Her and Me and You (8 page)

“No way.”

“
Actions
, Al.”

I rolled my eyes.

“God,” she said, and swung around so she was facing forward again. “You’re incorrigible.”

I laughed. “That’s a big word, Eves.”

“Yeah, and there’s more where that came from.” She slapped my arm, hard.

29.

Squash, apples, pecans, honey—Fred and I were back from
the store with bags of lumpy produce.

“Hello?!”

“Kitchen!” screamed Adina. “Bring me my things!” She was making a sweet squash casserole for dinner.

“Here.” We unloaded onto the floor, emptying our canvas totes. “Create!” yelled Fred, pounding the granite countertop with both fists. Adina grabbed a massive knife and gave us both once-overs.

“You’re wearing Fred’s sweater.”

“Oh.” I looked at Fred. “Yeah, it got cold.”

“Cute,” she said, jamming the knife tip into the head of the squash. “You two look like a couple.” I felt my face flush, then quietly gripped the edges of Fred’s cream wool cardigan. “Katonah, you’re blushing.”

“I’m hot.”

“
I thought you said you were cold.” She leaned into the knife and the squash broke in two.

“Hey,” Fred said to Adina. “You need our help or no?”

“Go play,” she said lightly, dragging a baking sheet out from under the stovetop. “You’ve done plenty already.” She curtsied and pulled a bottle of red from the wine rack.

By dinner, she was completely blitzed.

“Why don’t you sit down and eat something,” suggested Fred. He and I were eating on a checkerboard blanket in the den while Adina danced around gripping a tall glass of Bordeaux. I’d taken off Fred’s sweater.

“Adina.”

She put down her glass and did one perfect, pretty pirouette. “What?” Her skirt billowed. “What’s wrong? You don’t like my squash?”

“It’s terrific,” Fred said, extending a hand. “Come sit.”

She bounced forward, collapsing with a flourish.

“Here.” He piled some squash onto his fork. “Eat this,” he said, feeding his sister.

She chewed, sitting back. “Pretty good.”

“You’re a wiz in the kitchen.”

“
And
on the dance floor.”

“Here,” he said, fixing Adina a small plate.

“I can’t eat all that.” The squash serving was smaller than my fist.

“You can.”

She took the plate, inspecting. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

She took three or four small, measured bites.

Fred whispered, “The trick is”—he smelled like wood smoke and candied nuts—“she’ll eat if she’s liquored up.”

I took another spoonful and looked down at my thighs. I had, easily, twenty-five pounds on Adina.

“You good? You want more?”

I set down my plate. “No, I’m stuffed.”

He pushed into me. “You sure?”

Adina let out a heavy sigh. She patted her face with a paper towel, glancing up. “You two.”

“What?”

“God, look at you both.” She wagged a finger. “Do you have to be so obvious about it?” She sipped some wine, then set down her glass. “Look,” she said, batting her lashes at me. “You know what he wants to do to you?”

“Adina,” Fred snapped. His voice was hard and low.

“Do you?” She was on hands and knees now. “You want me to show you?”

I froze. Fred froze. No one moved but Adina, who was leaning forward now, her lips parting. She pressed her mouth to my mouth. Her tongue touched my teeth and I jumped back, rattled. “Hey.”

For a second, no one said anything. Some French lady sang on the stereo.

“Jesus,” Fred spat. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Adina laughed.

Fred picked me up by my elbow. “You okay?”

I felt zilch. Nothing but shiny numbness.

“You want me to take you home?”

“I—that’s fine.” I wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened.

Adina stayed on the ground, slumped over, giggling.

“Come on,” said Fred, picking my purse and coat off the ground and dragging me toward the door. “We’re leaving.”

The first few minutes in the car neither of us really said much. Fred shifted around a bit—a little left, a little right—then came out with this: “I’m sorry."

“For what?” I rolled my window down a crack. He had the heat cranked high. I was suffocating. “She’s drunk, it’s okay.”

“She just—” A bolt of paranoia struck. How had I gotten here? Who was this guy? “She can be funny sometimes.” The car stopped. “She tries to make people feel bad?” He said it like a question. Then: “Are you completely freaked out?” We were moving again. Toward Grams’s house, a few yards off.

