I’ll Meet You There (29 page)

My voice broke on the last word, and Chris immediately pulled me into one of his bear
hugs. The familiar smell of him made me realize how much I’d pushed him away this
summer, and the tears started to fall, hard.

“Did something … I mean, did he—” I could hear the panic in his voice, and I shook
my head.

“I’m fine. It’s just that Josh is … Josh,” I said into his chest. “I was dumb to think
he’d changed.”

“Want me to send a couple of my
cholo
cousins over to his house to castrate him?”

I cry-laughed into his chest. “Maybe.”

He looked down at my bleary face. “I’m half serious, you know.”

“Nothing happened. I mean, nothing worth castration. Besides, he already lost a leg.”

Chris snorted. “Don’t care. Doesn’t give him the right to do whatever he did to you.”

How was I going to get through life without Chris and Dylan right there, whenever
I needed them?

I stepped away and nodded toward the little window in the door. The twins were still
in the back of the store, gazing in awe at the freezer section.

“You mind dealing with them? I just want to go home, and they’re wasted.”

“Dumbass Swensons,” he muttered. “Sure.”

“Thanks.”

I turned to go, but he held my arm. “Sky. Seriously. Are you okay?”

I shook my head. “No. But I will be. Just another day in Creek View, right?”

“Dude, fuck this place.”

“Yeah. For real.”

I grabbed my bag and practically ran to my car. My phone buzzed—a text from Dylan.

Hey. I heard something at Ray’s about Josh and Jenna Swenson.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, possessed.

I know. Did he have sex with her?

No, but … just come over. Can’t text this.

That bad?

Yeah.

*   *   *

A blow job.

Was that worse than sex? I couldn’t decide. There was something so intimate about
it. Or maybe it made him a worse kind of guy, for letting some girl do that to him
without … unless he … oh, God, I couldn’t even go there. I’d started to think he left
because he was embarrassed about his leg, and maybe that was forgivable on some level,
but that hadn’t kept him away from Jenna Swenson. To be ditched for someone like her
just added to the humiliation.

Chris and Dylan acted like they were on suicide watch, which was both comforting and
super obnoxious. Dylan had already promised Jesse she’d go watch one of his pickup
basketball games, but she’d insisted that I shouldn’t be alone. Chris suggested Leo’s,
but I was not in a dancing mood. Clearly. Then he suggested
Inception
, which was playing at the drive-in. I agreed to go, but only to avoid being at the
Paradise. I needed a break from the constant reminder of Josh.

I sat in the passenger seat of Chris’s dad’s truck, my legs tucked underneath me,
a tub of popcorn and a half-eaten box of Junior Mints lying between us. I loved the
drive-in—getting there early with fast food and tons of candy, hanging out with Chris
and Dylan in the back of the truck until the movie started. The El Diablo was a ramshackle
collection of screens and outbuildings, but it still had a weird kind of magic. It
was one of the few things that I knew I’d miss when I was gone. We hadn’t been since
before graduation; this summer had been too hard with my jobs and dealing with Mom
and Dylan taking care of Sean. I already felt nostalgic—who knew if we’d ever be here
again, just the three of us?

The movie hadn’t started yet, so Chris and I were listening to a mix I’d made him
back in freshman year. He was frowning at the dark screen, absently tapping out the
rhythm to a Muse song on the steering wheel.

“What’s up?” I asked.

He looked over at me, then shook his head. “I was just thinking about how I want to
kill that
hijo de puta.
”

I rested my head on his shoulder. “Then you’d go to prison and have to kiss BU good-bye.”

“True. Might be worth it, though.”

I looked up at him. “Thank you for not saying ‘I told you so.’”

He put an arm around me and squeezed my shoulder. “Honestly, I wish he’d proved me
wrong. Sucks to see you get treated like this.”

“It’s my own damn fault.”

“Um.
No.
It’s not, actually.”

I sat up. “I don’t mean it’s my fault that he did what he did. It’s my fault for thinking
he wasn’t a man-whore, you know?”

“The leg distracted you. Could have happened to anyone.”

I thought of that night at the gas station, Josh holding my hand as we waited for
the sun to rise. It didn’t make sense.
He
didn’t make sense.

