Текст книги "She's So Dead to Us"

Автор книги: Kieran Scott

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

jake

The DJ started up the music again. I guess he was trying to distract everyone from what had just happened. But for a long moment, no one moved. Except Shannen. Her mom dragged her out onto the patio, closed the door, and went ballistic. Then Hammond got up and went after Chloe. And soon, people started to file onto the dance floor.

“Are you okay?” Faith asked me, standing up.

I blinked. “What the hell just happened?”

“For whatever it’s worth . . . I didn’t know Shannen was going to do that,” Faith said. She sighed and looked toward the door where Ally had disappeared. “She must hate Ally even more than I knew.”

I swallowed hard. Shannen came in from the patio and stormed toward the lobby. I felt a surge of rage so fierce I had to move.

“I’ll be right back.” I went after Shannen. I caught up with her in the lobby as she was about to shove her way into the bathroom.

“Shannen!”

She stopped and turned around slowly. Her whole body was tense with anger.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” I blurted, barely containing my fury.

Shannen laughed and looked away, shaking her head. She crossed the marble floor until she was standing right in front of me. She didn’t look guilty at all. Or sorry. She looked defiant. “I did what I had to do.”

“What? What does that even mean?” I spat. “Why did you even invite her here? Just so you could humiliate her?”

“Kind of, yeah,” she said matter-of-factly.

My eyes narrowed in disgust. “Who the hell are you? That was brutal, Shannen, even for you.”

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t been lying to me for the past six months, I wouldn’t have felt the need to be so brutal,” she snapped.

“Lying to you? What are you talking about?” I asked.

“I saw you, okay?” Shannen blurted. “I saw you and Ally kissing on your birthday.”

I shook my head, trying to process how that was even possible. How it mattered at all right now. “What are you talking about?”

“On your birthday!” she said, throwing her hands up. “You get your dream car, and instead of coming to pick me up—your best friend—you drive over to the Nathansons’ house, pick up Ally Ryan—a person you claim to not even like—and spend half an hour grinding on her in the parking lot.”

I felt like I was going to hurl. “How did you—”

“I followed you!” she spat. “I wanted to know what you had to do that was so important you’d diss me, so I took my mom’s car and I followed you. I was parked on the other side of the parking lot the entire time you guys were fogging up your windows.”

I took a couple of steps back and sat down on one of the velvet couches near the wall, feeling weak. My brain struggled to make sense of what she was saying, but it couldn’t. “So that’s why you did all this? Because I ditched you on my birthday? Because I lied?”

Shannen laughed bitterly and looked across the room toward the door. “I tried everything to keep you away from her,” she said, almost like she was talking to herself. “But none of it worked. Not asking nicely, not freezing her out with those stupid practical jokes, not telling you about her and Hammond, not telling you we couldn’t trust her.” She looked at me and narrowed her eyes. “No matter what, you still wanted her. You still had to be with her.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. My brain was so fogged over I could hardly see. “If you’re mad at me for being a bad friend or whatever, get mad at me. What did Ally Ryan ever do to you? And don’t give me that line about her dad or this stuff about Chloe and Hammond. That’s bullshit, and you know it. What did Ally do to you?”

Tears suddenly sprang to Shannen’s eyes, shining along her lashes. Instantly, my heart stopped. Shannen never cried. Ever.

She looked me in the eye and spoke. “Don’t you get it, Jake? She went after you.”

ally

How could he do this to us? How could he just leave us and not let us know where he was? How could he be so close that my old friends could find him and yet never even try to come see us?

I sat in the backseat of Gray’s silver Land Rover as we wound our way down the lane leading away from the country club, staring out the window at the thick trees. For months I had tried not to think about my father too much or for too long. Because I knew that if I did, I would sink into this black tar pit of self-pity and sorrow and anger. But now there was no keeping my head above the surface. I was sinking, and sinking fast.

He’d left us to go work at a deli. For Chloe’s dad. Chloe and her father and mother had known all along where he was. Every time I thought about it, a wave of embarrassed heat crashed over my body. They knew. They all knew. Everyone but me knew everything about my life.

Even Jake. Jake, who never knew my dad before. Never knew us. Didn’t really know the history, could never really understand how it felt. Jake Graydon had met my father without my even knowing. And to him, he was just some deadbeat dad working in a deli with a smear of mayonnaise across his dingy apron.

I bit my lip and tried not to cry. It would be way too obvious in the dead silence that currently reigned inside the car. Neither my mother nor Gray had said a word since leaving the club. Not that I could blame them. What were you supposed to say when you’d just seen a horrifying video of your girlfriend’s not-ex husband?

“Where was that?” Gray said suddenly, quietly. His tone was pondering, as if he’d been brainstorming this whole time. “That deli. Was it in the city?”

“Gray, I don’t think we should talk about this right now,” my mother said firmly.

“But don’t you want to find him, confront him?” Gray said, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to glance at my mother. “You finally have a lead.”

My mother shot him a silencing look, and that was it. Gray focused again on the road. As much as I had started to like Gray, I felt like he shouldn’t be there right then. I couldn’t wait to get back to the condo so my mother and I could be alone and, I don’t know . . . throw things, talk, cry, whatever. Mom took a deep breath.

