“You still there?” Logan asks.
“Tonight’s not going to work,” I tell him.
“How about—”
“I gotta go.” I hang up before I let Logan talk me into anything. He’s not the one I want to see.
Before I realize what’s happening, I’m at the park. Jude’s park. Somehow I walked here without planning to. But I don’t go up to Jude. I keep my distance, hiding behind a tree and convincing myself that I am exhibiting completely normal behavior. Spying on the boy I like from afar does not make me a creeper. I’m simply being respectful of Jude’s need for space.
Jude is performing a trick with a glittery gold Hula-Hoop. He holds the Hula-Hoop up and throws a gold foam ball through it. The ball doesn’t come out the other side. It vanishes into thin air. He repeats the trick a few times, smiling like he’s having the best time ever. I’m not close enough to hear what people are saying, but I know they are in awe of Jude. We all are.
Watching Jude in action, I can’t help wondering what my summer would have been like if we were together. What if Logan never showed up? What if Jude and I had the whole summer to be in lust? Or maybe even to fall in love? I wasn’t expecting to find love when this summer started. But watching Jude now and remembering how amazing it felt to be with him, the possibility of loving him feels right.
Watching from a distance is too painful. It’s time to go home.
When I open the front door of my building, the momentary high I got from watching Jude vanishes into thin air like that gold ball. Actually, not thin air. More like heavy, humid, oppressively hot air. The dark storm cloud is back. It follows me up the three flights of stairs to the apartment. The only thing I can think about is getting in a cool shower with lots of soapsuds.
When I open the door, I’m engulfed by even more hot air. The apartment is stifling. The air in here feels like it’s been baking all day and then got hotter when the heat was accidentally turned on. I didn’t even know an apartment could get this hot.
Rosanna comes out of her room. I can’t believe she’s home.
“Why didn’t you turn on the air conditioner?” I say. “It’s broiling in here.” I go over to the living room air conditioner and snap it on.
“Do you know how much our electricity bill is?”
“Of course I know. We each pay one-third of it.”
“More like your daddy pays one-third,” she mumbles.
I whip around. “Excuse me?”
“We each pay one-third. Meaning I pay one-third. So I have a say in whether I want the air conditioner on.”
“Well, I’m getting ready to go out and I’m not leaving here looking like a hot mess. The air conditioner stays on.”
“Fine. Then you should pay more than one-third of the electricity bill this month.”
“Fine, I will.”
Rosanna stares at me. It’s a hard stare I’ve never seen on her before.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“No. No, I’m not okay. Not at all.”
She looks like she’s about to have a breakdown. Or maybe she already has. I could be walking into some sort of freaky aftermath. How much do I really know about this girl? Only what she’s told me and what I can deduce from her behavior. I’m beginning to think she has mood swings on the reg. Could she be bipolar? There aren’t any prescription meds in our medicine cabinet, but she could be hiding them in her room. She could be covering up a whole other side of her she doesn’t want me or Sadie to know.
I follow Rosanna into her room. The contents of her closet are strewn everywhere: all over the floor, on her bed, hanging from the door. Her closet door is flung open. All that’s left hanging are the hangers.
“What’s going on?” I say.
Rosanna scoops up a bunch of clothes from her bed. They are all clothes I gave her.
“Take these back,” she says.
“They’re yours,” I say slowly, surveying her room. “I want you to have them.”
“I didn’t earn them. I didn’t buy them. They don’t belong to me.”
“They were a gift.”
“It doesn’t matter how hard I work, does it?” Rosanna stands there holding the pile of clothes, that hard stare freaking me out all over again. “I must have been delusional to think I could reinvent myself.”
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on—”
“You’d never understand. You people think you can buy anything. But some things aren’t for sale.”
Seriously with this girl? I tried to be patient. I tried to be understanding. When she ripped me a new one that night she made me clean the living room, I restrained myself from blowing up at her. But she can’t keep attacking me and expect me to just take it. Whatever’s wrong with Rosanna, I’ve had enough. She needs to know that I will not be pushed around. Especially after executing a major fashion hack with her new wardrobe, thank you very much.
“What is your problem?” I ask.
“My problem. Is spoiled rich kids who don’t know how lucky they are. You have everything you want and you don’t even appreciate it.”
I sweep my hands toward the heap of clothes she’s holding. “Did I not buy you all of those clothes?”
