How It Ends (16 page)

I startled and looked at Annie.
She told Courtney about my wall of quotes?

The decorating committee arrived, and Courtney spread them out at a nearby table, firing instructions at them while tapping away on her phone, recruiting an unsuspecting minion into completing her math homework, and flirting with what seemed to be the entire first string of the basketball team.

I had to admit, Courtney got stuff
done.
She ran that cafeteria table like it was the flight deck of the starship
Enterprise
.

“Earth to Jessie,” Annie said, waving a hand in front of my face.

“Sorry. I was caught up in the madness.”

She laughed, looking at Courtney in a way that made my insides clench. “It's incredible, isn't it?”

“She's a real force of nature,” I said wryly.

If Annie detected sarcasm, she chose to ignore it. “Like a tornado. Or a hurricane.”

“In terms of destructive potential, yes,” I said, bracing myself. This was where Annie would disagree and extol Courtney's many virtues.

Except she stayed quiet. I tore my eyes away from the Courtney show to find Annie sneaking glances at Scott's table. I stabbed at my pasta salad and sank down into my chair. I wish I could say that Scott's involvement with Annie has diminished my feelings for him, but I'd be lying.

I snuck a glance at my old table from last year and thought about how little things have actually changed. I used to hover around the outskirts of the geeks, pretending to be interested in the differences between the Marvel and DC universes, and now I hover around the popular girls, pretending to care about the theme for the Winter Formal.

I turned my attention back to Annie and watched as she and Scott pretended to be oblivious to each other. And thus began the dance. It plays out the same way every day. Scott can't come over to our table for at least five minutes without opening himself up to the taunts of his fellow Neanderthals, so he pretends to be completely disinterested in our table until then. If it takes too long, Annie texts him under the table, pretending not to care that he hasn't come to talk to her yet. He gets the message, rolls his eyes, and then uses it as an excuse to come talk.

Who says my new lifestyle is without its entertainments?

Thank God for Ativan.

It's been six days, fifteen hours, and forty-five minutes since I last saw Scott. I slump down on the couch and check my phone for the millionth time this morning. I texted him a
Merry Christmas
as soon as I woke up, but he has yet to respond.

“Put your phones away, girls,” Madge says, sweeping into the room wearing a Santa hat. “It's Christmas!”

“It's seven o'clock in the morning,” Sophie grumbles, stashing her phone in the pocket of her robe. “Why are we up so early?”

“Because Santa was here,” Madge trills, handing my dad a cup of coffee and taking her seat beside the tree. “Time for presents.”

I slide my phone under my leg, knowing I'll feel it vibrate if Scott texts. He's in Florida for the holidays, visiting family friends. His mom made a point of telling me all about how perfect their sixteen-year-old daughter is before they left. I'm pretty sure she's planned their wedding already.

“This one's for you, Annie,” Madge says, dropping a heavy box onto my lap. “At least
try
to look happy.”

I stretch my mouth into the widest smile I can manage, and Madge shakes her head at me before handing Sophie a tiny square box wrapped in gold paper. I steel myself for disappointment. Dad lets Madge do all the shopping, so Christmas morning is basically me pretending to like the junk she picks out for me while overlooking the fact that Sophie's gifts are about a million times nicer.

Sure enough, Sophie unwraps a delicate pair of earrings that are so
her,
while I unwrap a fully stocked makeup kit that is so
not
me.

“Do you like it?” Madge asks. “You looked so pretty the night Sophie did your makeup, so I thought you'd like some of your own. To replace all that black eyeliner.”

I'm searching for the words to respond when my phone vibrates under my leg, bringing a smile to my face and saving the day. “It's great,” I say with real feeling.

Madge blinks in shock, and my dad pats her affectionately on the knee.

I jump up, concealing my phone against my leg. “I just have to use the bathroom,” I say. “Be right back.”

I rush into the bathroom and swipe my thumb across the phone screen.
1 new picture/video message.
My knees go weak.