“You know what? I think it’s good that we’re getting away this summer,” she said, in a voice that was slightly too loud and chipper. She turned in her seat and looked at me. “You’ll get a job down the shore, make new friends, take up surfing again. You can put all this drama behind you and just have some fun. I think we all need a fresh start.”

I just stared back at her. What was she going to do? Ignore the fact that we’d just seen my dad? That we, with one phone call to Mr. Appleby, could find out exactly where he was? Was she just going to try to go ahead with our lives as if nothing had happened? Besides, the very idea of living down at the shore with pretty much every Crestie family who’d just seen me utterly humiliated made me want to jump out of the car and run for the nearest airport.

Plus, there was that whole revelation about me and Hammond. Sooner or later, she was going to have to ask me about that. Which was, let’s face it, the very last thing I ever wanted to talk about with my mother.

Shannen had really overachieved on this one.

“I don’t want to go anymore,” I said, my voice low.

“What?” my mother said.

“I don’t want to go,” I repeated. “Do you really want to spend the summer with those people?”

“We don’t have to spend any time with them if we don’t want to,” my mother said naively.

“Right.” I leaned forward between their two seats. “Hey, Gray, where’s your house again?”

“Between the Schwartz’s and the Ross’s,” he said, shooting my mother an apologetic look. “But we have a whole acre between houses—”

“Yeah.” I slumped back again. “I’m out.”

“Ally, we are not going to let your father ruin our summer plans,” my mother said. “When he left, I made a promise to both of us that I would not make my life decisions based on him anymore, and we haven’t. We’re not going to start now.”

I bit down on my tongue. Didn’t she get it? This wasn’t about him. It was about them. The Cresties. Shannen and Faith and Chloe and Hammond and the Idiot Twins . . . and Jake.

Just an hour ago, I had thought everything was perfect. I had thought I could trust him with everything. But it had all been a lie. He’d kept this huge secret from me—him and all his Crestie pals. They’d all been laughing at me behind my back this entire time. It was clear now that if he had to choose between them and me, he would choose them. He already had, just by not telling me. By letting them keep this secret. By letting them think they were better than me.

I thought back to how hopeful I’d been when I’d agreed to go to the shore—all the things I’d imagined me and Jake doing together—and felt like a total idiot. Had he known then? On his birthday, when we’d first kissed? Had he already been lying to me? Tears of shame and misery and self-loathing stung my eyes. If I could go back, if I could rewind to the beginning of the year, I would have changed everything. Every. Last. Thing.

Gray turned into the entrance to the OVC, his headlights flashing on the elaborate wooden signage. I felt a practically primal need to be home right then. To be inside, in my sweats, under the covers, curled into a ball. To shut off my brain and be left alone for days and days and days.

“It’s gonna be okay, Al,” my mom said. “We’re gonna figure this out.”

Gray turned onto our street, his headlights flashing on the identical steps leading up to the identical doors of the identical condos. My heart caught when I saw that someone was sitting on the bottom step in front of ours. Had Jake made it here before us somehow? What could he possibly think he could say that was going to make this better?

“Oh my God,” my mother said, her voice strained.

And that was when I realized that the person on the stairs was not wearing a suit and tie. He was not tall and lean and square shouldered. He was not a person I ever would have expected to see right there, right then.

It was my father.

Acknowledgments

First and foremost I’d like to thank Emily Meehan for believing in this project from the beginning, and for believing in me for me. I’d also like to thank Sarah Burnes, who has been the most consistent supportive voice in my work life for the past six years. I seriously don’t know where I’d be without you, Sarah. Wait. Yes, I do. Scary picture.

Huge thanks to Allison Cohen and Julia Maguire, who were the first to read the manuscript and tell me how much they loved it (much needed positivity at the time); to Justin Chanda, for seeing my vision for whatever it’s worth and running with it; to Courtney Bongiolatti, who has always been so psyched about my stuff; and to Courtney Gatewood, whose gushing e-mails were a complete joy. I’d also like to thank Paul Crichton and Lucille Rettino, for believing in my work way back when, and for making me feel like my books will always be well cared for; Liesa Abrams, who said, “Why not talk to Emily?” and Krista Vossen, for the most gorgeous cover ever.

A special thanks goes out to my teachers throughout high school and college, some of who played a huge role in making me a writer. Jane Conboy, Thomas Harrington, Suzanne Montagne, Susan Gillow, Frank Cherichello, Cheryl Wall, Steve Miller, and Alan Michael Parker. Without all of you, I wouldn’t be writing this acknowledgments page right now. And to any of my readers who might be skimming this: Appreciate your teachers. They are selfless and wise and can take you places you’d never imagine you could go. Use them. They like it when you do.

Thanks to my family and friends. Mom, Ian, Erin, Steph, and all the Scotts, Violas, and Donohues, what can I say? You make life interesting, fun, dramatic, and silly. Kind of like my work. Wendy, Shira, Ally, Meredith, Courtney, Jessica, Manisha, Aimee, Lynn—all the strong women in my life—thanks for always being there for me.

And finally, eternal thanks to Matt, who picks me up when I’m crumbling, reminds me I’m worth so much more than I think I am, and loves me unconditionally. You are everything. Thanks for being there and giving me our little Brady, the most precious gift I’ve ever been given.