The Implosion of Aggie Winchester (14 page)

“Nothing,” I said. “Never mind.”

Rod sat back down at the table. “I have to say, I
would
be interested in hearing Sylvia’s purpose for stuffing the ballot boxes. If there is one.”

“I’m sorry I brought it up. I’m not going to tell you. I can’t.”

Rod clicked and unclicked his pen. “Perhaps, if you did, I could
try
to work the missing ballots into the story. Maybe there is an angle there.”

My uneasiness was back. Trusting Rod didn’t feel right. “How do I know you’re not just blowing smoke up my ass?”

“You don’t. But if you
don’t
tell me, then the story is going to run as I explained it to you, without even a hint of Sylvia’s role in it.”

In that instant, I felt like I completely understood what
Catch-22
was about. It was what happened when you looked at a situation and there was no good way out. In this case, I either betrayed Sylvia or I let the paper run a story that could damage my mom. “Fine,” I said. I took a deep breath. Could I really do this? I closed my eyes and spit the words out as quickly as I could. “Sylvia’s pregnant with the prom king’s baby. She’s carrying Ryan Rollings’s kid.”

I opened my eyes. Rod Barris stared at me for a long moment. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“So she’s determined to be queen to . . . what? To prove something to the kid’s dad?”

“Yeah. That she’s good enough for him. She told me so herself.”

Rod pulled his tablet back out of his pocket and jotted something down. I took a swig of cold coffee and waited until he was done.

“I can’t tell you how much you’ve helped me, Aggie,” he said. He extended his hand, but I didn’t take it.

“So, what—that’s it? You don’t want to know more?”

“I have what I need. I appreciate your time.”

Something felt off. “Wait, how are you going to change your story?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“But you’ll put that stuff in? About the ballots, right?”

Rod stood up. “Thanks again for your time.”

My skin began to prickle. “Hey, wait. You can’t just leave.”

Rod pushed in his chair and turned his back to me. Dread curled my toes. I felt like I’d just made a deal with the devil.

To my horror, my throat thickened and tears spilled forward. I could barely see Rod through my watery eyes as he stepped out of Tickywinn’s.

“Oh God,” I whispered, “what have I done?”

Chapter Twenty-five

FRIDAY, APRIL 24 / 5:00 P.M.

When I pulled into
the driveway at five, my mom’s car was already there. She hadn’t been home before six in days, and anxiety started bubbling in my stomach.

I set down my bag and walked into the kitchen. “Hello?” I called.

My mom came stomping down the hallway. Her suit coat was off, but she was still wearing her starched shirt and skirt.

“Margaret Winchester, where have you been?” she asked, her hands resting on her hips.

I took a step back. The prom scandal was exploding all around her, and she wanted to know where
I’d
been?

“At Tickywinn’s,” I answered.

“The attendance office called me,” she said. “They said you missed all your afternoon classes. Again. Is it true?”

“Yes.”

My mom threw up her hands. “Aggie,” she said, her voice rising, “what do I have to do to get you to listen to me? You know there are other issues going on right now. This is a bad time, and I don’t need you complicating things by running off and skipping school. Do I make myself clear?”

“Fine.”

My mom brushed past me and started slamming cupboards, pulling out a bottle of wine, a glass, and an opener.

“Who were you with?” she asked as I stood a couple feet away and watched her.

“No one.”

My mom turned around like a rattlesnake striking. “You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

She slammed the opener into the cork. “I don’t believe you. Were you with Sylvia? Did you two make up?”

“No.”

“Then who was with you?”

In less than a second, my mom had crossed the space between us and was standing right in front of me. She looked like she did the first night I’d found out she had cancer, like she was totally ready to lose it.
“Who were you with?”

I took a deep breath. “Rod Barris.”

My mom’s eyes widened. “From the
St. Davis Letter
?” she asked, gripping me impossibly hard.

I nodded, and she released my arm in disgust. “Aggie, you didn’t. Do you know he’s been calling me for the last four days trying to get an interview? I haven’t said a word, and now here you are having
coffee
with him.”

“I thought—I mean, I was trying to do the right thing.” My voice was getting higher, and I struggled to keep calm. “He had questions about the prom, and I thought I could answer them.”

