper expression is making me tired.

I roll my eyes, groan like a granny, and flop
down on my bed. I don't want to talk about it, because I can't bear
to hear myself explain out loud why I'm the world's biggest idiot.
I can't believe I lost my virginity in what is almost certainly
going to be a one-night stand. My phone is as silent as a tomb, but
I fish it out of my bag anyway. No new texts or Facebook
notifications. I tell myself I shouldn't be surprised. He snuck me
into the frat house through the back door and never introduced me
to any of his brothers. He obviously didn't want anyone to see
me.

I suppose I shouldn't have run away, but I
felt like I had no choice. When I opened my eyes and found myself
in Laird's bedroom, tangled in Laird's sheets, naked and lying next
to Laird himself, I panicked. I was afraid of how he would react
when he woke up. I worried that I'd see shame and regret on his
gorgeous face, that he'd sneak me back out of the frat house and
pretend nothing had happened.

Insanely, I also worried that he would show
me off to his brothers like some kind of strange conquest. Either
way, I decided, I was out of there. I gathered my clothes, dressed
in the pale morning light, and speed-walked home to my roommate
who, apparently, never sleeps.

I stare at my phone, which remains
disconcertingly mute. I shut it off and stick it under my pillow.
If Laird wants to know where I went or why I left, he'll text me or
even write something on my Wall. But I'm betting he won't. He
probably doesn't want his rich, pretty friends to know he was with
the Amityville Horror, even for a single night.

"Hey, are you alright?" asks Darcy leaning
over me, her face a mask of concern.

I'm about to say something along the lines of
I'm fine, when I burst into tears.

/////////////////////////

The five of us are scattered around a large,
round table at Dixon's Deli, a bustling lunch joint that caters
more to townies than to Adams students. It's not the kind of place
where the son of billionaire Josiah Conroy or any of his frat
brothers would turn up. At least, I hope it isn't.

Aliyah looks at the menu and frowns. "Why
does everything here come with mayo?" Aliyah is half Ethiopian,
half Italian, and all vegan. She dresses in cruelty-free fibers and
won't even kill mosquitoes.

"Just order coffee," grumbles Sasha, shaking
out her long, pale blonde hair. She's from the Ukraine and models
part time in New York City. Her face is all planes and angles, and
she always looks hungry.

"We're not all starving ourselves," says
Esther, a tiny brunette wearing giant, horn-rimmed glasses that
make her look just slightly bug-eyed. "I'm going to have the apple
pie with whipped cream." Both Sasha and Aliyah grimace in
response.

While the others put in their orders at the
counter, I focus on my phone. I check the text messages first and
find a bogus offer for a free iPad and a quote for auto insurance.
Then I check my Gmail and send a quick hello to Gran. Finally, I
scroll through my Facebook feed. Laird's face is on my Friends
toolbar, and there's a little green dot next to his name. He's
online, and he still hasn't contacted me. I'm checking my text
messages again when Darcy snatches the phone from my hands.

"Hey!" I yelp.

"Girls," says Darcy, holding up my phone,
"this is why we're here. Amity has graciously given her V-pass to a
young man who shall remain nameless. He's not calling or texting
her, and she's getting a little obsessed."

"Did he know it was your first time?" asks
Sasha with barest hint of an accent.

"I don't think so," I reply. "I didn't tell
him. It never really came up."

Aliyah looks thoughtful. "Have you met any of
his close friends?"

This one makes me think. I did meet some of
the pledges when they grabbed Ethan. But I haven't met any of the
other brothers I see him with at the Adams Apple. And he did sneak
me up the stairs last night. "No," I say. "Not really."

Now it's Esther's turn. "Did you at least get
breakfast together?"

"No."

"What about coffee?"

"No. I kind of snuck out while he was
sleeping. I just freaked out. I didn't want to do the walk of shame
in front of all his frat brothers." The girls exchange meaningful
looks, and I die a little inside. Kappa Alpha Delta is the only
frat with a house on campus. Now they could easily guess the guy
I'm asking about is Laird.

