Where the Staircase Ends(21)

I didn’t think about what I was saying, and if I had any hope of holding something back from Sunny, I blew it with that one sentence.

“I knew you were fighting,” she said, her voice turning all know-it-all as she blew another puff of smoke toward my face. She tried to make it look like an accident, but there was nothing accidental in the motion. Classic Sunny.

I opened my mouth to say something back, but in that moment I saw Justin crawl through the hole in the fence, and I forgot whatever it was I planned to say. It was as if the air softened and the fog of secondhand smoke lifted to let the sun shine down on the patch of grass below the water tower. Even the plastic bottles and discarded cigarette packs littering the ground seemed to twinkle with new light at the sight of him. Maybe that made me sound like a cheesy Hallmark card, but I swore the earth heated up fifteen degrees when he came through the fence.

“Jeez, Taylor, put your tongue back in your mouth,” said Sunny, dropping her Camel to the ground and crunching it under the toe of her shoe. She narrowed her eyes at me as if to say, “Game on, bitch,” and gave me final a smirk before heading in Justin’s direction, her hips swinging the way they did when she wanted something.

I turned away from her so I wouldn’t have to watch her flirt with him. I didn’t want to see his reaction in case he decided to flirt back. And really, why wouldn’t he? What was there to stop him? She was a pretty girl, and boys liked pretty girls. It made me feel silly for getting so excited about his invitation to The Fields, or for thinking there was some deeper meaning behind the way he stood up for me in English class. What was I to him besides just another girl in the crowd of girls hovering around the base of the water tower waiting for someone to notice her? Suddenly my inkling that his stares were a sign that he might like me seemed an ocean away from one hundred percent certainty. And that made me feel pretty crappy.

I wandered over to the far edge of the fence, where people were busy admiring Jenny Schlitz’s arm cast. She had wrapped a multi-colored scarf across the sling and pinned little rhinestones all over the fabric so it twinkled and shone in the late afternoon light. People were oohing and ahhing like it was the cleverest thing they had ever seen. I oohed and ahhed with them, even though I didn’t really see what the big deal was. Granted I felt a little crabby about the whole Justin/Sunny thing, but whatever. Anything was better than watching Sunny lean in close and whisper in Justin’s ear, her long lashes fluttering against his cheek the way they were probably doing at that very moment.

Instead of thinking about Justin/Sunny, I talked to Amber about her spring formal dress, Lindsay about what a perv Mr. Thomas was, Mark about why he smoked Marlboros instead of Camels, Sara about the upcoming pre-calc test (although I did this at a whisper so no one would hear), and eventually I forgot about where Sunny was. I even smiled a bit when Logan’s wet lips pressed against my cheek. When Sunny finally came back to join the rest of the circle, I didn’t pause to think about where she’d been or why she was gone so long. I didn’t ask myself why she had that stupid grin on her face; the grin she only got when she’d gotten her way. I let her link her arm through mine and laughed with everyone else when she told Jenny Schlitz how stupid the rhinestone-covered scarf looked wrapped around her cast.

I didn’t know that Justin would still be standing by the rip in the fence when I finally turned around to look for him, but I’ll admit I was curious. Not because I only pretended not to be bothered that he’d been engaged in a half-hour long tête-à-tête with Sunny, but because I was curious to see if he’d stuck around. Really, there was no other ulterior motive behind my decision to turn around and look for him. But I’ll be damned if he wasn’t staring right at me with that is-he-or-isn’t-he-grinning look, like he’d been staring at me the whole time. He didn’t break his gaze when he saw me, even though Logan had his arm around my shoulders and Sunny stood in plain sight. It was ballsy, like he couldn’t give a crap who saw him or what people thought. I added that to the growing list of things I loved about him, because really, who was I kidding? There was no getting over Justin Cobb. Not for me.





CHAPTER EIGHT


ALANA JAMES AND WHY I MAY BE GOING TO HELL





My mind turned to dark things, but it was hard to stay positive when my backdrop was a sea of unending blue and gray, the two colors blending together until I could barely tell the difference between them anymore. For one crazy moment I imagined the sky was an ocean and the stairs a rock tied to my foot, pulling me down into an empty sea where no one would ever find me. Maybe I was being pulled into the cold, steely fingers of hell, and hell was a lonely creature waiting to slide its arms around me in an icy greeting. Maybe hell was not a place where fire burned after all.

Then I imagined the staircase was not a staircase at all, but rather my tombstone—a bleak monolith marking my ending. I was six feet below the ground, my fingers curling into the dirt as I tried to dig my way out, as I opened my mouth and screamed an earthy, silent scream.

Here lies Taylor Anderson, dead. Dead like a fly under a swatter. Dead like a fish in a toxic lake. Dead like a Thanksgiving turkey. Dead, dead, dead.

But I didn’t feel dead. That was the horrible thing.

I shook my head, trying to clear away the dark thoughts before they consumed me. Instead I tried to see the sky for what it was—a perfect blue heaven marking a beautiful, clear day. It was the kind of day when the parks would have been filled with sunbathers and the sidewalks filled with people pushing strollers and holding hands. The kind of day when Sunny and I would’ve slathered on baby oil and stretched out on the green-and-white striped lounge chairs circling the pool behind her house. I wondered if she was out there now, staring at the same cornflower sky and feeling guilty about what she’d done to me. Or maybe word about the car crash reached her, and she felt guilty and sad. That is, assuming she could feel anything at all. Maybe she wouldn’t give a crap that I’d been hit by a car. Maybe she’d feel relieved, because her secret died with me.