Burn for Burn (7 page)

“It’s fine,” I say. I haven’t told her about Rennie’s and my fight. That’s between the two of us.

I hop out of the car, and wave as Ashlin drives off. Instead of going to the front door, I head straight for the backyard. Alex is skimming the top of the pool with a net, trying to fish a red Solo cup out of the water.

“Hey,” I say.

He looks up, startled. “Where’s Rennie?”

Ordinarily I would offer up an excuse for her, but today I just shrug.

I start gathering up the tiki torches and the beach ball paper lantern lights we strung around the yard. There’s no way I can carry everything back to my house. If Alex wants this stuff out of here, he’s going to have to drive me home. He still seems pretty mad at me, though. “Did you get to try one of my cupcakes?” I ask.

“Yeah.” Alex is sitting on a lounge chair, messing with his phone.

“Was it good?”

“It was all right,” he says.

“Did you get one with a Swedish Fish inside? I did that in a few of them.”

He finally makes eye contact. “I ate three, and I think one had a fish.”

He’s warming up to me again, thank God. I offer him a small smile. “Cool. Um, I’m a little thirsty. Can I have a soda?”

He jerks his head toward the pool house. “You know where they are.”

Ouch. Okay. So maybe I will have to walk all this stuff home.

The pool house is basically Alex’s apartment, complete with a living room, a kitchen, and a huge master bedroom. He has it set up like a bachelor pad, James Bond style. Black leather sectional sofa, big-screen TV mounted on the wall, an actual Coke machine by the bar. And he has a snack pantry that his mom keeps stocked with cookies and chips and anything you could ever want.

His bedroom door is open, and I see one of our plastic palm trees deflated and handing over the back of his desk chair. His room is usually clean, but today it’s messy, for Alex. The bed’s not made and there are clothes on the floor.

I go to pick up the palm tree, and I stop. There is a small heap of clothes by his bed. A green tank top is on top of the pile. I bend down and pick it up.

My sister’s. The one she wore the night of the party, part of her minnow costume. I know because I have the same one, same brand, only one size bigger. There’s a crusty pink stain over the front, strawberry daiquiri. I smell it. Rum.

I walk back outside holding the tank. Alex’s eyes widen when he sees it. “Why do you have Nadia’s tank top?” I ask him.

“Oh . . . someone spilled something on her. I gave her one of my shirts to wear home,” he says.

Suddenly I find it hard to breathe. “Was Nadia drinking?” I told her not to. I forbid her. “She didn’t do anything stupid, did she?”

“Like what? Like go off with a random guy?” He shakes his head. “No, she didn’t do anything like that.”

I can feel the blood drain from my face. Is he talking about Nadia . . . or me?

Alex walks away and starts loading the decorations into the back of his SUV. I pick up as many of the tiki torches as I can carry and follow him. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I.

CHAPTER SEVEN

MARY

I
’M SITTING ON MY BED, STARING DOWN AT AN OLD PHOTO
album that I found in the basement. I age as the pages turn. Posing in front of a blanket fort with a flashlight lit under my chin. At the apex of a swing from the tire hung on the backyard tree, my hair almost white from the sun. Me and my dad with big clumps of seaweed on top of our heads. Practicing clarinet for my parents and Aunt Bette in the dining room.

The book ends with me posing next to the lilac bush for my first day of seventh grade. I’m on my tiptoes, smelling the flowers.

It’s no wonder Reeve didn’t recognize me this morning. There’s only one way to put it—I was fat.

*   *   *

Everyone was talking about the new scholarship student.
The Belle Harbor Montessori on the mainland was teeny tiny. There were just twenty kids in our seventh-grade class, and I was the only one from Jar Island. During lunch a few of the boys were debating how smart you needed to be to get a scholarship, when Reeve walked in.

Everyone watched as he moved through the food line. My friend Anne leaned over and said, “He’s pretty cute, don’t you think?”

“He’s not bad,” I whispered back.

Reeve was easily taller than every other boy in our class. But he wasn’t lanky; he had a bit of muscle to him. . . you could tell he probably played sports at his old school. We didn’t have sports at Montessori. We didn’t even have recess, unless you counted the foliage hikes we took through the woods.

Our teacher waved him over and showed him where our class was sitting.