My mom was back in my face again. “What did you tell him?”

My heart raced. I didn’t want to confess how I’d thought that by meeting with Rod, I could set the record straight about the prom. I wasn’t convinced I’d succeeded, and in fact I was pretty sure I’d been played. Again. “He just asked me questions about Sylvia mostly,” I lied.

“Did you say anything to him related to our discussion the other night? Specifically anything about
me
?”

“Just that Mrs. Wagner burned the ballots without you knowing.”

“Did you confirm that she came to me after the election?”

“Sort of, yes.”

My mom’s eyes blazed. “Dammit!” she swore. “Why did you do that?”

“But—isn’t it true?”

“This is exactly what I was hoping to avoid. Don’t you see? You’ve placed me smack in the middle of this controversy by confirming I knew what was going on the day of the voting. If people read that, they’re going to assume that since I knew what was happening on Monday, I should have
done something
about it by now.”

I shifted my weight and thought about how Rod had said the exact same thing. “But why—I mean, why
haven’t
you done anything? It’s Friday, Mom. What’s going on?”

My mom’s hands started to shake. She wouldn’t look at me. “I just need more time. I just need . . .” She reached out and put both hands on the counter. Her head dropped.

“Mom,” I said. I tried reaching out, but she shook me off.

“Leave me alone.”

“Mom, listen. Whatever I told Rod, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just trying to help.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” she said. “It’ll only be a matter of time before Rod Barris puts together his masterpiece for the
St. Davis Letter
and it’s over. And all this after I asked you to just
behave
, and to stay out of things.”

“But wait,” I said, grasping at options.
Here’s the thing. I exchanged information with Rod so he’d write about how I saw Sylvia stealing ballots. I told him Ryan Rollings was the father of her baby.
Oh God, it sounded ridiculous, even in my own head. I couldn’t say it out loud.

“I’m waiting, Aggie.”

“I don’t know. I was just trying to help.”

My mom’s nostrils flared slightly. “Here’s the bottom line. You knew better than to talk to Rod. But you did it anyway. Just like you do everything else. You have no regard for anyone but yourself.”

My thoughts were trembling.
I was trying to tell the truth.
I opened my mouth again, but she held up her hand. “Go to your room. You’re grounded for the next week. At least. I want you here after school and on weekends. No leaving unless you get prior permission first. And I want to know who you’re with and what you intend to do.”

“But Mom—”

She didn’t let me finish. “Go!”

Without another word, I dragged myself up the stairs to my bedroom.

When my dad came home around seven, I strained from the confines of my bedroom to listen to what my mom said to him, but all I could make out was the low murmur of voices in the kitchen. At one point my dad stomped past my room, but he didn’t stop to check on me.

I closed my eyes and squeezed back the tears, wishing I had Neil’s arms around me. I couldn’t even remember the last time anyone had reached out to touch me—not even for a hug.

I might be grounded, but I’d still sneak out and see Neil tonight. Fuck it. He felt like the only thin thread connecting me to love—or to anything really except anger and disappointment. I just prayed that my parents would be asleep by the time I lifted my window and crawled into the darkness.

Chapter Twenty-six

SATURDAY, APRIL 25 / 12:02 A.M.

I passed under
a stooped birch at the end of Neil’s driveway and tried not to breathe too deeply as I approached his window.

I tapped on the pane—once, twice. I counted the seconds to stop the panic climbing up my brain stem. Finally, Neil pushed aside his curtain and motioned for me to come to the back door.

I waited, shivering, until he opened it. He grabbed my hand and pulled me to his bedroom. He closed the door and held me close.

I breathed in the rich smell of him, comforting and familiar.

“Hey,” he said, pushing back my hair. “Glad you made it.” Before I knew it, he’d leaned in and kissed me. Instinctively, I reached out and touched his face, the rugged smoothness of it sending sparks shooting along my fingertips.

“I missed you,” he said. He sat on the bed and pulled me on top of him. I didn’t resist. Within moments we were rolling and groaning quietly, careful not to be too loud.

My whole body was hot with anticipation, but every time I closed my eyes, my brain started firing off questions.
What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you talk about where your relationship stands before you make out? What if Neil is just using you again?

