No One Needs to Know (5 page)

She doesn’t know me at all.

“Want a drink?” I hold out the soda.

“Got something hard to mix it with?”

“Whiskey,” I say, pointing to a bottle on the counter, presumably something Rusty dug out of our parents’ collection.

“Perfect.” Zoey plops down on the stool at the other end of the granite island, reaching for the bottle and one of the glasses left out. After dumping the whiskey into the cup, she holds her hand out, awaiting the can.

I hand it to her, and it takes her only a moment to pour it into the glass and take her first sip. She closes her eyes for a moment, as if savoring it, before looking at me again.

“Soo … how long have you been Liam’s sister?” And then she giggles, like the joke is hilarious, and I wonder if maybe she’s had a few drinks before this one.

“Wow, you’re sooooo funny. You should be a comedian.”

“Nah. I’m sure you’ve got me figured out—I have no plans of rising above the working class. Really more of the factory worker type. It’s a shame I didn’t live in 1790, like my character. I think I could really master a loom.” She takes another swig of her drink. “But I bet that doesn’t compute with you. You’re probably thinking, what—Harvard Law? NYU Medicine? First female president, guaranteed to inspire world peace?”

I stare at her for a long moment, completely unamused. I’m not smart enough for any Ivy League. My parents used to harp on me constantly, that I wasn’t living up to my potential, that I needed to spend more time on homework if I had any hope of meeting their expectations.

I suppose that’s one upside of their absence. They travel so much—mostly for work, sometimes for fun—that I don’t have to hear their nagging. I guess they gave up on me and are pinning all their hopes on Liam, who achieves A’s as naturally as he throws the football.

“
Why
are you in my kitchen again?”

“Waiting for your brother. He wanted to take a shower,” she says, taking the last big gulp of her drink. When she sets the glass down, the ice rattling in the empty cup, her deep red lipstick glistens. Her cheeks already look pink, the alcohol setting in. “Apparently he was skateboarding.
After
football practice. Maybe he’s into sports or something?”

“Oh.” I narrow my eyes. That’s why Liam blew me off? To go freaking skateboarding with his buddies? Isn’t football enough for him? “And you’re telling me he didn’t use his famous line about showering together to conserve water?” I ask. “I guess he’s not too interested in you.”

She grins, not the reaction I’d expected. It’s a real, genuine smile, and it transforms her features from hard and unapproachable to complete girl-next-door. It’s almost like the moment the curtain is peeled back in
The Wizard of Oz
and you realize you were never really meant to see the Wizard at all, that seeing him ruins the carefully crafted image he created.

“He tried. I declined.”

I blink. “Hmm … you might be smarter than the last three.”

She laughs, not even partially offended by my insinuation that his girlfriends are a dime a dozen.

I shouldn’t be so rude, but I can’t believe he picked Zoey over me. I mean, he always does this—gets a girl and gets infatuated for a few weeks—but she’s not really his type.

“So, if you’re so smart, why are you after Liam?” I ask, waiting for the next round of entertainment. At least this conversation is better than watching Rusty play pool in the other room. “Because he’s not going to commit, you know.”

She shrugs. “It’s not like I’m looking to be some guy’s Happily Ever After. I’m cool with Happy For Now.”

Funny. All I’ve ever want is Happy, period. Now, Ever After, In Between.
Something.

“Do you go out with a lot of ‘happy for now’ sort of guys?” I ask.

“Back off,” she says, irritation suddenly lacing her tone. “Weren’t you trying to convince me earlier today that people didn’t see me that way anymore?”

I purse my lips, swallowing, hating that she’s right. The first chance I had, I threw her reputation in her face.

I raise my hands in a surrender pose. “Sorry.”

“You’re just like all the others, you know. So happy to laugh and make snide remarks.”

I just stare.

“Oh, whatever, don’t act wounded. With all of your amazing accomplishments, last year’s yearbook probably had to be extended by a dozen pages. President of FBLA, captain of the gymnastics team, leader of the debate team … ” Her voice trails off.

Everything she said is true, yet the way she’s saying it—like I’ve done it all just to show off, that I didn’t have to give up every free moment to achieve those things—aggravates me. “Ah, so you’ve got me pegged, huh?”

“Hey, just like I said, it’s pretty obvious you like being on top of the totem pole, even if you have to climb over people to get there. And you realized I was right, didn’t you?”

I grit my teeth and stare her down, willing her to, I don’t know, spontaneously combust.

Instead, Zoey looks smug as she traces the rim of her glass with a finger. “I’ve seen you and your little friend at your precious little lunch table. You’ve cobbled together just the right things to broadcast the image of perfection. Take your preppy little skirt, for instance. It fits right in with the … décor.” She waves her hand around the room. “You wear our required skirts all day every day, same as me, and yet you don’t take the chance to relax when you’re home.”

I cross my arms. “I’m not a cardboard cutout.”

“No one said you were. I’m sure there’s some substance behind your pretty little façade. I’m just waiting to see it.”

My jaw drops.

“Don’t look so offended. I’m just calling it like it is. If you thought I was wrong, you’d be angry, not shocked.” She shrugs, but her eyes still don’t leave mine and I find it hard to look away. I no longer feel guilty for being such a bitch to her earlier.

“Like I said, Olivia.
Image.
You know all about it.”

And with that she walks away, disappearing down the hall.

ZOEY

Image.

What the fuck was I even doing, blasting Olivia about image? Like I don’t spend more time shredding my clothes than she does applying her pastel lipstick. At least she has her shit together, even if it all does seem a little fake.

