Blue Moon (30 page)

I'm ready. I'm really and truly ready. So please, let me go back. Back to Eugene, Oregon. Back to my mom and dad and Riley and Buttercup. Please just let me return . . . and set everything straight again . . .

And the next thing I know a short hallway appears, leading to a room at the end—a room that's empty except for a stool and a desk. But not just any old desk, this is one of those long metal desks like the kind we had in the chem lab at my old school. And as I slide onto the seat, a large crystal globe levitates before me, flickering
and flaring until it settles on an image of me, sitting at this same metal desk, struggling over a science test. And even though it's pretty much the last scene I ever would've chosen to repeat, I know it's the only opportunity I'll ever get to return. So I take a deep breath, press my finger to the screen—and gasp as everything around me goes black.

 

“O—migod. I
totally
flunked that,”
Rachel groans, tossing her wavy brown hair over her shoulder and rolling her eyes. “I mean, I
barely
even studied last night. Seriously. And then I stayed up late texting—” She looks at me, her eyes wide as she shakes her head. “Anyway. All you need to know is that my life as we know it is over. So take a good look at me now because as soon as those grades are posted and my parents find out, I'll be grounded for life. Which means this is pretty much the last you'll see of me.”

“Please.”
I roll my eyes. “If anyone flunked, we both know it's me. I've been lost in that class all year! And it's not like I'm going to be a scientist or anything. It's not like I'm ever going to
use
the information.” I stop just shy of her locker, watching as she unlocks it and tosses a pile of books inside.

“I'm just glad it's over and that grades won't be out until next week. Which means I better live it up while I can. And speaking of—what time should I swing by tonight?” she asks, brows raised so high they're hidden under her bangs.

I shake my head and sigh, realizing I haven't told her yet and knowing she's gonna be mad. “About that . . .” I walk alongside her as we head for the parking lot, tucking my long blond hair behind
my ear as I say, “Slight change of plans. My mom and dad are going out and I'm supposed to babysit Riley.”

“And how is that a
slight
change of plans?” Rachel stops just short of the lot, her eyes scanning the rows of cars, determined to see who's riding with who.

“Well, I thought maybe after she goes to sleep, you can come over and—” But I stop, not bothering to finish since it's clear she's not listening. The second I mentioned my little sister, I lost her. Rachel's that rare only child who's never once fantasized about having a brother or sister. Sharing the spotlight just isn't her thing.

“Forget it,” she says. “Little people have sticky fingers and big ears, you can't trust 'em. How about tomorrow?”

I shake my head. “Can't. It's family day. We're all heading up to the lake.”

“See.” Rachel nods. “That's exactly the kind of stuff you don't have to deal with when your parents split. In our house, family day is when we all meet in court to fight over the child support check.”

“You don't know how lucky you are,” I say, regretting the joke the second it's out. Because not only is it a total lie, but something about it leaves me feeling so sad and guilty I wish I could take it right back.

But it's not like Rachel was listening anyway. She's too busy trying to get the attention of the amazing Shayla Sparks, who's pretty much the coolest senior to ever walk the halls of this school. Frantically waving and stopping just short of jumping up and down and screaming like a groupie, hoping to get Shayla's attention as she loads up her sky-blue VW Bug with all her cool friends. Then lowering her hand and pretending to scratch at her ear as though she's not the least bit embarrassed when Shayla fails to acknowledge her.

“Trust me, that car's not so great,” I say, checking my watch and gazing around the lot, wondering just where the heck Brandon is since he really should've been here by now. “The Miata drives better.”

“Excuse me?” Rachel peers at me, her brows knit together in complete disbelief. “And since when have you driven either one?”

I squint, hearing the words repeat in my head and having no idea why I just said them. “Um, I didn't.” I shrug. “I—I guess I must've read it somewhere.”

She looks at me, her eyes narrowed as they work their way down my outfit, grazing over my black V-neck sweater and down to my jeans that are dragging on the ground. “And where'd you get
this
?” She grasps my wrist.

