He ignores the hurt in my eyes. “She feels underappreciated. And, you know, after everything that happened with your dad, you should really cut her some slack.”
My shoulders twitch because I can’t sit still. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I’m terrible at sticking up for myself, but I can’t help but defend Dad. Especially when Uncle Max is the one talking about him.
He shrugs like it’s not that big of a deal. “I mean everything she had to put up with.” His blue eyes are stained with yellow, like they’ve been poisoned over the years.
I don’t stare at him for very long, and pretty soon my gaze is back at my hands. I just can’t do it. It’s intimidating. And I know who he’s trying to blame—it’s my fault that my parents split up. They started fighting because of what I told Mom. Uncle Max moved out because it got too uncomfortable, and then Dad moved out because he wanted a new family.
It’s my fault that our family broke apart in the first place, and Uncle Max knows it, just like everyone else in this house.
His hand rushes up like he’s trying to catch a lightning bug. He clasps my shoulder too hard. “I’m right across the hall if you ever want to talk, kiddo. We used to be pals when you were younger. There’s no reason we can’t get back to that now that we’re roomies again.”
How does he do that? How does he sneer and speak to me like nothing happened? Like he thinks I don’t remember? Like he thinks my parents don’t know?
The monster squeezes tighter. I feel like I’m going to vomit.
I know nobody else ever talks about it because it’s uncomfortable. It’s the family secret everyone would rather have buried and forgotten about. Sometimes even I want that.
But pretending with me is a lot different from when I pretend with my parents.
Because it happened to me.
I don’t realize how violently I’m shaking until Uncle Max pulls his hand away and stares at me like I’m an animal left out in the cold.
I sweep a small brush into a blob of cerulean gray and pin my gaze to the corner of the canvas until his footsteps leave the room.
? ? ?
I paint a monster with poisoned eyes swallowing up the sun so the whole world goes dark.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Itell Emery all about Jamie, because if I keep talking about the things that make me happy I can trick myself into forgetting about the things that don’t. She’s happy for me, but she’s also overwhelmed with school. I have to remind myself not to text her too often—it’s hard breaking the habit, but I know she’s busy starting her new life. She’s on a scholarship—her future depends on her getting good grades, and I can hear in her voice it’s not as easy as it was in Mr. Miller’s classes.
And even though I know I miss her, sometimes I forget I do at all because I’ve been too excited about being friends with Jamie again.
It feels so familiar. It feels like it did all those years ago, when I had such a clear understanding of happiness. It wasn’t muddied and confusing like it is now. Maybe that’s just part of growing up—things aren’t black and white, hot and cold, happy and sad. They’re complicated. Feelings are complicated.
With Jamie, everything feels simple. I need simple. I need a friend.
I text him: Lucky Charms or Cap’n Crunch?
He texts back: Cap’n Crunch, if it’s peanut butter.
I write: I’d pick Cap’n Crunch no matter what.
He writes: Want to come over?
I write back: Okay.
I feel like I need to bring something with me, so I rummage through the kitchen cupboard. I find a package of chocolate chip cookies that have been there for months and a bottle of kiwi-flavored water that Mom hates.
Jamie texts me his cousin’s address.
When I show up with the water and cookies, he shakes his head in the doorway.
“Who brings flavored water to a house party?” His hair is a deep toffee color under the porch light, but his eyes are still the brightest blue I’ve ever seen.
The skin on my forearms buzz with nerves. “House party?” I repeat.
The girl from the party appears behind Jamie. The one with all the lip gloss. “Hey, stranger.” She’s wearing a pale orange crop top and a leather miniskirt, and the bulk of her hair is swept to one side.
I take a step backward automatically. “Sorry. I didn’t know you had company. I can come back another time.”
Jamie scrunches his eyebrows. “What’s wrong with now?”
The girl moves away from the door. I think she’s trying not to make me feel more uncomfortable, but it’s not her fault. I live my life in the small space between “uncomfortable” and “awkward.”
I’m still walking backward without even realizing it. “I should go home.” I look at my hands, and suddenly I’m moving toward him. Thrusting the water and cookies into his chest, I say, “Here. You can keep these for your party.”
When I reach my car door, I realize Jamie’s followed me. He looks confused, and of course he is. Normal people don’t need to prepare for social interactions. Normal people don’t panic at the sight of strangers. Normal people don’t want to cry because the plan they’ve processed in their head is suddenly not the plan that’s going to happen.
I’m not normal. I know this. And now Jamie is going to figure it out too.
Because I’m not the girl who wears crop tops and short skirts and looks like one of Taylor Swift’s best friends.
I’m the girl who brings kiwi-flavored water to a house party.
“I don’t understand. Why won’t you come inside?”
“I’m not really good at parties. Or people,” I say squeamishly.
“We ran into each other at a party.”
I shut my eyes as tight as I can. “That was different. Emery wanted me to go, and then I couldn’t stay at home because of—well, it doesn’t matter; I just needed to get out of my house. But then your girlfriend—” Oh my God, I’m talking way too much. I peel my eyes open.
Jamie’s lips are pressed together and his eyes are wide—the biggest I’ve ever seen them. “So you’ll go to a party full of strangers when you’re distressed, but you won’t when a friend asks you to hang out?” He studies me for a moment. “Kiko, that doesn’t make any sense.”
I shrug because what else am I supposed to do? Of course it doesn’t make sense—feeling this way doesn’t make sense. But if I could fix myself and turn off the anxiety long enough to feel normal, I would have a long time ago.
He looks flustered. I feel flustered.
“Look, I was exaggerating when I called it a house party. It’s just Sarah, her sister Missy, and this guy Alfie I used to play soccer with when I was a kid.” He pauses. “You see more strangers every time you’re at work.”
“But they don’t expect me to talk beyond showing them where things are sometimes. At work I’m just a cashier. They don’t expect me to be—” I let out a breath.
“A human being?” Jamie blinks at me.
I feel my entire body getting hot. I feel like I’m being interrogated. I feel offended.
“I’ll talk to you some other time,” I say stiffly.