Текст книги "Twisted Fate"
Автор книги: Norah Olson
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 14 страниц)
Because I left school early and didn’t have detention, I got home around the same time as Ally. I was excited to talk to her. When I got upstairs she was brushing her hair and listening to this terrible crap. Amber Carrington. Some girl who was on The Voice. She got famous from this sappy song called “Stay.” As usual Ally was singing along. I couldn’t decide if this was better than all the terrible Rihanna she listened to or not. I watched her for a while. She was happy, holding her hairbrush as if it were a mike and singing the song with so much emotion, her head thrown back.
“Hey!” I said.
She turned around and dropped the brush, totally startled. I laughed.
“Argh! How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t sneak up on me!”
She thought I was doing it on purpose and I can’t blame her really because it’s totally the kind of thing I would do on purpose.
“How was school?” I asked.
“Good.”
“Do you have to work?”
“Why? Do you want the room to yourself? Is Declan coming over?”
“No,” I said. “I thought we could hang out.”
She looked at me warily and turned the music down.
“We,” I said. “You and me. I’m serious.”
“What do you want, Syd? I was going to bake muffins later anyway. You don’t have to pretend to want to hang out with me to get some, you know I always give them to you.”
“Hey. I’m serious,” I said.
“Is something wrong?” She frowned and looked at me, worried.
“No!” I said. “Not at all. It’s just . . . I was talking with Richards.”
“I know, I heard you get called down to the office.”
“Right. Whatever. Just listen to me, okay? I was talking with Richards and she had all this stuff to say about how girls think they have to act certain ways, like be good or bad, and I was thinking about us. I thought maybe . . . I thought maybe we should spend some time together. Because maybe we’re making each other the way we are. Maybe we’re not really opposites but we just think we have to be or something. I don’t know.”
“I’ve never thought I was any certain way,” she said. “I’m just being myself.”
“Right right right!” I said. “But when we act like ourselves, we’re acting in some way that is expected of us and there are generally two ways that girls are expected to act, right? I don’t know. I think I finally got it figured out.”
“What out?”
“The way we are!” I said. “Like this.” I grabbed her iPod off the speakers right in the middle of Amber Carrington’s sappy melodic whining, “I want you to staaaaaaaayyyyy.” And I took my iPod out and scrolled down to the Distillers’ song “The Hunger.” Brody Dalle belted out her raspy punk shriek over the screaming guitar and heavy drums. “Don’t goooooooo!” she screamed.
“See?” I said. “It’s the same song.”
She had her finger in her ears, but she started to get a little smile on her face. “That is NOT the same song!” she yelled, laughing a little.
“It is though,” I told her. “It’s the same thing going on. And look around the room,” I said. “The stuff we like is not all that different. We just like it served up in a different way.”
“Are you really high?” she asked.
I turned down the music. “No,” I said. “But I ran into Graham and that kid is on some serious drugs.”
She frowned. “He’s got a prescription for his learning disability,” she said.
“How do you now that?”
“Because I was talking to him about stuff. About moving and Virginia and starting school and all that. If you didn’t have detention every night you might get here when he’s working on his car after school and you could talk to him too.”
“Okay. Well, anyway.” I didn’t want to get distracted by Graham again so I kept on talking about what was important. “What do you think about what I’m saying?” I jumped up on the bed and turned up the Distillers again and grabbed her hairbrush and screamed into it along with Brody Dalle. “Don’t go!”
She laughed. “You sound like you did when we were little and Mom and Dad would go out for the night.”
I nodded and started laughing too. “C’mon, Al, let’s build a fort and get some ice cream. We’re just fine without them.”
She shook her head at me and looked like she was about to cry. Then finally she said, “Syd, you’re nuts,” and got up on the bed with me and we both started jumping and dancing and shouting, “Don’t go!”
And I couldn’t stop laughing. I was having fun with my sister for the first time in years and years. We didn’t need to be apart at all. We could really be like this. I tore my Tony Hawk poster down from my side of the room and went over and hung it over her bed.
“Don’t tell me you don’t think he’s hot!” I yelled over the music.
She rolled her eyes. “Please, Syd,” she said in a mock-sophisticated tone that sounded just like our mom, “I may not skateboard but I’m not blind.” She handed me a thumbtack and pulled the top of the poster up so it would be perfectly straight.
Then she went into her closet and she got out Sparkle Pig. The stuffed animal we used to fight over when we were little. He was a little pig in a T-shirt that had glitter writing on the front that said “Sparkle.” She tossed him to me.
“Seriously?” I asked
“I know you said you hate him now. But, uh . . . actually . . . I know you don’t.”
I made Sparkle Pig dance up to her and scream “Don’t go!” and then flopped down on the bed. “Sparkle Pig, you are mine,” I said to him and set him on my pillow. “Mine and mine alone.”
