This never used to be a big deal. I’ve danced with Raychel a thousand times.
But that same weird feeling, the one that made me almost kiss her Friday night, makes me move back. Her eyes open to slits, then close again as she dances farther away. I watch her. I try not to be obvious.
I’m not sure if I want her to come back or stay away.
*
It’s hard to convince Raychel we have to go home, but it’s already ten and we have school in the morning. I’d gladly leave my brother, but his friends went home, so I have to drag his sorry ass to the parking lot too. I toss him a towel. “Don’t get mud all over my car, you tool.”
Andrew flips me off. “Why do you only listen to dead white guys?” Raychel asks from the backseat. She gives up on my music and leans forward to turn on the radio. But the joke’s on her, because the classic rock station is the only one with decent reception this far out in the sticks, and by the time we get on the road, she’s lying down, singing at the top of her lungs. Andrew joins in without missing a note.
It’s annoying, but damn, Raychel can sing. I thought our choir director was going to cry when she didn’t try out this year, and I wanted to tell him it was because the new uniforms were too expensive. But Raych would have killed me if she found out. She nearly killed me anyway when I told her I had quit too, though that wasn’t out of solidarity. I only joined in the first place so she wouldn’t wuss out of her own audition. I didn’t expect to get in, and once I did, I was stuck, cummerbunds and bow ties and all.
Now I realize I haven’t heard Raych sing in forever. Her alto expands through the car, with Andrew’s gravelly bass grounding it here and there. An old song by The Band comes on and Raychel’s head appears in my rearview. “Turn it up!”
Andrew obeys, launching into the first verse with her. What the hell. At the chorus, I add tenor to their harmony. “And … and … and.… she put the load right on me!”
We keep the classic rock going until we reach the house. I make Andrew strip down to his boxers in the garage while Raychel stands there, humming to herself, holding her shoes. She’s mostly clean, but still damp from the rain. “Do you want some clothes?” I ask. She nods.
“I’ll get ’em,” Andrew says. He returns, redressed, with the pajama pants Raych keeps here and one of his old Grateful Dead T-shirts.
While she changes, Andrew raids the kitchen and plows through a munchies spread of cold cuts, cheese, and chips. Raychel comes in and makes herself a sandwich that’s bigger than her face. She’s tied one side of his borrowed shirt in a knot and it rides up, letting a sliver of smooth stomach peek out. I make myself look away and notice she has mayo on her cheek.
That stupid hormonal part of my brain wants to lick it off. I remind it we hate mayonnaise.
RAYCHEL
“Why don’t you come home?” Mom asks when I call.
She’s not worried because I’m sleeping over with boys—I’ve been crashing at the Richardsons’ since seventh grade, when she had to work nights occasionally. I think she’s just jealous. She worries that Mrs. R. will replace her. “It’s late and we’re really tired.”
“You’re going to wear out your welcome over there.”
“It’s fine. They don’t mind.”
When she finally gives in, I hang up and flop next to Andrew on the leather couch. He kicks my ass at Mario Kart while Matt throws our dirty clothes in the washer. “Can I wear this shirt to school tomorrow?” I ask.
“Sure.” Andrew’s smile turns into a grimace as my car careens off the screen. “Look,” he says, trying to take my controller. “If you’ll press this and then—”
I wrestle it away. “I don’t need you to mansplain this, Andrew.”
He puts a hand to his chest in mock offense as the game restarts. “Raychel Sanders, I’m shocked you would use such a sexist term! Lumping all men together like that.” He tsks.
“Yeah,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Good thing guys never ‘bitch’ about it or we’d have to change our entire vocabulary.”
Matt laughs from the doorway but Andrew just says “Aha!” and runs me off the Rainbow Road.
*
We get ready for bed together, as usual. Andrew splashes water all over the counter and gets toothpaste on the mirror. Matt scowls at the mess as he sits on the edge of the tub to floss. When it’s my turn at the sink, Andrew shakes his head. “I still can’t believe he lets you use his face wash.”
I’ve never asked, but I always use Matt’s fancy organic stuff—it’s a lot nicer than my Walmart generic. “It’s because I don’t squeeze out half the bottle every time like some people.”
Andrew musses my hair, not waiting for me to dry my face. “Night.”
“Rematch!” I call after him, leaning out the door. “Mario Kart! Tomorrow!”
He walks backward long enough to smirk and blow me a kiss. I pretend to swoon and duck back into the bathroom. If he’d done that at school, I’d be getting the stink eye from twenty different girls right now.
“Tomorrow’s going to be rough,” Matt says, yawning.
“We’ll need extra coffee rations.” I lean close to the mirror and pick at a spot on my forehead. Must. Not. Squeeze …
“What did you think of The Flying Buttresses?”
“They were okay,” I say. Matt’s hanging a towel over the shower rod, so I take a chance and lean closer. Can’t resist. Must—eeeew. Gross. I wipe the goo off the mirror before he can see it. “Two Ton Pickup killed it.”
“Yeah, they were good.” He follows me out to the guest room and stands in the doorway. “You need anything?”
“Nah. See you in the morning.”
He shuts the door. I turn the light off and climb into bed, trying to get settled. Trying to tell myself that I’ll find another job easily, and that it’s a good sign Shane and Cruz didn’t say a single word about Carson today. Maybe some new scandal from this weekend will replace me tomorrow.
Maybe Carson will go back to ignoring me and I can pretend nothing ever happened.
I stare at the ceiling, watching tree shadows dance overhead. That night in his Blazer wasn’t fun, but I have to be overreacting. If it was really as bad as I remember, he would be avoiding me like the plague.
I put a pillow over my head. He made me feel … I can admit it. Unworthy. Worthless.
Used.
I’ve never felt that way before. I like knowing that my occasional college-boy hookups are temporary. That I’m in charge. That I can walk away at any time.
But I can’t walk away from Carson. He’s everywhere.
I toss and turn for what feels like hours, trying to find a calm spot for my brain to rest. Finally, I fling back the covers, and my bare feet cross the plush rug to the hallway’s hardwood floor. I hold my breath passing Andrew’s door and tap lightly on Matt’s as it cracks open. “Matt?”
Yawning, he sits up and blinks. “Bad dream?”
I nod.
He pulls back the blanket. “Come on.”
MATT