manicpixiedreamgirl (21 page)

“So am I busted or what?” I finally shouted after about two hours of this.

They both stopped rocking and stared at me.

“Busted … how?” Sydney asked.

“For the whole Becky thing last night!” It was impossible for me to prevent an image of her changing her clothes from flashing—no, lingering—in my mind even as I spoke.

Syd frowned in such a way that I couldn’t tell if she was truly confused or just being a bitch. And, honestly, the bitch thing was pretty unlikely.

“You said there was nothing to worry about, I thought.”

“I did! Nothing happened!”

“Yeah, you said nothing would,” Sydney said. “So? What’s the problem?”

“Are you, like, feeling guilty or bad or assholish, Ty?” Gabrielle asked, blowing a stream of blue smoke at me.

“No! Because there’s nothing … I mean, she’s not … No.” I crossed my arms, mad at every single woman on planet Earth for not just spitting out whatever they thought.

“Tyler?” Sydney said, with the smallest trace of a smile. “You said I could trust you—”

“Actually, I don’t think he said that,” Gabby interrupted. “I mean, I do think it was implied, in all fairness. But not stated explicitly.”

“You’re a peach,” I said.

“So’s your face.”

Sydney smiled at this little exchange before facing me again. “Ty, let me ask you. Did you kiss Becca Webb last night?”

“No!”

“Did you hook up, make out, get nasty, et cetera, et cetera?”

For some reason, this line of questioning calmed me down. Maybe because I could answer honestly. “No,” I said.

“Did you want to?” Gabrielle asked, all sly.

I sighed and lifted my hands in helplessness. “I’m sixteen,” I said.

That made them both laugh. “See, he’s so honest,” Sydney said to Gabby. “It’s one of the reasons I love him so much.”

With that, she got up, gave me a hug and a kiss, and smiled. “I’m going to head out,” she said. “Break a leg tonight.”

“Thanks,” I said, a little taken aback that the drama was already over.

Sydney picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder. “Have fun at the cast party,” she added, and, after saying goodbye to my sister, went into the house.

I was too stunned to say anything. I’d been wondering if I should invite her or not, after what Neapolitan/Danielle had said after the last one. Now I didn’t have to wonder.

But I
did
wonder if Sydney knew she could come and was waiting to see if I’d ask.

I decided not to worry about it. She was cool with it, so was I; it was no big deal.

“So you’ll pick me up after the cast party?” I asked Gabrielle.

“What?” Gabby said. “Oh, shit, really? She meant
tonight
?”

“Sorry. But yeah.”

Gabby frowned mightily, then rolled her eyes. “Okay, you know what? Just take the car.”

“What?”

“Sure,” she said, waving a hand. “You’re a big boy, I trust you.”

“Dude, if I get caught—”

“We’re both screwed,” Gabby said. “So
don’t
‘get.’ I’m gonna go hang out with my buddy Wade tonight anyway. He can pick me up. And Mom and Dad are doing their date night thing—”

We both made retching sounds in tandem. It was a tradition.

“—so they’ll be gone till late. Just don’t come home till after they’re in bed, and we should be fine.”

“Um … okay! What’re you doing with this guy Wade?”

“Eh. Nothing much. We’ll probably go see a movie in the park.
The Princess Bride
.”

“Is that it?”

“Oh, god, Tyler,” Gabrielle moaned, snuffing out her cigarette. “I promise I will stay as straight and clean as a whistle, okay? Cripes.”

I gave her an exaggerated smile. “Thanks. You’re precious.”

Which I truly meant, but since she’s my sister, I had to make it snarky. You know how it is.

So that’s how I came to be driving, with only a learner’s permit, by myself to the cast party. Feeling quite cool, badass, and scared half to death.

Becky and I got there at the same time. I grabbed a beer, just to fit in, and felt a little awkward because when
I offered to grab one for Becky, she declined. I wondered if she didn’t like me doing it either, so I did little more than sip the thing for about two hours. I intended to drink no more than maybe the neck over the course of the night. I mean, I was already driving illegally as it was. I waited nervously for Becky to break out her pipe, but she didn’t. She only snacked on potato chips and wandered around, not really talking to anyone.

I got caught up in a conversation with Matthew Quince, old Atticus himself, of all people. We sat out on the back porch, where I discovered that Matthew had grown up reading Stephen King as well. We got into this protracted debate about which story collection was better,
Night Shift
or
Skeleton Crew
. I argued for
Night Shift
because of the ’Salem’s Lot story “One for the Road,” which as far as I was concerned was the best vampire story ever written. Matthew fought for
Skeleton Crew
because of “The Mist,” which was a pretty tough point to beat. We did agree the film version ruined the story.

After an hour passed like this, us going back and forth, I suddenly felt the urge to bring up him and Becky. I’d lost track of her and didn’t see her anywhere nearby. The words came out before I could stop to assess what impact they’d have. I hoped maybe he’d think I was drunk.

“Hey, man, what was up with you and Becky after
Mockingbird
?”

Matthew looked confused. He was also on his fourth beer, though.

“Becca? What’re you talking about?”

I held back because now that the question had been asked, I had to wonder if he was completely lying, or totally baffled and maybe drunk. I couldn’t tell if he meant to say
Becca
or if he was just slurring
Becky
.