“Please. You've seen that like a million times already. I got it last Christmas,” I say, trying to break free of her grip as Brandon comes toward me, thinking how cute he is when his hair falls into his eyes.

“Not the watch silly,
this
!” She taps the bracelet that's next to the watch, the one with silver horseshoes encrusted with pink crystal bits—the one that's not the slightest bit familiar though somehow manages to make my stomach go all weird when I look at it.

“I—I don't know,” I mumble, wincing when I see her gape at me like I'm losing it. “I mean, I think my aunt might've sent it to me, you know, the one I told you about, the one who lives in Laguna Beach—”

“Who lives in Laguna Beach?” Brandon asks, slipping his arm around me, as Rachel glances between us, rolling her eyes when he leans in to kiss me. But something about the feel of his lips is so strange and unsettling, I quickly turn away.

“My ride's here,” Rachel says, rushing toward her mom's SUV and calling over her shoulder to say, “Let me know if anything changes—you know, about tonight?”

Brandon looks at me, pulling me tighter against him until I'm practically fused to his chest, which only makes my stomach go weird again.

“If what changes?” he asks, oblivious to the way I squirm out of
his arms, unaware of my sudden lack of interest, which is a total relief since I've no idea how to explain it.

“Oh, she wants to hit Jaden's party, but I'm scheduled to babysit,” I tell him, heading toward his Jeep and tossing my bag onto the floor by my feet.

“Want me to stop by?” He smiles. “You know, in case you need help?”

“No!” I say, too forceful, too quick. Knowing I need to backtrack fast when I see the look on his face. “I mean, Riley always stays up late, so it's probably not a good idea.”

He looks at me, his eyes grazing over me like he feels it too, the unidentified
big wrong thing
that hovers between us, making everything feel so dang weird. Then he shrugs and turns toward the road. Choosing to drive the rest of the way in silence. Or at least he and I are silent. His stereo is screaming full blast. And even though that usually gets on my nerves, today I'm glad. I'd rather focus on crap music I can't stand, than the fact that I don't want to kiss him.

I look at him,
really
look at him in the way I haven't done since I've gotten used to us being a couple. Taking in the swoop of bangs framing those big green eyes that slant down ever so slightly at the corners making him impossible to resist—except for today. Today it comes easy. And when I remember how just yesterday I was covering my notebook with his name, well, it just doesn't make any sense.

He turns, catching me staring and smiling as he takes my hand. Entwining his fingers with mine and squeezing them in a way that makes my stomach go queasy. But I force myself to return it, both the smile and the squeeze, knowing it's expected, what a good girlfriend does. Then I gaze out the window, holding down the nausea as I stare at the passing landscape, the rain-soaked streets, the clapboard houses and pine trees, glad to be getting home soon.

“So, tonight?” He pulls into my drive, muting the sound as he leans toward me and looks at me in that way that he has.

But I just press my lips together and reach for my bag, holding it against my chest like a shield, a solid defense meant to keep him away. “I'll text you,” I mumble, avoiding his eyes as I glance out the window, seeing my neighbor and her daughter playing catch on the lawn, as I reach for the door handle, desperate to get away from him and into my room.

And just as I've opened the door and slipped one leg out, he says, “Aren't you forgetting something?”

I gaze down at my backpack, knowing it's all that I brought, but when I look at him again, I realize he's not referring to that. And knowing there's only one way to get through this without arousing any more suspicions from him or from me, I lean toward him, closing my eyes as I press my lips against his, finding them objectively smooth, pliant, but basically neutral, with none of their usual spark.

“I'll—um, I'll see you later,” I mumble, hopping out of his Jeep and wiping my mouth on my sleeve well before I've even reached the front door. Rushing inside and heading straight to the den where I'm blocked by a plastic drum set, a guitar with no strings, and a small black microphone that's going to break if Riley and her friend don't stop fighting over it.

“We already agreed,” Riley says, yanking the mic toward her. “
I
sing all the boy songs, and
you
sing all the girl songs. What's the problem?”