I covered my face and shook my head. “Subject change?”

“Okay. Um … what kind of dream would you have someone architect for you?”

He’d already explained the whole plot of
Inception
to me, since I hadn’t seen it before—a group of people who could create custom-made
dream worlds that people paid to get into.

“A manless lesbian colony in the Bermuda Triangle.”

“You going gay after one boy problem?”

“Two boy problems.”

“And what lesson have we learned, young Skywalker?”

Chris gave me his Jedi face, and I threw a piece of popcorn at him. “I’ve learned,”
I said, popping a buttery kernel into my mouth, “to avoid anyone with the last name
Mitchell.”

He nodded sagely. “Yes, you will go far.”

The movie started, and we settled back. I didn’t really care about Leonardo DiCaprio’s
problems, couldn’t concentrate on anything but the deep ache that had infiltrated
my bones, eating away at the marrow. Was this what it had felt like when Frida Kahlo
found out that the love of her life, Diego Rivera, was cheating on her?
With her sister?
If I felt like this over a boy I’d only kissed for one night, I couldn’t even imagine
the pain. No wonder her paintings were so bleak and violent. I wanted to do something
drastic like she did—cut off all my hair, start dressing like a man. But I didn’t
think I could handle any more changes in my life.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” I said.

Chris looked over. “Want me to come with?”

“I think I can handle it on my own.”

He rolled his eyes. “I meant, like, walk over there with you. You know, so you don’t
get attacked or something.”

“No, I’m cool. I’ll be right back.”

“’Kay.”

I opened the door and quietly shut it behind me. The lot was full, mostly with teenagers
making out in trucks or hanging around, drinking beer. Only a small percentage of
people ever actually watched the movie. It was more about the experience—like tailgating,
but without the football game.

I weaved through the cars, catching snatches of the film through open windows. Behind
me, the screen loomed, giant and glowing. A plane flew overhead, the red lights on
the ends of its wings winking at the clouds. I wondered if the people up there could
see the movie.

I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jeans and kept my head down. I didn’t know
who’d heard about last night—probably everyone, because it was Creek View. It was
humiliating, just imagining people talking about how Josh and I left together and
then he and Jenna—

My eyes pricked, and I pinched my arm, hard. It was my own stupid fault, falling for
someone like Josh.

I passed the little snack bar crowded with people and was almost to the cinder-block
restrooms when I heard my name.

“Skylar.”

I froze.
Fuck him
, I thought.
Fuck him for going to a movie after what he did
.

I took a breath and kept walking, but I heard him behind me, catching up. “Sky, please.
Wait.”

I turned around, my breath catching a little when I saw his face. His eyes were red,
and there were dark circles under them, like purple bruises. He looked miserable—and
drunk.

“I don’t want to talk to you, Josh.” I could feel the tears try to force themselves
up my throat, and I pushed them down.

He swayed a little, and I noticed that he was gripping a bottle of whiskey. “Let me
just … I’ve gotta explain to you. I didn’t want—”

I stepped up, close to him. I pictured myself, face red, eyes daggers. I had to be
strong now; I could fall apart later.

“I’m actually kind of impressed,” I said. “Here I was, thinking you cared about me,
when you were probably just trying to prove something. Maybe even had a bet going.
Like,
Yeah I lost my leg but watch me get the only virgin in Creek View
. And then … what? You felt guilty about it? Because we’d become friends or something?
I don’t even know what we—” My voice started to shake, and I bit off my sentence.

“No. Sky … I just freaked, okay? And I wasn’t thinking straight, and I wanted to come
back, but I was all fucked up—”

“Was that before or after your field trip with Jenna Swenson?”

Josh opened his mouth, closed it again. Something like defeat settled around his eyes.
Then he hung his head, like a schoolboy who’d gotten caught.

“Did you tell her you loved her too?” I whispered.

My voice caught, and when he looked up, I had to take a step back because he was so
amazingly good at looking like he gave a shit.

“Just let me try to explain.
Please.
Sky, I—”

“You know what the worst part is?” I said, anger trumping hurt. “It’s not last night.
I don’t care that you saw me naked or that we messed around—that sucks, but whatever.
It’s that a tiny part of me … I mean there were moments when I thought about giving
up everything I’d ever worked for, just so I could be around you a little longer.”

