Someone to Love Page 14

  I hate chewing. I hate swallowing. I hate puking.

  It’s all so repetitive and boring.

  Last night, after what happened with Jackson, I kept thinking that maybe I shouldn’t have lost weight. If that’s what happens to skinny girls, I thought in my drunken stupor, I’d rather eat myself to death. It’s stupid logic. I know. Bulimia logic. It’s not like I want to go untouched forever. I just wish Jackson hadn’t been such a creep. Is he always like that? Does Zach know? If he does, I can’t imagine them being friends. It seems so out of character for Zach. I know I don’t know everything about him, but he wouldn’t think that was cool. My head spins from all the questions. I don’t think I’ve purged all the alcohol yet. Nausea sits in the pit of my stomach, gnawing at me. I should probably try to eat some food to settle my stomach, but my throat stings from vomiting when I woke up this morning. I was so tired last night that I fell asleep without purging first.

  Putting on my bathrobe, I walk downstairs to grab some water. I’m on the landing when I hear a knock at the door. I’m really not in the mood and I’m not dressed. I look around to see if someone will get the door first, but no one else seems to be in the house.

  The person knocks again. This time a little louder and more insistently. I think about ignoring them and going back upstairs, but they keep knocking.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  I answer the door. It’s Antonia.

  She steps past me into the house without giving me a chance to invite her inside. “Why didn’t you answer my texts? I’ve sent you like ten already this morning.”

  “Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t see them. My phone’s dead. I forgot to plug it in.”

  “I saw you leave with Jackson.” Antonia gives me the same up-and-down look that Mika gave to me, only Antonia adds a sneer like she’s been practicing it all day just to use it on me. She’s not happy. Clearly. “I can’t believe you ditched us for him.”

  “I didn’t ditch you,” I say. “And you didn’t text me.”

  I hate when Antonia gets mad at me. It always becomes this huge dramatic fight that consumes my entire life. Everything is my fault. She’s going to tell me what a selfish friend I am. Which I already know. I wish I could go to bed and fall asleep for a hundred years like a fairy-tale princess frozen in time. Forget last night happened.

  “You ruined everything,” she says.

  “Did I miss something? You guys barely acknowledged me the whole time. Then you left.”

  “After you went outside with Jackson and completely disappeared. You not only ruined everything, but you didn’t have the...whatever...to even call me and tell me. I’m lucky I happened to see you walk outside with him.”

  “You could have come looking for me,” I say, trying to come up with a lame excuse. “I wasn’t gone that long.”

  “You put me in the worst position! I had to lie to Heather about where you went. She was worried about you and wanted to call your parents. And we had to listen to Mika talk all night. She ended up being the third wheel, which—let me tell you—was more awkward for us than it probably was for her.”

  I know she’s expecting a big fat apology, but after what she just said I am not in the mood to let that happen. “You could have told her the truth,” I say. Now I’m pointing at her. “Thanks for sticking me with Miss Mika the Chakra Clearing Queen, who was creepier than any horror movie I’ve seen in the last ten years.”

  “I didn’t drag you there, Liv. You didn’t look like you were having that bad of a time. Were you? How many drinks did you have? Three? Four? More than that?”

  I know I should just tell her what happened with Jackson, but I can’t make myself do it. I open my mouth to respond, but my throat tightens like I’m about to cry.

  “Now you’re so worried about what I drink or not?” I say, barely getting out the words. “You obviously didn’t care what happened to me last night.”

  Antonia’s jaw drops. “Why should I care? You’re the one who decided to jump ship to hang out with Jackson. He’s such a sleaze. I thought you had a crush on Zach.”

  I want to tell her about Jackson—about how he groped me until I practically had to push him off—but I can’t get the words out. It’ll just confirm how stupid I am.

  “Plus,” Antonia continues, “you can’t just expect Heather to deal with everything all at once. I’m still trying to sort out my feelings about coming out. And I can’t believe my best friend’s not there to support me.”

  “Of course I support you,” I say.

