How to Say I Love You Out Loud (17 page)

I ignore her final question, which is much harder to answer. “No one else knew either, Erin.”

She tries to give off a careless shrug, but it comes off jerky and agitated. “So I’m no different from anyone else, then. Guess I’m just one more person who didn’t know.
Guess I shouldn’t feel bad then.”

“You really shouldn’t,” I insist. “It wasn’t personal. It’s about my family, not anybody else.”

Erin stares out the window, away from me, but her words still lash like a whip. “Well, I’m sorry, Jordyn, but it feels pretty damn personal. I get why you didn’t tell Leighton,
or random people. I get why you didn’t stand up on the first day of school and broadcast that Phillip was your brother. I know how things work around here, and I don’t blame you for
that.”

She whirls around to face me, and just when I think I can’t possibly feel any worse today, I notice the glassy coat of tears in her eyes. “But this is something you could’ve
told me, something you
should
have told me. You either have no trust in me whatsoever, or else you put absolutely no value in our friendship.”

“You don’t know how much I just wanted normalcy,” I whisper desperately. “You don’t know how much I wish we could’ve hung out at my house, how much I wish it
was easier for me to tell someone.” I stare sadly at the plaid material of my kilt, and my throat tightens. “I just really didn’t want people to see me differently. When I was
little—”

“That’s stupid.” She spits the words out, interrupting me, shaking her head like I’m entirely clueless. “Phillip being your brother wouldn’t have made me see
you any differently. But I sure see you differently now.”

She retrieves her iPod from her pocket and jams pink earbuds into her ears, succinctly ending our conversation.

Beep beepbeepbeepbeep! Beep beepbeepbeepbeep!

The next morning, my alarm clock persists in its annoying attempts to rouse me. I roll over, slamming my palm down on the snooze button for the third time.

I roll back onto my side, pull my covers up to my chin, and stare mournfully out the window. I’d fake sick, if it wouldn’t just delay the inevitable. The big, convoluted mess of ick
would just be waiting for me at school tomorrow.

My mind is twisted with worry and my stomach is in knots because I have too many problems to even begin to separate and prioritize.

My best friend isn’t speaking to me. My best friend might even laugh at the term, as she seems to consider our relationship a complete sham now.

The intimidating queen of the senior class called me out on keeping Phillip a secret, and instinct tells me she’s aware there is something just below the surface going on between me and
her boyfriend.

The knots in my stomach relax, just for a second, to release a wave of sadness.

Her boyfriend. I mean, he’s
still
her boyfriend, regardless of what he confessed at the park. I have no idea where he fits in all this, whose side he’ll ultimately end up
on. Considering the way I fled the scene, what reason does he have to end up on mine?

And I’m officially “Phillip’s sister” again. The news is out, and there’s no hope of containment. I’m no longer just me. Going forward, at school, I will
always be viewed in relation to him and his behavior, and all anyone seems to know about Phillip is sneaker-throwing and stripping. Fabulous.

The sixty-day timeline to find a new placement expires in weeks and my mom sounded optimistic about his acceptance at one or both of the other schools. But what’s done is done, and
I’m pretty sure I’ll always be associated with some element of weirdness now. I don’t really see any way to undo that.

At the rate I’m going, I can pretty much count on Phillip having some kind of episode today, just to
really
top things off.

And somehow, I’m supposed to focus on an A.P. History essay test smack-dab in the middle of all this. I didn’t get much studying done last night.

I have some pretty shitty luck
, I think as I shove my covers back and stomp toward the shower.

I make it to the main lobby at the last possible minute. I stalled as much as I could, taking the time to methodically straighten my hair, even though the day is already damp and rain is
forecasted. I took forever getting dressed, finally deciding on a plain black shirt and gray skinny jeans. Best to aim for nondescript, because the last thing I feel like doing today is attracting
any more attention. Plus, the colors mirror my mood.

I remember guidance lessons from middle school, when the counselors tried to stress to all of us girls how it was more important to have one
good
friend than a whole lot of fickle
friends, and as I walk through the double doors, these words ring very true. If I could at least count on Erin—to sit next to me, to weather the stares at my side—things would seem much
easier. More than ever, I regret how I treated our friendship, how I tried to keep it tucked into a separate little compartment of my life and never gave it the room or opportunity to actually
blossom and grow.

Erin was right: She always tried to be a good friend to me. Maybe telling her about Phillip wouldn’t have changed that. I never gave her the chance, and regardless of how many times she
offered to be there for me in the past, today it’s too late to ask that of her.

So I walk into the lobby alone. I do my best to keep my chin up and my expression relaxed. I have no idea what people might be saying about me or my family today, but I tell myself that
ultimately, the day will pass. Everyone will eventually move on to other things. Who knows where I’ll end up, but for now, I just have to get through the day.

I walk down the steps, heading toward the group of junior girls. No one even glances up. Everyone is huddled in small groups, heads together, whispering. My automatic assumption is that the
whispering is about me again, but as the bell rings and the wave of students moves toward homeroom, the fragmented comments I pick up on don’t seem to fit.

“Last night . . . over the phone . . .”

“Not really . . . I heard she doesn’t want to talk about it . . .”

“No . . . pretty sure . . . said he already changed his Facebook status . . .”

What on earth are they talking about? What news has trumped the revealing of Phillip’s family ties?

I don’t get any answers during the morning. Then I head to history class and have other things to worry about, namely, the test I’m unprepared for and the uncertainty of how Alex
will treat me.