The questions came to a screeching halt when I felt Neil’s throbbing penis against my thigh. I gasped, and he kissed my neck.

“Did you ever . . . ,” he whispered.

I sat up on one elbow. “What?”

“Did you ever do it with anyone?”

I steadied my breathing. “If you’re asking me if I’m still a virgin, then yes.”

After homecoming, I had wanted to have sex with Neil. I’d wanted him to be the One—my first. But we’d never gotten the chance, thanks to him dumping me.

“Me too,” Neil said.

I felt like there was more he wasn’t saying. “And?”

“I just always wanted it to be you,” he said, running a finger along my ribs. “Always.”

Is this why you wanted to get back together?
I wanted to ask. My brain was humming like my computer processor.

“I have condoms,” Neil continued. “If you . . . you know.”

I sat up fully. Neil did the same. “Neil, I just—”

To my surprise, Neil cut me off. “It’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to explain.”

“But I
want
to explain,” I insisted. “I thought that’s why I was here. So I could explain how I felt, and so could you. Wasn’t I coming over so we could work things out between us?”

“Totally,” Neil said, running a hand through his hair. “Absolutely.”

An awkward silence fell between us. Finally, I spoke. “If you want to get back together, then I need to know we’re
together
. That you won’t like me one minute and then pretend not to know me the next. It tears my heart out when you do that. If that’s not what we’re going to be, then—then I should go.”

Neil leaned in and touched my thigh. He began moving his hands upward. “Don’t go. That’s not how it’ll be.”

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “For real?”

“For real.”

My body was heating up in relation to how high his hand was going. “This time it will be different?” I asked.

“Definitely.”

He’s never said he wanted to get back together before
, I told myself, trying to focus.
So this must be for real
.

And that’s when another thought crammed itself in my brain like a file folder into an already stuffed drawer.
If you have sex with Neil, maybe that will seal the deal officially. Then you really will be back together. Maybe that’s what it will take.

I wished suddenly for a brain noose that would cut off blood flow to whichever part of my mind had thought that.
No, no, no,
I repeated to myself silently.
That is not an option.

Neil pressed himself against me. “I love you so much. And I always wanted us to be each other’s firsts.”

I kissed him—a long, aching kiss that left me shaking. “I wanted that too,” I said. “I still do. But we’re going to have to rebuild what we had.”

Neil nodded. “I know. But I want to try. Do you?” He pressed himself against me, harder this time.

I exhaled and let myself feel him fully. “Yes. Absolutely.”

Neil was draped across me when my cell phone alarm buzzed. I pushed him off and checked the screen. Three thirty A.M. Plenty of time for me to sneak back home, throw my tackle together, and pad downstairs for breakfast with my dad before we headed to the bass tournament together.

I kissed Neil softly on the cheek. He stirred and stretched a little. His hair was tousled, but still I reached out to put my hand in it, to feel its texture one last time before I went home. Neil exhaled but kept sleeping.

As quietly as I could, I pulled on my clothes, grabbed my car keys, and turned the knob of his bedroom door. Just as I was stepping out, I heard a voice.

“Is this what you do in other people’s homes?” Neil’s mom asked.

I felt a wave of nausea cresting somewhere in the back of my throat, and I swallowed to keep it down. I looked frantically behind me at Neil’s door.

“Don’t bother going back in,” Neil’s mom said. “I’ll get him up.” Her dark hair was pulled into a severe ponytail. Her cheeks were pink against her olive skin, not from blush but from rage.

“Go and sit in the kitchen until I get there,” she said, pushing past me and barging into Neil’s room.

Oh my God,
I thought.
Oh my God, oh my God
.

With panic fishtailing through my body, I willed my legs to walk me into the kitchen.

A moment later, Neil stumbled in, groggy and a little stooped. I stared at him as he came in, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Sit,” Neil’s mom said.

Neil sat and stared at the place mat.

“Mrs. Bromes,” I started, but she held up a hand to cut me off.

She glared at me, then at Neil. I noticed she was fully dressed, like she’d been up for a while. Had she been sitting up waiting for me to leave?
What time did she get up?
I wondered, then swallowed. What if our groaning had been what got her out of bed in the first place?

Oh God.

