Underneath Everything (14 page)

MattieJoleneMattieJoleneMattieJolene.

My skin expanded and contracted in time with my heart. Adrenaline radiated from the center of my
body to the tips of my fingers. My chest caved and burst with each breath.

What kind of game was this? Not two little girls but three. That’s not how it was supposed to be.

Bella’s boots stomped up the steps. She froze in the doorway when she saw us, face pale beneath
her bronzer. Mouth open. Eyes wide with fright.

I tried to call Bella’s name, to tell her it was fake, but the tape. I tried to move, but the ropes. I
shook my head, twisted my neck, but Jolene bucked and screamed behind me. And I must have looked
just as crazy, because Bella didn’t budge. She just stood there, body rigid, fists clenched. That’s when I
felt the crack of a skull—precise and solid and loud—on the back of my head. My chin hit my chest,
and my eyes squeezed together. It could have been an accident, but I knew it wasn’t. I knew in my gut.

It was Jolene, and she was pissed that I wasn’t playing.

I took the hit, absorbed the pain, felt the knock echo through my brain, then tried to get Bella’s
attention again. But no matter what I did, everything kept happening.

My whole body pulsed. My scalp tightened. My lips tired behind the tape. My shoulders ached. And
Jolene kept thrashing behind me, her flattened cries rising higher and higher like they were measuring
the pressure in my head.

I shut my eyes and let a scream rise from my gut to my sealed-shut lips.

Then someone laughed.

Bella. Her mouth still open. Not in the shape of shock, but the wide circle of a smile.

“Gotcha!” she sang as she reached up and ripped the sticky strip from my mouth. Which hurt like
hell.

“Ow!”

“You totally believed me, right?” Bella knelt in front of me, balled up the tape, and threw it in the
garbage. “Jolene told me I was the only one who could convince you it was real since I’m the best
actor in the school.”

An act. Bella had been acting. And for that I drove my shoulder into her. She landed flat on her ass
and laughed.

“You’re a star.” Jolene tossed the words to Bella, who smiled, close lipped, at the compliment; but
her eyes were on me. Her ropes lay loose on the floor. Her tape was crumpled and clutched in her fist.

We hadn’t been messing with Bella. They’d been messing with me. It had all been for me. The rope
burns on my wrists spread up my arms, to my neck and cheeks.

“Screw you,” I said, straining against the rope, rubbing the red skin raw.

“Come on Mattie,” Jolene said, her voice slow, patient. “It was just a joke. Of all people, you
should get it”—she raised her eyebrows and looked me dead in the eye—“since it was your idea.”

My throat went dry. The walls crept in. My voice came out hoarse. “It was your idea.”

It was, wasn’t it?

My memory shifted, twisted, bent like my arms did behind me.

“I don’t think so,” she said, kneeling down in front of me. Her voice was as pleasant as can be, but
her face was strange. Downturned mouth. Crease between the eyes. It took a minute for me to process.

But by the time she loosened the loops around my ankles and wrists, I’d figured it out. Jolene looked . .

. hurt.

Then the crease disappeared. Her skin was smooth again.

I tore my hands away from her and scrambled to my feet, but my legs were stiff from sitting for so
long. I stumbled.

A slap of rain rattled the window in its frame. A voice came from behind me: “Hey, don’t leave.

You’re supposed to sleep over.” Closer now. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” The colors and shapes of the room collided and burst apart again. I blinked my eyes a
few times and swept my sleeve across my wet cheeks. Then I pushed my arms through my coat and
shoved my books into my bag.

“Then stay.” Jolene’s voice, the one she used under the covers. “Please. My parents are away.”

I threw off her hand, shouldered my bag, and shoved past her.

“Leave me alone,” I hissed.

Which is exactly what she did.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

CHAPTER 14

I’M STANDING UNDER a bare-branched tree crunching leaves with my sneakers when Kris finally hurries across the street, car keys in one hand, a soft pack of Camel lights in the other. She starts talking before she reaches me.

