Call It What You Want(45)

He bursts out laughing. “Let me warn my mom first.”

“Please,” she says more seriously. “Don’t you have any idea what it’s like to be cooped up in your room with no one to talk to?”

That hits its target. He sobers immediately, then sighs.

“Please?” Samantha whispers.

Rob looks at me. My sister is literally hanging off him, but his gaze finds mine and holds me there. “Do you want to go?”

I wish I could read his mind. I wish I knew the right answer.

Samantha lets go of his neck and attaches herself to mine. “Please?” she says. “Please, Megs.”

Please, Megs. I stare back at Rob. “Okay.”

Samantha squeals.

Rob sighs, then runs a hand through his hair. His expression is dark and inscrutable. I expect him to refuse again.

Instead, he says, “I’ll pick you up at nine.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Rob

Mom raps on my door frame when I’m buttoning my shirt. Her eyes widen when she sees me, and she smiles. “You look nice.”

“Thanks.” I feel like a poser. I’m wearing a forest green button-down and jeans that I got for Christmas last year. Everything brand name, everything from a different life.

I’ve spent most of the day thinking of ways to use Lexi’s credit card number to buy things for other people who need them. I feel like I should grab a ball cap and a hooded sweatshirt from my closet.

“You’re going out?”

I try to ignore the interest in her voice. “Yeah.” I hesitate. I had a lot of freedom before, and it never occurred to me to ask permission before going anywhere. I never got in trouble, so I had a long leash. “Is that okay?”

“Of course.” A pause. “I’m just surprised.”

Me too. But I don’t say that.

I told Owen that Connor isn’t the type to get physical, but I feel like he’d make an exception in my case.

Mom is still hovering in the doorway. “You look upset.”

I glance at her. “I’m okay.”

“You haven’t mentioned how your meeting with the school psychologist went.”

I turn away—but that leaves me looking back at myself in the mirror. That’s almost worse. My eyes are full of self-censure. “It was fine.”

“I really appreciate you doing this, Rob. I know it will be difficult at first, but I think talking—”

“Mom.”

She raises her hands. “Sorry, sorry. But I do appreciate you keeping your word. You’ve been running every morning, you made an appointment—”

“Mom.” I grab my keys and wallet from the top of my dresser before I can watch myself flinch. “I really need to go.”

She doesn’t move from the doorway, though, so I need to stop in front of her.

“You haven’t gone out on a Saturday since it happened,” she says. She straightens the collar of my shirt. “I don’t want to jinx it, but … I’m glad you’re getting back to your old self.”

Since it happened. I hate how we always talk around everything. As if my father isn’t lying in bed in the room next door, staring at a darkened ceiling.

As if going to a party means everything is back to the way it was.

As if I’ll ever be my old self again.

Do I even want to be?

“We’ll get through this,” she says softly.

Maybe we’re both deluded. I do know I can’t douse her hope any more effectively than I can my own, no matter how unrealistic it is.

“I know,” I say more gently. “I really do need to go. I’m picking some people up.”

“People?” Her eyebrows go up.

Great. Now she sounds even more excited. “Just some friends from school. I won’t be too late.”

“Am I a bad mother if I tell you to be as late as you want?”

My steps almost falter. “You’re not a bad mother,” I call back.

I’m a bad son.



I can’t remember the last time I picked up girls for a party, but I’m having the most bizarre sense of déjà vu.

Maegan told me to park on the street and text her when I got to her house. She and her sister must have been waiting by the door, because they come out immediately. It’s pitch-dark outside, but they’re both in skintight jeans and tops that catch a little sparkle from the distant streetlight. Samantha is practically skipping across the lawn in the heeled boots she’s wearing, while Maegan follows more sedately, her arms wrapped around her midsection.

When they climb into the Jeep, cold air swirls in with them, carrying girlish scents of vanilla and oranges. I could close my eyes and imagine it’s a year ago. Connor in the back seat with Lexi, Callie up front with me. Connor would be half-lit already, because he really did have connections, while I usually stayed straight sober because I never wanted to disappoint my father.

Samantha claps me on the shoulder from the back seat, and my brain returns to the present day. “Thanks for going,” she says, leaning forward to all but whisper it in my ear. Her blond hair is a cascade of curls falling over one shoulder, and dark red lipstick makes her look five years older than she is. Her eyes are dark-lined and heavy-lidded. Athlete Samantha is gone, leaving Bombshell Samantha in her place.