He looks at me, his eyes grazing over me like he feels it too, the unidentified big wrong thing that hovers between us, making everything feel so dang weird.
Then he shrugs and turns toward the road. Choosing to drive the rest of the way in silence. Or at least he and I are silent. His stereo is screaming full blast. And even though that usually gets on my nerves, today I'm glad. I'd rather focus on crap music I can't stand, than the fact that I don't want to kiss him.
I look at him, really look at him in the way I haven't done since I've gotten used to us being a couple.
Taking in the swoop of bangs framing those big green eyes that slant down ever so slightly at the corners making him impossible to resist —except for today.
Today it comes easy. And when I remember how just yesterday I was covering my notebook with his name, well, it just doesn't make any sense. He turns, catching me staring and smiling as he takes my hand. Entwining his fingers with mine and squeezing them in a way that makes my stomach go queasy. But I force myself to return it, both the smile and the squeeze, knowing it's expected, what a good girlfriend does. Then I gaze out the window, holding down the nausea as I stare at the passing landscape, the rain-soaked streets, the clapboard houses and pine trees, glad to be getting home soon. "So, tonight?" He pulls into my drive, muting the sound as he leans toward me and looks at me in that way that he has.
But I just press my lips together and reach for my bag, holding it against my chest like a shield, a solid defense meant to keep him away. "I'll text you," I mumble, avoiding his eyes as I glance out the window, seeing my neighbor and her daughter playing catch on the lawn, as I reach for the door handle, desperate to get away from him and into my room.
And just as I've opened the door and slipped one leg out, he says, "Aren't you forgetting something?" I gaze down at my backpack, knowing it's all that I brought, but when I look at him again, I realize he's not referring to that. And knowing there's only one way to get through this without arousing any more suspicions from him or from me, I lean toward him, closing my eyes as I press my lips against his, finding them objectively smooth, pliant, but basically neutral, with none of their usual spark. "I'll —um, I'll see you later," I mumble, hopping out of his Jeep and wiping my mouth on my sleeve well before I've even reached the front door. Rushing inside and heading straight to the den where I'm blocked by a plastic drum set, a guitar with no strings, and a small black microphone that's going to break if Riley and her friend don't stop fighting over it. "We already agreed," Riley says, yanking the mic toward her. "I sing all the boy songs, and you sing all the girl songs. What's the problem?" "The problem," her friend whines, pulling it even harder. "Is that there's hardly any girl songs. And you know it."
But Riley just shrugs. "That's not my fault. Take it up with Rock Band, not me."
"I swear, you are so —" Her friend stops when she sees me standing in the doorway, shaking my head.
"You guys need to take turns," I say, giving Riley a pointed look, glad to be presented with a problem I can handle, even though I wasn't consulted. "Emily, you get the next song, and Riley, you get the one after that, and then so on. Think you can handle that?"
Riley rolls her eyes as Emily snatches the mic from her hand.
"Is Mom around?" I ask, ignoring Riley's scowl since I'm pretty much used to it by now.
"She's in her room. Getting ready," she says, watching me leave as she whispers to her friend, "Fine. I get to sing 'Dead on Arrival,' you can sing 'Creep.' "
I pass by my room, drop my bag on the floor, then make my way into my mom's room, leaning against the archway that separates the bedroom from the bathroom and watching as she puts on her makeup, remembering how I used to love to do this back when I was little and thought my mom was the most glamorous woman on the planet. But when I look at her now, I mean, look at her objectively, I realize she actually is kind of glamorous, at least in a suburban mom kind of way.
"How was school?" she asks, turning her head from side to side, making sure her foundation is blended and seamless.
"Fine." I shrug. "We had a test in science, which I probably failed," I tell her, even though I don't really believe it went all that bad, but not knowing how to express what I really want to say —that everything feels strange, and uncertain, like it's off balance, lacking —and hoping for any reaction I can get out of her.
But she just sighs and moves on to her eyes, sweeping her small makeup brush over her lids and across the crease as she says, "I'm sure you didn't fail." She glances at me through the mirror. "I'm sure you did just fine."
I trace my hand over a smudge on the wall, thinking I should leave, go to my room and chill out for a while, listen to some music, read a good book, anything to take my mind off of me.
"Sorry this is so last minute," she says, pumping her mascara wand in and out of its tube. "I know you probably had plans."
I shrug, twisting my wrist back and forth, watching the way the crystals in my bracelet flicker and flare, glinting in the fluorescent light and trying to remember where it came from. "That's all right," I tell her. "There'll be plenty of other Friday nights." My mom squints, mascara in hand, pausing in midstroke as she says, "Ever? Is that you?" She laughs. "Is something going on that I should know about? Because that hardly sounds like my daughter." I take a deep breath and lift my shoulders, wishing I could tell her how something is most definitely going on, something I can't quite place, something that leaves me feeling so —unlike me. But I don't. I mean, I can barely explain it to myself, much less her. All I know is that yesterday I felt fine—and today—pretty much the opposite of fine. Alien even—like I no longer fit—like I'm a round girl in a square world.
"You know I'm okay with you inviting a few friends over," she says, moving on to her lips, coating them with a swipe of lipstick before enhancing the color with a touch of gloss. "As long as you keep it to a minimum, no more than three, and as long as you don't ignore your sister."
"Thanks." I nod, forcing a smile so she'll think I'm okay. "But I'm kind of looking forward to having a night off from all that."
I head to my room and plop down on my bed, fully content to just stare at the ceiling, until I realize how pathetic that is and I reach for the book on my nightstand instead. Immersed in the story of a guy and girl so entwined, so perfectly made for each other, their love transcends time. Wishing I could climb inside those pages and live there forever, preferring their story to mine.
"Hey, Ev." My dad pokes his head into my room.
"I've come to say both hello and good-bye. We're running late, so we gotta leave soon."
I toss my book aside and race toward him, hugging him so tight he laughs and shakes his head.
"Nice to know you're not too grown up to hug your old man." He smiles, as I pull away, horrified to find that there are actual tears in my eyes, and busying myself with some books on a shelf until I'm sure the threat is long past. "Make sure you and your sister are packed and ready to leave. I want to be on the road nice and early tomorrow."
I nod, disturbed by the strange hollow feeling invading my gut as he leaves. Wondering, not for the first time, just what the heck is going on with me.
CHAPTER 46
"Forget it. You're not the boss of me, Ever!" Riley shouts, arms folded, face scowling, refusing to budge. I mean, who would've guessed that a ninety-pound twelve-year-old could be such a force of nature? But no way am I giving in. Because the second my parents left and Riley was watered and fed, I sent Brandon a text, telling him to come by around ten, which is any minute now so it's imperative I get her to bed. I shake my head and sigh, wishing she didn't have to be so dang stubborn, but fully prepared to do battle. "Um, I hate to break it to you," I say. "But you're wrong. I am the boss of you. From the moment Mom and Dad left until the time they return, I am one hundred percent the boss of you. And you can argue all you want, but it won't change a thing." "This is so unfair !" She glares. "I swear, the second I turn thirteen there's going to be some equality around here."