  It breaks my heart that Antonia doesn’t think I support her. This has nothing to do with Antonia wanting to date Heather.

  “Please, Liv. You’ve barely asked me about it.” Antonia isn’t one to back down from a fight. “You’ve been so self-centered. Everything’s about you and your problems.”

  Antonia storms off to her car, leaving me standing there. I fold my arms over each other, hugging them tight to my chest. I feel completely alone.

  Just then Dad and Rich pull up the driveway. I must look ridiculous, standing in the open doorway sopping wet and wearing only a bathrobe.

  “What was that all about?” Dad asks once he’s out of the car.

  “Nothing,” I say, adding, “I’m going back to bed.”

  “Oh no you’re not. We have something to talk to you about.”

  “What? Does Rich have to be here?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes, he does. It’s about your part in the campaign.”

  “Can’t I put some clothes on first? This is embarrassing.”

  Dad nods. “You come right back down.”

  What I want to do is cry, but I know once I start, I won’t be able to stop for a while. And I’ve got to go face whatever Dad wants to talk to me about that’s so urgent.

  Once I’m upstairs, I pull on a shirt and sweatpants. Then I pick up all the wrappers from last night and hide them in the garbage can under my sink.

  Dad and Rich are talking at the dining room table when I enter. Rich goes completely quiet, like a ghost just walked into the room.

  “Take a seat,” Dad says. “We need to discuss your behavior.”

  Did Mason rat me out to Mom and Dad last night?

  “What are you talking about?” I ask.

  “Perhaps you need a little photographic reminder?” Rich pushes a tablet across the table at me. “That was published on Radar Online at 4 a.m. this morning.”

  Looking at the tablet, I see a headline splashed across the screen. BUSTED! UNDERAGE OLIVIA BLAKELY CAUGHT PARTYING IN SILVER LAKE.

  The headline is followed by a picture of me downing a drink next to Mika doing her pelvic circles followed by another of me flirting and dancing with Jackson.

  The photographs are all dim and grainy. Probably from a cell phone.

  “I think I’ve seen enough,” I say.

  “You should read the entire article,” Rich says. “It’s rather enlightening.”

  The bright screen makes the pounding in my head even worse, but I look back down at the tablet and start reading anyway. I’m not getting out of this one.

  Olivia Blakely, teenage daughter of high-profile Republican Congressman Colin Blakely, was caught Saturday night partying with friends at Silver Lake Lounge. Though her father is a famously staid and reserved politician, Olivia seems like she has a little more fun! There’s no way for us to know what Ms. Blakely was chugging, but she did seem to get pretty cozy with two as-of-yet unidentified guests at the lounge—a woman and a man, one of whom she later joined in a car. Blakely’s bender leaves more questions than answers. Are they friends? Lovers? Is the Speaker of the House’s daughter just being a teenager? Or is she a wild child? Leave your comments below.

  “Don’t look at the comments,” Rich says, stealing back the tablet.

  “Why not?” I ask. “I’ve already seen the wors
t.”

  Rich chuckles. “No you haven’t—just leave the comments to me.”

  “I’m not even going to ask you what happened last night, but I thought you had a better head on your shoulders, Olivia.” Dad takes off his glasses and wipes his eyes. “You look like a total party girl. Is that what you want to do with your life? Repeat Mason’s mistakes? That’s not the Liv I know. Or is it? You tell me.”

  I hold back the wet, hot tears welling up in my eyes. I want to tell him I’m not a complete screwup, but I’m humiliated. These pictures aren’t what he thinks they are.

  “If you have nothing to say for yourself, then you may as well go,” Dad says, frowning. “I hope you enjoyed your night. You’re grounded for a month. At least.”

  I storm past him, through the living room, down the hall and up to my bedroom. I sit on my bed, brushing my hand over the scabbed-up scar forming on my inner thigh. This is so stupid. I’m sick of all these arguments, especially with Antonia. I don’t want to fight with her. We barely just started hanging out after she was gone all summer.