I tossed him back over to Ally, but he just landed on her bed.
“Ally, listen,” I said. “I think you and I should really be unified. No more fighting. No more attitude. We’ll be stronger that way. Richards is right.”
I remember how she looked at me then; like she was scared and confused. She sat down on the bed and put her head in her hands. I thought she would be happy that I had figured some things out. I thought she would be happy I wasn’t acting like a bratty little punk and wanted to hang out with her. But the way she looked . . . it was like I just told her she had a month to live.
“But we are together,” she said. “Aren’t we?”
Syd came home late as always because she had detention and I was already doing homework in our room. Daddy had a meeting with some folks at the harbor and Mom was shopping.
When we were little kids and they would be gone for a long time, we used to make up plays. I would always be the princess and she would be the witch. Or I would be the damsel in distress and she would be the mad scientist. I would be Wendy and she would be Peter. The only time she wanted to be a good guy is when she wanted to be Pocahontas.
When our parents came home we’d show them the play we made up and they would laugh. One time when I was eight, they went away for the entire day to some boat auction and we made up a play about two orphans that had everything in it: songs, dancing, jokes, costumes. It was mostly Syd’s idea. She was really good at coming up with characters. We went through our parents’ closet and put on their clothes. Syd wore Dad’s shoes with one of our princess dresses and clomped around and we fell on the floor laughing so hard.
I remember Mommy marveling at us: “How do you do those different voices?!” Sometimes I wished we could still play those games together.
Syd dumped her books on the bed and then opened the window and fished out a pack of cigarettes from the bottom drawer of our dresser.
“Can you stand by the window if you’re going to smoke?” I asked her. I had long given up on telling her about lung cancer and the general grossness of smelling like an ashtray.
She moved closer to the window and didn’t argue or have some snappy comeback, which is when I realized something was wrong. Syd rarely did anything you asked. Maybe for Declan and Becky, but not for me or Mom or Dad. She looked out the window into the little woods.
“You okay, sis?”
She exhaled a cloud of smoke and nodded, then shrugged. She went over to the speaker and took my iPod off right in the middle of Rihanna’s “Stay” and then put hers on. Something with a lot of yelling.
“I saw that kid Graham over by the skate park,” she said.
“Cute, right?” I ignored the fact that she just took my music off because I was so used to it and because I honestly didn’t care that much.
She looked up and grinned in spite of herself, gave a little nod.
“Cute, but weird,” she said.
“I think he’s just shy,” I said. “I walked home with him the other day and he seemed all right.”
“You did? What did he talk about?” she asked.
“Movies. How he spends more time on making them and working on his car than anything else. How he likes to build things. I had to ask him a million questions; otherwise I think he’d just walk along saying nothing, looking at everything. I think he really needed someone to talk to though, like he’s looking for a friend. I guess things were rough when he was living in Virginia. He had this one best friend, Eric, and they made all these movies and then I guess Eric’s parents sued his parents or something and now they don’t even talk.”
Syd’s eyes grew wide. “Whoa, I wonder what Graham did.”
She had that expression she gets when she’s strategizing. I’ve seen it plenty, like when she’s trying to figure out how to take just the right amount from the liquor cabinet without getting caught. Or how to sneak out to meet Declan. “You should try to find out what he did.”
I sighed. “Maybe he didn’t do anything,” I told her. I came over and sat on her bed—something I rarely do, but I did it right then because I felt like we were really getting along.
She stubbed out her cigarette and then went into our bathroom to flush it.
When Syd is worried she tries to look tough, so I knew just by looking at her something was really bugging her. Not that I’d seen her worried too many times. She can go months without studying or read really upsetting things or see them on TV or listen to our parents argue and she never gets worried. I guess worrying is my job, so when I saw her eyebrows furrow like that I paid attention.
She said, “Doesn’t Graham seem like the kind of kid who’s going to come to school with a Bushmaster rifle? You know, the rich, white, spaced-out loner type? That’s always the kind of kid who ends up really doing damage.”
“You’re the rich, white, spaced-out loner type,” I said, and poked her in the side.
She laughed. “Yeah, well, takes one to know one I guess.”
“You have a crush on him?”
She shrugged. “Do you?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess I do.”
She seemed so sad and resigned when she said it. And suddenly I thought, Wow, Syd’s jealous of more than just my job. And she’s trying to be good about it. I mean that really threw me for a loop, because Syd is, like, never jealous. Of anyone. Mean? Check. Snotty? Check. Competitive? Check. Check. Check. But jealous or insecure about a boy? And trying to be reasonable? Not my sister. As crummy as she could act sometimes, she never liked it when girls got all hung up on boys or fought over them. And she had never cared before about any boy I’d had a crush on. Didn’t even pay attention to them. She always just thought they were nerdy or preppy or not her type. But this was not like her. It was confusing and honestly annoying. My feelings for Graham were strong. He wasn’t some boy I just wanted to fool around with.
