How It Ends (9 page)

Madge is clearly not impressed. She slams my bedroom door behind her, ranting about irresponsible behavior. I know there's a massive grounding on the horizon, but I don't even care. I curl up under the covers, my cheeks sore from smiling.

Hickville is definitely starting to get interesting.

Why didn't I go to that stupid party on Friday? Everything would be different if I hadn't been such a loser about it. I let fear win again.

I knew something big had happened when I didn't hear from Annie all weekend. I sent her message after message, and they all went unanswered. I was convinced that Courtney had gotten to her and turned her against me. I was sick with the thought of Annie ignoring me in the halls on Monday and laughing about me with my old friends.

Turns out that Annie got drunk at the party and her stepmom busted her. She was grounded all weekend with no phone and no screen time, which is why I didn't see her at all until last night, when she came by under the pretense of borrowing a textbook.

As soon as she walked into my room, I could tell she had news. She looked nervous and excited and
jumpy.
I should've seen it coming a mile away because the first thing she did was ask me for the millionth time if I liked Scott, telling me she needed to hear the absolute truth. Not having any idea of what she was about to say, I swore to her I didn't like him. And then she hit me with the news: they kissed, and she's pretty sure they're going out now.

My room started to spin around me, and I could barely focus my eyes. I had that feeling you get in your stomach when a roller coaster goes over the crest of a hill and then plummets toward the ground. I did my best to keep my face calm, worried that Annie would notice that I was in freefall. She just chattered on and on, though, oblivious to what was happening inside me. She was so
happy;
it made me sick.

I stayed up half the night with that feeling eating away at my insides. I kept trying to imagine the scene Annie had described—the two of them sitting on a couch kissing—and I couldn't do it. My mind refused to accept the idea of Annie and Scott together.

Just before I finally drifted off to sleep, around four a.m., I decided that things might not be as bad as they seemed. They were drunk; Annie had said that. Maybe it was just a drunken party thing. Maybe nothing would come of it.

My psychiatrist would call that a defense mechanism—my brain's attempt to soften the blow of difficult news by rationalizing it. After today, I just call it stupid.

Today.

I was running late this morning, so I had to send Annie on ahead and then bum a ride with my dad. By the time I raced through the front doors at school, the first bell had already rung, and I still had to get to the second floor to get my books from my locker.

Which is why I got stuck in a stairwell during the national anthem.

Which is why I saw it.

I was just inside the upper stairwell doors, peering out into the hall beyond, when I caught sight of Annie. I was smiling to myself, thinking we'd both be late together, when I saw an arm loop around her waist and someone lean in to kiss her on the neck. I swear my brain froze. I felt like I was in the middle of some awful nightmare. My brain was wailing
No, no, no,
but there it was. Scott—
my
Scott—was sneaking kisses with Annie each time the hallway monitor looked the other way.

My nose was practically pressed to the glass, so there was no mistaking what happened next. As the announcements ended, Scott gave her what looked to be the softest, tenderest kiss and then pulled back to look into her eyes. Since her back was to me, I had a front-row seat to the expression on his face. There was no explaining away the way he looked at her. I just stood there in the stairwell for the longest time. I didn't feel like going to class. I didn't feel like doing
anything.

I'd love to say that I'm the sort of friend who can put her feelings aside and be happy for Annie. But it turns out I'm not. I wish I could turn back time and be honest with her. If I'd told her about my feelings for Scott, would she have stayed away from him? If I'd gone to the party, would he have kissed me instead?

I didn't realize it until today, but sometime during the last month, my days started to revolve around thoughts of Scott. When my mind wanders, it wanders to him. When I fall asleep at night, I think about his smile, and when I wake up in the morning, I count the hours till I get to see him. I choose my clothes more carefully, do my hair, and even put on makeup thinking of him.

And now what?

What do I do with my feelings for him now that the hope is gone? What do I look forward to? And how am I supposed to watch Annie live out everything I ever hoped for?

