One of Us Is Next(15)
Before I can reply a key turns in our front door lock, and my heart starts to pound. It’s too early for Mom to be home, which means Emma is finally making her appearance.
My sister comes through the door with her backpack slung over one shoulder and a duffel bag on the other. She’s dressed in a pale-blue oxford shirt and jeans, her hair pulled back with a navy headband. Her lips are thin and chapped. She stops short when she sees me and lets both bags drop to the ground.
“Hey,” I say. My voice comes out like a squeak, then disappears.
“Hi, Emma!” Owen says cheerfully. “You won’t believe how bad I just messed up a spelling word.” He waits expectantly, but when all she can manage is a strained smile, he adds, “You know the word bizarre? Like when something is really strange?”
“I do,” Emma says, her eyes on me.
“I spelled it B-A-Z-A-A-R. Like the shopping place.”
“Oh well, that’s understandable,” Emma says. She looks like she’s making a massive effort to speak normally. “Are you going to try again?”
“Nah, I got it now,” Owen says, sliding off his stool. “I’m gonna play Bounty Wars for a while.” Neither Emma nor I reply as he shuffles down the hallway to his bedroom. As soon as the door closes with a soft click, Emma folds her arms and turns to me.
“Why?” she asks quietly.
My mouth is desert-dry. I grab for the half-full glass of warm Fanta that Owen left on the counter and drink the whole thing down before answering. “I’m sorry.”
Emma’s face tightens, and I can see her throat move when she swallows. “That’s not a reason.”
“I know. But I am. Sorry, I mean. I never meant…it’s just, there was this party at Jules’s house the night before Christmas Eve, and Derek—” She flinches when I say the name, but I keep going. “Um, it turns out that he knows Jules’s cousin. They went to band camp together. They both play saxophone.” I’m babbling now, and Emma just stares at me with an increasingly pinched expression. “I went to the party to hang out with Jules, and he was…there.”
“He was there,” Emma repeats in a dull monotone. “So that’s your reason? Proximity?”
I open my mouth, then close it. I don’t have a good answer. Not for her, and not for myself. I’ve been trying to figure it out for almost two months.
Because I was drunk. Sure, but that’s just an excuse. Alcohol doesn’t make me do stuff I wouldn’t otherwise do. It just gives me a push to do things I would’ve done anyway.
Because you were broken up. Yeah, for three whole weeks. Emma met Derek at Model UN over the summer, and they dated for five months before he ended things. I don’t know why. She never told me, just like she never talked about their dates. But I saw firsthand, in our uncomfortably close quarters, how much time she always spent getting ready. They might eventually have gotten back together if Derek and I hadn’t smashed that possibility to bits.
Because I liked him. Ugh. That’s the cherry on top of my bad-decision sundae. I didn’t even, much.
Because I wanted to hurt you. Not consciously, but…sometimes I wonder if I’m edging toward an uncomfortable truth with this one. I’ve been trying to get Emma’s attention ever since Dad died, but most of the time she just looks right through me. Maybe some twisted corner of my brain wanted to force her to notice me. In which case: mission accomplished.
Her eyes bore into mine. “He was my first, you know,” she says. “My only.”
I didn’t know, because she never told me. But I’d guessed as much, and I know that Derek holding that place in her life makes all of this even worse. I feel a sharp stab of regret as I say, “I’m sorry, Emma. Truly. I’d do anything to make it up to you. And I swear to God, I didn’t tell anyone, not even Jules. Derek must have—”
“Stop saying his name!” Emma’s shriek is so piercing that it startles me into silence. “I don’t want to hear it. I hate him, and I hate you, and I never want to talk to either one of you again as long as I live!”
Tears start spilling down her cheeks, and for a second I can’t breathe. Emma almost never cries; the last time was at Dad’s funeral. “Emma, can we please—”
“I mean it, Phoebe! Leave me alone!” She stalks past me into our bedroom, slamming the door so hard that it rattles on its hinges. Owen’s door swings slowly open, but before he can pop his head out and start asking questions, I grab my keys and get the hell out of our apartment.
My eyes are starting to swim, and I have to blink a few times before the person waving at me in the hallway comes into focus. “Hi,” Addy Prentiss calls. “I was just going to check if your mom’s home—” She pauses when she gets closer, her pixie features scrunching in concern. “Are you all right?”
“Fine. Allergies,” I say, wiping my eyes. Addy looks unconvinced, so I talk faster. “My mom is still at work, but she should be back in an hour or so. Do you need something before then? I could call her.”
“Oh, there’s no rush,” Addy says. “I’m planning Ashton’s bachelorette party and I wanted to run some restaurant ideas by her. I’ll just text her.”
She smiles, and the knot in my chest loosens a little. Addy gives me hope, because even though her life fell apart when Simon’s blog revealed her worst mistake, she put things back together—better than before. She’s stronger, happier, and much closer to her sister. Addy is the queen of second chances, and right now I really need the reminder that those exist.