I told her, “I like him, Syd. Maybe he’s more your type, but I actually like him. And you can’t tell me who to date. Besides, you already HAVE a boyfriend.”
“Declan is not my boyfriend,” she said. “And that’s not what this is about, you moron. Something’s off about him. If anyone can tell, I can.” She didn’t sound angry, just really worried, and I couldn’t tell if she was pulling my leg—somehow making fun of me.
“I’ll make my own decisions,” I said. And she looked shocked. “I’m my own person, Syd. You and I are not the same in any way. And we never will be. And besides, I’m older than you.”
Syd may be smart but she is still immature. She’s overly emotional. Sometimes you have to just tell her how things are. “You and I are not unified on this at all. And I’m not going to fight with you. We are not coming together on this.”
She glared at me.
“No,” she said. “You don’t know how to fight. You just leave it up to me.”
Well, it was terrible, but his dad was some bigwig up at BAE Systems. That place that makes drones for the war—surveillance drones I guess, some big technology firm. There were folks here who wanted him tried as an adult. He was lawyered up before he even left the hospital—he had a fractured collarbone, a cracked rib, some cuts and bruises. Split lip. He was practically untouched considering. Lawyered up and a juvenile, so his name never appeared in the papers. No one ever knew. The DA was fuming. Other parents were horrified. I mean, we had a real situation. And what could I do? I knew my place in that town like everyone else. Knew where the money was coming from. We didn’t even call him into the station. We went by his house in an unmarked car as a courtesy.
But we already knew we didn’t need to be sensitive with him. They had some hotshot psychologist come in and say that the reason he did what he did was because he was in shock. That he was trying to cope. They said what else did we expect from someone raised in a society with reality TV and Facebook and everybody being the star of their own little show? There was a lot of talk about ADHD and prescription pills and whether or not people are responsible for their actions under that kind of medication. What else did we expect from a society that rewards young men for speed and recklessness? There was a lot of talk about computer games and Second Life and the effects of too much soda drinking and everything else under the sun. What else did we expect? they kept asking. Not that.
When he couldn’t be tried as an adult, we wanted him to have at least two years in juvenile detention. No dice there either. He got probation and mandatory counseling, and that, at least, the parents took seriously. Actually, I can’t say they didn’t take the whole thing seriously, really. I mean, who wants to know their kid did something like that? They had the best psychologists and psychiatrists and they made sure he got on different medication.
I learned something during that case. Something I’d been denying since I joined the force. I learned that when you’re rich and white and your dad works for the biggest company in the region, you don’t go to jail. Even when the whole town is calling for you to be locked up or worse; even when the whole town is shocked; even when you post your own video of the crime on YouTube—if you’re that kid, you do not go to jail.
You get a new car and a new life in one of the prettiest little towns in the northeast. I have to uphold the law. But I don’t have to keep my mouth shut. And when I found out they moved to Rockland, I just sent a friendly note to my buddies on the force there. Thought they should maybe know who might be driving fast down their streets, who might be picking up passengers and taking them for a ride.
It rained in the morning so I didn’t ride my vintage blue Schwinn to school. But it had cleared up by the time school was over. The sun was shining through the leaves just starting to turn and the air smelled like pine and a subtle brackish breeze from the water. The streets were still wet and everything felt lush and alive. I turned onto Euclid Avenue where the sidewalk ended and stepped out onto the winding road that led up into our beautiful tree-lined neighborhood. The Austin Healey cruised up beside me and Graham leaned over the passenger-side seat and unlocked the door. His hair fell in his eyes and he brushed it back, smiled shyly. He threw his backpack into the tiny backseat. And leaned his head out the window. His hair fluttered in the light wind and I could see the square cut of his jaw and his nice straight teeth.
“You want a ride?” he asked.
I smiled. I did want a ride. I wanted to sit beside him and drive up around the crest of the hillside and look at the ocean with him. I wanted to feel the autumn wind in my hair too and see his profile as he drove and put the radio on and put my feet up on the dashboard. I wanted to do all those things.
“Were you at school today?” I asked. “I didn’t see you.”
“I took a personal day,” he said. “Finally got the Austin moving again and my dad let me go to the DMV and get all the paperwork taken care of. Wanna get in?”
When he asked me just like that, it made my stomach flip-flop. He was so shy and the shyness was still visible in his eyes, but he was also relaxed and happy. I could see it. He looked excited and his eyes were shining, gleaming. He wanted to share this new thing with me. His new accomplishment. I knew it was a big deal for him to be driving again. I’d seen him working on the car for so long and so this was a monumental day really. The fact that he was driving at all and was excited to be out on the road and that he would ask me to be with him on such a special day made me feel light-headed. Made me catch my breath.
