Stalemate. “Fine, talk tomorrow.”
We giggle, but then Melissa says, “We’d better do it before we get back, though.”
“Yeah, because once I’m home Connie’s going to turn me into vegan hamburger meat . . .”
While Melissa argues that human flesh is definitely not vegan, we head the rest of the way down the hall to our team bedroom.
“Can I get in without trampling anyone?” I ask before I open the door.
“I think so.” Melissa shrugs, glancing over her shoulder. “Step lightly just in case. I’m actually going to go get Karey; I think she’s still outside . . .”
I can’t believe I missed the way her mouth smiles around Karey’s name. I can’t believe I misinterpreted the duckling-like attachment. I should have recognized those weeks of bright laughter and soft looks—I’ve seen enough of them, just usually directed at Melissa instead of coming from her.
“You really like her, huh?” I ask, but it’s not much of a question.
Melissa shrugs. “I mean . . . yeah . . .” When I giggle, she covers her face with her hands. “Shut up. Whatever. It’s weird and desperate and I should probably stop. Quit laughing!”
I roll my eyes at her stinking cuteness. “Okay. Go get Karey. But I’ll be waiting up for you.” I point my finger at Melissa with my best mom face. “So no more funny business in the bathroom.”
She wraps her arms around her chest and blushes. “We weren’t—we were just talking about the exes and our—it wasn’t like we were—” Her protests turn into an indignant squeak as I stick my tongue out and slip into the bedroom. I hear a huff from the other side of the door, then footsteps down the hall.
After my eyes adjust, I pick my way through the dark room and unroll my sleeping bag between Elizabeth and Erin, lying with my head on my backpack.
Then I see the glow of a phone screen across the room, and a second later my phone buzzes. Chris texts, Hi everyone’s asleep do you have any toothpaste I can borrow?
I laugh, wave my lit phone at him, dig my toothpaste out of my backpack, and hand it off to the tall shape creeping through the dark, half lit by his phone. “Thanks,” Chris whispers. “It’s bad enough we can’t really shower.” He squeezes past me and out the door.
I lie down again, hesitate, then pull my phone out and send a response to his text. I talked to Melissa.
He types for a long time but doesn’t send anything.
I mean I talked to her about Karey. I know they’re a thing.
He texts back a thumbs-up. I was hoping she’d tell you soon. Sorry I didn’t give you a heads-up.
Well, now we’re even, right?
Nooo, I’m sorry I was pissy before. I just didn’t like getting dumped. Hot take, I know.
I send a laughing cat face, because I’m awkward.
After a minute, Chris texts, Thanks for the toothpaste, buddy.
I try to laugh quietly, but Elizabeth rolls over and grumbles something unintelligible.
I’d better get to sleep, I text quickly. You too. We need our quidditch prodigy tomorrow.
I shove my phone into a pocket of my backpack and lie back down. In spite of needing rest for tomorrow, I don’t feel calm enough to close my eyes.
Melissa and Karey.
I’m thinking, mostly, about the first boy Melissa kissed. Not Martin, the first boy she dated circa seventh grade. Andreas. The quiet ninth-grade new kid with dreamy black eyes. Everything was normal for the first two weeks of their relationship—our middle school version of normal, which meant constant giggly speculation about what the boys we liked were thinking and feeling. And then two weeks in, Melissa went silent. For a whole lunch period she refused to mention Andreas. I thought maybe they had broken up.
It only took me until dismissal that day to guess the truth. I was more persistent back then. Melissa had kissed Andreas—a real kiss on the mouth. And when I asked why she didn’t just tell me, she couldn’t give me a good reason.
“I don’t know. I thought you’d think it was weird.”
I was sad then because why didn’t Melissa trust me?
I’m sad now because why didn’t I trust Melissa? I thought she abandoned me, but I was the one who got scared and got mad and got petty. I wish she had talked to me from the beginning, but I can’t blame her for needing time, for wanting me to figure it out. She needed me to be patient, and instead I was the one who disconnected.
I roll to find a softer patch of carpet. Elizabeth murmurs in her sleep. My hair smells like grass, and my bag smells like sweat (okay, maybe the other way around), and an ache starts up in my right shoulder.
Melissa is dating Karey.
Dad and Connie are going to catch me.
And I hooked up with a cute stranger.
The last is easier and more fun to focus on (especially since I decide to conveniently forget that John exists for at least a few more hours), so I pull my sleeping bag over my head and blink against the brightness of my phone screen as I conduct some super sneaky Facebook stalking.
I nod off before I can figure out much, my cheek pressed against my lumpy bag and my arms shooting with pins and needles as it falls asleep with me. I dream lemon vodka and Tropical Island soap and cool water.
28
Three different phone alarms blare, chime, and rattle their way into my sleeping bag cocoon, and orange light seeps through my stubborn eyelids. Karey starts her morning pep talk at full volume with maximum pep levels while I stagger upright and follow a grumpy and red-eyed Erin into the bathroom. We share a mirror as I brush my teeth and she applies eyeliner, and then I end up piled into her car, heading to the fields. I work on keeping my eyes open and remembering that quidditch is fun.
“Heads up,” Melissa says, walking toward me in the parking lot. I tear my mostly vacant gaze away from the groups of volunteers lugging hoop pieces into the dewy grass.
“Morning,” I say, and accept the peanut butter breakfast bar Melissa offers (perks of not being in a fight anymore). I even try to listen to what she says next, except that my pocket starts to vibrate, distracting me. My sleepy-numb fingers turn scared-numb, and I fumble to pull out my phone. Dad. I guess they didn’t wait until lunchtime.
“Hello?” Fuck.
Dad’s long breath crackles in my ear. “Really, Ellen?”
“I . . .” At some point before I left, I convinced myself that my sneaking away for the weekend was, in fact, an act of maturity and self-determination rather than a really shitty thing to do. But even if I still believed that, I wouldn’t know how to begin to explain. “Uh . . . yeah. Sorry.”