The Loose Ends List(7)

By the time I get there, everybody is in the pool.

Remy runs up and tackles me. She’s soaked, and it feels cold and awful, but it wakes me up. It’s good to be back to my normal state of being.

Yesterday everything was perfect. I took my CPR class for lifeguarding with Lizzie and got my nails done. I helped Ethan with his math homework, we made out a little and ate pizza, and I organized my summer clothes. I wish I had appreciated yesterday more.

I could use a hug.

I get a text from Janie. Mom and Brit are def not going on that cruise. FYI. Thank you, God!

I scan the crowd of bobbing wet heads for Ethan. I don’t know when or how I’m going to tell him that I’m leaving for the entire summer.

I spot his yellow baseball hat moving back and forth. At first it looks like he’s dancing. Then I see the misshapen head of Ellie-the-sophomore, who pushes her way into every party. She is not cute. Her head is shaped like a pineapple. My boyfriend is making out with Ellie-the-sophomore in the unmistakable way Ethan always makes out, with his head ramming back and forth. My brain can’t begin to wrap itself around this little surprise.

I back into the shadows of the pool shed and gather my thoughts. If this were any other night, I would have ripped that girl off my boyfriend and yelled Ethan is a premature ejaculator for everyone to hear. But this isn’t any other night. It’s the worst night of my life.

Why did I leave? I should have stayed with my gram.

I peek around the shed and see Ethan and Pineapple sitting on a lounge chair chugging from red cups. Remy and Abby run right past them, holding hands, probably about to pee on each other’s feet again. Then it hits me. Ethan needs this girl to boost his pathetic ego.

I sneak over to the other side of the pool and pull Lizzie off Kyle. She’s confused, but I give her the look we give in emergencies and she follows me. I point out Ethan and Pineapple. Lizzie looks ready to dig their eyes out. In a split second, she’s processed what this means: No more meeting up at Starbucks. No more four of us going to the movies and sitting by the lake with leftover popcorn. No more four-way texts to discuss the next plan. Lizzie’s life is about to turn upside down.

“I’m done, Lizzie.”

“You need to kick that ugly girl’s ass. How dare she mess with us?” I grab Lizzie and pull her toward them, as Pineapple tosses her stringy hair and laughs, oblivious to our approach. I’m right behind her when I spot Abby and Remy running in our direction.

I tap Ethan on the shoulder. He turns. His face looks like he just walked into a surprise party, but the ones shouting surprise are maggot-covered demons. I should say something to ruin him, but I don’t like him or hate him enough.

“Hey, Eth.” I smile. “Hi, Ellie,” I say with unwavering lightness. They don’t move. “I see you two are getting to know each other. That’s really special. I wish you both the very best. I’m sure you’ll be so happy together.”

I turn and walk away before Ethan has a chance to grovel, and I essentially spend the next twenty minutes in a headlock until I promise, double promise, and swear on my family’s life that I won’t kill myself over Ethan. The E’s finally let me go.

I send a quick Please pick up the E’s text to the Sober Sisters, our school’s designated driver club—the Sober Sisters’ summer just got a lot busier. I have three missed texts from Rachel. What’s the news? What’s the news? and Helllloooo? What’s the news? I text back: Tonight was a star imploding after a nuclear meltdown on the night before the SATs and pull away to the strangely soothing noise of my hundred closest friends as the clamor blends with the beat of the music.

When I get to my driveway, I see ever-dependable Rachel sitting on her front step.

“What happened?” She unwraps the cinnamon scone tray and hands me a bottle of water as I plop down next to her.

I don’t even know how to begin, so I defy the stupid nondisclosure document and tell her everything. Unlike my other friends, Rachel never judges. She’s the only one who doesn’t make fun of my chronic stomach problems, or irritable bowel syndrome, as Mom likes to call it. She knows all my issues, like how I’m revolted by slurping sounds and people who lick their fingers. She knows I’m freaked out by death, and the possibility of death, and the way hospitals smell. She gets that I don’t drink because I hate watching Mom slur her words and laugh like a fool.

Rachel is my secret keeper.

“And to top it all off, I ruined another thong because of my stupid irritable bowel syndrome,” I finish.

“I don’t get why you torture yourself with thongs” is all she says about that.

Rachel reacts to the news about Gram the way I hoped she would. She shares my grief. The E’s will be sad for me, sort of, but they don’t know Gram the way Rachel does. They will go directly from telling me they’re sorry my grandma is sick and they’re sure she’ll be fine, to their own place of sadness that I’ll be gone during that critical stretch of human development known as the summer between high school and college.

“What are you going to tell everybody?”

“I guess that I’m taking a spontaneous family cruise,” I say. “People are used to me jetting off to Bermuda.”

“Remember when we were ten and Gram invited me to Bermuda?” Rachel says. “We went down to those underground caves, and she surprised me for my birthday with a candlelit table and chocolate cake on the beach.”