"You know," says Esther in a soft,
sympathetic voice, "it all depends on what you want. Do you want to
be his friend, his booty call, or his girlfriend?"

I shake my head. Yes, I think, I'd like to be
his girlfriend, but right now that seems like an impossible dream.
"I don't know," I mumble, picking at the label on my bottle of
water.

"She totally wants to be his girlfriend,"
stage whispers Darcy, smirking. I give her a gentle kick under the
table.

Esther removes her glasses and looks at me
with large, almond-shaped eyes. "It's like this," she explains.
"Guys want girlfriends who are a little elusive and hard to get. If
you text him now and make yourself available, he knows he doesn't
have to work for you. You'll end up as his booty call or the friend
he fools around with after studying for finals."

The other girls nod sagely, while I sink
deeply into my plastic chair. I want to text him. In fact, I want
it like I'd want a slice of orange after a hot, early-season cross
country practice. But I'm not going to do it. Clearly, this is a
battle of wills, and I'm going to win it.

Amity the Calamity would have accepted second
place. The Amityville Horror would have been grateful to be Laird's
booty call, just like she was grateful to Ethan when he wanted her
to be his special friend.

Well, I tell myself, I'm not in high school
any more. I'm not going to text Laird.

No. Matter. What.

/////////////////////////

I'm going for a run for the first time since
my last cross country practice almost three years ago, and I'm
totally out of shape. I run awkwardly along the bike paths leading
through campus and try to capture the steady rhythm I used to find
so calming. It doesn't work. All I can do is bump along and try to
ignore the horrible burning in my throat and the tightness in my
lungs. I curse the lone cigarette I smoke every other day before
Mammalian Anatomy, colloquially known as the Dissection Horror
Show.

The girls all said working out is a great way
to distract yourself from a guy who's gone dark. I suppose they had
a point. Right now, my attention is entirely consumed by total
physical misery. I slow my pace a little to see if that helps, and
it does. I take a few long, slow breaths and begin to pay more
attention to my surroundings.

The weather is sunny and warm, New England
summer's last stand. The trees are green, deciduous, and gentle.
They don't have the moist, rubbery look that characterizes so much
of the plant life in central Florida. It's also nice to run without
having to scan the ground periodically for baby gators, escaped pet
cobras, cottonmouths, and other dangerous creatures that love the
year-round heat as much as humans do.

My eyes sweep over the mix of stone and
wooden buildings that make up the Adams campus. It's really a
beautiful place and a world away from the strip malls of Triple
Marsh. As the pavement under my feet changes from asphalt to
cobblestones, I realize that I've reached the Row, the street where
Laird and I walked arm in arm, totally absorbed in each other.

I slow my pace even more on the rough surface
and try to remember what Laird and I talked about. A lot of it was
just silly banter and the usual getting-to-know-you chatter. But we
also talked about our families. And our missing mothers. I thought
we had a real bond, but I suppose it was only a few transient
moments of shared grief and lust. As I approach the end of the Row
where Kappa Alpha Delta sits like a sentinel, I see a flash of
blond hair and a V-shaped torso. Whoever he is, he reminds me of
Laird.

He also reminds me that I'm probably too
close to Kappa Alpha Delta for my own good. I turn around and run
as fast as I can back to the relative safety of my dorm, each
breath feeling like it's my last.

/////////////////////////

I open the door to my room and see that Darcy
is on FaceTime with a dark-haired guy who looks vaguely like a
thin, twentysomething Elvis. I'm about to duck back out and give
her some privacy when she waves me in.

"Evan," she says to her web cam, "this is my
roommate, Amity."

I wave hello, suddenly conscious of my red,
sweaty face.

Evan grins at Darcy, and he looks less like
Elvis and more like a friendly, dark-haired loaf of bread. "A
roommate whose name means friendship? You lucked out. Talk soon,
babe?"

