When You Were Mine (3 page)

“What time did he get in, anyway?” Charlie asks as we plod our way downstairs.

“Dunno. Late.”

I want to say “Too late for me to see his light go on,” but I don’t. Charlie doesn’t know that sometimes I angle myself out my bedroom window just to see if Rob’s bedroom light is on. Our houses are separated by a barrier of trees, so you can’t see much, but his bedroom is directly diagonal to mine, and I can tell if he’s home because of the light. Most nights I wait for it to go on, to know he’s next door, right here. I think that’s one of the things I’ve missed most while he’s been gone. Seeing that light go on.

“I’m surprised he didn’t come over last night.” She wiggles her hips and laughs.

I shrug. “He just texted me.”

She spins on the stairs and grabs both my shoulders. “What exactly did he say?”

“‘I’m back’?”

“I’m back,” Charlie repeats, looking thoughtful. Then she gets this snarky grin on her face. “I’m back, and ready for action.”

“Honestly,” I say, “it’s
Rob
. You’re making something out of nothing.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” She links her arm through mine as we step into the kitchen. “But you know I always like to err on the side of caution.”

“Drama,” I correct her. “You like to err on the side of drama.”

My mom and dad are in the kitchen dancing around with the orange juice, still in their bathrobes. She has it over her head, and he’s tickling her.

“Sorry, girls,” she says, her face flushed. “Didn’t see you there.” My dad just winks. Gross. Also, neither one of them is sorry. They do this sort of thing all the time. They are constantly making out in our living room and leaving each other love notes on the fridge—“Peas for my squeeze,” that kind of thing. I guess it should make me happy, the fact that my parents are in love and still into each other after twenty years, but it sort of creeps me out.

“They definitely still have sex,” Charlie says under her breath, like she’s settling a debate. Trust me, it’s not up for argument. Factual truth: They do.

I guess maybe it wouldn’t be such a big deal if I had, you know, done it myself. It’s not that I’m opposed to sex or anything. I mean, morally speaking. You want to know my problem, actually? It’s that I
don’t
feel particularly moral about the whole thing. It’s like this girl I used to know, Sarah, who never ate meat. Literally, in her entire life, she never had a hamburger. Her parents didn’t eat meat, and she was just raised that way. Anyway, one day her dad started eating it again, and all of a sudden it was in their house and on the table, and I remember her telling me
how weird that seemed, how unnatural. Like all of a sudden she was supposed to just start eating meat and it was supposed to seem normal. She was a vegetarian, for crying out loud. It seems weird to just start. Like changing something fundamental about who you are.

It also might have something to do with the fact that I’ve never really gotten close. There was Jason Grove, who I dated last year. We made out a few times, mostly in the back of his dad’s Audi and in his basement. It was okay, I guess, but he couldn’t figure out how to unhook my bra, and after a few tries we sorta gave up.

Charlie thinks this is tragic. Olivia’s and my virginity are like an affront to her values, or something. Mind you, she’s done it with two people already. The first was Matt Lester, her boyfriend sophomore year. They did it after homecoming, and she said it was awful and they never did it again. Now there’s Jake, her on-again, off-again boyfriend—and, as Charlie says, “I’ve lost count.” Which I guess is what’s supposed to happen. It’s not like you keep counting the number of times you have sex. At a certain point it just becomes sex, I think.

“This year is definitely your year,” Charlie told me last week. “You are not losing your virginity in a dorm room. Not an option.”

“What are my prospects?”

“Just one,” Charlie said. “Rob. You two are totally meant to be.”

Meant to be.
I’d be lying if I said I’ve never thought about that phrase in relation to Rob and me. It
has
occurred to me that something might happen between us. I haven’t admitted too much of this to Charlie, though, mostly because I recognize the real possibility that these thoughts about Rob could have more to do with all those television shows she makes me watch than my actual feelings. I mean, yeah, I care about him. He’s my best friend. Of course I love him. But do I want to kiss him? Do I want him to kiss me? And am I willing to risk our friendship on the off chance that a romance might really work out? Not to mention the fact that I don’t even know what he’s thinking. He probably regrets ever saying I was beautiful. He has probably already moved on. I mean, he’s been halfway across the country for the entire summer, and just because I haven’t managed to fall on anyone else’s lips in two months doesn’t mean he’s hauling around the same track record.

My mom pries my father off of her and sets the juice down. “You girls ready for your first day?”

“Definitely,” Charlie says, winking at me.

“Well, that’s good,” she says. She scoops some eggs onto a plate and hands it to my dad. “Rob back today?”

My mom would ask this. On top of everything else, my parents and his parents are also best friends. They’ve been neighbors
for fifteen years. My parents moved to San Bellaro a few months before I was born. Rob’s family moved here two years later. My mom actually used to be a movie star in LA. Not huge or anything, but I think she might have been headed that way before she met my dad. He was a community organizer with big plans for becoming a senator and got invited to one of her movie premieres. It was a screening of
The Last Stranger
, probably the biggest part my mom ever had, and my dad always says that he fell in love with her instantly, just by seeing her on-screen. That she was
his
last stranger. Six months later they were married, and a year after that they had me. My father never became a senator (he teaches history at our local college), but his brother did. I think it’s still hard for my dad, the fact that his brother got to realize his dream when he didn’t. They haven’t spoken in years, and every time his name is in the paper, my dad takes the pages out to the recycling bin himself.

My mom is still looking at me, waiting for an answer about Rob, but I just shrug and stick a piece of toast into my mouth. Charlie immediately snatches it away.

“Bagel Wednesday,” she says, dropping it down on the counter like it’s radioactive. “Hello?”

My father smacks the back of his hand against his forehead dramatically, and my mother sighs.

“Well,” she says, “have a great day.”