But he doesn’t really treat me any way at all. He rushes in as the bell sounds and won’t make eye contact. His eyes are dark and stormy, and his mouth is set in a scowl. An awful
feeling enters my stomach as he slams his book bag onto the desk and collapses into the seat behind me without even saying hello.

Then our test packets are handed out and the room is silent for the remainder of the period. I don’t have any further opportunity to investigate his mood.

My concentration is shot.

His behavior answers my question about whose side he’s ended up on.

I attempt to focus, wishing I could talk to him, but I never get the chance. I have to stay ten minutes into the lunch period to finish my test, and he’s out the door the moment the bell
rings.

I really don’t feel like walking into the cafeteria, certainly not this late, after everyone else is already there. But internally repeating my mantra about only delaying the inevitable by
avoiding it, I tighten my grip on my paper-bag lunch, and stride purposefully toward our table. Erin is noticeably absent, but my seat beside Tanu is still open.

I feel a smidgen of relief as I sit down and she offers me a quick smile. She seems rather oblivious, which is strange. Again I find myself wondering if the news about Phillip being my brother
has truly been overshadowed by something bigger.

I unwrap my sandwich. “Where’s Erin?” I ask cautiously.

“She’s doing a test review with some people from her French class. I dunno. Weird.”

Tanu is distracted and I can tell she’s leaning to her right, keeping one ear toward the middle of the table. The girls from my grade are still whispering together instead of having a
normal lunchtime conversation. They have their backs turned to the guys, who are carrying on as normal. With the exception of Alex, that is, who glowers down at his meatball sandwich instead of
eating it. Sometimes he turns his angry stare toward the gaggle of whispering girls, shaking his head before dropping his gaze again.

That’s it. I have to ask the question out loud.

“What the heck is going on around here today?”

Tanu finally gives me her full attention, and her eyes widen in surprise. They hold a trace of excitement, because Tanu loves sharing gossip. “Oh my God, I assumed he told you. That you
would know, of all people.”

“Know what?”

She glances toward the end of the table, then twists around in her seat to whisper into my ear. “So people are saying that Alex broke up with Leighton.”

It’s just about the last thing I expect to hear and I’m too surprised to react, to feel much of anything about this news. It all comes together—the murmurings about changes in
Facebook status . . . Alex’s mood in class . . . maybe that wasn’t about me, after all.

Tanu awaits a reaction.

“Seriously?”

She nods, adamant. “Yeah. No one’s really confirmed it, because I don’t think Leighton’s talking about it, but you know, stuff gets out. I think they had some big fight
last night.”

“About what?”

Tanu shrugs, and digs her fork back into her Rubbermaid container. “Don’t know. Trying to find out.” She returns to leaning toward the middle of the table, only pretending to
eat her lunch as she tries to get the rest of the story.

I struggle to eat, too. Between my late arrival and the unexpected news, I barely manage to choke a couple of bites down. I can’t really wrap my head around it. Alex and Leighton being
together caught me totally off guard, but the sudden demise of their relationship is even more startling.

But as the junior class exits the cafeteria and the senior class filters in, there is a very noticeable distance between Alex and Leighton. They make no attempt to close it, and they definitely
don’t look at each other. Leighton laughs loudly with her friends, without a care in the world, and Alex just stares stoically ahead as he marches forward with his teammates.

The rumors are clarified, once and for all, in the locker room before practice.

Leighton climbs atop one of the low benches, clad only in her cobalt sports bra and mesh shorts. She claps twice and then stands there, hands on her hips, staring down in challenge at the group.
Her eyes are narrowed into slits, and her mouth is a flat line. She doesn’t bother with preliminaries.

“I best not hear anyone talking behind my back. I don’t get down with that, okay? You want to know what happened, fine.” She lifts and lowers her shoulders once—she is
thin enough that I can make out her ribs with this slight movement. “Alex and I broke up. Big whoop. People break up every day around here. Now, moving on.”

She hops off the bench and finishes dressing. Within moments, she is talking a mile a minute with Dana and Jamie.

I observe her out of the corner of my eye. Something is off. The thing that I always ruefully admired about Leighton was the authenticity of her confidence, which came off as more than bravado.
What I see now is not confidence. It’s a show. I sense that Leighton is hurting, and it’s no fun watching someone hurting, even if she’s not the nicest person in the world.

Since the start of the school year, I’ve been forced to think about how much it would suck to lose Alex from my life, and it seems she’s experiencing that loss now. Maybe she did
really care about him, even if she had a different way of showing it. It’s hard not to sympathize, just a little bit.

Then practice starts.

Midway through a drill, Jamie’s stick somehow gets caught under my feet, and I end up sprawled out on the ground, the wind knocked out of me.

When transitioning to the next activity, Leighton calls me out, loudly, for not hustling, even though I’m right in the middle of the pack.

Then I’m replaced in the starting lineup for the scrimmage. Given that it’s two days before a game, I have a feeling I’m losing my starting position for the remainder of the
season.

I know my performance in our last game was atrocious, but Leighton’s decision to “switch things up” has a personal edge, there’s no doubt about it.

Things go from bad to worse when I emerge from a bathroom stall after getting changed and find Leighton and Dana waiting for me. “Come into the lobby with us for a minute?” Leighton
asks, even though it’s not really a question.

I swallow hard and follow them, ending up in the dimly lit lobby with my back against a wall. They stand in front of me, arms linked casually, like this is going to be a friendly exchange.
Somehow I doubt that.

“Like I said earlier,” Leighton starts, “I don’t like stuff going on behind my back. So . . . I just want you to know I know.”