  Why couldn’t I explain to Dad what happened last night? Why couldn’t I tell Antonia, my freaking best friend, about Jackson trying to basically maul me?

  Why is life filled with so many secrets?

  I walk over to the drawings I’ve been doing for the portfolio. They stare at me with their shaky lines and erase marks, mocking me. I rip them all apart, crumpling and throwing them on the floor. Nothing I do will ever be good enough for anyone.

  Especially me.

  f o u r t e e n

  “The real test of friendship is: Can you literally do nothing with the other person? Can you enjoy those moments of life that are utterly simple?”

  —Eugene Kennedy

  Sam’s on his way to pick me up.

  I’m finally not grounded. It’s been almost a month since I fought with Antonia. It’s only a few weeks away from Thanksgiving and the air is beginning to cool down.

  We’re going to our place. Marina del Rey.

  We usually sit on a bench and watch the harbor. We always joke about escaping on a boat together and living far away. We sit. We watch the boats. We imagine how our futures might turn out. Then we go back to our lives.

  Antonia’s still mad at me. We haven’t spoken since our fight. Maybe Sam and Antonia are hanging out together, but I don’t ask. Antonia seems to mostly hang out with Heather and her friends. Sam’s been wrapped up in speech and debate. He’s probably been going out with Nina—the girl I’m almost certain he was with when I called him the night of the Jackson disaster—but I don’t really know because Sam and I have barely talked outside of school this last month. And my life has basically been school or campaign events. Dad wouldn’t let me go anywhere on my own for the whole month.

  Now I have a pretty strict curfew.

  Music blaring over the car stereo, Sam rolls up to the house. He’s energetic, smiling, singing along with the music. His blond hair lifts in the breeze and I suddenly catch myself wanting to run my fingers through it. I haven’t seen him in this good of a mood in forever. I don’t know what, but something’s definitely changed about him.

  “Hey, Liv,” Sam says. “Buckle up.”

  Maybe a little distance was a good thing for our friendship. Maybe Sam and I were too close to allow each other to change and grow. I like the mystery.

  “Thanks for helping me deal with this whole thing,” I say sheepishly. I explained the disaster to Sam the day after. Except I left out the part about going to Jackson’s car. I’m sure Sam saw the article too. The whole school looks at me like I’m a wild party girl now, which is kind of weird, since I’ve pretty much always been a loner.

  I’ve only talked to Zach a few times at school. We exchanged numbers and text occasionally, but both of us are pretty busy. I guess there’s still some hope though.

  “I got your back,” Sam says like it’s no big deal. “You know that.”

  I feel terrible. Sam’s such a good person. I still don’t understand why he would want to be friends with a girl who’s a total mess.

  “Didn’t you have a debate competition last night?” I ask, watching the scenery flash past the window.

  “Yeah. I won second place,” Sam says. “I think I’m getting really good, actually. Last night’s topic was national security and digital privacy—some of the stuff I heard made me think twice about posting selfies. Apparently the NSA uses them as mug shots.”

  “Well, mine would just be a bunch of duckfaces,” I say, making Sam laugh. “By the way, how’s...uh...Nina? That’s her name, right?”

  “How do you know about Nina?” Sam asks.

  “Oh. Antonia told me you were talking to her a while ago.”

  “We hung out after the debate actually. Played mini golf at that place shaped like a castle.”

  “That’s awesome. I’m terrible. I have literally zero aim.”

  “I always thought I was decent, but she actually kicked my butt. She got a hole-in-one by putting the ball up a fiberglass dragon’s mouth.”

  “That sounds fun,” I say absentmindedly, trying to gauge how I feel.

  It’s weird to hear Sam talking about a girl. Am I jealous? Or am I just afraid that I might lose him as a friend? That too much distance will come between us?

  I pause just long enough to make my question sound casual. “Are you guys dating then?”

  Sam shakes his head. “We’re just talking, I guess.”

  “So are you into her?” I know I shouldn’t interfere, but I can’t help myself. “Because you shouldn’t lead her on.”