Jessie's talking, but I'm not really listening. I keep craning my neck to catch a glimpse of Scott. He has math first period, down the next hallway, and if Jess would hurry up at her locker, we could swing past there and run into him accidentally on purpose.

I've been a hormonal mess all week, and I keep worrying that Scott is going to come to his senses and realize that he could do so much better than a head case like me. One minute I'll be smiling uncontrollably, thinking about Scott, and the next I'll be sobbing, thinking about the anniversary of my mom's death coming up.

“Let's go,” I say, turning to Jessie. She's fixing her hair in front of a little magnetic mirror stuck to her locker door. Wait . . .
what?

“Since when do you have a mirror in your locker?”

She jumps like I've caught her doing something wrong, and slams the door shut. “My mom gave it to me. It's no big deal.”

That's when I see the highlights in her hair. Seriously. Jessie. With highlights. This is the girl who started the year without even brushing her hair some mornings. And the closer I look at her, the more I see. She's wearing all new clothes from head to foot.

“Are those new jeans?”

“This is what happens when my mom notices I'm feeling down,” she says, striking a pose. “I was having a rough couple of days, so she took me shopping and gave me a little makeover to cheer me up.” She looks down at herself. “Do I look okay?”

A mixture of sadness and jealousy churns in my stomach. “So
that's
why you couldn't do anything yesterday? Why you didn't answer your phone when I called?” There's a tiny little part of my brain telling me to shut the hell up, but Jessie doesn't even notice how hysterical I'm getting.

“Yeah. I didn't mention it before, because I had no idea it was going to happen. Out of the blue, Mom just told me to get in the car for a surprise.” Jessie starts walking, not even noticing that I'm not following. I watch her go, trying to push away the rush of feelings turning my insides to fire. Then I turn and walk away.

I blink back tears as I push open the front doors of the school, half expecting a teacher to jump out and force me back to class. But no one notices me leave, which makes me feel even worse. I shiver and bundle my hands inside the arms of my thin sweater, thinking of my nice warm jacket back in my locker. I can't go back, though. I don't want to go back.

By the time I get to my front porch, I'm sobbing hysterically and shivering violently. I just want to get inside and curl up on my bed and forget this day ever existed. I reach for my pocket to get my key, and my stomach clenches so hard I think I might throw up. My fucking key is in my jacket pocket. Fuck fuck fuck fuck
fuck.
I throw my bag against the side of the house and slump down on the icy steps.

I'm going to have to go back to school. What else can I do? I'll freeze here on these steps, and no one will be home for hours. I bury my face in my hands, sick at the thought of trekking back to school in the freezing cold.

Just when I think things can't get any worse, I hear a car pull up to the curb. God, I hate the suburbs. In the city, you can have an emotional breakdown right on the street and people will step right over you, minding their own business. Here in the boonies, though, people love to get
involved.
I say a little prayer that whoever it is will just keep on moving, but the sound of a car door opening shatters that hope.
Goddamn it.
I'm about to say that I'm just waiting for someone when I hear Mrs. Avery's voice.

“Annie? Sweetheart, where is your coat? And why are you home from school?” Before I can string together enough thoughts to form a response, she's out of her car and racing toward me, concern etched on her face. “Are you sick?”

All the years of pretending to be okay evaporate in the face of her kindness.

“Are you locked out, hon? You can come home with me . . .”

I nod my head and pick up my bag, my whole body numb from the cold.

Mrs. Avery settles me in the car and then pauses before shutting the door. I look up at her, and she does the most unbelievable thing. She takes off her coat and wraps it around me before sprinting over to her door and jumping into the car.

“How you managed to get here all the way from school without freezing to death is beyond me.” Her shivering fingers crank the heat up to high, and I move to give her back her coat. “Don't even think about it,” she commands, swinging the car around to head back to her house.

Tears prickle in my eyes. Mrs. Avery has known me for only a few months and she's kinder to me than my own family.

