Breaking Beautiful (12 page)

I flop on my bed, pick up the stone, and run it across my lips. I wish it would give me the courage to tell my mom that Blake is the
only
friend I have. What’s with her suddenly trying to protect me? I bite down on the tigereye. There are a lot of things I wish this stone would give me the courage to say to her.

Chapter
15

My hand snakes under the pillow, jerking the phone to my ear, even before I’m fully awake. It’s an automatic reaction. Dad’s home for the weekend and he’s already warned me about late-night phone calls. Trip calls almost every night now, just to make sure I’m home. To make sure I’m alone.

This time his voice sounds desperate. “Allie, I need your help!”

I cling to the phone. “What happened?
”

“
We got stuck. We need you to go get Randall’s truck and pull us out
.”

I strain for any sounds from my parents’ room and hiss, “Where are you?”

“That spot I took you to two weeks ago, on the way to Port Angeles. Can you find it? It needs to be fast, Al. Dad has some breakfast meeting tomorrow morning he wants me to come to. If I don’t make it back, he’ll kill me.”

I weigh the consequences of either option.

“Allie, are you there?”

I breathe out. “Okay, I’ll come.”

I sit up in bed as Trip’s voice fades into my memory. The box of pictures and notes mocks me from where I left it, under the windowsill. Having everything boxed up is worse than his eyes staring at me all the time. I can’t put the pictures back up, but I can’t keep them either. A thousand insufficient ideas for getting rid of the box run through my head, but none would work. None would be soon enough. And none seem appropriate.

There’s only one place to get rid of the box.

It’s almost one o’clock. If I walked it would probably take me at least an hour to get to the cliff. Through the walls I can hear Andrew snoring. I listen toward Mom and Dad’s room, to try and tell if they’re asleep. Dad may have been soft on us when we came home from Hoquiam, but if he catches me sneaking out again, I’m not sure what he’ll do. Two hours is too risky. Driving would be better, but there’s no way I could start Mom’s car without waking someone up.

There’s only one person who might help me.

My heart pounds so loudly in my ears as I walk past my parents’ door that I’m sure the sound will wake them up. I get the phone from the kitchen, carry it into my bedroom, and muffle it against my pillow. My fingers dial Blake’s number without looking.

He picks up on the fourth ring. His voice is husky and groggy. I almost hang up, but he recognizes my phone number. “Allie, is that you?”

I take a breath. “Blake, I need your help.”

His voice changes to sharp concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just—” I close my eyes and press the phone against my ear. This is stupid. I can’t make him come based on my paranoia. “Never mind—”

“No,” he answers fast. “It’s okay, I wasn’t asleep.” His voice softens. “What do you need? I’m here.”

I look at the box again. I feel guilty for using him. “I need you to come pick me up. I need to do something. It won’t take very long. I just … you don’t have to—”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He hangs up before I can change my mind.

I put on a bra, my sweatpants, and my sweatshirt. I tuck the tigereye in my pocket. I wait by my window. Five minutes go by, then ten.

“Where the hell have you been?” Trip’s eyes are blazing
.

“
I came as fast as I could. I … I got lost
.”

“
Get out of my way.” I shrink away from him, but he still shoves me against Randall’s truck on the way to get the tow rope.

A tap on the window makes me jump. I listen toward Mom and Dad’s room again, and then open the window for Blake. He helps me pop out the screen, takes the box from me, and helps me through without saying anything. I turn around and slide my window most of the way closed, leaving just enough space to slip my fingers along the edge so I can open it when I come back.

We walk up the sidewalk to where he left his car, next to Randall’s driveway, three houses down. I glance at Randall’s pickup and remember how scared I was, sneaking into their yard, getting the keys out from under the seat, how much I jumped when the engine roared when I turned the key.

There aren’t any streetlights in this part of town, the older
part, away from the beachfront. The moon is blanketed by a thick haze. The neighbor’s yappy little dog goes nuts when we walk past. Otherwise the street is silent except for the sound of our footsteps and our breathing.