  “Jesus, Liv,” Sam says, turning into the parking lot at the marina. “Since when have you been interested in my love life?”

  “I’m not trying to interrogate you or anything. I just want to catch up.”

  “If I decide to date someone, I want to make sure I really like that person. That’s all.”

  Sam and I find our bench along a strip of green and watch the boats in the harbor.

  We listen to the way the water laps across the boat hulls, the way the waves trickle along the edges of pylons and rocks. I can tell what Sam’s thinking. He’s dreaming our dream again. We’re on a sailboat heading out to sea. The ocean is quiet. The wind is catching the sails. The horizon calls us with its long blue arm, saying, come gently this way. Sam scoots closer to me. My knee is nearly touching his.

  “What are you thinking?” he asks.

  “I’m just thinking about our boat,” I say, though I’m really thinking about so many other things too, like what I want my future to be. Where will I go to college? If I go to art school, will I keep studying painting or will I specialize in something else?

  “Someday I’ll buy my own,” Sam says.

  “What should our boat’s name be?” I ask.

  He laughs. “Not the Antonia.”

  “Hey,” I say. “That’s mean.”

  “You want to ride on that boat?” he says. “That would be one crazy ride.”

  “Okay, fine then,” I say. “How about the Jasmine.” I blurt the name out without even thinking. I don’t know. I’ve just always looked up to her.

  “Yeah, I kind of like that,” he says. “That’s our boat then. The Jasmine. Just don’t tell her or Royce. She’d probably think that’s pretty weird.”

  “Scout’s honor,” I say. I squeeze his hand and hold on. We’ve always done this. Held hands. But only here. Only on this bench at this marina. We don’t say anything about it—almost like it’s a secret even to ourselves. It just sort of happens.

  “By the way, you and Antonia really need to hash things out. This whole fight seems pretty ridiculous.”

  “Have you talked to her about it?”

  Sam shakes his head. “Nah. I figure that would be breaking the girl code or something.”

 
I turn to face him. “What do you mean by girl code?”

  “Whoa there. Easy, tiger,” he says, holding up his hands. “I’m not being sexist. I just mean that whatever happened was between you two. Not me.”

  “You’re right. I do need to talk to her. Do you think she’s moved on?”

  “I don’t think so. I haven’t talked to her about whatever you guys were fighting over. We don’t really hang out with you. I think she probably wants you to be the first one to say something. You know Antonia. She’s just stubborn as hell.”

  “Thanks, Sam.” I lean over and put my head on his shoulder. “Talking to you always makes me feel better. Well, most of the time.”

  “What are you doing tonight?” he asks. “I thought just you and I could...”

  My phone rings just as I’m about to answer him.

  No one ever calls me. Except for my parents.

  “I better get it,” I say. “Might be my mom.”

  She’s been texting me all morning telling me I need to be more supportive of Dad and that she wants to talk to me. I text her back and everything, but she keeps saying she needs time with me. I take the phone out of my purse.

  It’s not Mom or Dad.

  It’s Zach.

  “I’ll just be a minute,” I say, standing up and walking toward the water’s edge.

  Boats are slowly docking and undocking. Sailboats glide by while rowers bend back and forth, pulling their oars through the water. I can even spot a group of women doing paddleboard yoga across the water near Marina beach.

  “Liv,” Zach says. “Do you have a second?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I say. “What’s up?”

  “I wanted to talk more at the yacht party, I’m sorry we didn’t get to. Things were kind of crazy with Cristina.”

  I don’t understand why he hasn’t mentioned any of this stuff until now. What took him so long?

  “Yeah, they were,” I say, remembering my exchange with her in the bathroom.

  “We’d broken up already, like I told you, but we were fighting again. It just wasn’t... Anyway, I wanted to talk to you at Silver Lake too, but...I mean, I had a lot on my mind. We ended things a while ago, but I had to make sure that she understood that I didn’t want to get back together. I wanted to do things right. So if you want to go out soon...”