“If you want to be sexually active,” Mrs. Bromes said, interrupting my thoughts and staring straight at me, “you’re not going to do it under this roof. You’re not going to sneak over here in the night and seduce my son.”

My lungs felt suddenly flat. Seduce her son? She had to be kidding. Except she wasn’t. Mrs. Bromes was laser-focused on
me
, like I was the only person in the room.

But then Mrs. Bromes did shift her attention to her son. “Neil, your father and I thought you’d broken up with Aggie. We didn’t realize you were still seeing her.”

“I’m not,” Neil mumbled.

Something holding me to Neil snapped free.

“Then I want this nonsense to end,” Mrs. Bromes said. “Right now. Do I make myself clear?”

Neil nodded, but I just sat there.

“Aggie Winchester, do I make myself clear?”

Nothing was clear at that moment. I looked at her, still silent.

“One more time, Aggie. Do I make myself clear?”

The truth was that no, Mrs. Bromes wasn’t clear at all. And neither was her son, for that matter. I’d wound up with my heart sliced to pieces all over again because I’d been stupid enough to believe Neil’s lies. He didn’t want
me
, he just wanted to see if he could get me. But the worst part was that I think I’d known, deep down, that he was full of shit. I just hadn’t let myself admit it.

The pink color in Mrs. Bromes’s cheeks got deeper.

“That does it,” she said. She marched toward the phone, and Neil glared at me.

“Just apologize,” he hissed.

I blinked back the tears that wanted to burst forth. “I will not,” I whispered, “when you should be the one saying
you’re
sorry.”

“I heard that!” Mrs. Bromes hollered, snatching the cordless phone from its cradle and stomping back to the table. Neil shot one last glare at me before Mrs. Bromes was back in our faces.

“Call your mother,” Mrs. Bromes said, handing the phone to me.

“What?”

“Call your mother. Tell her where you are, and tell her what you’ve been doing.”

I thought of my mom’s recent meltdowns, the way she’d leaned against the counter last night, the stress that the prom drama was clearly causing her.

“No,” I whispered, my voice hardly working. “I won’t.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Bromes said, shoving the phone at me. “Yes, you will do this, or I’ll damn well do it for you.”

“You don’t understand,” I said. “My mom’s under a lot of pressure right now.”

Mrs. Bromes leered at me. “Oh no, Aggie, I do understand.” She flicked her head toward the far end of the kitchen table where Friday’s edition of the
St. Davis Letter
lay. It showed the front page, where yesterday’s prom story had run.

PROM UNREST AT ST. DAVIS HIGH SCHOOL

When today’s paper—the Saturday edition—hit mailboxes, how much worse would the text be? In part because of the conversation I’d had with Rod yesterday. I turned away from the paper and looked back at Mrs. Bromes.

“Either you call her and tell her where you’ve been,” Mrs. Bromes said, “or
I’ll
call her and tell her. And I’m no expert, but it would seem to me that it might be better coming from you than from me.”

I snatched the cordless phone away from her. My breath was coming in uneven gulps. I closed my eyes to try and clear my addled emotions before I dialed.

“
Now
,” Mrs. Bromes insisted. I dialed my home number.

“Hello?” my mom answered, half asleep.

“Mom,” I said.

“Aggie?”

“Yeah. It’s—it’s me.”

“What time is it?”

“Like, four A.M. or s-something.” I kept swallowing so my throat wouldn’t come unhinged.

“Are you okay?” My mom sounded fully awake now.

“I’m f-fine. I’m . . .”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“M-Mom, I’m over at N-Neil’s,” I hiccuped. “I got caught over h-here, sleeping in his bed. Mrs. Bromes is right here, and she ma-made me call and tell y-you.”

There was a deep silence on the other end.

“Mom?”

“Get home now, Aggie,” my mom said, and hung up the phone.

Mrs. Bromes wore a satisfied smirk on her face. I ignored her and turned to Neil. I wanted to kick him in the face and tell him what an asshole he was, but instead I just looked at him and said, “I’m so glad I didn’t have sex with you last night when you asked me to.”

Mrs. Bromes’s mouth dropped open, and Neil just stared at the kitchen table, unable to meet my eyes.

Without another word, I pushed my chair away from the table and bolted out the back door.