“Oh, we will,” Charlie says, slinging my book bag over her shoulder. “Don’t wait up.” She blows my mom a kiss and marches me outside.

Charlie has an old Jeep Cherokee we call Big Red. It’s not as fancy as Olivia’s car, but it doesn’t matter. Charlie would look good on a tricycle. We climb inside, and the familiar smell of Charlie’s perfume hits me. A combination of lilacs and plumeria she mixed for herself at the Body Shop last year. Her car is always stuffed to the brim, like she could take off at any minute and move somewhere else. There is a gigantic canvas tote in the backseat monogrammed with her initials, CAK, that contains absolutely anything you would possibly ever need. We were once at Olivia’s beach house in Malibu, and I got a piece of corn stuck in between my teeth so hard that my gums started to bleed. Charlie marched me out to Big Red and performed minor dental surgery.

She starts the car and backs out of my driveway, applying lip gloss in the rearview at the same time. I risk a glance over to Rob’s house, but it’s hard to make out anything between the trees. Or see if there are any cars still parked in his driveway.

I pick up her iPod and put on Radiohead.

“Ew.” She gives me a disgruntled look and yanks the iPod out of my hand. She puts on Beyoncé and turns to me. “What is wrong with you this morning? It’s the first day of school. We
need to be psyched up. Starting things on the right note is the only way to succeed.”

This is one of her theories. Charlie is full of theories. She has a theory about everything. For instance, she believes firmly that you can only change your hair once over the course of high school. Olivia chopped all hers off when she broke up with Taylor, and Charlie told her she had used up her reinvention. “I hope he was worth it,” I remember her saying.

“I’m psyched.” I force my face into a smile and slip the lip gloss out from under her fingers.

Charlie sighs and turns onto the highway. “Come on. I’m serious. You should be psyched. Me and Jake, you and Rob, Olivia and Ben.” She swallows after she says “Ben,” like she has a bad taste in her mouth. “We’re so ruling school this year.”

Another one of Charlie’s theories is that we live in a high school movie. Olivia seems to think this is true too. What I mean is that they can say things like “We’re so ruling school” and not feel the need to add sarcasm. I guess we are popular. Charlie is formidable, attractive in a way that makes her feared and loved. Olivia, on the other hand, is basically the high school dream girl. Big boobs, blond hair, cute nose, and sweet tempered. There is literally no guy in school who isn’t in love with her. Plus, her parents have more money than God. Her dad does something in the music industry. He’s a producer or a record
label owner. I think maybe both. To be honest, sometimes I’m not sure how I ended up in this mix. I shouldn’t be popular. Conventional wisdom is completely stacked against me.

Which is why being friends with Rob has always felt so good. He’s popular, sure—he’s probably the most popular guy in our class—but he’s also just
Rob
. I don’t have to pretend around him or think about what I’m going to say next. Not that I do with Charlie or Olivia, but sometimes it feels like we’re all—all three of us—in some kind of play. Like we need to get our lines right. Like the whole performance is depending on it.

“Want to hear about Len Stephens?” Charlie asks. “He’s already being kicked out of school.”

Len Stephens is this guy in our class we don’t hang out with. Charlie calls him “toxic,” but most people just call him an ass. He’s sarcastic, and his hair is too long and messy, like he cuts it himself or something.

“School hasn’t even started.”

“Apparently he pulled senior prank early.”

“What did he do?”

“Reorganized the online system so that it deleted every student transcript.”

“No way.”

“Swear.” Charlie puts her hand over her heart like she’s pledging allegiance.

“How is that even possible?”

Charlie shrugs. “He hacked into the school’s computer system.”

The only thing I really know about Len is that he used to take piano lessons before me from this German woman named Famke. I think I stopped in the sixth grade or something, and I guess he probably did too. That was around the time most people got serious with sports or dance and dropped other hobbies. I thought he was pretty good, but then again I used to think tube tops were cute, so what did I know?

“Whatever,” Charlie says, moving on. “Let’s talk about Jake.”

“So you guys are back together?” I look out the window at the passing trees. It’s not that I don’t care about Charlie’s love life. I do, of course. It’s just that no one moment in time is very indicative of their overall relationship. If she’s with Jake today, it doesn’t mean she will be tomorrow. Or even by the time we get to school, for that matter. They have this very strange relationship. Charlie likes to act like it’s all heartbreaking and disturbed. Like they
can’t
be together even though they really want to. Honestly, I don’t see the obstacles. Unless the fact that he wears baseball caps a lot and calls everyone “dude” is an obstacle. Which, maybe, it is. They broke up because he called her “bro” at prom last year, and then they didn’t speak for a week. They’ve been casual all summer, but an official reunion doesn’t surprise me. Mostly I
think they hit so many speed bumps because Charlie likes injecting drama. And what is more dramatic, really, than heartbreak?

“Totally,” she says. “He came over last night and said he wanted this year to be different.” Jake has said he wants things to be different about forty-two times in the last year and a half, so I take this with a grain of salt.

“Cool.”

“I’m serious, Rose. I think it’s going to work out this time.” I glance over at her, and her face looks set, determined. Celebratory, even. Which, if you know Charlie, makes a lot of sense. Deciding to do something and doing it are basically the same thing in her world.

“That’s great,” I chirp. “Super.” I try to sound excited, but Charlie sees right through it.

“How am I supposed to work with you this year if you’re going to be all mopey and dreary-eyed?” She passes me her makeup bag and flips down my visor mirror. “Apply, please. I need you looking your absolute best when we step into that auditorium.”

We live exactly seven minutes from school, and when I
say we’ve never been late, I mean it. We’ve never been late. Charlie has been picking me up since she got her car last October, but we’ve driven together since elementary school. First with her mom and then, when her mom got sick, with mine.