“I don’t know. No?” I wasn’t sure. Adina’s kiss hadn’t felt
any different than Evie’s practice kisses: soft and inconsequential. But her highs and lows, her I’m-your-friend-wait-no-I’m-not shtick left me feeling way less stellar. “Thanks,” I added, undoing my seat belt. “For the lift.” We were home.

“Yeah. Thanks for being so cool about this.”

“That’s me,” I said, gripping the door handle. “Cool as a cuc.”

“A what?”

“Cucumber. It’s an expression.”

We watched each other for a bit. Fred had two small drops of something red—wine, maybe—splattered across the sleeve of his sweater. I had the shameful urge to touch my tongue to it.

“From, like, 1952?”

“Exactly.” I had no energy to muster a grin. “I’m so old school,” I said, and got out of the car.

30.

Morning was warm. High fifties and girls were in tank tops
and light cardigans. I walked to class with my parka tucked under one arm and a hot tea in my other hand. I had my eyes peeled for Fred. I hadn’t seen him or Adina since the night before and it was already third block.

“Dyke,” sneezed some douchy football guy from my French section. I looked around to see what poor soul he was gay-bashing that day, then noticed a pile of brunettes in field hockey skirts gazing in my direction. I checked over my shoulder and saw Libby and Charlotte huddled against their lockers, watching me. They were sharing a tube of Pringles.

“Hi,” I said to Charlotte, sidestepping through the crowd. “What’s with the look?”

“What look?”

“
Oh come on, you guys were staring.” I swung back around and noticed two guys from chem class giggling like toddlers. “Seriously?
What
is so goddamn funny?” Libby looked at the ground. Charlotte popped the top back on her chips. “Anyone?”

“No big deal.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh come on, it’s obviously not nothing.”

Charlotte licked her lips. “We heard.”

“What about?”

“You know. Last night.” She sniffed.

I felt dazed and disconnected. “What about last night?” What could they possibly know?

“You kissed Adina,” Charlotte said. “I thought you liked boys.”

I pulled back, startled. “I do.” They looked at me blankly. “I’m sorry, what exactly did you hear?”

They glanced at each other. “That you kissed Adina. That you, like, wanted to be with her, but she wasn’t into it.”

“Who did you hear that from?”

Libby snuck a thin lock of hair between her teeth and chewed.

“Adina.”

“She wouldn’t say that.”

“That’s exactly what she said.”

“
You heard that from her?”

“I mean, I overheard her telling Glen Kelly.”

My head got cold. “You heard wrong.”

“I didn’t.”

Why would she say that? Why twist what’s true?

“Alex?”

I turned on tiptoe.

“It doesn’t matter to us. Whether you like girls or not. We don’t care.”

“Gee, Charlotte, thanks.” I walked on.

I waited for Adina outside her last class. I waited and watched while a crowd of kids sped by, pushing toward their lockers and cars.

“Adina.” She was only a few feet away. I reached out and grabbed her arm. “Hey.”

“Oh.” She kept walking. “I’m rushing, what’s up?”

“Well—” I was jogging alongside. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“So ask.”

“Can you stop moving, please?” I tugged on her sleeve. “For like, two seconds?”

“I’m late.”

“For what?”

“Piano.”

“Adina.”

“
What
?” She stopped. Her lips were pursed. “Quickly, okay? I have to go.”

“Did you . . . ?” is how I started. I didn’t want to have to say it. “What are you telling people?”

“About?” She feigned oblivion. “Can’t this wait?”

“Not really.”

“So? Spit it out.”

What was she? Friend? Foe? “Did you tell people about that kiss?”

Real quick: “No.”

“You didn’t? Because people are saying you did.”

Without pause: “I didn’t say shit.” Her cheeks were pink. “Clearly
you
said something. Or Fred.”

“Why would
I
say something?”

“Who knows? Maybe you’ve got some creepy crush on me and this is your way of expressing it.”

I flinched. “Hey. I’m not a liar.”

“Oh, and you think I am?” She smiled, and started off.

“Adina,” I called, wringing my hands, ready to cry.

“I’m late.” She flicked her wrist—one cruel little wave. “Gotta go.”

31.

I lay on a towel in Grams’s backyard; grass below, sky up high
. I felt fine there. Crisp breeze. Late-day light. My own meditative retreat.

“You sleeping?”

