For Real(4)

“I know,” she sobs. “I went upstairs to find him, and he was in bed with … with that stupid bitch, Janine … and I can’t … and he didn’t even …” Now she’s crying too hard to speak in coherent sentences. When I glance back toward the house, Samir’s still on the porch, leaning jauntily against the doorjamb and watching us.

Come on, Claire, I tell myself sternly. Your sister’s falling to pieces right in front of you. You have to do something. “We need to get you out of here,” I say.

“I don’t think I can drive.” My sister swipes furiously at her eyes, obviously enraged to be showing any weakness. Her mascara smears across her cheeks like zombie makeup.

“I’ll drive. Where are your keys?”

Miranda hesitates, like she’s not sure I should be driving her beloved car. But her desire to leave wins out, and she hands over the keys. I unlock the door, and she slumps in the passenger seat like a marionette with cut strings.

I’m not certain which way to go, but I head in the general direction of the hotel where my parents and I are staying. After a few minutes of riding in silence, Miranda takes a deep, shaky breath. “I almost moved in with him,” she says quietly. “I really thought I was going to end up with him. How could I have been that stupid? You saw right through him, and you only met him for, like, six seconds.”

I feel awful for her, but I can’t help being slightly pleased that she’s given me credit for being right—that isn’t exactly a frequent occurrence. “You weren’t stupid,” I say. “You loved him. There’s no way you could have known that he’d, um, do that.”

“The worst part is that I’m pretty sure he’s done this before, to other girls, but I thought—I mean, he told me that he—I don’t know, I just thought I was different or something.” She swallows hard, and two more tears trail down her cheeks. “God, he sucks so much.”

“I’m so sorry, Mira,” I say. “I wish there were something I could do.” She sniffles in reply.

When we stop at the next light, my sister seems to become aware of our surroundings for the first time. “Where are you taking me?” she asks.

“I was heading back to the hotel. Is that okay? There’s an extra bed in my room … maybe we could get some ice cream and watch a terrible movie or something? It might help take your mind off things.”

She gives me a weak smile. “Thanks, Clairie, but I’m just going to go home.”

“Do you want me to stay with you in your apartment tonight? Maybe you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“No, I mean home home. Back to Braeburn.”

“You want to drive to the Catskills now? It’s eleven-thirty.”

“So?”

“What about all your stuff?”

“It’s packed. I can load up the car and be on the road in an hour. There’s no traffic, so I should make it home by four.” Miranda sits up a little straighter, and before I know it, she has total control of the situation again. “I’ll drop you at the hotel on the way, okay? Can you tell Mom and Dad what happened?”

I wish she’d give me a chance to take care of her a little; Miranda’s so self-sufficient that I never get a chance to do anything for her. But I guess she doesn’t really need me now, either. “Do you want company?” I ask in a last-ditch effort to be helpful. “I could come with you.”

I’m sure she’s going to tell me no, but instead she says, “Really?”

“Sure. I can help you load the car, too.”

“That would be great, Clairie. Thanks. I assumed you wouldn’t want to. I know you like to stick to the plan.”

“I don’t care about the plan,” I say. “I want to help. I’m totally here for you.”

“Thanks. Turn right at the light, okay?”

It isn’t exactly the evening I imagined, but in a terrible, warped way, it’s actually better. I obviously wish Miranda’s whole life hadn’t crumbled, but part of me is glad I don’t have to share her with a hundred other people tonight. Instead, I get hours of one-on-one time to bond with her, plus whatever time she spends in Braeburn making new plans for the future. My sister wants me with her as she starts to heal, and the image of me hiding out on the back steps with my phone won’t be the one that lingers in her mind until the next time we’re together.

I have another chance to prove myself, and it starts right now.

*

I call my dad as soon as we’re on the road and tell him Miranda and I are headed back to Braeburn. He’s disappointed that we’ll have to cancel our family brunch at the Mangy Moose in the morning, but I explain what happened at the party, giving as few embarrassing details as possible. He asks to speak with Miranda, but I can see she’s not in the mood, so I tell him she’s driving and promise to text him when we get home.

Unfortunately, Miranda doesn’t seem to be in the mood to talk to me, either. She’s in her own world, and as we get farther away from Middlebury, I watch her withdraw into herself more and more. Within twenty minutes, I’m bored out of my mind and wondering why I’m even here. I try to turn on the radio, but my sister switches it off immediately. “I don’t want to form associations,” she says. “I’m going to hate whatever songs I hear right now for the rest of my life. That * doesn’t get to ruin any music for me.” For a second I consider pulling out my phone and watching the rest of MacGyver Survivor, but Miranda would probably toss me out on the side of the road if I did that. So I settle for texting my best friend, Natalie, to tell her I’m on my way home, then silently watch the road signs tick off endless identical miles of highway.