Merry Christmas! Celebrating with breakfast on the beach.
I scroll down to find a photo someone has taken of him at the breakfast table. That someone undoubtedly being his mother, because she's taken great care to include the gorgeous brunette sitting next to him. I zoom in to get a better look. Who wears a bikini to the breakfast table? And why is she sitting so close to him?

I swallow my panic and text back,
Miss you xox,
even though what I want to write is
Who's the chick?

The rest of the gift opening is a blur. I can't get the picture out of my head, and all I want to do is go back to bed and hide under the covers, with loud music blaring.

As soon as Madge finishes opening her last gift from my dad, I jump up to head for my room.

“Annie,” she calls after me. “You need to help clean up here.”

I feel like my head's about to explode, but I head back into the room, nearly crashing into my dad in the doorway. “Actually, everyone,” he announces, “there's one more gift. Go sit down.”

Dad comes back with a huge box wrapped in bright red paper, and Madge starts bouncing in her chair and clapping her hands like a little kid. I'm about to barf from the corniness of it all when Dad says, “This one's for you, Annie.”

“What a surprise,” Madge says, no longer bouncing. “I didn't know you bought something extra for Annie.”

The box is enormous. It comes up to my waist and is just as wide. I unwrap it to find . . . another wrapped box. Inside that one is another, smaller box. This keeps going for six boxes, and my dad and I are laughing our heads off by the time I get to the last one. But the laughter dies on my lips when I open it. Inside is a velvet box containing my mother's diamond necklace.

“Is it . . . it's Mom's, right?” I don't really have to ask, though. This necklace is engraved in my memory. Mom had it from before I was even born, and she never, ever took it off. My father gave it to her on their wedding day, and it was her most prized possession. I thought it was lost when she died.

My dad turns to Madge. “Would you ladies mind giving us a moment alone?”

Her eyes are shooting daggers at him, and Sophie seems reluctant to leave, but they get up and give us our space.

“When the officer came that night, he asked me to identify your mother's body. I was so scared to go. I dropped you off at your grandmother's house, do you remember?”

I nod my head. I miss Grandma so much. She died a year after my mother.

“After I said my goodbyes to your mom, a nurse handed me a plastic bag with your mother's purse in it and a few things recovered from the accident site. One of the things was that necklace. The chain was broken, but the diamond was still there. I made a silent promise to your mother that when you were old enough to handle the responsibility of such a valuable necklace, I would pass it on to you.”

Dad takes the necklace out of its box and fastens it around my neck. The pendant is cold at first, but it quickly warms against my skin. I suddenly feel my mom all around me. “I'm so proud of you and the young lady you've become,” he tells me. “Your mother would be so proud too.”

I blink back tears and look at him—really look at him—for the first time in forever.

“Thanks, Dad,” I breathe, all thoughts of Scott and his mother and the brunette fading into the background. “This is the best Christmas ever.”

Back to school tomorrow. I just packed my bag, and the news is not good. I only have three pills left in my Ativan bottle.

I'm screwed. There's no way I can get my prescription renewed. Even if I went back begging Dr. Morgan for more, he wouldn't trust me with Ativan again. Not after I burned through seventeen pills in a month.

It started out so small. I only needed them for lunches with Courtney and Larissa. I wanted so badly to be relaxed and fun. I wanted so badly to be someone different than who I am.

And it worked. Sort of . . .

It didn't make me the life of the party, but it did quiet my brain enough that I could sit through lunch without my thoughts racing around, reminding me of how unworthy I am.

It's not like I took a pill every day. But on days that made me nervous, I'd sneak one to calm myself down. The day Scott begged me to help him and Annie study for an upcoming science test over lunch, for example, and the time I got matched up with Larissa for a presentation.

I've been braver and more outgoing this past month than ever before.

With a few tradeoffs.

