Girl Out of Water(62)

I stare at the screen.

Call ended.

“Bye.”

? ? ?

“What the hell are you doing?” Emery asks.

Emery’s standing in the doorway of her room, and I’m standing in a pile of clothes and magazines and hangers. My conversation with Tess unleashed all my anger and frustration. I had to leave my friends behind and spend the summer here, in the home of the woman who abandoned me—and now I can’t help but realize, despite my hatred of everything she is and does, I’m just like her.

I want my own piece of destruction, a bit of that satisfaction Aunt Jackie felt by ripping my mom’s stuff apart at the seams. So I pulled out drawers and checked for notes taped to the bottom of the old furniture and plowed through the closet, hunting for a loose panel or some piece of my mom I could ruin. But I found nothing.

She’s never here.

“Sorry,” I say. “I’ll clean everything up.”

I pick up clothes and begin to fold them. Emery turns on a Beatles’ album then joins me in cleaning, even though she doesn’t have to. “Seriously, um, what were you doing?”

I almost laugh. I almost cry.

“I’m an asshole friend,” I say. “A shitty, terrible, fuckup, asshole piece of crap.” I whip my head toward her. “Don’t curse.”

She grins. “But you set such a shining example.”

“I was…well, you know how you said this was my mom’s room?” Emery nods. “I guess I was looking for something of hers.”

“Did you find anything?”

I shake my head. Of course I didn’t. She hasn’t lived here for more than two decades. What was I expecting? But I’m exhausted and aggravated and frustrated, at my mom, at myself, and at Emery. And I just need to do something. Emery is making the same mistake I did, putting distance between her and her friends.

“What’s your problem?” I ask, ditching the tiptoeing tone I’ve used with her for weeks. She spins toward me. I can’t tell if she’s scared or pissed. “No, really,” I continue. “What the hell is going on with you? Everything is fine, and then you go to the lake and come back in this terrible mood. You stop hanging out with your friends. And you won’t tell me why, no matter how many times I ask. And you made me promise not to tell your mom. But here’s the thing—your time is up. Either you tell me what’s going on, or I’m telling your mom and letting her worry about it. Whatever happened, you can’t keep it all bottled up inside or you’ll—”

“Explode?” Emery asks, eyebrow raised.

I pause. “If you don’t talk to me, I will talk to your mom.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“Watch me.”

We stare at each other. “I Am the Walrus” plays in soft tones from her computer. Emery sets her jaw. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Too bad.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” The song switches to “Strawberry Fields Forever.” Emery fiddles with a sweater, toying with its hem. “You’re going to think it’s ridiculous.”

“Try me.”

“Like really ridiculous.”

“Emery, when I was twelve I tried to scale our roof using one of those back massagers as a grappling hook. Seriously, try me.”

For a second, she looks like she’s going to laugh. But then her face shifts back to anxiousness. “So remember how I was invited to the lake last minute?”

I’d actually forgotten about that, but now I remember Dad mentioning it. “Yeah?” I ask.

“Well, apparently everyone else had been invited, like, weeks in advance. I thought I was part of the group, you know? It wasn’t until the end of the weekend that Ashley, who I’m not really friends with, told me the truth. I was basically leftovers. Charlie wanted exactly thirteen girls at her thirteenth birthday party, and when Natalie couldn’t come last minute, Charlie asked me. So basically she only invited me because I was the only person she knew pathetic enough not to already have weekend plans.”

My stomach sinks. Back home, our group is tight-knit. But this summer I’ve experienced being the odd person out, and it doesn’t feel good. I’m glad the situation isn’t more serious, but I understand why Emery feels as if she can’t show her face around her friends. It’s got to feel miserable to think your friends don’t want you.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “That sounds terrible.” I try to think of something hopeful to say. “But you’re making new friends. You and Austin seem really close.”

“Yeah…” She still seems tense.

I’m not sure if our talk has actually changed anything.

Saying a problem out loud doesn’t fix it…but maybe, just maybe, it starts to help.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” I say.

She’s quiet for a moment before responding, “It’s okay. You were only trying to help. Hey, after we finish cleaning up your mess, we should stay up and watch as many episodes of The Office as possible so we can finish before you leave town. If you want to or whatever.”

“Sure.” I smile at her. “You know, whatever.”