“It’s T-minus”—she looks at her watch—“fifteen minutes till I’m due home, so buckle up. I’m not going to stop the story for anything but smokes.” And as if to prove her point, she smacks her soft pack on the heel of her hand and grabs a cigarette with her lips. Then she unlocks the car and we both climb in.

“You’re still grounded?”

“All week,” she says, pushing in the car lighter and throwing her bag into the backseat, “except for journalism.”

The lighter pops with a hard
click
. Kris leans forward to light her cig, exhales a sigh of smoke, and pulls out into the street. Then she tells me what happened.

“So, there she is, Bella of all people, resting her foundationed forehead on my knees, doing that mix of high-pitch singing and screaming. And even though it’s her party we’re ditching, I get her to her room and make sure the door is locked, that nobody comes in. After a few minutes she’s running her middle fingers along her lower lashes to fix her mascara and reapplying her lipstick. At that point I’m already past curfew, so I know what’s waiting for me when I get home—the parental flip-out, followed by severe punishment—so I figure, Well, fuck it. I’m already screwed, right? Might as well be the amazingly supportive person I am and pay the price that good people always do. So I hand her a tube of liquid eyeliner and ask what happened.” Kris takes a long drag, lifts her chin, blows the smoke out of a crack in her window, then looks at the clock in her car.

“Thirteen minutes,” I say.

“But only ten with you.” Kris lives on Tudor Oval, which didn’t exist in 1921, at least not as anything other than a blank stretch of blue on Block 507, Division 17, three minutes southeast of Cherokee Court.

Kris grips the wheel with both hands.

“So here are the highlights: Jolene’s wasted—like, falling-into-the-flip-cup-table wasted—God, I’m so sorry I missed that—and you know how Bella wants everyone to have the best time always and forever?” Kris gives me an eerily close version of Bella’s best-party-ever smile before collapsing into rolled eyes and sloped shoulders. “So Bella’s steering Jolene toward the stairs and throwing out these joke-slash-apologies to everyone, which she’s probably totally used to doing with her mom—you remember how her mom used to get when we were over?” I nod. Bella’s mom had a glass of clear liquid with two ice cubes attached to her hand, and whenever we were over, Bella had to lead her out of the room or else she’d never leave. “But also because, you know, everything’s a show with Bella. But that’s her mistake, right? Because since when does Jolene give up center stage? So Jolene throws Bella’s hands off her shoulders and plows through the living room. But since Bella’s not going to be upstaged at her own party, she shouts ‘Drunk bitch coming through!’ And Jolene”—Kris hits the gas, leans into a curve

—“Wait, I want to get this exactly right.” Kris slows down on a straighter stretch of road. She flicks her cigarette. The long end of ash falls into the tray. “Okay, so after Bella calls her a drunk in front of the entire party, Jolene spins on her heel and shouts, ‘Just like Mommy! No wonder you like it when I tell you what to do. Should I give you a good-night kiss, too?’” And then Jolene kisses her. Not good-night style.

Like, tongue and everything.”

Jolene kissed Bella? I picture her kissing Hudson in the hallway, how her lips pouted before parting again. How her eyes shot open and found me.

“No way,” I say as Kris swerves the car through a pile of brown leaves gathered on the side of Tice Place. I press my palm against the door so I won’t crash into it.

“I know, right?” Kris asks, crushing the butt of her cigarette in the ashtray and shoving it closed. I roll up my window and rub my hands together between my thighs to keep them warm.

“So, for a second, Bella just stands there, lip liner smudged and everything; and Jolene laughs one of her lean-your-head-back laughs, where her wide mouth gets freakishly big. Then, even though she could barely stand up straight two seconds before, Jolene leans into Bella, all mannequin-still, and says, ‘You liked it, didn’t you? You want to do it again.’”

I cross my arms and lean forward in my seat. Did she?

Kris reaches toward the dashboard and cranks up the heat.

“Then Bella starts telling me how Jolene’s treated her like shit before (news flash!) but that this

—
this!
—calling out her mom in the middle of a party, was over the line.” Kris turns to me. “Here is the part where you are both impressed and surprised that I did not mention my shed moment, or your afternoon with the ropes, since
clearly
, those were in no way, quote-unquote,
over the line
.” Kris shakes her head, then looks back at the road and takes a deep breath. “I mean, especially yours, since Bella was part of it.”