She pulls up to a stop sign and sneaks a look at me, taking in my tearstained cheeks. “I have an idea,” she says. “What would you say to the two of us playing hooky from everything and heading to the coffee shop for a warm drink and some treats? I think you need some girl time.”

My throat constricts, and I'm suddenly weak with want. Most of the time I feel tough and independent, but today I
need
a mother to take care of me.

At the coffee shop, Mrs. Avery makes a big deal out of introducing me to the lady behind the counter, telling her that it's a special occasion. I order a hot chocolate and a brownie, and they put extra whipped cream in my drink.

We find a tiny little table tucked away at the back and sit down. As soon as it's just the two of us, though, I'm all awkward and nervous. I'm not sure what to say.

“Thank you for all this, Mrs. Avery,” I start. “My stepsister will be home later and I can be out of your hair.”

“No trouble at all. Something very upsetting must have happened to make you run out of school without a coat.”

“Just a bad day, I guess.”

“It must have been . . . you left less than an hour into the school day.”

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “I never even made it to first period.”

“That
is
a bad day. Want to talk about it?”

What can I say? That I'm jealous of her relationship with her daughter? That seeing Jessie happy makes me sad? What kind of friend would think that way? “I miss my mom.”

Mrs. Avery's face softens, and she takes my hands in hers. Something inside me cracks, and words start tumbling out of my mouth before I can stop them. “She died six years ago on Halloween. I miss her so much, and I feel like I'm the only one who even remembers her. My dad got remarried to this horrible woman with a perfect daughter, and it's like they want to start over with a brand-new family and I'm an ugly reminder of the past.”

Mrs. Avery is quiet for a few minutes, and I start to feel like a total idiot. This woman is so kind to me. She doesn't need me dumping all my problems on her.

“That sounds like a lonely way to live. Have you talked to your father about how you feel?”

I snort. “He knows I don't like Madge . . . that's my stepmother . . . but he doesn't get why. Every time I complain about her, he just figures I'm being difficult and that I won't give her a chance because she's not my mom. He's not really around enough to see how bad it is.”

“Does he travel?”

“A bit. But mostly he just works long hours. I feel like he doesn't want to be home anymore.”

“Sometimes when people are sad, they immerse themselves in other things. Maybe your dad works so much because he's trying to distract himself from missing your mom.”

“I doubt it. I feel like he forgets all about her. He
never
talks about her. And he got married so fast . . .”

“How long have he and . . . Madge . . . been married?”

“Her name is Madeleine, but I call her Madge because she hates it.” That makes Mrs. Avery laugh. “They met about four years after Mom died. Six months later, they got married in our backyard, and she and her daughter moved in. So it's been about a year and a half now.”

“That's all still pretty new. It takes a while to adjust to these things.”

“I don't want to adjust. I want my mom back. Or at least to feel like we're still remembering her.”

Mrs. Avery nods. “What do you remember about your mother?”

The question is a bright, shiny gift. “She was beautiful and smart and kind. She was an artist and always had paintbrushes sticking out of her pockets and shoved in her hair.” Tears overflow and run down my cheeks, but I don't want to stop talking. “She made me feel like I was the best thing that ever happened to her. She used to come up with all these little adventures we'd go on. Like, this one time she bought a map of the city and designed a scavenger hunt for us. We rode the subway all afternoon, checking items off her list, like getting a picture of a pigeon, picking up five pieces of litter, and finding a street performer who played the harmonica.”

“She sounds very special.”

“She was. Now I feel like someone has pressed the Pause button on my life. No one in my family even notices me anymore, let alone makes me feel important. I feel like the best part of my life died with my mom.”

Mrs. Avery crosses her arms on the table in front of her. Our drinks have gone cold. “Why don't I talk to your dad?” She holds up a finger when I start to protest. “Not to tell him what you've told me. That's just between us. But to see if he'd be okay with you spending some extra time with us. I'd be happy to do some of the things that you're missing a mother for—like shopping and talking about school and boys. And if you'd like to trust me with those things, you're welcome to join Jess and me. What do you think?”