How It Ends (10 page)

I'm worried that Dad won't react well to Mrs. Avery telling him I miss my mom, but what the hell, it's the truth. “Okay,” I say finally.

Jess has no idea how lucky she is. I wish I could trade places with her for just one day. Her mother is fucking unreal.

This week was a complete disaster, and it's left me feeling like the slightest thing might break me.

I skipped science on Monday after seeing Annie and Scott kiss. I just couldn't face sitting next to him, knowing there was no hope. I'd skip the whole rest of the semester if I could, but my geeky heart hurt from missing class, and I was paranoid that the school would call home. So I gathered my courage and walked into class on Tuesday with as much dignity as I could muster.

I was prepared for Scott to be awkward with me. Or maybe even a little distant. I wasn't prepared for him to act as if nothing had changed.

“Jess!” He greeted me with a smile that made his eyes sparkle. “Thank God you're back. There's a test next Monday. Can we study later this week?”

I will fully confess that I forgot all about Annie in that moment. One look in those deep brown eyes and I had to fight the impulse to crawl into his lap.

“Sure!” I practically yelped, feeling the stirrings of possibility.

“Great. I already asked Annie, and she can make it too,” he said, turning to face Mr. Donaldson as though he hadn't just ripped my heart out and stomped on it.

On Wednesday, he called me a “good friend” before asking me nine questions about Annie within the first twenty minutes of class.
What's her favorite movie? What kind of music does she listen to? Does she ever talk about me?

On Thursday, Annie went home sick, and Scott put his arm around me and said he loved me before asking what kind of flowers he should send her. Okay, so his exact words were something along the lines of
You're the best, Jess! I love how smart you are,
but I got fixated on the
love
word for so long that I didn't hear a word Mr. Donaldson said all period.

And then Friday. Friday we ate lunch together, like the messed-up little love triangle we are, and then hit the library to study. Or, rather, I hit the library to study, while Scott and Annie snuck flirty little looks at each other and found about a million reasons to touch. I wanted to stab myself in the eye with my pencil.

I blame the tension from having to deal with them all week for what happened tonight.

Annie and I were playing Would You Rather while we settled in to sleep in my room.

“Would you rather kiss Mr. Donaldson or Miss Donaghue?” Annie asked, laughing.

“Easy. Donaghue.” I dodged the pillow she threw at me.

My turn. “Would you rather wear the exact same clothes to school all week or make out with Andrew Larson?” Andrew Larson has a hideous case of what Annie calls summer teeth—summ'er here, summ'er there.

“Ugh!” Annie groaned. “Good one. Would I have to wear the same underwear too?”

“Yep.”

“How long would we have to make out?”

“Twenty minutes. With tongue.”

“Same clothes all week. No question.”

“Gross!” I teased. She laughed softly and then yawned. I felt so deliciously happy. It was a perfect moment in time plucked out of a hectic and unsettling week. I should have just luxuriated in that moment and fallen asleep content. But I am me, and it seems that I am incapable of just enjoying life.

“One more,” I said, my brain screaming at me to shut up. “Would you rather be best friends with me or with Courtney?”

I don't know where that came from. I'd intended to say Scott's name, but Courtney came out instead.

“Jess,” Annie groaned. “Don't get all weird about Courtney again.”

“Again? When have I been weird about Courtney?”

“Oh. Hmmm . . . let me see . . . how about
every day?
”

She rolled over so she was facing away from me, and I lay back on my pillow, stewing.
Let it go. Let it go. Let it go.
I took a few deep breaths and tried the relaxation exercises my therapist showed me years ago. All to no avail. I could feel the sweat beading around my hairline. I dug my fingernails into my palms and tried to hold back the compulsion to continue the conversation. All the words I knew I shouldn't say were tearing through my brain, howling for escape. It was useless trying to fight it. I knew I'd be up all night if we didn't talk right then.

“Annie? . . . Annie?”

“Mmmhmmm . . .” Her voice was drowsy.

“Why'd you choose me?”

“For wha—” She was on the verge of sleep, and part of me knew I should leave her alone. But a bigger part needed to know the answer to that question.

“To be friends with . . . on the first day of school . . .” I cringed when I heard the words come out of my mouth, and I half hoped that she was too asleep to have heard me.

Annie sat up on the bed and crossed her legs, pushing her hair off her face. “What do you mean, I chose you? You're the one who talked to me first.”

She was wrong, though. I remember that day clearly. “No,” I told her. “You talked to me first. You asked if I was in your English class.”

“You're crazy, Jess. I thought you looked really nice and that you'd make a good friend, but it was you who asked about English class.”

I started to get frustrated. Annie should know me better than that. Admittedly, I've never told her about my anxiety, but she's supposed to be my best friend. She should
understand
me. She should know that there's no way I'd ever be able to initiate that kind of conversation.

“Whatever. Why me?”

“Why you—what? Why did I think you looked nice?”

“I guess so . . .”

She narrowed her eyes. “We've talked about this before. I liked how genuine you were.”

“But you could have been friends with anyone. With someone more popular. Why are you hanging out with me?”

“I thought we were friends . . .”

“Yeah, but—”

Annie flicked on the light and looked at me like I was crazy. “What the fuck, Jess. Do you want to be my friend or not?”

I shrank back from her anger. Why was she getting so upset? I was paying her a compliment and telling her how popular she could be. “Of course I want to be your friend. You're my very best friend ever.”