Then again, I’m still not sure what happened in the school bathroom, so maybe she doesn’t actually have her shit together. My money is still on diet pills. No one gets that skinny without cutting corners.

I knew her place would be just like that—all pompous and shiny, overstuffed but simultaneously hollow. The kind of home that screams money, oozes it at every turn.

At least it turned out to be a fun evening. Snobby little Olivia disappeared somewhere after our conversation and the boys decided to play beer pong, and Liam kept teasing me but not in an asshole sort of way. In a flirty way, which was almost as intoxicating as the beer. For one shining evening, I wasn’t such a loser.

And once he’d ditched his letterman’s jacket in favor of a T-shirt with a big
Ghostbusters
logo, he almost seemed like my type. Like he wouldn’t mind hanging out somewhere low key instead of a place like their penthouse.

No wonder I didn’t guess that Olivia was his sister. They’re polar opposites.

And now, as I walk home, my head spins in a way that makes it hard to think about pretty much anything.

Perfect.

It’s only a few miles to my house, but those few miles might as well be a few hundred for all the changes I encounter. The new construction on the waterfront gives way to the Victorian mansions in old town, which transition to neat and tidy homes with their perfect little shutters and postage-stamp-sized lawns, and then those turn into darkened apartment complexes with rusting chain-link fences and dogs barking.

It’s here where I can’t help but slump my shoulders, hunching into my sweatshirt and pulling the hood up over my hair. When I make it to our tiny box-shaped house, I cross the weed-infested lawn and climb the cement steps, stopping to pull out my key and unlock the door.

My mom is lying on the couch, her eyes closed as the TV flickers in the darkness, some kind of late night infomercial. I’ve never understood it, but she can stay up all night watching infomercials even though she can’t afford to order anything. I guess it’s the closest she gets to shopping.

I pick up the blanket that’s slid off her body and tuck it around her shoulders and feet. She stirs but doesn’t wake.

It’s like my buzz wears of instantly as I look at her, so tired she didn’t even make it to bed. I shouldn’t have yelled at her earlier and stormed off. She really is doing her best, and she’s all me and Carolyn have.

I pick up the plate and cup on the coffee table and take it to the kitchen, setting it down as quietly as possible.

Then I head to the room I share with my sister.

I creep through the door, resisting the urge to sweep her hair out of her face and see how dark her bruise has become. Instead, I climb into bed and pull the threadbare blanket up to my chin.

I wonder if Olivia realizes how good she’s got it. If anyone could grant me just one wish, it would be that Carolyn was her sister and not mine.

She deserves to live like Olivia does.

OLIVIA

“Must be nice,” I say, studying my brother as he walks into the living room, an energy drink in hand.

“What?”

“Being a guy.” I step into his path and gesture at his clothing and hair. “Rolling out of bed and throwing on some old T-shirt, and still looking decent.”

The words aren’t all that biting, but my tone is. I’m still pissed at him for blowing me off.

He gives me a gentle nudge and I kind of bounce off the wall as he walks past me. “Whatever. You’re the one who decides to slather all that crap on.”

“Oh, come on, you know it’s a double standard.” I follow him as he pushes the French doors open and steps out onto our balcony. The warm sea breeze welcomes us.

“Somehow I doubt it was some dude who created makeup,”
he says, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the railing. “So don’t blame me.”

“Says the guy whose girl-of-the-moment resembles a raccoon.”

He flicks a glance over at me. “It wasn’t that bad, was it? I thought she was kind of cute.”

“Obviously, since you decided to pick her up like a stray cat and bring her home.”

“I like her. Might keep her around for a bit.”

“Famous last words.” I sit down on an Adirondack chair, adjusting the back so I can recline.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I give her a couple weeks,” I say, grabbing the
Cosmo
magazine I discarded on the side table a couple of days ago. It’s still a little chilly to be outside, but it’ll warm up. “Sorry, but you’re not exactly the relationship type, and that girl is one hot mess. Too much for you to deal with.”

Liam downs the rest of his drink in one big gulp. “Eh, whatever. I guess we’ll see.”

I grin at the annoyance in his voice.

“You know, you could at least have texted me last night.”

“Why?”

“Seriously?” My anger spikes again. “You blew me off. I looked like a complete tool sitting there waiting for you.”

“Sitting where?” he asks.

“The Grand Cinema!”

His jaw drops and I watch the range of emotions cross his face. “Ohhhh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I completely spaced.”

“Whatever.”

“No, really, I’m sorry. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“I know. I’m sure you found some super-amazing staircase or handrail and couldn’t leave until you aced it.”

His silence is all the confirmation I need.

“I’ll let you make it up to me,” I say, leaning back again and squeezing my eyes shut. “Let’s skip class on Friday and head out to the cabin. Then we’ll be there all day Saturday, for our birthday, and we can come home on Sunday. A whole three days at the cabin. If this weather holds up, we’ll be able to swim. I mean, Ava can’t make it, but you can invite your friends just like always.”

He doesn’t speak, so I crack one eye open. But he’s still standing at the railing, his back to me, his hands loosely clasped as he leans on his forearms.

“Liam?”

“I was thinking of going to the casino for my birthday. You know, turn eighteen, break in the ID … ”

My chest constricts. “But we always go to the cabin,” I say, and it sounds like an accusation, that same neediness creeping in. God, what is with me?

“I know. But this is different. We’re about to be adults.”

I don’t know why it feels like my heart has climbed into my throat. This shouldn’t be that big of a deal. It’s just … our parents began taking us to the cabin when we were kids, and then once they started leaving us to our own devices, we just carried on the tradition ourselves. Ten years now, we’ve celebrated our birthday the same way.