I'd hoped the side effects would lessen with time, but each time I take the Ativan, I feel foggy and sluggish. No one has really commented on it, but it's reflected in my grades. It's not a huge dip, but it's enough to bother me. I'm not as mentally sharp on the medication as I am normally, and I'm so sleepy at night that I don't always finish my homework.

Three more pills.

I know what I'm
supposed
to do. I'm supposed to talk to my mom, get my antidepressant meds adjusted, and probably go back to counseling. But the thing is, I don't
want
to do all that. I know the Ativan wasn't supposed to be a treatment for anxiety. But it
worked
for me. I could function when I had those pills. I could get through the day without feeling horrible, and I could walk around feeling confident that I wouldn't suddenly lose it.

If I ask for help now, I'll have to go back to square one with my mom. She's just started relaxing around the whole anxiety issue.

The fact of it is that as well-meaning as they are, my mom and Dr. Morgan, and even my therapist Dr. Richards, don't really understand my anxiety. They've read about it, and they know all the facts, but they don't know what it's like to walk around feeling anxious. I feel
uncomfortable
nearly every minute of every day. There's a tightness in my chest and a buzzing in my head, and I feel so
keyed up,
with no relief possible. I get headaches from clenching my jaw, and when it's really bad, I can't even read because of the
noise
in my head. That's the best way I can describe it—noise. It's like my mind is spinning so out of control that I can't even make sense of it. It's just a jumble of chaotic thoughts clouding my brain.

That was the beauty of the Ativan. It stopped. Temporarily, sure, but it stopped.

Now I have only three more pills left. Three more days of comfort, and then I have to go back to feeling awful.

It's not fair.

And then, to add to my stress, I'm completely nervous about seeing Annie again tomorrow. I feel like someone has flipped a switch and made her into another person.

Annie tells me over and over that I'm still her best friend, but I don't know why she's pretending. I logged on to Facebook earlier and I'm still reeling from what I saw there. Annie's profile picture is now a shot of her and Courtney, obviously taken at a party I wasn't invited to. They're both making silly faces at the camera and laughing. They look so . . . happy.

She finally updated her relationship status to
In a relationship with Scott Hutchins,
which is basically like a knife stabbing me in the chest, and there's a new album titled
Annie Loves Scott
in her photos section that I tried hard not to open. I failed. Miserably. And now I've got a whole series of cutesy cuddling pictures burned into my brain. I feel like throwing up.

As if all that wasn't enough, there's a whole bunch of status updates that I don't understand. Cryptic things like
The red ones are better!
and
Hands off, Larissa!
that are followed by a string of
LOLs
and a bunch of confusing replies that make no sense to me. Evidence that she has a whole other life that I don't even know about.

Annie used to come over every day. We spent hours together in this room, doing homework, talking, and just hanging out together. I was more comfortable with her than with anyone else in my life. I was just myself, with no pretending or trying to be cooler than I am. It's like a slap in the face that it wasn't enough for her . . . that this other world is more compelling than the time we spent together. I know it's the holidays, but I've only seen her once over the break, and that was a rushed visit.

My stomach has been in knots all night, and I can't seem to calm down.

Three more pills.

Tell me again that there's nothing to worry about,
I type in the chat window. I'm on the computer in the living room, flipping back and forth between my English paper and Facebook, having a fight/not-fight with Scott while my dad sits six feet away.

You're being dumb. She's nobody,
he replies immediately.

I'm overreacting. I know that. Scott has been great ever since coming back from vacation. But he added Julia, the brunette from Florida, as a friend, and she's been tagging him in a bunch of pictures taken over the holidays. I'm a step away from booking a flight down south so I can slap her silly.

Ok. I won't bring it up again,
I promise as a friend request notification pops up. I squint at the screen and read it again, convinced that I'm seeing things.
Sophie
sent it.

I look up and make eye contact with her across the room.
Huh.
I hover the mouse over the Accept button, considering.