Just Like Fate (19 page)

I roll my eyes and squirt more dye into the pile of hair
on top of her head that I’ve already saturated. We’re in the
bathroom at my father’s house, spending a make-over night, a
night without guys. “If I add any more dye,” I tell her, massaging in the color, “you’ll end up like Ronald McDonald.”
“Sexy.”
I finish and cover her scalp in a clear plastic shower cap.

“So listen,” she says. “We need to brainstorm who else to
bring on Friday.” She folds her hands in front of her. “So far
it’s just you, me, and Joel.”

“What?” I ask with a laugh. Joel Ryder—now there’s a
name I haven’t heard in a while.
“I offered it to him as a present to you,” Simone says. “I
got the tickets online the day they went on sale two months
ago. I wanted to shove you two in the right direction. How was
I supposed to know that you’d fall madly in love with someone else?” She stops and looks up at me apologetically. “Oh
God, I’m sorry.”
I shrug like it doesn’t matter, pulling off the soiled gloves
to drop them in the box of hair dye along with the used bottles.
“Still haven’t heard from him?” Simone asks, her voice
softer. When I told her what happened, her first instinct was
to find Chris and knee his privates. She settled on trying to
find me a rebound instead. She said it was therapeutic.
“Nope. I guess he didn’t love me all that much, huh?”
Even though I try to sound resolved to the thought, it’s killing
me.
“He’s an idiot,” she says seriously, pain behind her own
eyes. I smile, glad that she’s always here for me. Sorry that
there was ever a time when I wasn’t there for her. “Have you
told Teddy about what happened?” she asks.
“No,” I say. “I’m laying low. I haven’t told anyone but you
and Natalie.”
Simone scrunches her nose. “Your sister Natalie? Where
did this come from? Did she trade in her pitchfork and horns?”
“She’s not so bad,” I say. “She came over and hung out
with me the day I saw Chris . . . .” I stop. “She’s been great
lately,” I say instead. “Did you know she hasn’t been on a date
in nearly a year?”
“No wonder she’s so bitchy all the time,” Simone says
before making kiss lips at herself in the mirror and checking
her right, then left profile. “Maybe she needs to be set up or
something.” She widens her eyes at me. “Let’s bring her to
the concert! We’ll give her an I’m-single-and-looking makeover and reintroduce her to the male species.”
I crinkle my nose and start laughing. “Now I’m scared for
her. Okay, so who else? Are any of Joel’s other friends coming?”
“I’m not wasting a ticket on those losers,” Simone says.
“Wait,” I say to Simone. “How many tickets do you have?”
“Six—minus the one I gave Joel.”
“How did you get so many . . . never mind,” I say, shaking
my head. “I probably don’t want to know. But I might have
someone to set my sister up with. It’s almost creepy but at the
same time—sort of awesome.”
Simone’s timer goes off on her phone. “Creepy doesn’t
sound promising,” she says, sitting up straighter.
I hop down from the counter and lift the cap to check her
color. “You’re fully cooked,” I say. After I give her a towel and
start the water for her rinse, I smile. “I need a favor.”
She groans and I spray her in the face
on accident
. “I need
you to drop off those extra tickets at my brother’s,” I say. “I
think he and Phil have a concert to get ready for.”
Natalie and Phillip—how have I never had this stroke of
genius before? They’re both attractive, overachieving knowit-alls bent on making the people around them feel inferior.
It’s perfect, and honestly, I can’t believe they’ve never seen it
either.
Simone agrees to go to Teddy’s, mostly because I think
I’ll have an anxiety attack if I step on the Clinton State campus
so soon after dumping Chris. When she’s gone, I go downstairs, but Dad and Debbie are out on a date night. The quiet,
although peaceful at first, starts to close in around me. I call
my sister.

Natalie sits next to me on the couch, passing the half-filled
bottle of wine we still haven’t finished in my direction. I take
a sip, wince, and then tell her she can finish it. She laughs and
sets it on the coffee table instead. When she rests back on the
couch, Gram’s initial necklace flashes at her throat. Turns out
Gram had told her that she could have it. So when my sister
saw me with the necklace, she burst into tears, thanking me for
finding it. Considering how much I’d already lost and that I
was finally on speaking terms with my sister, I let her keep it.
If Gram wanted her to have it, then she deserves it.

