Please Don't Tell Part 18

"And it's fine if you don't have a future as long as I have one?"

Yes.

"Maybe this is your turn to be the good-grades twin. Is that why you got a tutor?" She chuckles. "Maybe I'll turn my room into a mess so you'll clean yours for once."

"Nothing bothers you anymore," I say.

"You get bothered for me." She touches my nose, like I used to do to her when we were little. When we were little. I never knew a phrase could make me long for something so much.

"I was just worried about you drinking in school," she says by the door, like the rest of our conversation didn't happen. "Don't do it again."

And then she leaves.

I cry for a few minutes, mostly to get it out of the way. I used to cry loud, so Grace would come. Now I don't want her to know I'm still stealing the sadness that should belong to her. I'm sucking the heart out of her and I don't know how to stop.

I go to throw away the stupid college envelope, but then I notice there's no return address. What college is it even from? Mom probably glanced at it, saw it was for me, and hoped. I dump the contents onto my desk.

A DVD, and a note.

Joy Morris- I slam my hands over the note, covering the words. I need to focus on my sister, I can't do this, I can't- I tear through the bottom drawer of my desk, find a full minibottle of Schnapps. I'm sorry, Grace. Levi's dad flashes into my head, but I force him out and I down the bottle, swallow, swallow, good.

Then I call Preston.

"I can't do this anymore."

"What's wrong? Did you get another note?"

"I give up." My voice is strangled, wet. "I'm making things worse for you and Grace and I need to take myself away so you guys are safe from me, but I'm too scared to be alone. It's the worst thing to hate how you are but not know how to change."

"Joy-"

"I deserve all this, you know? I deserve all of this."

"Shut up."

I shut up because I don't think he's ever said that to someone before in his life.

"Shut up and stop being a jerk to yourself," he says, all wavery. "I'm standing up for you."

"I'm not a bully."

"Right now you are." He breathes out. "Read me what the note says, and I will help you figure it out."

"I don't want anyone to have to help me anymore-"

"Too bad! That's life. People help people. Now tell me what it says."

Grace doesn't need help.

But instead of saying that, I smooth out the note, blink until my eyes are clear, and start to read.

TWELVE.

July 29 Grace THE RAZOR CLATTERS TO THE BATHROOM floor. Blood wells on Joy's knee. She groans, balanced on the edge of the tub. "I never shave my knees. But apparently you have to be all slippery smooth like a dolphin if there's even a chance of a chance that a boy might see you naked."

There's less of a chance than that. But Joy and I have spent the last two hours in the bathroom anyway, preparing to go to Adam's house. I feel sanded down, purified. We change into the outfits we bought for this night: Leggings and a loose, sheer s.h.i.+rt for me. A summer dress for Joy.

In her room, she throws herself on her bed, opens her laptop. "I was doing research. Listen to this. 'Here's how to ask for what you want in bed without bruising his ego . . . or anything else.' That's ominous."

I crowd in beside her. "'Top ten shortcuts to o.r.g.a.s.m.' Like keyboard shortcuts?"

"Command D."

And then we're both snorting. She collapses against her pillow, chest bouncing. I collapse with her. We're sisters again. Better: friends.

"We're not really going to have s.e.x," she admits.

"Obviously." But I have this tiny thought: What if I do and she doesn't? What if I finally pull ahead of her? I haven't told her about the nude modeling.

If I can tap my heel against her bed thirteen times before she gets up, it's my turn to lead her by the hand to wilder places.

She stares up at the smiley-face stickers she plastered all over her ceiling in third grade. It would never occur to her to sc.r.a.pe them off. "I've talked to Ca.s.sius, like, a grand total of never."

He hasn't shown me the painting yet-he says it's not done. I'll tell her when it's done.

"I look at Ca.s.sius, and he's wearing clothes, and then in my head, he stops wearing clothes. I thought it was a guy thing, thinking about naked people all the time." She presses her palms to her eyelids, messing up the mascara I did for her.

"I mostly just think about me and Adam . . . talking." I sink into the mattress.

She toys with her hair for a silent minute. "Are you in love with him?"

"No!" And yet. "I just . . . I want to, like, ask him if . . . It's hard to explain."

If I could take a damaged person and love him better, wouldn't that fix me, too?

"Is it bad to want to have s.e.x with someone and not be in love with him?" Joy asks the ceiling after a minute.

"It's just s.e.x." It's so easy to sound like I know what I'm talking about.

"Are you too young for this?"

"For what?"

"I don't know. This. Alcohol. Boys. The sentence 'It's just s.e.x.'"

"Joy. We're the same age."

"I'm eighteen minutes older," she says, but she's younger than me. She always has been. Just like she's taller than me, even though we're the same height.

"Nothing's really going to happen," I tell her. Am I lying? I can make things happen, I've discovered. I could make this happen. A boy has already seen me naked. Now I could try it with the right boy.

Her breathing quiets. "I'm glad we're talking like this again. Like we used to."

My heart melts. "I'm sorry I've been so busy with school."

"I'm sorry I've been with Nov so much. You should hang out with her alone sometime. You need more friends beside me. So you don't get lonely."

