I turn the car off, and we stare out the windshield at her driveway. We’re so quiet the crickets start chirping again and lightning bugs flash right outside my window.
She’s curled in on herself, like those caterpillars we used to catch and poke when we were ten. She’s been in my life forever. First as the girl who wanted to be part of the neighborhood boys’ group. Then, because of her stubborn refusal to be excluded, as the girl who was part of the boys’ group. Finally, in what seemed like an overnight transformation, she turned into the girl who could no longer be part of the boys’ group because I couldn’t stop seeing how very girl she was. That was the summer before freshman year, but it wasn’t until May of tenth grade that she broke things off with Jeff’s sleaze of an older brother and agreed to date me.
Now what? Will she just not be part of my life anymore? The thought pushes all the air from my lungs, replacing my anger with chilling fear.
“But I love you. Why would you do this to us?”
Carly gives me a look: lowered eyebrows, mouth pressed in an angry slash, nostrils flared. “I didn’t do it.” She reaches for the door handle.
“Wait,” I ask, and she does—even though I don’t say anything else. I’ve apologized. I’ve begged. I haven’t cheated. I don’t know what else I can offer her.
Losing her will be losing her family too. It’s the second family I’ve lost this year—and it sucks just as much. I’ve known Marcos since before he was born. He was the first baby I’d held, my eleven-year-old’s bravado melting into “Am I doing this right?” as soon as Carly placed him in the bend of my elbow.
I want to beg her again to reconsider. Instead I say, “Will you apologize to Marcos for me? I told him we’d play catch tomorrow.”
She nods but doesn’t say anything. Her angry face has disappeared. She’s breathing in quick, short breaths and blinking a lot—trying not to cry.
There’s a flicker of brightness when she opens the car door. A slam. A silhouette in my headlights. An absence.
How long has she been planning this? Have I missed some big warning signs? I know our relationship isn’t perfect, but damn! How can she believe ten numbers on a piece of paper and not believe me?
I scramble for my iPod, scrolling past the playlists of “Carly music” and choosing a band that growls more than sings. Turning it up until the floor vibrates with bass and the words distort into monster sounds, I put the car in reverse and leave her driveway so quickly my tires squeal. Like pulling off a Band-Aid, I need to get out of here as fast as possible—maybe then it won’t hurt so much.
I want to hit Jeff’s party. To drown myself in noise and beer and people I know. But do I know them anymore? What has Carly told them? If my own girlfriend assumed I was cheating, can I really expect any of them to believe me?
Did the guys know what Carly had planned? Jeff’s hooking up with her friend, Maya—he should’ve given me a heads-up. He’s been my friend since grade school—but now Carly knows more about him than I do. His house, this town, it had been my domain, then ours. Now is it just hers? I clench my jaw and point my car back toward the suburban hell that others refer to as Cross Pointe.
It’s thirty minutes from Hamilton to Mom and Paul’s house. By the time I reach the highway the speakers aren’t the only things shaking in the car; I’m trembling with rage. How dare she?
And how dare my mom! Moms aren’t supposed to change. They’re not supposed to be one person for seventeen years and then sit you down one day and tell you they’re divorcing your father. Oh, and they’re pregnant with your physical therapist’s baby and they’re getting married. That was all bad enough, but how dare she make me move for the second half of senior year? And expect me to be okay with walking away from my life and think that a bigger house or expensive things with remote controls made up for leaving behind everything that made me happy?
I’m just supposed to accept it all—and swallow the fact that my father’s definition of divorce involves walking away from me too.
Playgroups and pediatricians and everything Sophia—these are Mom’s priorities now. Me, her leftover kid, the doggy bag of her first marriage, I’m supposed to adapt. It’s only one semester and then you’re off to college. You’re never home anyway. Hamilton isn’t that far. We’ll buy you a car …
And now Carly’s gone.
I stare at the highway barriers blurring outside my automotive bribe. I could jerk the steering wheel just a little to the left, turn my Accord into a scrap-metal smear. But I don’t really want that; I want others to hurt. I’ve been hurt enough.