“Natalie,” I start in a quiet voice. “Do you think he’s with
her right now?” She doesn’t ask who “he” is.
“Doubt it,” she says. “If he ran after you like a madman,
I’m guessing he feels pretty terrible.”
“Good.”
Natalie bumps her shoulder into mine and offers me the
remote—the ultimate in pity. When I turn to her, I notice how
much she resembles our mother. They have the same features,
the same softness. For a second my sister fills the void I hadn’t
realized was there. I lay my head on her shoulder and stare
blankly at the television.
“Have you ever loved anyone?” I ask. She swallows hard,
then I feel her shake her head.
“No. I don’t think I could ever let myself trust anyone
enough to let them get that close. Maybe it was watching the
brutal divorce, or maybe I was always this way. But believe it
or not, Coco, I sometimes take myself a little too seriously.”
I smile. “You don’t say.”
She’s quiet but then turns to me. “Did you really love
him?” she asks. “Not high-school-crush stuff—but bottom-ofyour-heart, you-complete-me, rainbows-and-unicorns love?”
I laugh at the silliness of her definition, but after thinking
it over—I decide that it’s a fairly accurate description of how I
felt about Chris. Still feel. “Yeah,” I say, looking down. “That
pretty much sums it up.”
Natalie nods and then puts her arm around me, snatching
the remote back from my hand. When she finds an old episode of
Project Runway
to watch, she sighs. “Then I really am
sorry, Coco. I’m sorry he broke your heart.”
I sniffle. “Yeah,” I say. “Me too.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and despite my vow to
stop hoping, it wells up in my chest anyway. But the text that
has popped up isn’t the one I’m waiting for. It’s my brother.
WHY DID SIMONE JUST GIVE ME AND PHIL CONCERT
TICKETS?
I smile, knowing that Teddy and I will work out our problems eventually. He doesn’t know about what happened with
Chris, and I choose not to tell him now. Maybe I just want to
bask in my denial for a little bit longer.
I hide the screen from my clueless sister next to me and
write back,
NATALIE + PHIL = AWESOME.
WHAT?!? I’M OPPOSED TO THIS IN SO MANY WAYS.
BUT IT SHOULD BE ENTERTAINING TO WATCH. LIKE TWO
SHAKESPEAREAN MONKEYS AT THE ZOO.
I laugh and then text that I’ll see him later. Natalie glances
over just as I erase the message. “Who’s that?” she asks.
“Simone. Oh, hey. So do you want to go to a concert this
weekend? It’s Electric Freakshow. . . .” My sister’s cheeks start
to redden and after a scream, giggle, and clap, she tells me
that she loves Electric Freakshow (go figure). She starts to talk
about what she’ll wear, how her friends will trip out because
the show has been sold out since tickets went on sale.
But as she talks, I sneak another look at my phone. I scroll
though all my old messages, looking for one. And when I find
it, the feeling is painful and at the same time soothing:
I ONLY
HAVE EYES FOR CAROLINE
.

There’s a moment in Joel’s mom’s Suburban on the way to the
Electric Freakshow concert when I have an out-of-body experience. I mean not really—I’m being dramatic. But as close to
one as any sane person can get.

I see myself riding shotgun, Joel’s hand resting a little
too north of my knee. I should feel comfortable with it, but I
don’t. I swallow down bile that four antacids earlier couldn’t
fix. His other hand hangs over the steering wheel, James Dean
style (without the cigarette), as we speed down the highway
toward the city. In the middle seat behind me are Natalie and
her friend Emma—gabbing away about recently posted tabloid photos of River Devlin and some supermodel—and Joel’s
friend Rod, who keeps sneaking glances at my sister’s legs.
Behind them are Joel’s other friends Eric and Mike—they’re
chugging beer like it’s water and they’ve just run a marathon.

I see all of us, heading to watch a band I’ve been obsessed
with forever, out on a Friday night, young and alive. I see me
with the guy I’ve pined for since before I was in a training bra
and spending quality time with the sister I lost for so long. On
paper, it’s perfect.

Rod, Eric, and Mike force us to tailgate until the opening band
starts its sound check; I sit on the open back of the truck people watching, wishing I was with the strangers instead. All
around me, laughter floats through the air. I feel like I might
never genuinely laugh again.

“You seem out of it,” Joel whispers into my ear. “Want to
take a walk and talk?” He says “talk,” but he licks the bottom
of my earlobe. I want to shove him away, but I just sit there.