“I’m impressed you didn’t mention it,” I tell Kris, my voice as soft as the heat rushing from the vents.

“You should be,” she says, her eyes dead ahead. “Anyway. Bella said that’s when she finally snapped.”

“Bella?” I ask. Bella has a million and one smiles and even more laughs. She’s friends with everyone.

She doesn’t snap. Especially not at Jolene.

“Bella,” Kris confirms, steering with her knees so she can reach up, grab a hunk of red curls in each hand, and tighten her ponytail. “Wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t hear it myself.”

“So what happens when Bella snaps?”

“Fantastic question!” Kris says, slapping her hands back onto the wheel with a smile. She’s enjoying this, and her accelerator is feeling it. I grip the handle on the door as we round the corner. We’re almost at Cherokee Court. “Apparently when Bella snaps she gets serious and spills secrets.”

“What’d she say?” I ask. I slip my hand into my pocket and smooth my thumb over the cool metal of my Zippo.

Kris parks in front of my house, unbuckles her seat belt, and turns her whole body toward me.

“Well, someone’s eager to hear about the weakness of the enemy! But I can’t really blame you. I was too. So, here it is. Apparently, after getting kissed by Jolene and starring in the number one fantasy of every senior guy in the room, Bella announces, in her best stage voice, ‘Look, Jolene. I get it. You’re desperate. Hudson just dumped you, and now you’re looking for someone new. I know I’m the obvious choice, but these lips are taken. I’d tell you to go home to your mom, but she probably ditched you too.

Mine might be drunk, but at least she’s here.”

“Hudson,” I say. He didn’t just break up with Jolene; he’d done it that night. No wonder Jolene ended up on that lawn chair with the junior vultures. No wonder she called out for him.
Don’t leave.
She was slurring and furious in those seconds before she realized it was me on the chair next to her instead of him.

I thought she was just drunk. But now I wonder: What was she trying to tell him?
It’s me.
Who else would she be? And her eyes. Pink and watery. From being wasted? Or could she have been crying?

I flip open the Zippo in my pocket and dig my thumb into the small metal ridges of the flint wheel.

Whatever happened between the two of them, I know where she ended up. Alone. And I know Jolene hated going anywhere alone. Especially home.

“Yeah,” Kris says, shooting me a quick glance. “Apparently he broke up with her right before the bonfire. Figured you might know something about that.” Kris doesn’t mention that I neglected to tell her anything about it. Instead, she drums her cigarette-free fingers on the wheel, then starts up again.

“Anyway, so now Bella, who’s got her entire makeup arsenal spread out on her vanity, says Jolene puts a hand on her cheek and whispers, ‘Hudson couldn’t keep up with me. You should really shut your mouth when you don’t know what you’re talking about.’

“So Bella shoots back, ‘I know this is my house, and my party, and that you’re going to leave. I don’t need to be treated like this. I don’t need you telling me what to do.’ Then Jolene brings a hand up and brushes Bella’s bangs to the side—and you
know
how Bella feels about people touching her hair—and says, ‘Then why do you always listen?’ and walks away.”

“Wow,” I say, lifting my thumb off the lighter. The skin stays indented where I pressed it into the metal.

“I know. Kind of makes you jealous, right?” Kris asks. “Like you wish you’d said it?”

“Yeah,” I lie, turning Bella’s words over in my head.

I don’t need to be treated like this.

The way Jolene treated me—it wasn’t
nice
. It was ferocious. Protective. Enveloping.

“I’ve been consoling myself with the fact that it wouldn’t have hurt Jolene half as much coming from one of us,” Kris says, “since we’re not friends with her anymore.”

“True,” I say.

I face away from Kris and stare at our neighbor’s lawn across the street. Some patches are thick, lush, bright green. Others are brown, dead, brittle. I wonder what happened to those dry patches, when they’d lost their nourishment, if they died slowly or all at once.