The only thing that made me hesitate was thinking about Syd. Even though she tried to deny it, Syd had this crush on him. I wanted that to matter—to make a difference to me—but right in those moments it didn’t matter. I wanted to ride beside him and wear his jean jacket and help him adjust to life in Maine and go to the beach and watch the surf and hear the cracking of smooth round stones washing up onto the land with him. I wanted to lie beneath the pines where our backyards connected and look up through the branches at the stars.
And I wanted to kiss him. Not the boring kind of endless making out I always had to see when Syd had Declan over but a real kiss. A proper sweet kiss from this beautiful boy who had told me secrets and survived sadness and trouble and had eaten the blueberry muffins I baked and had rebuilt his own car. The boy whose eyes shone with excitement and a kind of expectation when he saw me. I wanted all those things.
“I would love a ride,” I said, opening the car and slipping my backpack onto the floor. I got in and buckled my seatbelt and he smiled at me, and I was so happy. I was so happy right then all I could do was laugh.
I was starting to feel sorry for the way I’d treated Ally these past few years. I knew I owed her more and I was trying to figure out some way to change things. I started thinking about when we were little. How cool she was when we were little kids. My best memory of her, my favorite memory of her, is when we built our giant Lego castle together. It took all day. I don’t know where our parents were. I was sad and crying for Mom and looking for her all over the house. And Allyson got out the big tub of Legos and dumped them on the floor. I think I was four and she was six.
And she said, “Don’t cry, silly. I’m your big sister so I can take care of you. Daddy is just working on the boat. He’ll come back. Mommy will come back.” And we played all afternoon together. We built the biggest most beautiful castle you’d ever seen.
And everything I wanted to do she said yes to. Maybe that’s why I like that memory so much. Because later she said no to just about everything. But then I remember I asked if we could stand on a chair and get the ice cream out of the freezer and eat the whole thing and she said yes. She said, We can do whatever we want if we stay in the house and don’t get hurt.
I remember crying for a long time after we ate the ice cream because we were still all alone. And she kept looking at me and smiling and patting my back. Like some little blond angel who showed up.
She got all the blankets off our bed. She put the big comforter under the table and she put the sheets on top of the table so they hung down and made tent flaps. And then she got inside.
“Come on in,” she whispered. “This is our secret fort.” She brought all of our toys out and set them around the table to keep guard. “C’mon,” she said. “It’s going to be fun.” And we climbed under the table.
It was so cool, even though I was afraid that our parents were gone. The fort was like our own little house. And we were making up our own rules. I crawled in and lay down and she sang to me until I fell asleep.
I loved Allyson. But I never understood why she didn’t get angry at our parents for being gone. She didn’t question anything. All she did was come up with solutions to fix things and make them better. Wait for our parents; listen to our parents. It was like her whole existence revolved around understanding what was going on with them, what they wanted, how to behave when company was there and how to be brave and cheerful when no one was there.
I used to think that she was always looking out for us. But then I had this realization that she put everyone else first. I started to think the real reason she took care of me was so that our parents wouldn’t have to. And the way she never got mad—it was just too weird. She wanted me to behave myself so everyone would think we were the perfect family. So no one would ever doubt our parents. So no attention would be drawn to the fact that they were never there. Once I figured that out there was no way I was just going to be the good girl. I wasn’t going to pretend I was happy when I wasn’t. I wasn’t going to act like everything was normal.
But she would explain things to me so that everything seemed fine even when I felt terrible. “Grown-ups have their own lives, silly.” This is how all grown-ups are.
Once I had friends and not just Ally I realized that wasn’t how most grown-ups were at all. Most people’s parents were around and wanted to know where you were and what you were doing. Not just bring you to the harbor every month or so to stand on the dock and hand them tools, or bring you to some gala where you had to dress in a complete miniature replica of the dress your mother was wearing, right down to the pearl drop earrings and pearl necklace. Ally could do that stuff and still adore our parents. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.
I don’t want to think about how it turned out in the end. I don’t want to be angry. I know now why she rejected me after I came home talking about Richards and how we should come together. I know now why it scared her. Even though Ally was a force she somehow knew I was the stronger of the two of us. I wish I had understood what was going on then.
I just want to remember her that day sitting in the little fort singing me to sleep, our breath sugary and sweet from the Cherry Garcia ice cream. Our Lego castle radiant in the sunshine that shone down from the beautiful skylight. Her hand in mine beneath the table. I want to remember her from a time when I loved how good she was instead of resented it.
I want to remember that I owe it to her to take care of her. I mean I think I learned that from her. I was trying to do the right thing. The thing she would have done.
She took care of both of us back when we needed it the most.
