Tease(55)

The scene on Emma’s front porch keeps rolling over and over in my head. Mrs. Putnam’s hard eyes, her sharp fingernails against the door. Brielle standing up for me—for Dylan, for Kyle, for all of us, trying to tell this woman anything that will make her take her daughter away, so she’ll leave us alone—but in the process, also basically telling her to get Jacob arrested, maybe even Dylan, after his birthday. And then I think of Jacob and Seamus, or Jacob and Emma, or Emma and Dylan, and I’m back to where I started.

I freaking hate Emma Putnam. I wish she’d never been born.

The surge of anger gives me the energy to yank my keys out of the ignition and stomp into the house, but as soon as the inside garage door slams behind me, I know my first instinct—to pull the car back out of the driveway and speed away—was dead on.

“Why did I get a call from a Valerie Putnam today?” my mom asks. Her voice is as scary as Mrs. Putnam’s was. Scarier.

“I don’t know,” I say. I throw my bag on the kitchen table. The boys have disappeared into the house, obviously not worried that Mom is home so early, even changed out of her work clothes already and starting dinner. Not that I’m looking at her that closely. I don’t actually look her in the eye at all as I reach into the fridge for a water, like nothing’s wrong, like this is a totally normal day.

“You don’t know, huh?” she repeats after me.

Well, great. Apparently she knows, and this is one of those Tell me the truth and you won’t get in trouble deals. Which are really not deals at all, as everyone with parents has already learned the hard way. Even Alex doesn’t fall for that one anymore.

I grab a bottle of water and turn back to her slowly, letting the fridge door slam shut behind me. “What,” I say, not even bothering to pretend it’s a real question.

“Have you been threatening her daughter? Is there something going on I should know about?”

By now, she probably should know about it, but if she doesn’t, I’m not gonna be the one to fill her in. “I don’t know,” I say. “But her daughter’s a bitch, did she tell you that?”

“Sara, that is ridic—”

I’ve ripped the cap off the water bottle and now I throw it across the room, momentarily shocking both of us into silence. But after a second I spit out, “Little Miss Perfect Emma Putnam is going out with Dylan now. So if she wants to complain about me, that’s just fine. That’s perfect.”

My mom looks at me like I’m not making any sense, but also like she’s sorry for me, or sorry I’m upset at least. She liked Dylan, I know, and I never actually told her why we broke up. Another thing she should’ve known by now, but whatever.

“Her mother says you’ve been hassling Emma,” she says quietly, almost whispering. “For a while?”

I just stare at her, my lips clamped shut. If she can’t see that Emma’s the one bothering me, not to mention half the school, I really can’t explain.

Mom pauses for an extra minute before seeming to realize I’m not going to say anything else. She lets out a sigh. “Listen, maybe just leave her alone. I know you’re not a mean person, but they’re obviously taking it the wrong way. And I’m sorry about Dylan. I know it feels like the end of the world, but I promise, it’s not.” She reaches out to touch my arm, but I flinch, stepping out of reach. She lets her hand drop. “He’s graduating anyway, right?” she adds. “So maybe this is even for the best. Long-distance relationships are so hard, especially when you’re so young—”

She’s still talking, but I just leave the kitchen. I cannot talk to her. Obviously I already have a long-distance relationship with my own mother. If only it was literally long-distance, everything would be way better.

“So I guess you’re gonna need another plan to get Little Miss Loser off your boyfriend.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Didn’t I tell you? Nothing really happened with Jacob. Or anyway, that’s the story he’s sticking with.” Brielle jerks her head to the side, throwing her hair over one shoulder. A couple of strands don’t make it, but she can’t use her fingers because the manicurist is spraying them with the antibacterial stuff. “Noelle believes him, which, you know, whatever.”

“But I thought—so, wait, they didn’t have sex?” I lower my voice, embarrassed, and bracing myself for Brielle’s reaction to this almost definitely stupid question.

She just shrugs. “Probably everything but,” she says. “Noelle says Emma called Jacob in a big panic, so I guess it could’ve worked. Who knows, maybe they’ll still pull Emma out of school. You could get lucky.” The manicurist is massaging fancy lotion onto Brielle’s hands now, and Brielle stares at them absentmindedly. “But of course, Jacob’s parents are crazy litigious, so maybe they just made it go away. Remember that pool their neighbors were going to put in?”

I shake my head a little, trying to keep up. It hadn’t been my plan to get Emma in trouble for hooking up with Jacob. That had all been Brielle—though, I mean, I’d wanted it to work. But she’d really come up with the whole thing. And now she’s acting like it’s not a big deal at all.

“Pool?” is all I can manage to say. My own manicurist is faster than Brielle’s, and she’s already applying bright yellow polish to my nails. I stare at the paint; it looks like each nail is being lit up, one at a time. Like candles.