They Wish They Were Us(10)

“Jill! I can’t, I can’t!” he said, gasping for air. Tears rolled down his cheeks, he was laughing so hard. And through the haze I felt accomplished and satisfied. I had made Adam Miller laugh. It was I, the funniest freshman at Gold Coast Prep.

Shaila soon fell asleep on the couch. When Adam noticed, he turned to me and said, “Let’s sit outside.”

I followed him to the deck, but this time he walked down the stairs and to the white woven hammock on the edge of our yard, hung between two cedar trees. He motioned for me to join him. Slowly, I sunk down next to him so we were lying side by side, head to toe. His mouth was so far away but I could see it taunting me.

I tilted my head to the sky, trying to spot something I recognized. But a fog had settled over the inky night. There were only clouds. I was alone with my tangled nerves.

He rested his head against my feet and I said a silent thankful prayer that I had painted my toes a bright canary blue earlier that morning. The breeze from the bay picked up and I nuzzled into his legs. They were warm and the little hairs tickled my chin when I got too close.

“You’re not like everyone else,” he said.

“Neither are you.”

He stroked my feet, closing his fist around each toe. “You should come hang out with me and my friends sometime.”

“Okay.”

“They’d love you.”

“Maybe,” I said.

“I’ve been telling people about you,” he said.

A lump formed in my throat. “What do you say?”

“That you’re the shit.” He laughed and wrapped a whole hand around my foot. I bent it at the arch so he knew I was there. “That you’re one of us.”

I mulled over his words, unsure of what he meant.

“I see you looking at lunch,” he said. “The table will be yours one day. Don’t worry.” I felt a tiny prick of moisture and snuck a look at Adam just as he planted his lips on the tender side of my foot. The movement sent a spark through my body and heat rushed to my thighs. I flinched and in an instant, we were both on the ground in a pile of limbs and hair and blades of grass. Adam’s eyes found mine. They were fiercely blue, bloodshot. He wrapped his hand around my wrist.

“I have a girlfriend,” he whispered.

I inhaled sharply as my heart cracked open. “I know.” I ducked my head so my hair shielded me from his gaze.

“We’re friends. You and me.” The way he said it, the word friends, had a cosmic, tender pull, as if there were no greater honor he could bestow.

“Friends,” I said.

Adam touched his forefinger to my chin and raised my face to meet his. “Friends.” His lips softened into a smile. Headlights flashed, a signal Mom and Dad were home, and Adam released me. He entered the house and I was left alone.





THREE





“BIG PARTY TONIGHT?” Jared leans against the doorway in my bedroom and reaches into his hair, wrapping one of his curls around his pointer finger. They’re the color of ink, just like mine, and in photos we look like twins even though I’ve got three years on him.

“Over at Nikki’s,” I say, turning my attention to the overflowing sack of makeup in front of me.

“Yeah. I heard some kids in history talking about it. Your boyfriend invited them.” His voice cracks with the word boyfriend.

“Henry? He mentioned that.”

Jared looks down at his hands, and I wonder for a moment if I should stay home with him instead. We could put on pajamas and flop down on the couch with Mom’s extra-cozy blanket, reserved only for movie nights. He just started reading The Catcher in the Rye for Mr. Beaumont’s freshman English class and I really want to convince him Holden is a straight-up asshole before he starts to glorify the smug little guy.

“Can I ask you something?” Jared says.

“What’s up?”

“Can I come one time? To a party?”

“Why?” I ask. The question pops out before I can stop it and it sounds a little harsher than I meant it. But why would Jared want to come to a Player party? Most of his friends are in the school band with him. They spend Saturdays digging through stacks at the old comic book store downtown or rewatching NBA highlights on YouTube. It was a relief that he hadn’t shown interest in the parties, the desperate, hungry need to let go in the darkness, the urgency that we all felt to destroy something and prove ourselves. I wanted it to stay that way, to keep him safe. “I mean, why do you want to go?”

A stray curl falls down over his brow. “I don’t know. It sounds fun.”

“Maybe.”

“Really?”

“Sure.” I regret it immediately. I don’t ever want him to see a Player party. He doesn’t belong there. But Shaila did belong, more than any of us, and look how that ended.

His face lights up and when I stand, ready to go, he hugs me tight. He is now taller than me and his shoulders are bony where they were once soft. My baby brother is no longer a baby.



* * *



—

Henry walks in front of me, pushing us through the crowd like a bodyguard. A mix of Players and hopeful wannabes scatter as we pass, and a few cocky boys offer him half-hearted high fives or fist bumps. Over the summer, Henry told me Anderson Cooper was his hero because of the way he ingratiates himself with sources, gets them to trust him, and then goes in for the kill, pulling out the best, most shocking pieces of information. Now I wonder if that’s Henry’s strategy for dealing with high school and everyone here.