“The problem,” her friend whines, pulling it even harder. “Is that there's hardly any girl songs. And you know it.”

But Riley just shrugs. “That's not my fault. Take it up with Rock Band, not me.”

“I swear, you are so—” Her friend stops when she sees me standing in the doorway, shaking my head.

“You guys need to take turns,” I say, giving Riley a pointed look, glad to be presented with a problem I can handle, even though I
wasn't consulted. “Emily, you get the next song, and Riley, you get the one after that, and then so on. Think you can handle that?”

Riley rolls her eyes as Emily snatches the mic from her hand.

“Is Mom around?” I ask, ignoring Riley's scowl since I'm pretty much used to it by now.

“She's in her room. Getting ready,” she says, watching me leave as she whispers to her friend, “Fine. I get to sing ‘Dead on Arrival,' you can sing ‘Creep.' ”

I pass by my room, drop my bag on the floor, then make my way into my mom's room, leaning against the archway that separates the bedroom from the bathroom and watching as she puts on her makeup, remembering how I used to love to do this back when I was little and thought my mom was the most glamorous woman on the planet. But when I look at her now, I mean, look at her objectively, I realize she actually is kind of glamorous, at least in a suburban mom kind of way.

“How was school?” she asks, turning her head from side to side, making sure her foundation is blended and seamless.

“Fine.” I shrug. “We had a test in science, which I probably failed,” I tell her, even though I don't really believe it went all that bad, but not knowing how to express what I really want to say—that everything feels strange, and uncertain, like it's off balance, lacking—and hoping for any reaction I can get out of her.

But she just sighs and moves on to her eyes, sweeping her small makeup brush over her lids and across the crease as she says, “I'm sure you didn't fail.” She glances at me through the mirror. “I'm sure you did just fine.”

I trace my hand over a smudge on the wall, thinking I should leave, go to my room and chill out for a while, listen to some music, read a good book, anything to take my mind off of me.

“Sorry this is so last minute,” she says, pumping her mascara wand in and out of its tube. “I know you probably had plans.”

I shrug, twisting my wrist back and forth, watching the way the crystals in my bracelet flicker and flare, glinting in the fluorescent light and trying to remember where it came from. “That's all right,” I tell her. “There'll be plenty of other Friday nights.”

My mom squints, mascara in hand, pausing in midstroke as she says, “Ever? Is that you?” She laughs. “Is something going on that I should know about? Because that hardly sounds like my daughter.”

I take a deep breath and lift my shoulders, wishing I could tell her how something is most definitely going on, something I can't quite place, something that leaves me feeling so—unlike me.

But I don't. I mean, I can barely explain it to myself, much less her. All I know is that yesterday I felt fine—and today—pretty much the opposite of fine. Alien even—like I no longer fit—like I'm a round girl in a square world.

“You know I'm okay with you inviting a few friends over,” she says, moving on to her lips, coating them with a swipe of lipstick before enhancing the color with a touch of gloss. “As long as you keep it to a minimum, no more than three, and as long as you don't ignore your sister.”

“Thanks.” I nod, forcing a smile so she'll think I'm okay. “But I'm kind of looking forward to having a night off from all that.”

I head to my room and plop down on my bed, fully content to just stare at the ceiling, until I realize how pathetic that is and I reach for the book on my nightstand instead. Immersed in the story of a guy and girl so entwined, so perfectly made for each other, their love transcends time. Wishing I could climb inside those pages and live there forever, preferring their story to mine.

“Hey, Ev.” My dad pokes his head into my room. “I've come to say both hello and good-bye. We're running late, so we gotta leave soon.”

I toss my book aside and race toward him, hugging him so tight he laughs and shakes his head.

“Nice to know you're not too grown up to hug your old man.” He smiles, as I pull away, horrified to find that there are
actual tears
in my eyes, and busying myself with some books on a shelf until I'm sure the threat is long past. “Make sure you and your sister are packed and ready to leave. I want to be on the road nice and early tomorrow.”