“I don’t want to leave my sister,” I say, looking over at her.
She’s sitting in a camp chair between Mike and Emma, laughing her face off. She feels my gaze and looks at me, beaming
in a way I haven’t seen from her since before our parents split.

. human.
“She looks all right to me,” Joel whispers. He pulls back
my hair and kisses my neck. “She’ll be fine if we take off for a
bit.”
She might, but I won’t.
“Get me a soda?” I ask in response. He pulls back and
looks at me hard for a moment before shoving off the truck
bed.
“At your service,” he mutters under his breath as he walks
away. “Wouldn’t want to actually relax and have fun tonight
or anything.”

Finally we go inside and take our seats. Joel says he’s going to
buy us beer—that he thinks I need one. The comment makes
me want to hit him. When he’s gone, Natalie slides up next to
me.

“Is everything okay?” she asks, genuinely concerned. “I
mean, I know it’s not—I can see it on your face. You’ve been
gloomy the whole drive. What’s happening?”

I love my sister for knowing, for caring about me even
though I’ve been nothing but selfish toward her. I don’t
deserve her devotion.

“I lost Gram’s necklace,” I say, barely loud enough over the
noise of the crowd. “I lied about not seeing it that day—I had it
the entire time.” I lower my eyes, unable to watch as her expression falters. “But then I lost it. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

Hate me
, I think. But instead my sister grabs me and pulls
me into a hug. “Thank you for telling me now,” she says into
my ear. “I hope this isn’t the reason you’ve been avoiding me,
Coco.” She pulls back to look at me. “You’re more important
than a necklace.”

A small smile tugs at my lips, relief breaking my chest in a
tidal wave. I’m about to tell Natalie about my regrets with Joel,
but then Emma comes running up and grabs Natalie’s arm.
Electric Freakshow is taking the stage.

I glance over toward the beer garden and Joel’s not there;
just before the lights go down, I see him, Rod, and Mike making their way toward the half wall that separates standing room
from the seats. When a guard’s not looking, they both hop it.
Then it’s black in the arena and he’s gone. A few moments
later, my phone buzzes.
DOWN IN THE PIT—SO COOL! I’LL
BE BACK UP FOR SECOND HALF.

NO WORRIES
, I text back, relieved.
ENJOY IT. I’VE GOT
NAT TO KEEP ME COMPANY.
YOU’RE THE BEST GIRLFRIEND EVER
, he writes back. I
put my phone away without answering.

I know most of the playlist by heart, so I can’t help but get
lost in the music and, without Joel to remind me how much
I hate myself, I even start having fun. Nat, Emma, Eric, and I
sing at the top of our lungs and dance in the aisles as best we
can in the sold-out stadium. I take off my jacket and pull back
my hair. I’m parched and sweaty and for the first time in what
feels like forever, I am alive.

But just when the night’s done a one eighty, they play
“Flannel,” the song Joel and I were listening to in his room
that day. Visions of his hands where I wish they’d never been
crash into my brain.