I’d never forgive either of us for that.

He drew a sharp breath, and I couldn’t stand to see the pain in his face because if
I fell for it again, I wouldn’t be able to say what I needed to. I had to be able
to look at myself in the mirror again.

I took a breath. “And
that’s
why I want you to go fuck yourself.”

I turned around and walked into the women’s restroom, went into an empty stall, and
stuck my fist in my mouth. I bit down hard, tasting sweat and blood and wanting my
dad so bad. I wanted him to not be dead so he could be the dad with the shotgun and
run Josh out of town and then tell me that it didn’t matter that Josh Mitchell had
decided he didn’t want me the way I wanted him. I leaned my forehead against the cool
metal of the stall.

Ten deep breaths.

One prayer: uncertain and desperate.

Five recitations of
FUCK, FUCK, OH GOD, FUCK
.

Two tears.

Then I flushed the toilet because people would be wondering what the hell I’d been
doing in the stall for five minutes, opened the door, and walked back to the truck.

“What’d I miss?” I asked Chris.

“Dude’s dream is turning into a nightmare.”

JOSH

When it’s light, I get out of bed. I put lotion on my stump and roll the cotton guard
over it, then put it into my prosthesis. I walk across the hall to the bathroom. Piss.
Brush my teeth. Throw water on my face. Make sure my hair is regulation, high and
tight. Go into the kitchen. My brother’s there, and he doesn’t know what to say except,
Morning.
And I say,
Morning
. I can feel him watching me, just like the Afghanis used to when we raided their
houses or walked through their fields. So many eyes, watching us. Like we’re bombs
that are about to go off. Sometimes we were. Blake says,
You okay, man? I heard … I mean, last night I thought I heard
 … But he can’t say it. Used to be he heard a girl in there, but now it’s just me
and the fucking spiders in my head. I go,
Yeah, dude, I’m cool
, and he nods, says,
Cool.
Sometimes I drink coffee and eat Entenmann’s with him, but if it’s been a really
bad night, I do like my mom and get a cold beer and go sit on the back porch and stare
at the day and wish that fucking IED had killed me. Then I go back in the house, change
into something clean, get in my truck, and drive in the middle of the road until I
remember that there aren’t any IEDs on the side of Highway 99, and so I get back in
the right lane, but not before I think maybe I should just stay right there in the
middle.

*   *   *

Just to see what happens.

AUGUST

chapter twenty-seven

This choreographer named Twyla Tharp once said, “Art is the only way to run away without
leaving home.”

So I ran. As far and as fast as I could.

I decided to redo the collage for Marge, this time making it from Creek View itself.
I got rid of the one I’d spent the summer working on. I didn’t just throw it out—I
burned it. I cried as the flames licked the angel wings, the strawberries, the orchard.
Hours and hours of work and love. But I didn’t want anything that represented me losing
myself. I dragged a flaming log over the part of the collage with the creek—Josh had
helped me cut the scraps of blue paper for it. I could still picture him leaning over
the table in the lobby, eyes intent on the job. I’d thought it was so cute, how serious
he was. The collage was of Creek View, but, to me, he was all over it.

I needed something clean, new. And I wanted to face Creek View head-on, not hide from
it or try to make it bearable. The old collage became a pyre, a smoldering end to
a part of myself I never wanted to see again.

I borrowed the digital camera Chris’s parents had gotten him as a graduation present
and spent my afternoons taking pictures of Creek View: close-ups of the creek’s muddy
water, the leaves in the orchard behind the Paradise, cows in the fields, an orange
sky after the sun had finally gone down, the trailer park. I’d drive the hour to Bakersfield
to get prints made up at Walmart. At night, I’d spread out my poster board in the
lobby and cut into the photos with my trusty razor blade, rearranging them so that
the trees were made up of dozens of little jagged slivers of leaves on glossy photo
paper or creating waves in the photographs of the creek, until the water jumped off
the page. As my hands moved, I tried to keep my mind still, giving all my attention
to the details of the collage. For two weeks, I didn’t stop running away.