Which means me. She ended up with me. I’m what can go wrong.
So I’m left to either mentally rehash my argument with Matt, or else replay that night with Carson, trying to find something I missed. Some way he and I misunderstood each other. Because the truth is, I want to be wrong. I don’t necessarily want to give him a second chance, but I do want to believe that I just didn’t make myself clear. He thought we were on the same page. He thinks he did nothing wrong.
Or maybe he thinks his mistake was not admitting he actually likes me.
I swipe a rag over the bathroom mirror, not looking at my reflection. If that’s the case, I don’t want to lead him on. And surely if I keep turning him down, he’ll get the message eventually.
I hope.
*
Mom doesn’t emerge from her bed until I’m cleaning the living room. “You’re still here,” she says, yawning.
“Sorry, I tried to be quiet.”
“You didn’t wake me.” She shuffles into the kitchen.
“I made mac and cheese,” I call after her. It’s gross because we’re out of butter, but she’ll figure that out soon enough. She bangs around and returns with a bowl of toxic-orange noodles. “Ew, cold?”
“Doesn’t taste any better warm,” she says, her mouth full. “You have fun at Matt’s?”
“It was fine. We did a lot of homework.”
I can’t tell if her expression is disbelief or pity. “Well, at least you’ll have fun with Asha tonight.”
“Nope,” I say, more rudely than I intended. “She bailed.” We were supposed to hang out, but apparently even Sunday night is party night in college—and apparently I’m not invited. Not that I was in the mood anyway. “Oh hey, I got a new job though.”
Mom swallows another mouthful of pasta. “Why?”
“Um…” I decide to keep it simple. “Dr. Richardson offered me a better-paying position, so I took it.”
“Oh.” She taps her spoon against the bowl lightly. “Don’t you think you spend enough time there already?”
I shrug. “Now I’ll be earning my keep.”
“I just think you rely on them too much.”
I swivel around to face her. “It’s not an allowance. I’ll be working.”
“Okay,” she says, taking another bite. “If that’s what you want to call it.”
“What I want is for you to get over your problem with the Richardsons.” I dump my cleaning supplies in the middle of the coffee table. Trust Mom to shit on the one thing that’s going right in my life at the moment. “We need the money, remember?”
It’s a low blow, but it shuts her up until she knocks on my door an hour later, telling me she’s heading out. I don’t even ask where she’s going. “I’ll be late,” she calls.
Good, I think, but don’t bother to answer.
*
I finish my math homework. I paint my toenails. I watch Dallas beat the Giants, and the Packers lose to the Seahawks, and I make myself a sandwich for dinner, but neither Mom nor Matt calls to apologize.
Mom’s no surprise, but I thought Matt would at least check to see if I still want a ride tomorrow. I don’t, and the fact that my reliance on him proves Mom right makes me so angry that I decide to just call him and prove them both wrong.
But a strange voice picks up his phone. “Yo.”
“Matt?” I demand.
“Better.”
All my indignation deflates with a whoosh. It’s Andrew. “Why are you answering your brother’s phone?”
“He went to a movie with Mom and left it here. Is this a booty call?”
I snort. “Not so much. I was just…” Pissed. Sad. Lonely. “Bored.”
“You want some company?”
“Here?” Matt comes over occasionally, but I’ve never had Andrew over by himself.
“Yeah,” Andrew says. “I got a B on my chemistry test, so I got my car back.”
“I’m okay.”
“I don’t mind.” He switches to a teasing tone. “I’d be happy to come kick your butt at Mario Kart.”
“I don’t have it,” I admit.
“That explains why you suck so much.”
*
While I wait, I look around for embarrassing things to put away. “Boobs” do not occur to me until I open the door and cold air rushes in, reminding me I never put on a bra.
“Uh…” Andrew’s been rendered speechless by my nipples.
“Hi,” I say loudly. He blinks and holds out a shopping bag. “What’s that?”
“Mario Kart. And provisions.”
“Provisions” turns out to be chocolate, weed, chips, games, and real Dr Pepper. We sit on the back porch with the light off and smoke from his red glass pipe, which he says will make me cough less. He’s right. Our neighbors are grad students, so at least I don’t have to worry about them telling Mom. She’ll kill me if she finds out I’m “doing drugs,” even if pot’s legal all over the place now. Sometimes she hints that my dad was into the real stuff. But god forbid she ever tell me the whole story.
Back inside, Andrew holds out some choices. “You want to play a real game?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I hate that shooting shit.”
“Racing it is.” We sit on opposite ends of the couch and play track after track. I’m even worse stoned. After my Donkey Kong character crashes into yet another wall, Andrew takes a bathroom break, and when he returns, he moves closer to me. “So Raych,” he says, while forcing me to sit through the entirety of another cartoon trophy ceremony. “What’s the deal with you and Carson?”
I pretend the fireworks over Bowser’s castle are fascinating. “Nothing. Why.”
“He was just saying some stuff, asking me about you.”
My grip tightens on the controller. “Well, tell him to screw off,” I say, a little too aggressively.
Andrew laughs. “That’s more or less what I said.”
I try not to show how surprised I am that Andrew defended me. “I thought y’all were friends.”
“He’s always been kind of an asshole. That’s part of why I quit baseball—most of the team’s that way.” He changes his character to Luigi, which reminds me of the year that was his Halloween costume and Matt was Mario. “I’m glad you two aren’t … you know.”
“Yeah. No. We’re definitely not.”
Discussing Carson should make me tense, but knowing that Andrew dislikes him actually makes me relax. We goof off and joke as usual, play-fighting over races until we’re sitting so close that our legs touch. I pretend not to notice, but it’s nice. Unexpectedly comfortable.
And maybe it’s just the weed, but the conversation gets more personal too. “I actually want to go to Duke,” he admits. “But I bombed my first try at the ACT.”
“You can always take it again,” I argue. “Do a test-prep class or something.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He picks Kalimari Desert for our next bout. “I thought Dad would be psyched, but it seems like he’s put all his hopes into Matt.”
“He’ll figure it out,” I say, frowning at the screen. “Matt’ll end up at a little liberal arts school and you can carry on the legacy.”
Andrew’s already listened to my many conversations with Matt about college, so he changes the subject. “When do you start your new job?”
“Tomorrow,” I say with relief. “You’re going to get sick of me being around all the time.”