Hazy moonlight and the shadows from the yard lights play tricks on my eyes. I see people watching us, hiding in an alleyway, behind the neighbor’s fishing boat, or in the shadows behind the trees. I chalk it up to guilt-induced mind tricks but move closer to Blake anyway. We get to the car and he opens the door for me. I slide into the seat and wrap my arms around the box.

Blake starts the car. “Where are we going?”

“The cliff,” I say without looking up.

“Can I ask what’s in the box?”

I shake my head. “No.”

I can feel him watching me, but I don’t turn my head. He turns back to the front and pulls into the street. His car has a bad muffler knock. It’s so loud that as we pass by my house I expect to see my dad standing at the front door, but my house stays dark.

Twice on the way up, Blake starts to say something, but he doesn’t finish.

He parks by a little fence at the edge of the cliff and turns off the lights. We sit for a long time, listening to the ocean hiss and roar on the rocks below. I hold the box, squeezing it against my chest so hard that the corner digs into my thighs. Finally, I gather enough courage to open the door. Blake starts to open his, but I stop him. “Stay here.”

“Allie, I don’t think—”

“Please.” I reach for his hand. “I’ll only be a minute.”

He nods but doesn’t let go of my hand.

I squeeze his fingers and then climb out, clutching the box against my chest. I creep toward the guardrail. It’s dented at the end, but there’s no other indication that anyone has ever gone off the ledge. Everything else looks the way it’s always been. Apparently, even right after the accident there wasn’t much to see. Dad explained—coolly and logically—that there was no real wreckage, just me and the torn-off back bumper to Trip’s truck.

There was a storm that night, and an extreme high tide that made it too dangerous for anyone to go below the cliff to retrieve the truck or Trip’s body. By the time the tide went out again, there was nothing left. It was like the ocean swallowed Trip whole, truck and all.

I step closer. I wonder where they found me, where the bumper to Trip’s truck was, and where Blake found the tigereye. I wonder where Trip and his truck are now; just at the base of the cliff, caught in some kind of underwater cave, or far out in the ocean where he’ll never be found.

My toes curl as I lean against the guardrail. In the dim light, I can barely see the water, churning and angry below. The wind whips my hair against my face and sends chills down my back. It whistles through the trees along the ridge and makes a low mournful noise, like the ghostly moans of lost sailors, or the sounds of their widows crying. Like Trip’s ghost might make. I balance the box in one arm and reach into my pocket for the stone.

“What’s your problem, Allie
?”

“
I need to go home. I told Mom I wouldn’t leave Andrew alone.”

“You don’t have to go anywhere. The spaz is fine.”

I jerk away from him, get out of the truck, and slam the door behind me. Three steps down the path into the woods he catches me. I spin around to face him, furious. “Don’t ever call him that!”

He grabs my shoulders, his fingers digging in. “I can say whatever I want.” He smiles—crooked and cruel. “I can do whatever I want.” He drags me toward the edge. I kick against his leg and pound my fists against his chest. He laughs.

I grab on to his arms and hold on to keep from falling. “No. Please. I’m sorry, please.”

He smiles and breathes beer-breath into my face. “I could kill you, Allie. All I have to do is let go. Over the cliff. Into the ocean. No one would ever find your body. No one would ever know what happened. No one would even care.”

I throw the box as hard as I can. The waves roar as it disappears beneath them. I turn, take a step, and scream.

Blake catches me as my leg slips between the ledge and the guardrail. He pulls me up, and I hang on to him, trembling. “I’m sorry, Allie. I had to follow you. I didn’t think you’d jump, but I had to be sure.” He steps away from the edge with me still in his arms. He holds me close. I lean against him and listen to the pounding of his heart against mine. He brushes his hand over the back of my head and murmurs into my neck, “It’s okay. You’re okay now.”

I look up at him. The wind drives the clouds away from the moon and all I can see is Blake’s face. I’m caught in his blue-green eyes. He leans forward, toward my lips. I almost let go, almost lean into his arms and let him kiss me. But something behind him, glowing white in the moonlight, stops me. I pull away. He lets his arms fall off my shoulders.