“Backstage,” I said. “I heard you guys hooked up after the show.” By modifying the fact that
I
saw them, I figured it left me an out. The thought crossed my mind again that maybe, somehow, it hadn’t really happened at all and I was clinically insane for having imagined it.

But this time, I saw recognition in his eyes. It was fast, here-then-gone, but it happened.

Matthew leaned back in his chair, more casually than any person who
really
feels casual could ever appear. That’s what clinched it for me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

He was lying. I had no doubt.

The thing was, I hadn’t seen them getting cozy before or after that night. It sure as hell didn’t look like they were dating, and Becky never talked about him. Never talked about any guys, really.

I took the opportunity to cover my ass. “Yeah, that’s kinda what I figured,” I said. “It didn’t sound right to me.”

Matthew said nothing. Took another drink.

It was like a door being slammed shut. I knew the truth; whether or not he knew I knew it, I wasn’t sure. Either way, he was definitely done talking about it.

“Well, I’m going to get something else to drink,” I said,
getting up from the rocking chair I’d been sitting in. “You want anything?”

“One for the road?” he joked.

“Yeah, right.”

“Nah, I’m good, man. Thanks, though.”

I headed back inside, throwing away my nearly full bottle on the way. Cast parties weren’t like other parties, I’d noticed; there was no music, for one thing, and there were a lot more drugs. The cloying scent of pot made my eyes water, and I’d seen two bags of pills being passed around already.

I looked into every dark corner, searching for Becky, but I didn’t see her.

Like,
anywhere
.

I ended up doing a patrol of the whole house and backyard but didn’t find her. Pissed that she’d left without telling me, I walked out the front door, figuring I could bitch about it to her on Monday.

I got my keys out and was all ready to go when I saw Ross getting out of his truck, parked down the street a ways. I was about to call out to him, when I saw him struggling with his fly, trying to get it up. His shuffle definitely had a drunken tilt to it. Once he’d jimmied his fly shut, he shuffled off toward the house and went inside. I started to turn and head up the street to my own car.

That’s when the truck’s passenger door opened and Becky got out, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth.

Click, snap, crash
. The meaning of what I’d just seen leaped into my mind with high-def clarity.

I laughed. The sound was sick and purple in my ears. It wasn’t a ha-ha funny laugh. More … insane.

Becky looked up as she straightened her T-shirt. Our eyes met, as they so often had the past year, and she froze. Hesitated. Gave me a backward nod.

“Hey,” she said. I was close enough to see her run her tongue across her teeth, top row, bottom row, then spit into the street. The gesture turned my guts sour.

“How’s it going?” she asked. “You hammered or what?”

“Seriously?” I said, feeling a demented smile tearing my face in both directions. “
Seriously
, Becky? It’s a joke, right? Some kind of drama department hazing bullshit. Right? Right?”

She didn’t move any closer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

The exact phrase Matthew had used on the porch.

“Did you just—” I forced myself not to say any more.

Becky raised an eyebrow. “What.”

“Nothing,” I said. “You know what? Nothing. It’s your life. Whatever.”

I walked quickly up the street to my car and—ready for this?—prayed to hear her footsteps on the street, running after me. I wanted her to stop me, demand to know what I’d seen, so I could yell, scream, shout that she was killing me with the easy way she hooked up with people.…

When she didn’t, I got into Gabby’s car and sat gripping
the wheel with both hands. I arched my neck to look in the rearview mirror, where I could see her reflected, still standing by the truck.

I waited. Waited.

Eventually, Becky threw her hands up in the air and stalked back to the house. Like
I
was the impossible one.

I drove home, fighting, I’m only half ashamed to say, tears of betrayal and rage that wanted to explode out of my head.

Robby is waiting patiently for me to continue. Justin, despite his earlier animation, is starting to tip over.

“It’s not about sex,” I repeat.

“Okay, so?” Robby says.

I stand up. Robby does too.

“I guess I want to help her,” I say.

“With what?”

“I’m not sure.”

Except I was.

“You got a hero complex?” Robby demands. “Is that it? Ride in on a white horse, save the princess? Man, that never works. Never.”

“Well, no, it hasn’t so far.”

“But she snaps and you come running with ice cream in hand. There’s a word for that, you know. Rhymes with ‘wussy-pipped.’ ”

I giggle. The headache I’d felt pinching my head earlier
is starting to come back. God, what a bad idea this was. We should’ve just gone out for pizza, maybe played video games all night or something.

“Know what I’m saying?” Robby pushes.

“Yeah, I get it. Maybe you’re right, maybe I am. Thing is, though, man, I tried it the other way. I tried staying away from her. It didn’t work. Didn’t
take
. At least this way …”

Robby crosses his arms, waiting.

“At least this way I know where I stand,” I finish.

“That’s dog shit.”

“It’s not all that bad.”

“No, I mean, you’re
standing
in dog shit, Ty. Look.”

And indeed, I am.

“Well … 
shit
,” I say. And we both burst out laughing.

By the Monday morning after the party, I’d made up my
mind: there wasn’t a damn thing I could do.

Like Matthew before him, Ross barely spoke to
Becky, that I ever saw, and his name never came up
when she and I hung out.

I didn’t understand what she was doing, or why. And I didn’t want to know.

Okay, I did, but I didn’t want to ask her.

Okay, I wanted to do
that
, too, but it would be useless.