When Everything Is Blue(34)

“It’s at Chris’s house. I’m only going because I have to.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“You can come if you want,” I tell him, which is a shitty invitation if ever there was one.

“Forget it. I don’t want to get between you and Daddy.”

Daddy? What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m in defense mode all of a sudden. I thought we covered this already. I don’t like Dave insinuating things he knows nothing about. “I told you before, we’re just friends.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Well, it’s not like you’re exactly a tender lover. I’m lucky if I get offered a drink before I’m sucking you off.”

He pushes my shoulder so I’m turned around to face him, pinned between his chest and my locker. To anyone else, it might look like he’s going to fight me. “You’re the one who pulls away whenever I try to touch you,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

His voice is low, but a few people glance over at us. It looks suspicious. I shove him off me, turn away, and concentrate on my locker so as not to attract any more attention.

“Come over this afternoon,” he says again, resting his hand close to mine on our lockers without actually touching me.

“I can’t. I’m busy. I’m not making it up.”

Dave’s hand curls into a fist. “Fine. Have it your way.” He bangs the locker with his knuckles and walks away.




ON THE ride home from school, I drift into a daydream about last night in Chris’s bedroom when he held me, whether it was strictly for my comfort or if there was some homoerotic passion behind it as well. I steal a few glances at Chris as he drives, but he’s wearing sunglasses and humming along to the music like he has not a care in the world and is definitely not obsessing on our embrace or what it might have signified.

At one point he turns to me and smiles. “What?” he asks, like I told a joke and he’s waiting for the punch line.

“Nothing,” I mutter and choke down my feelings. He shrugs and turns his attention back to the road and I think I have got to get off this ride.

Later we’re in Chris’s kitchen with Paloma, rolling up cold cuts for a tray, when Chris pokes his finger through one of the slices of cheese and cracks up laughing. Paloma shakes her head at us like we’re immature imbeciles. She’s right.

I grin along with him while wondering if he has some sort of brain damage that allows him the selective memory, where our bodies pressed together under his covers for what felt like an eternity doesn’t even register. I have to admit, it’s pretty damn frustrating.

The doorbell rings, and Chris washes his hands to go get the door. I hear the clack-clack of my sister’s sandals and her voice carrying through the entryway, which suddenly dies when she enters the kitchen and sees me there.

“What are you doing here?” she asks with a pissy look on her face, hands planted on her hips. I haven’t seen her since dinner last night with our dad.

“You told me you wanted me to help. Something about my lazy ass had better be here or I was doing cleanup on my own.”

“Dad’s pissed at you,” she says, like I don’t already know it. Her eyes narrow and her mouth puckers like she’s warming up for a verbal spar. If she’s looking for a fight, I know already I’m going to lose. Tabitha fights dirty.

Paloma announces that she needs to go check on the laundry and disappears. Chris retreats to the egg-peeling station and turns his back on us, excusing himself from the conversation. I really don’t want to have it out with my sister in his kitchen, but knowing Tabs, there’s no way around it.

“I got that impression,” I tell her. “The whole trust fund threat.”

“You were a total asshole last night.”

I shouldn’t be surprised. She usually takes Dad’s side.

“Was I the asshole?” I couldn’t have been the only one.

“You could have at least tried. He just wants to know what’s going on with you. Riling you up is the only way to get you to talk. Mom didn’t even know you weren’t playing soccer this year. Or me. Chris is the only person you talk to.” At this she shoots an accusing look at Chris’s back, and I want nothing more than for her to leave him the hell out of it.

I take a deep breath and let it out through my nose. De-escalation is the name of the game with my sister, but she doesn’t let up to give me the floor.

“And then you totally ditched us without saying anything. Dad was so pissed, Theo, and I had to deal with it. It makes me look bad, too, when you do stuff like that. He spent the rest of the night talking about how ungrateful and spoiled you are and how it’s Mom’s fault you don’t have any manners.”

“That’s bullshit, Tabs.”

“And what about the car?” she goes on as if I didn’t say anything. “We could have had the Range Rover, but no, you’ve got to prove some stupid point about how you don’t need anyone or anything. And screw things up for me too.”

“He’ll give it to you when you get your license.”

“No, he won’t, Theo. He won’t give it to me because I’m not you. He never asks me to do stuff unless you’re there. He never came to one of my dance competitions, but he went to a ton of your soccer games. You’re not the one on Facebook, liking all of Susan’s stupid pictures of Ellie or babysitting or picking out baby clothes. It’s me. And you’re still the one he wants. It’s not fair.”