Next to the cliff is a white marble plaque, like a headstone. When I get closer, Trip’s picture smiles back at me. Startled, I stumble backward into Blake. He puts his hand on my elbow to steady me. This must be the monument Angie’s mom was trying to tell me about. I step forward and read the inscription: TRAVIS RYAN ISAAC “TRIP” PHILLIPS, BELOVED SON, ATHLETE, AND FRIEND. No birthday, no date of death.

I trace the letters with my finger. Trip’s blue eyes and perfect teeth shine from the picture like some guy in a toothpaste ad, like he wasn’t a real person, someone I knew.

The base of the plaque is covered with ghostly mementos: dead flowers, deflated balloons, a football, a teddy bear, and lots of cards. I kneel in front of the plaque and read them. “Rest in peace, buddy.” “I’ll never forget fourth-period wood shop with you.” “To the craziest off-roader I ever met—you’ll be missed.”

The football has Trip’s jersey number, 33, written on it in faded red marker, and every member of the football team signed it. The bear is holding a heart and has a simple but dramatic message: “To my first love—I’ll never forget you.—Love, Hannah.”

I lean forward with my head resting against the plaque and cover my face with my hands. My scar pounds in the back of my head. Trip meant something to all of these people, enough that they left flowers and notes and things to remember him. Then there’s me, the person who should have been the closest to him, and I just threw all evidence of our relationship over the cliff. All I want to do is forget.

They knew a different Trip than I did. No one saw what I saw. He made sure of that. I made sure of that. What would it take for them to believe anything I said about him? What would it take for anyone to understand? I startle as Blake rests his
hand on my shoulder. What would it take for him to understand?

I stand up with my back to him.

He breathes in. “You miss him, don’t you?”

I let the tears gather in my eyes, turn around, and look up at him through damp eyelashes. I bite my lip and nod. It’s better this way. Better than telling the truth.

.........

I know I’m in trouble when I slide my fingers into the edge of the window frame and find it shut tight. I walk around to the side door, but it’s locked and the key is missing from under the mat. By the time I reach the front door, Dad is waiting.

The good-humored firmness from last night is gone. This is the dad I remember. “Where have you been?” he demands.

“I … I went for a walk. I couldn’t sleep.”

“I saw his car.” Fire lights up his eyes. “Blake’s car. Your mother told you to stay away from him. He doesn’t have the best reputation.”

“Nothing happened.” My heart races as I try to come up with an excuse. “I needed to think, needed to get away.”

Mom emerges from behind Dad. Her shoulders slump and she slides into one of the dining room chairs. Without her makeup I can see the wrinkles and dark circles under her eyes. “What’s going on with you, Allie?”

I lean my head against the wall. I don’t think they really want an answer to that question.

“Skipping school, fighting, sneaking out at night?” Dad is so worked up that he’s pacing. “You didn’t used to be like this,
Allie. What changed? Was it that boy? Was it Trip?” His eyes search mine and I have to look down.

“No!” Mom breaks in, like questioning Trip is a personal attack on her. “Trip was a good kid. It’s Blake. He’s the bad influence.”

“She snuck out before to be with Trip, too, remember?”

I close my eyes and let them argue over the top of me about last time. That I do remember. How Dad grounded me. How I told him he wasn’t being fair. Then I ran to my room and cried with relief. How he was gone the night of the cotillion. How Mom made me go anyway. How I couldn’t tell her I didn’t want to go.

I look up and realize Dad is talking to me again. “We’ve tried to be patient. We’ve tried to understand, but you’re pushing us.”

Mom’s turn. “I don’t know what to do for you anymore, Allie. I don’t know what to do
with
you. It’s like I don’t know you anymore.”

“Know me?” I stare at her, incredulous. “When did you ever know me? When did you ever care what was happening in my life? You’re so busy showing everyone how great you are and how perfect everything is that you don’t know anything about me.”

“Don’t talk to your mother that way,” Dad snaps.

I turn on him, deliberately step in front of him, anger boiling my insides. I’m in his face—challenging. “And when did you become Dad? You’ve been gone most of my life, and now, now you think you can just pick up where you left off? Like I’m still a little girl. Like you still have some say in my life. You don’t.”