Or not. It was Fred. I sat up. “You’re here?”

He kneeled down next to me. “Yeah, me.”

I made room on the towel. “Did you hear the news?”

“What news?”

“About me and Adina?”

He blinked.

“You didn’t hear?”

“What?”

“We kissed last night. You remember.
I
kissed her. I told her I liked girls and that I really wanted to be with her, but, you know, Adina, she’s straight, so I got shut down.”
I picked at a cuticle. “It’s all over school.”

“Oh.”

“
Oh?
That’s all?” He wouldn’t meet my eyes. He looked weak, which enraged me. “What’s wrong with you?” No response. I took a breath, then came out with this: “Why does she
hate
me so much?”

“It’s not—she doesn’t hate you.”

“Why would she lie? I don’t even care, you know? I don’t care if people think I’m something I’m not. I have two real friends here—or, okay,
one
friend, I guess.
You
.” I hooked my hands underneath my knees. “Or, I dunno, are you even my friend?”

“Hey.” He touched my shoulder. “Of course I am.”

“So?”

He took a tiny breath, “This is about me,” he said, and picked a few blades of new grass. “She doesn’t like people.”

“Yeah, you say that a lot.”

“She gets jealous.”

“Of what?”

“Other girls.” He dug his nail into the dirt, tracing a deep, jagged line.

“She’s your sister.”

“Yeah, I know.” He shook his head. “You think we’re weird.”

“I just—I don’t get it. She
controls
your life.”

“She doesn’t.”

“She
does
. She doesn’t let you have friends.”

He put his hand near my hand. “Yeah, well, you freak her out.”

“Yeah?
Why
?” I was livid. “I’m a mouse. I’m a field mouse and she’s a fucking piranha.”

He laughed.

“Don’t laugh.” I whacked his arm.

He caught my hand and held it. “I’m sorry,” he said. His smile fell. “I like you. She
knows
I like you.” He laced his fingers through my fingers.

“You like me?” I asked.

Then I kissed him.

I pressed my lips to his lips, moving as close to him as I could possibly get. I rubbed my fingers against his blazer lapel and pulled him closer by a belt loop with my free hand. He kissed back, touching my shoulders, my hair, opening his mouth and pushing his tongue against my tongue. Sliding his pointer finger lightly past my ear, curling it around and down the front of my neck and stopping at the dip in the V of my sweater.

“Alex.” He pulled back.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, breathless and a little dizzy.

“I’m sorry,” he said, getting up on one knee.

“For what?”

“I should go.”

“Wait, why?”

He was standing now. I was still on the ground.

“I’m really sorry. It’s late.”

“It’s four thirty.” My eyes burned.

“Tomorrow,” he said, backing away real quick. “I’ll see you then?”

What had I done? Where was he going? “I—okay.”

He waved limply, then he was gone. I wiped my wet cheeks with dirty fingertips.

32.

I went to Dad’s. I didn’t call ahead, I just showed up.
Quarter to nine, Thursday night. I wiggled my key in the back door lock, letting myself in. “Hello?”

He was on the couch, TV blaring, an arm draped around slutty Caroline. “Al?”

I dropped my bag and Chicken came running. She jumped, pawing my shoulders and chest.

“Al.”

Caroline leaped to her feet, adjusting the straps on her tank top. She was braless. “Alex.”

I felt nauseated. Sick seeing them together, so cozy. “It’s me,” I said, hovering by the door with the dog. “I should’ve called, sorry.”

“What’re you doing here?” Dad asked, muting the TV and getting up. “You’ve got school tomorrow, yeah?”
He walked toward the back entryway where I stood.

“Yeah, I just—needed to get away for a bit.”

He leaned in for a kiss and I stepped sideways, pushing past him toward the den. “What’s all this?” Stacks of brown boxes with liquor logos lined the walls along the hall. “You going somewhere?”

Caroline stood nervously by the coat rack covering her boobs with her forearms. “We weren’t expecting you.”

“We?”
I said, beelining for a stack and peeling back a box lid. “Is this my leftover stuff? Why are you moving it?”

“It’s not yours, babe.”

I spun on both heels, thrown. “Well whose is it?” Dad slipped an arm around Caroline’s waist. “Oh.” My throat knotted. “Oh, it’s yours?” My voice broke. “What, you’re, like, living here now?”