Liars and Losers Like Us(43)

“Okay, yes. Let’s go.”

Mom swings by the gas station on our way home and asks me to run in and grab her a Diet Coke.

Sitting on a bench to the left of the door is Jane; knees locked, feet jutted out and her head in her hands.

I stroll through the door, eyes straight ahead, hoping she’s gone when I walk back out.

Aaaaaaand she’s not. Sigh. “Jane?”

Her head jerks up and she’s got two serious lines of black mascara running down each cheek. “You again? What?”

“Do you need a ride or something?” I ask.

“No, I don’t need any more of your f*cking charity rides,” she says glancing down at her phone and clicks it a couple times.

“What’s your problem? You’re obviously stranded because you didn’t want to ride with your mom and dad or whoever those people were.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about. Someone’s picking me up any minute now so if you’d pull your head out of my biz-nass that’d be great.”

Glancing back at my mom waiting in the car, I consider my options. In spite of the world’s bitchiest tone, Jane’s eyes bleed desperation. Whatever was going on at the funeral home has freaked her out. Jane is the last person I’d ever expect to lose her shit, but she’s definitely on the edge.

“Really? It doesn’t look like it. We can drop you off somewhere else to wait if you want?”

“What do you care if I …” her voice trails off as she clicks through her phone again. “I mean, thanks for the offer and I can probably just—”

“Just come on.”

And she does. She follows me to Mom’s car and hops in the backseat without a word.

Mom raises an eyebrow as she grabs the pop from my hand.

“This is Jane, from school, she needs a ride home if that’s okay.”

“Actually I can’t,” Jane’s voice cracks, “go home. I mean, I’m not going home and if you don’t mind, the coffee shop or diner would work better. If it’s okay?”

“No problem,” says Mom. “It’s on our way.”

Jane’s phone doesn’t ring the whole way there although she makes a series of about two hundred thirty-eight unanswered calls. When we drop her off she tells my mom thanks but doesn’t look my way.

“Poor girl,” says Mom. “I can’t believe her parents left without her in all that drama.”

Yep, poor little bitch girl. “Yeah, poor Jane. Let’s go home now. I just want to curl up in my bed.”





SEVENTEEN


Sorry you’re still sick. You missed out on Tuna Melt Tuesday,” says Sean.

“Tuna melts,” I say. “Yeah, I’m going to pass on being sad about missing TMT. Tuna shouldn’t be allowed anywhere but the ocean. The smell would’ve made me worse. Hopefully I’ll be better by tomorrow.”

“Hope so. That’s what you said yesterday and I ended up crying over my desk ’cause I didn’t have you breathing on me in Norderick’s class.”

“Crying, huh?”

“Almost.”

“I don’t breathe on you.” A short laugh falls from my lips.

“Guess it’s better you don’t breathe on me if you’re sick, right?”

“I’ll be fine by tomorrow. It’s just a virus. Something my mom picked up from those little germ hoarders from her school.”

“You sure I can’t come by? I could bring you soup or crayons?”

“Crayons?” I twirl the drawstring of the pilly gray sweats I’ve had on since Sunday night.

“When I was little and I’d get sick, my mom would make soup and my dad would bring me home a new coloring book.”

“That’s cute. Thanks, but I’m fine. I don’t want you to catch anything and I’m still really tired.” Really tired and sad. Plus, I haven’t showered since Sunday.

“All right, but if you’re not back by tomorrow, I’m going to climb a ladder into your window. I’m not afraid of your germs.”

“Okay, you’ve got a deal.”

I hang up, slide the phone to the other side of my bed, and pull my pillow into the curve of my neck. I grind my fist into the mattress, wishing the thought of being back in school dealing with people again didn’t feel so heavy, like so much work.

My phone buzzes my eyes back open about an hour later.

SEAN MILLS.

Just wanted to say good night.

I smile and write back, G’night. : )

I get that liquid rush feeling through my veins, just remembering Sean’s kiss and his hand on my neck. I fall asleep, thoughts of Maisey fading out and focusing, instead, on the memory of Sean’s lips sliding into mine, warming my body beneath my sheets.

****

Wednesday morning eventually creeps into my room and just opening my eyes feels like a major feat. The alarm blares and Mom’s words from the night before ring just as loud, “You’re going to school tomorrow or I’m bringing you to the doctor.”

I pull myself out of bed and into the shower for the first time since the wake. After scrubbing my face, my shower caddy unsuctions from the wall, spilling everything onto the floor. In defeat, I slide down onto the warmed tiles, letting the scalding water run over my knees. I grab my razor from the floor, not even trying to shake the image of what Maisey might’ve looked like on her last day. Was this how she did it? I slide the pad of my middle finger over the razor’s smooth edge, tears springing to my eyes. The pain in Mom’s eyes as she’d gripped my hand on the Morgans’ doorstep and at the funeral parlor. She didn’t say it but I knew what she was thinking. She couldn’t handle losing me. If Maisey’s parents were ever okay before this, I can’t imagine that they’ll ever be okay again. I think of Anne and Tera, sitting as two in the library after school, instead of the trio they once were. They’ll never be the same, either.