“Then why are you pushing me away?”

“I'm n-not!” I dug my nails into my palms, but I couldn't stop the sob from rising up. I felt like such a baby and wished I'd just kept my mouth shut.

Annie looked shocked. “Are you crying? What's the matter with you?”

I don't know.
“I just . . .”

She sighed like a reluctant child being forced to make nice. “Jessie. You're my best friend. I don't know why. It doesn't matter why. Why do you have to overthink everything?”

“You're right.” I nodded my head and fought to keep my voice casual. “I'm just tired, I think. You're my best friend too.”

She smiled at me and reached over to turn out the light. “Go to sleep, you big loser.” Her tone was teasing, but the words stung.

The thing is, I know I'm a loser. That's kind of the whole point. I've let Annie into my world little by little since the first day of school, and I've gotten comfortable showing her the real me. The
me
I normally keep hidden. I have this horrible feeling that she's going to get tired of me soon. Tired of all the
stuff
that happens in my head and the limited confines of my room.

I know I'm spiraling right now. I know my therapist would tell me that I'm
disaster planning
and
perseverating.
But I can't stop. Annie was my insurance policy against the loneliness and the worrying. She made me feel
normal.
What'll I do if I lose her now?

“Are you sure you're okay?” Jessie asks for the millionth time.

I lie back on my pillow, pressing my cell phone against my ear and silently screaming at her to just leave it alone.

“I'm fine, Jess. Really. I appreciate the call, but I just want to be alone tonight.”

“Okay. If you change your mind, I'm home. You can always come over.”

“You're a good friend,” I tell her before ending the call.

And she is. A good friend, that is. The only one of my friends who remembered about today.

It's the sixth anniversary of my mom's accident.

I check my messages again and sigh. Not one of my old friends from the Nonconformists remembered. No texts, Facebook messages, emails, or missed calls. That cuts me so deep I can barely breathe. Some of those girls
knew
my mom. I can't believe they forgot.

I fucking hate Halloween.

Tonight Madge and Sophie are dressed in lame costumes, getting ready to hand out candy together. My dad is hiding in his office, pretending to work. And I'm here in my room, huddled under the covers.

I can hear the shouts and laughter of kids all up and down the street, and it's like fingernails on a chalkboard. Even though I know it's irrational, it offends me that people can celebrate on the night my mom died.

My phone rings again and I check the screen. Scott. I swallow hard and shove the phone under my pillow. He and Larissa have been calling all night, trying to convince me to go over to Jon's with them. He's having a “party.” A party only six people are invited to. Which basically means his parents are out of town and he's inviting people to come drink and hook up in his basement.

Don't get me wrong . . . I love making out with Scott. But not tonight. Not with my mom watching over me.

The ringing stops and seconds later, my phone dings with an incoming text. I squeeze my eyes shut in frustration.
Fucking take the hint.
I haven't told any of them about my mom, so it's not like they're being total assholes, but
come on.
I told them I couldn't go out tonight. Just leave it alone.

My phone dings again, and I pull the covers up over my head.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

Seriously?
I whip the covers back and yank the phone out from under my pillow. I'll just turn it off. None of my old friends are going to call anyway.

Ding.

I wipe away tears of frustration and try to focus on the screen.

Five text messages . . . now six. All from Courtney:

Look outside.

I brought you a treat!

I hate Halloween too.

Pick up the phone!

Jon's party is lame-ass.

Scott & Liss are idiots. Come chill with me.

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. Courtney. I creep over to the window and peer outside. She's leaning against a tree, holding up a six-pack of Heineken and a duffle bag full of God knows what.

I inch open the window. “You're crazy,” I whisper-yell. “How am I going to get down there?”

She pulls out her phone and sends another text.

You could use the front door . . . but that's so boring. Sneak out that window, you rebel.

I look back at my comfortable bed and reconsider my plan to lie around all night feeling sorry for myself.

Screw that.

I stuff a bunch of clothes under my covers so it looks like I'm asleep and then turn out my lights. I grab a thick sweater and hoist a leg over the windowsill. It's a short jump into the tree next to my house, so I gather my courage and leap, earning a whoop of surprise from Courtney.

“You're badass!” she yelps, maneuvering under the tree to help me slide down. “I thought you'd just shimmy down the drainpipe.”

I turn around and look where she's pointing. “Huh. I've never snuck out before,” I admit with a smile.

“I'm honored to be your first time,” she deadpans, handing me a beer and hoisting her bag over her shoulder. “Follow me.”

“Dare I ask where we're going?”

“It's a surprise.”

I follow Courtney out to the street, pulling the sleeve of my sweater down over my beer to conceal it. Courtney takes no such precautions. I watch with wonder as she struts right through the groups of parents and trick-or-treaters, drinking openly from her can of beer.

“You know that's a three-hundred-dollar ticket,” I say, gesturing at her open drink.

“Don't be such a goody-goody,” Courtney teases. “It's part of my Halloween costume. I'm being a rebellious teenager, doncha know?”

I laugh and feel my shoulders relaxing. Courtney is like no one I've ever met before. She does what she wants, when she wants, with no explaining herself or apologizing.

“You've got to be kidding me,” I say when it becomes obvious where we're headed. “You didn't get enough of this place all day?”

“This is different. You're gonna love this,” she says, skirting around the back of our school to where a fire escape leads up to the roof.