… really pisses me off whenever I hear anyone talking about you or comparing you to her.”
That feeling snuck up my spine again. The one that made me feel inferior to Her.
He went on. “I don’t think it’s fair that they do that. There’s nothing wrong with you. Nothing wrong with you being here or … or anything.”
I took a breath. “Thank you.”
“I don’t think she’s coming back.”
I wanted to ask him if it was because he thought she was dead. But instead I just asked, “Why not?”
“I just don’t. I don’t want anything to have happened to her. We got into a fight that night, so everyone thinks I—” He had been staring at a place on the floor, but now he looked at me. “You know … I didn’t do anything to her, right?”
“Right. Of course.” I didn’t know why I believed him, but I did. Maybe that made me the dumb girl in the horror movie who willingly takes the hand of her killer, but I did.
“And I don’t consider myself to be her ‘property.’”
“I should hope not.” I looked at the floor and then summoned some courage. “But if you don’t, then why do you suddenly care so much about not letting anyone know we’ve been hooking up? Sometimes you’re all willy-nilly with it, and then you get paranoid. I don’t get it. You don’t seem like the type of guy who concerns himself too much with how other people see him.”
“I can’t just be with you. I can’t just get with the next girl that comes along after my girlfriend dies.”
I raised my eyebrows. “The next girl who comes along?”
“I didn’t—”
“No, you know what? I’m sorry, but I can’t keep being this anonymous replacement for her. Because I’m not. I’m just not.”
“I don’t think you’re a replacement for her. It’s just difficult. Everyone either thinks she’s lurking around a corner waiting to come back, or they think she’s off having my kid, or they think she’s dead and that maybe I killed her.” His voice had gotten louder. “It’s kind of hard to just be with you now. Not to mention the fact that she kind of ruined my desire to be with anyone right now. I’m sorry. It’s just not going to happen.”
In the pit of my chest, something had been growing stronger and stronger. And the more time that passed at Manderley Academy, the more it reared its head and breathed hot fire. It ran through me, keeping me from feeling sad and lonely—which could have easily happened—and instead drove me to get quietly more and more sure of myself.
After my conversation with Max, I packed up my oil paints and left. My painting was fine. It was just me who was nitpicking at the details in it. I walked up to Blake’s room.
“Let’s start drinking.”
These were the first words out of my mouth when I saw her. I hadn’t been sure about going to the last party of the semester, but now I definitely was going. She laughed at first in surprise, but then narrowed her eyes and asked if I was okay.
“I’m great, I just want to have fun. Let’s go do our makeup!”
Blake grabbed two Gatorades and a water bottle full of clear whatever, and we went into my room. Dana sat on her bed, filling the air with gloom.
“Want a shot?” I asked her. Blake smiled when Dana glared at me. I rolled my eyes and walked into the bathroom. We set up my laptop and turned on iTunes. I had no new music of course, since I was not allowed to connect to the internet.
This place was practically primitive.
We each downed the liquor in the water bottle, and half an hour later we were dizzy and laughing hysterically about I-don’t-even-know-what.
“Oh, my God, that’s hilarious,” said Blake, who was sitting in the empty tub. “So tell me. Did you guys ever … you know….”
I bit my lower lip and took another swig. I nodded.
“No way, really? How was he? I know Becca said he had a big—”
We both started laughing again. I noticed that the door to my bedroom was not completely closed, so I crawled over and shut it.
“Yeah, it’s definitely, um … fun. He’s good. You know. Awesome.”
Blake snorted and then knocked the soap into her lap. She put it back, still laughing. The door in my room slammed shut, shaking the door in the bathroom. We ignored it.
“Well, what exactly happened tonight?”
I told her that Max and I had talked and he’d been a dick, and gave me a speech about how it was never going to happen.
“I don’t even know where it came from, really. We were talking … she came up … and then all of a sudden he was telling me he couldn’t give me what he gave her.”
She furrowed her eyebrows. “It’s weird. He acts way different around you than he ever did around her. Like … he seeks you out. He wants to talk to you. He laughs around you. I swear I’m not sure I ever saw him smile before this year.”
I shrugged. “Maybe he goes for that whole painful relationship thing. Maybe it’s some kind of masochistic thing.”
She sneered, and handed me the bottle. “Way less hot than hair-pulling.”
We laughed again, and then both squealed when our newly decided favorite song came on.
Blake glanced at her watch. “It’s almost eleven, let’s start getting ready.”
Everyone was in good spirits tonight. Including me. Even the dreaded, freezing walk down to the boathouse was okay. Blake and I kept making too much noise and shushing each other and ourselves—so there was little time to worry about the chilly air.
The music inside the boathouse was loud, and everyone was laughing and flirting. Maybe it had always been this way, and I’d just been too self-conscious and worried about everything that I hadn’t enjoyed it. Whatever it was about that night, I ended up being bolder than I’d ever been.
“You know what we should do?” I shouted across the beer pong table. “We should—Wait, Blake,” I whispered in her ear.
She nodded and then laughed.
“Okay,” I continued, “we should play strip beer pong.” I smiled and bit my bottom lip.
Our opponents, Cam and Johnny, laughed and said that that sounded like a fantastic idea. Johnny had apologized to me earlier in the night, and in my current mood, it had been no problem. The dragon in my chest just seethed a little flame, and then relaxed, waiting for the right time to really explode.
“So every time we make one, you have to take something off,” said Blake.
Johnny smiled. “And vice versa.”
“Well,