"You know it," says Darcy as she shuts down
the program and turns her full attention to me. "Did you have a
good run?"

"Yeah, it was as good as it could have been,
considering that I'm totally out of shape." I stare at her for a
few moments, and ask the question I know I shouldn't.

"Did I get any messages?"

Darcy takes my phone out of her desk and taps
on the screen a few times. "Sorry, girl. I got nothing. Do you want
it back now?"

I think about it seriously. The phone is a
gateway to Laird. I could take it and text him right now. We could
arrange a secret meet up. I could be safe in his arms within hours,
and nobody would have to know.

"No," I say quickly, before I can change my
mind. "Keep it away from me. I can't be trusted."

Chapter 20: Laird

I'm back on the train, on my way into the
city. Caspar backed the Maserati into a parking meter and left a
big dent in the rear bumper. Now it's in the shop. Dad loves his
cars, and he'd have a fit if he found out I returned one in less
than pristine condition.

I compulsively check my
Facebook feed and text messages.
Damn
it
. There's nothing from Amity. I'm about
to turn off my phone and try not to be such a pathetic little
pussy, when I get a new text from Ember.

Thinking about you today. Waiting. Wanting.
Needing.

She's attached a photo of her cleavage. A
golden, heart-shaped necklace nestles between her breasts. Since
she's been going to school in New York City, her skin has faded
from a warm tan to a pale peach. Amity has small breasts and
olive-toned skin. I could feel her ribs and hip bones whenever we
came together. It took time to maneuver her into a comfortable
position, but when she got there, she melted against me in a rush
of sighs. I miss her, but I keep telling myself that having
feelings for the girl whose life I helped destroy is a perfect
punishment.

My phone vibrates, sending a jolt of
electricity through by body. Could it be Amity?

No. It's Ember again.

Where are you anyway? How long will I have
to wait? Need, need, need. Want, want, want.

I sigh loudly enough that the businesswoman
across the aisle turns and scowls at me. I mouth, "Sorry." This
time Ember sent a close up of her lips, slick with red gloss and
waiting to be kissed. I want her, and I hate myself for wanting
her. I text her back.

I'll be there soon.

/////////////////////////

My lawyer's office is dark and
claustrophobic, like a sick womb. The windows are obscured by
chocolate brown curtains, and the walls are paneled in some kind of
deep brown wood. The furniture is all overstuffed leather. I want
to run out of this meeting and into the sun, but I force myself to
stay still. I came here for a very good reason.

Clancy Donovan, my lawyer, looks at me with
world-weary eyes. He used to be my father's lawyer, until Dad
switched to a younger, more obedient man who doesn't trouble him
with so much legal advice.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asks,
sounding at least a thousand years old.

"Yes. I think it will bring me peace."

Clancy shakes his blocky, distinguished head,
causing his jowls to wobble slightly. "For the record, I have to
advise you against this."

I nod. This is what lawyers are supposed to
do. "I appreciate your honesty, but I still want to do it." I
wiggle my toes inside my loafers. I really want to get out of here.
Ember is waiting for me and, if the constant vibration of my phone
is any indication, she's getting impatient.

But Clancy isn't ready to give up yet. "Have
you really thought this through?" he asks. "Your father is going to
hit the roof when he finds out, and I have no idea what he's going
to do. For all I know, he might cut you off entirely, and then you
could find yourself in a very difficult position. You can't access
the bulk of your trust until you turn thirty."

I shrug off his objections. "My father's
given me a generous allowance for years, and I've been saving for a
rainy day. If it ever gets too rainy, I'll do what everybody else
does. I'll get a job."

Clancy frowns, and the deep folds leading
from his nose to the corners of his mouth make him look oddly
simian. "Don't delude yourself," he says gruffly. "You're not like
everybody else. You don't understand how to survive in the real
world. I've seen this scenario play out countless times. Without
your daddy's money or your trust fund, you'll burn through your
savings in about three months. Then you'll start drinking or
drugging and end up in rehab."