“Hey,” he said, kind of bored-sounding. He plopped into an empty chair. “I’m Reeve.”

A couple of the boys mumbled “Hey” back, but mostly no one said anything. I think we all picked up on his apathetic attitude. He didn’t really want to be at our school. He probably had lots of friends back wherever he’d come from.

I felt bad for him. Reeve only picked at his sandwich, not saying anything. It must have been hard coming to a new school. This was the only school I’d ever known. I’d gone to Belle Harbor Montessori since I was in kindergarten.

When lunch was over, and everyone stood up, I saw Reeve looking around, unsure where to put his tray. I leaned over to grab it for him. I don’t know why. Just to be nice, I guess. But he snatched it away before I could get my hands on it and said really loudly, “Don’t you think you’ve had enough to eat?”

The boys who’d heard him busted up laughing. I think I might have even laughed too, just because I’d been so caught off guard. Anne made a face. Not one of sympathy either. Just a plain old frown. And not at Reeve. At me.

Reeve, he laughed the hardest of all. He was the first to leave the table, and everyone just followed him, even though he couldn’t have known where our classroom was. He left his tray on the table.

I ended up throwing away his lunch with my own.

*   *   *

Before Reeve, I was one of the smart girls, especially in math. I was the shy but friendly one. I was a little socially awkward, sure. The girl with the long blond hair from the island. But after Reeve, I was the fat girl.

I close the album. I’m not that girl anymore. I hadn’t been her for a long time. But being back on Jar Island, with Reeve, with my old pictures and stuffed animals and things—it makes it feel so fresh.

I hear Aunt Bette downstairs, quietly doing the dishes.

Our dinner tonight was awkward, to say the least. This morning I imagined telling Aunt Bette every detail about my epic first day—the look on Reeve’s face when he saw me again, him trying to talk to me, him trying to find out where I’ve been for the last four years. She’d let me have a glass of wine, and we’d toast to the start of a great new year.

Since none of that happened, there was nothing to tell Aunt Bette. Needless to say, I didn’t feel hungry. It would have been rude to get up from the table, though, so I just sat there quietly while she twirled spaghetti on her fork and read some art journal.

I feel empty inside. Hollow. I just really need to talk to my mom and dad, hear their voices. They’ll probably try to convince me to come back home, and I might let them.

The next five minutes I spend pacing around my room with my cell phone over my head, trying to get enough bars to call them. I can’t get a signal. When we lived here before, cell service was practically nonexistent on Jar Island. There were a few random spots where you could get reception, like near the lighthouses, or sometimes in the Lutheran church parking lot, but for the most part Jar Island was a cell-phone-free zone. I guess that hasn’t changed.

There’s a telephone downstairs in the kitchen, but I’d rather not talk to my parents in front of Aunt Bette. I might start crying.

I hear Aunt Bette climb the stairs. I peek out my door and watch her walk to her room.

I guess I could try talking to her. I used to confide in her about all kinds of things. Whenever she’d visit in the summer, we’d walk down the hill and buy hot chocolates on Main Street. Even in August. She’d tell me about things I know my parents would freak over. The month she spent living in Paris with a married man, the series of paintings she did of herself nude. Aunt Bette has lived about a million and one lifetimes. She could have good advice for me.

Aunt Bette is already in bed. Her eyes are closed. But I guess she hears me, because they suddenly open. “Mary?”

I step into the room and crouch by her bed. “Are you asleep?”

She shakes her head and blinks. “I don’t think so. Am I?”

Even though I’m on the verge of tears, I laugh. “Am I bothering you?”

“No! Please!” She sits up. “Are you okay?”

I take a deep breath and try to get a hold of myself. “It’s strange to be back.”

“Yes. Of . . . of course.”

“I don’t know if I belong, after everything that’s happened.”

In a low voice Aunt Bette says, “This is your home. Where else would you belong?”

“Nowhere, I guess.”

“I’ve missed you, Mary.” A faint smile spreads across her face. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” I lie. Then I go back to my room and crawl into bed.

It takes me forever to fall asleep.