“I need water!” I shout over the music to my sister. “I’ll
get you some, too!”
She nods. “Want me to come with you?”
“No, I’m good!” I shout back. I squeeze by a half row of
people and rush up the aisle to the concession stand, trying
not to listen to the song that’s rattling my bones. The opening
song on the sound track to the biggest mistake of my life.
I step into the light and the music fades away; my ears still
echo from drumbeats past. I move toward the nearest concession stand, but they’re out of water, so I walk around the arena
to the one on the other side. I get in line behind a blond guy
wearing an inside-out red T-shirt—there are at least five people in line in front of him. I dig in my pockets to make sure I
have money. The sound of fighting makes me look up.
“I saw the way you were looking at her,” the woman in
front of the blond guy says loudly to the man next to her.
They’re my parents’ age; I guess Electric Freakshow appeals
to a wide demographic.
“Who?” the man says, looking at her in disbelief. “Sasha,
you’ve had too many of those blender margaritas. Let’s get
you a pretzel to soak up some of that crazy.”
I hear the guy in front of me snort quietly just as I cover
my mouth with my hand to stifle a giggle.
“Me crazy?” the woman says, her voice gaining in volume.
“No, YOU crazy. I saw you looking at that fine young thing
with the Madonna boobs and the Whitney hair.”
Blond guy mutters “descriptive” under his breath, which
makes me laugh out loud. I cover it up with a cough; the couple doesn’t notice, but the guy turns around.
My eyes widen. “You,” I say. “I’ve seen you before.” He’s
cute, with bright blue eyes and messy hair that he tries to flatten now that I’m talking to him.
“Hopefully not on
America’s Most Wanted
,” he says. “It’s
been a few years, but they still run that one during hiatus. Or
maybe it was my cameo on
All My Children
?”
“No, I think it was
Jeopardy!
” I say easily, smiling without thinking about it. “You lost because you didn’t know who
composed
Swan Lake
.”
“Tchaikovsky,” he says with a twinkle in his eyes. He
points at himself. “Music major.” Then he points at me. “Girl
at the stop sign on campus last week?”
I nod, kind of thrilled that he remembers. And then suddenly I know where I’ve seen him before. “I also saw you at
your friend’s house after dropping off his hookup sweatshirt,”
I say.
“You hooked up?”
“No, my friend Simone.”
“I know,” he says. “My cover’s blown. I’ve been stalking
your Facebook page for weeks. Hope that’s not too weird.” He
pauses. “Yeah, of course it is. Sorry. My buddy Ed helped me
track you down through your friend. I’m Chris, by the way.
Your official stalker, I guess.”
“It’s nice to meet you,
Chris
,” I say, taking a dramatic step
back. He laughs, and when I look up to tell him I’m just joking
and that it really is nice to meet him, the cashier interrupts our
conversation.
“May I help you?” she calls impatiently like she’s asked
twice already. There’s a huge space between Chris and the
counter; all of the other patrons are done and gone except the
fighting couple, now making out in the corner. Sick.
Chris blushes a little and says to me, “Hold that thought.”
He steps up, orders water and a pretzel, pays, and steps aside.
I notice him lingering by the condiments, waiting for me as I
pay for two waters.
“So?” Chris says when I approach. “You were saying?”
“First,” I tell him, twisting the cap off my water to take a
sip. “Why is your shirt on inside out?”
He chuckles, pulling out the fabric like he’s surprised I’d
ask. “Because it’s an Electric Freakshow T-shirt.”
“Uh . . .” I look around. “Then you’re in the right place.” I
lean my hip against the condiment counter, taking another drink.
“Yeah, I know,” he says, picking at the hem. “I just think
Electric Freakshow is overrated.” He smiles at me. “Music
major, remember?”
“Then why are you here, and more importantly, why are
you wearing one of their shirts?”
He pauses then, his smile fading slightly. He darts a
look in the direction of the seats but then shakes his head.
“Misguided date.” When I raise my eyebrows, he waves it
off. “She already left,” he adds. “But not before her boyfriend showed up and tossed his drink on me. I couldn’t
drive home smelling like beer, so my friend gave me a
shirt. And although I appreciate the gesture, I have a moral
responsibility to not advertise a mediocre band, so I turned
it inside out.”
I decide not to hold his Freakshow slams against him.
“What about you?” Chris asks. “Who are you here with?”
Joel.
At the thought of him, I take another hurried sip of water.
Chris takes a bite of pretzel, and it’s clear we’re both kind of
stalling. I smile at him. “You’re such a music snob,” I say.
“I really am. What about you? Are you—”
Someone grabs my elbow, and my heart leaps in my throat
because I think Joel has found me.
“Coco?” Natalie says. I turn and see her standing there,
sweaty and out of breath with a surprisingly upset look on her
face. She’s holding a bundle of outerwear. Her jacket’s on top,
and it looks like it has blood on it.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, looking around.
“Some guy elbowed Emma in the nose,” she says. “He
was dancing and flailing his arms around, and he accidentally
hit her—she thinks it might be broken. She’s in the bathroom,
but she’s bleeding everywhere. I think I need to take her to the
hospital. Eric tried Joel’s cell, but he’s not picking up. I don’t
know what to d—”
“I’ve got a car here,” Chris says, stepping forward. Natalie
looks at him, surprised.
“Are you a friend of my sister’s?” she asks.
He nods. “We go way back,” he says, looking at me.
“Right?”
“Totally,” I say. “He’ll take us. I’ll go with you. I’ll text Joel
and tell him we left.”
I’m aware of how excited I am to leave, despite the fact that
I’m headed toward a night at the hospital instead of back to a
concert with my . . . boyfriend. The word makes my stomach
lurch, and I decide it’s the last time I’ll ever use it to describe
Joel. But rather than tell him, I’m going to run off with Chris—
I’m going to run away.