In grocery stores, in the doctor's office, everyone used to say to us when we were kids: "Well, they'll never be lonely!"

But maybe being lonely just means that you get to fall in love with other lonely people.

Joy's watching me. I smile. "How could I be lonely when I have you?"

"I know I'm not always a good listener. And I do things without thinking."

"I'm not always a good talker," I rea.s.sure her. "And it's because of you that Adam paid any attention to me. So don't feel bad."

She grins proudly. Then it falters. "You're sure Ca.s.sius is going to be there tonight?"

"Pretty sure. Ca.s.sius is always there. They're best friends."

"Do you know how many people are going?"

"No. But I mean, even if it's not that many, he said he was having a big party for his birthday after school starts. I'm going. You can come."

There's such a difference between We should go and I'm going, you can come.

"Sounds like Adam Gordon wants you at all his events." She leaps up. Punches the air a few times. "Let's take you to the lovebird."

I stand up. She opens the window. Glances at me uncertainly. I haven't touched that tree since I fell when I was little. She climbs out first, her dress bunched high on her hips. Then she's sitting on the branch, twigs in her hair. She's still a kid, gangly. In my makeup. Sometimes I forget we are the same age.

"I'll catch you if you fall," she says uncertainly.

I edge out onto the tree, bark sc.r.a.ping my arms. My heart s.h.i.+vers in my throat. All the nothingness beneath me. She reaches for me, but I don't take her hand. I don't need her. I'm going to stop myself from falling on my own.

Adam's house is a shrine to his grandfather.

Memorabilia everywhere. Vintage guitars. Empty liquor bottles, too, half hidden in cabinets. A cla.s.sic rock museum turned midlife crisis hovel. Not a single photo of Adam. It's cold, too big, empty, even with the clutter. I don't like to think of him growing up here.

He hugs me at the door. "Grace!" Barely acknowledges Joy. She s.h.i.+fts. She's not used to disappearing. It's my turn to have solid outlines.

"We left our bikes on the lawn," I say.

"Ben'll give you a ride home later." The word later has a special tilt to it that I don't understand.

We walk down to the bas.e.m.e.nt. There's a foosball table, old G.o.dzilla movie posters, an abused leather couch. Ca.s.sius is on the floor with his knees to his broad chest, intently watching an animal doc.u.mentary that no one else is paying attention to. The shapes on the skin of his neck disappear into his sweats.h.i.+rt. Kennedy-Ben-Sarah are playing Cards Against Humanity. Two random seniors bend over a coffee table, rolling weed into cigarette paper. Three others shout over a video game on a second TV.

Joy sticks close behind me. Hoping I'll keep her visible, maybe. She shrugs at me. I shrug back. I don't know what I was hoping for.

Adam mixes c.o.ke and something else in a tall gla.s.s that says Guinness. He hands it to me. I hand it to Joy. He frowns and makes me a new one. I want to brush his hair out of his eyes.

Joy makes silly faces at me when he's not looking. We squish together on the carpet while the seniors ignore us. We're overdressed. Adam plucks softly at his guitar strings, in the middle of everything. We finish our drinks.

"I'm getting more, I don't care. I can't be sober right now," Joy whispers, like she's an expert at not being sober. She retrieves the bottle from beside the foosball table.

Ca.s.sius finally looks away from the nature doc.u.mentary with a daydreamy smile. I swallow, but he's not looking at me in the way that boys look at you when they're picturing you naked.

"How long have you been here?" he says.

I shrug as Adam's guitar music floats between us. "A bit."

"I'm sorry." He waves at the TV. "Antelopes. Totally captivating."

I laugh. The alcohol starts taking hold. I reach up, catch his wrist. I have no idea why I do it. "This spot on the back of your hand, it looks like a flower."

"You think?" He examines the lighter skin.

"And this one here, it's a comet."

"I have another one like that on my leg, too," he murmurs. "I was born under a comet."

Kennedy-Ben-Sarah laugh hysterically, and Ben throws his cards at them. A couple hit my foot. I flick them across the floor. All our preparation for this seems so silly.

"Maybe that's why you look so special." I say.

"Why are you so nice to me?" he asks simply. No accusation. He's just curious.

Because I know how much it sucks to hate the way you look. Maybe that's how people become kind, by not wanting others to feel the things they felt.

"What's up, Ca.s.sius?" Joy's back, blasting through everything, handing me a big gla.s.s. It tastes like nail polish, maybe two drops of c.o.ke.

"Not much." He s.h.i.+es back. She has no idea how to talk to people who need quiet voices.

"Mmm." She gulps, grimaces.

This is terrible.

The two seniors with the weed disappear and never come back. The video game guys argue loudly over a controller. Ben rolls under the foosball table and falls asleep. Kennedy and Sarah are in a corner, tangled up in each other. Poking each other's stomachs. Laughing with their foreheads together. Ca.s.sius goes mute, the glow of the TV on his forehead. Taking himself someplace else. Adam plays his guitar and sings to himself, but every so often he glances at us to see if we're listening.

"When can we leeeave," Joy whines in my ear. "This is really boring."