CHAPTER EIGHT

LILLIA

M
Y MOM’S IN HER BEDROOM ON THE PHONE WITH OUR
dad, and Nadia and I are watching TV downstairs, sharing a pint of homemade dulce de leche ice cream from Scoops. At first, when I asked if she wanted some, she said no, even though it’s her favorite. I knew she was thinking about what Rennie said at cheerleading practice. I brought the carton over to the couch, and she watched me lick the ice cream off the top of the lid. “Just one bite,” she said, exactly like I knew she would. All the girls in our family have a sweet tooth.

The dryer dings, and I pause the show we’re watching. I go over to the laundry room and stuff the clean clothes into a basket and bring the basket back into the living room. I used extra dryer sheets, and the clothes smell so snuggly. I put my face up to a T-shirt and inhale the warmth. I start folding a stack of T-shirts, and then I see Nadia’s tank top. I put stain remover where there was strawberry daiquiri, and it came out. I didn’t even bother with my cashmere sweater. I just put it in the dry cleaning bag and hoped for the best.

“Here’s your shirt back,” I say, handing it over.

Nadia’s face goes white. “Um, thanks.”

“I got that stain out.” I watch her closely. “Alex said someone bumped into you and spilled their drink.”

“Yeah.” Nadia takes a big bite of ice cream, avoiding my eyes.

“Where’s Alex’s shirt? I tried to find it in your room so I could wash it and give it back to him.”

She hesitates and then says, “It’s at Janelle’s. Remember I was going to sleep over there after the party? I told her to bring it to school today, but she forgot.”

My phone buzzes. It’s Ashlin. Everyone’s meeting over at Bow Tie tonight after Rennie gets off work.

“Who’s that?” Nadia asks. “Are you going out?”

I set my phone down, because this is serious. “Nadia, you tell me right now. Did you drink at Alex’s, even though I told you not to?”

“No!” She has two bright splotches on her cheeks.

“Then promise me. Promise on our sister bond.”

Nadia won’t look at me. “Lillia, cut it out. I already told you.”

My heart breaks right in half. She’s won’t promise because she’s lying. She’s lying to my face like it’s nothing. I’ve never lied to Nadia. Not ever, not once. I’d never do that to her. “I’m giving you one more chance. You tell me the truth right this minute, Nadia, or else I’m telling Mommy everything.”

Nadia’s eyes go big and scared. “Okay! Wait! I had, like, maybe a half cup of strawberry daiquiri. I didn’t ask for it. One of my friends gave it to me. I thought it was a virgin one. I just took a couple tiny sips, so I wouldn’t waste it. It’s not a big deal. You drank at parties when you were a freshman!”

Okay. Yes, I did, but it was the
end
of freshman year. When Rennie and I started going to parties, she’d drink beer, drink whatever was around. The guys called her Half Pint, because she was so little, but she could hold her own. Unlike me, I was so scared of getting in trouble, I’d sip from the same cup of beer all night long. “Quit trying to justify it! You lied to me. You straight up lied to my face, Nadia.” I fall back against the couch. I can’t believe she lied to me. “You’re on lockdown now. No parties, no hanging out with my friends, because you obviously can’t handle yourself. And if I find out that you drank more than you’re telling me, you’re done.”

“I’m really, really sorry.”

It’s not even about the drinking. “I didn’t think you would ever lie to me.”

A fat tear rolls down her cheek. “I won’t drink ever again, Lilli! You have to believe me.”

“How can I believe anything you say to me now?” I stand up. I feel like I’m going to start crying too. I walk out of the living room and go up to my room.

I never should have left her at that party. This is my fault just as much as it is Nadia’s. Maybe more. I’m her big sister. It’s my job to look out for her, to keep her safe.

*   *   *

When we got to the other party, there were a ton of people there.
No one we recognized, mainly out-of-towners. College kids. There wasn’t a theme or anything. Just a bunch of people hanging out, listening to music.

The guys came and found us right away. It was flattering, the way they’d been waiting for us to show up, how they paid us so much attention. At first I kept looking at my phone to check on the time. I didn’t want to stay any longer than the hour Rennie had promised it would be.

They asked what we wanted to drink, and Rennie told them to make us vodka and cranberry with a spoon full of sugar, because she knew I could only drink if it was supersweet. Every time our cups were empty, the guys were right there to fill them up again. We were having fun, the four of us, and I stopped checking the time, stopped thinking about the other party we’d left to come here. I remember laughing over every little thing my guy, the tall one, said, even though nothing he said was that funny. I guess that’s how drunk I was.