“Oh. Okay,” Mom says contritely. “I might be late…”
“I won’t wait up.” I close the door behind her and rest my forehead against it, trying to absorb the calm left in her wake. Minutes could have passed, or hours, when something scuttles outside. Probably a leaf. I flip the deadbolt anyway, and the click echoes through the empty room.
Click. You’re alone.
Again.
I flop back onto the couch, trying not to think. Sick of thinking about it. Sick of Carson invading my space. One minute I’m fine, and the next, some random detail puts that night on replay in my head—the smell of artificial peach, the shoes I was wearing, the song that was on. Suddenly I’m back on my knees, swaying. Weak. Why didn’t I get up? Why didn’t I grab him by the balls and teach him a lesson?
Because you wanted it, a voice says in my mind.
No I didn’t.
Yes you did. You couldn’t have your first choice, or even your second, so you went for that instead.
That’s not quite true, but it’s a humiliating fact to face: I wanted to be Andrew’s girlfriend. I still wish I could be his girlfriend. But worse is that I was jealous of Mindy, and not because I want to date Matt—I just like being his favorite. I always knew I came first, no matter who he dated, and I always knew Eliza had reason to hate me. Because I can count on Matt to be there for me.
Until next fall, when he leaves. And Andrew won’t be far behind him.
The truth is that I’m scared to be alone. I’m scared for everyone to leave Big Springs and leave me here with no one but Mom, who sees her boyfriend more than she does me.
That’s why I wanted to believe Carson.
I wanted to believe someone liked me enough to claim me. Call me theirs. Keep me around. And sober, I can see the flawed reasoning, but drunk, I wanted to say yes this time so last time’s no wouldn’t count. So the scene in Carson’s truck would take on a different meaning. So some part of this stupid situation would be under my control.
But I said no this time. And he didn’t listen.
I think Matt will listen, once I work up the nerve to tell him the truth, but Andrew was so angry. I understand why, but … I wasn’t his girlfriend. He never asked me to be. We never made anything exclusive or official. And maybe I shouldn’t have kissed Carson—god, what an understatement—but it’s not like Andrew wasn’t down there with Keri.
He probably thinks I was lying about Carson from the very beginning. And if Andrew’s mad enough that he confessed to Matt … Well, at least I won’t have to be the one to do it. Every silver lining’s got a touch of gray.
That song really does suck.
It’s only nine fifteen, the clock’s hands making a flat face like “Sorry, still lots of night to go.” So I put a pillow over my head and lie on the couch.
“Lie” is passive. I’m actively lying. Lying to myself that everything will be okay.
MATT
My mom waits until she’s tricked me into going to the grocery store Wednesday evening before she springs the question. “Are you sure Raychel’s okay?”
“She’s fine.”
Mom glances at me over a bunch of bananas. “Fine. Even though she keeps calling in sick to work and hasn’t hung out with you in days.”
“I’m not in charge of Raychel,” I say. It might be the truest thing I know at the moment. “Call her mom if you’re so concerned.”
“That’d go over like a ton of bricks.” We never discuss it, but we all know that Raychel’s mom is not our family’s biggest fan. Mom bags some pears as if this is casual chitchat. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” I say, just as nonchalantly.
She gives me a fake smile and head tilt to show she’s waiting. I pretend to be fascinated by the variety of peppers. “Matthew,” she says, stepping closer so the nosy old woman buying bagged salad can’t hear. “I’m not completely clueless. I know you and your brother hit that Tipton boy.”
“What?” I drop a poblano, and she smirks. “How?”
She taps her temple. “I hear things.”
Of course she does. Two of the other professors in her department have kids at Big Springs High. “I didn’t hit him,” I mumble. “I was too slow.”
She sighs. “I don’t know why his parents aren’t pressing charges—”
“They can’t.”
“Who is the law professor here?” She glares at me. “You could be charged with assault.”
“So could he,” I say petulantly.
“Did he start the fight?”
“Sort of.”
Mom exhales loudly and we have a staring contest, but the produce spritzers come on, startling us out of our stalemate. “Look, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Raychel was involved,” she says, pulling a plastic bag from the dispenser. “And unless you explain, I’m going to assume that you lied because you should be in trouble.”
“No,” I insist. “I just wasn’t sure how much she’d want me to say.”
Mom levels her gaze at me. “If someone hurt her, you need to report it. Period.”
“I don’t—” Her eyes narrow as soon as I say it. “No, I mean, I’m not sure.”
“So you and Andrew teamed up on an unarmed boy because you thought—”
“We didn’t team up,” I argue. “I was in a different room and walked in at the wrong time.” I touch my nose self-consciously. “I never hit anybody, I just pulled them apart.”
“But why were they fighting in the first place?”
“Because Andrew threw him through a door.”
Mom stops and squeezes her temples. “Matthew, tell me right now, or—”
“Because he had her cornered,” I say too loudly. The old salad lady raises her eyebrows. Mom wheels our cart to the ethnic food aisle, where there are fewer shoppers to eavesdrop. “Carson had Raychel cornered,” I say again, when we’re alone. “With his fly down. And she was…” I cannot say “about to give him a blow job” to my mother. “In a compromising position. And she was crying,” I add. “I don’t know if that was the alcohol or embarrassment or what.”
Mom closes her eyes, then opens them to survey a wall of rice, as if jasmine and arborio might present her with a game plan. “You were drinking.”
“Raychel and I were,” I admit. “Andrew wasn’t.”
She doesn’t bother to hide her surprise, but it clearly changes her thinking. “Okay. And what does Raychel have to say about all this?”
“She doesn’t.” I drop a box of noodles into the cart too hard. “She won’t say anything.”
“Have you asked her?”
“No, because she’s avoiding me, and because she and Carson have, um … This isn’t their first … you know.”
Mom nods. “So they’ve been dating?”
I don’t want to make my mom think bad of Raychel, but I don’t want her to think bad of me either. “No, definitely not. She barely talks to him.”
“Okay,” Mom says again. “So you have good reason to believe, then, that she was assaulted.”
“I wouldn’t call it that, but—”