Rosanna throws the clothes she’s holding at me. Some flop against my stomach. The rest fall to the floor. “Take them! Take them all back! I told you I didn’t want them! I asked you to return them and you wouldn’t!”
“I was trying to help you!”
“I don’t need your charity!”
“And I don’t need you blasting the same song on repeat a thousand times or skulking around in your ratty robe like some crazy bag lady, but here we are!”
We stand there glaring at each other. Clothes scattered around me. The suffocating heat making my head throb.
“At least I don’t snore!” Rosanna jabs.
Oh no she didn’t. “If you want to be ungrateful, that’s your problem. But I’m not taking these clothes back.” I stomp toward the door, whipping back around to have the final word. “Any time you want to apologize, you know where I live.”
Rosanna doesn’t come to my room to say she’s sorry while I’m getting ready. I look in her room on my way out. She’s bent over her bed, picking up the last of the wardrobe explosion. The clothes I gave her are packed away neatly in a big, clear bin.
She snaps the lid shut.
THIRTY-THREE
ROSANNA
SOMEONE WATCHING ME RIGHT NOW wouldn’t notice anything unusual. A camp counselor putting her group of girls on the bus that takes them home every day. Hugging a girl who gave her a necklace she made with pink and purple beads. Laughing at something another girl with rainbow tie-dyed shoelaces said. Telling the girls to have a fun weekend. The same routine someone would see if they were watching me out in front of the school any Friday after camp.
There is someone watching me right now. She’s standing across the street, leaning against the chain-link fence, one leg bent up behind her. She is too far away for me to tell if I know her. But I get the feeling I’ve seen her before. Normally I wouldn’t even notice someone standing across the street. Only . . . this girl is fixated. Her concentration is so blistering it’s radioactive.
The bus pulls away. I shade my eyes under the blinding sun, trying to figure out who that girl is. She pushes off from the chain-link fence. She starts walking toward me.
When she crosses the street, I realize who she is.
Nasty Girl. Addison.
The girl who spilled punch on me at the camp party. Who lied about working at the other camp.
The girl who told those horrible lies about me to Mica. Mica, who was going to be my good friend. Mica, who won’t talk to me anymore.
The girl who hates me even though I’d never seen her before in my life.
I wipe nervous sweat from above my mouth. I cannot believe Addison is so twisted she’s stalking me at my job. My heart is racing like it’s going for a state record, doing wind sprints and jumping hurdle
s. Am I finally going to get answers to the questions that have been hammering away at me every single day?
Addison comes right up to me like she belongs here. All the other counselors are gone. The campers have all been picked up by guardians or taken away in buses. No one else is around. A shot of panic makes my heart race even faster. Addison could do anything she wants to me. Right out here in the open. There would be no witnesses. A few people are walking by across the street, but I seriously doubt any of them would notice us. Unless I screamed.
“Hello, Rosanna.” Addison doesn’t bother fake smiling. This time she’s practically seething.
“What are you doing here? I know you aren’t a counselor at the sister camp.” I hope my pounding heart isn’t showing. I would glance down at my shirt to check, but I don’t want to break my gaze. A steady gaze implies confidence. She cannot know how afraid I am right now.
Addison is unfazed by getting called out. “Thanks for the discovery, Nancy Drew. Do you also know I don’t really live in Mica’s building?”
“What?”
“Yeah . . . I lied to Mica about us having the same housing. I actually lied about a lot of things. Sound familiar?”
“Why did you tell her those lies about me?”
“But I do live here,” Addison continues, ignoring my question. “In New York, I mean. Born and raised. So when I heard you were going to UNY and working here this summer, it was perfect.”
My heart stops racing. No more sprints. No more hurdles. My blood is cold as ice.
“How do you know about me?” I ask. “All that stuff you told Mica. How do you know all of that?”
“Oh, did I forget to introduce myself? My bad.” Addison sticks her hand out for me to shake, then drops it. “You know my uncle. Or, you knew my uncle. Back in Chicago? There was this rumor going around that he molested you. Do you know who started it?”
Oh.
My.
God.
The man who molested me when I was eleven was someone’s uncle.
He was Addison’s uncle.
Addison takes a step closer to me. Mascara is smudged under the outer corner of her left eye. There’s something tangy on her breath. Sugary orange. No, grapefruit. Her gold metal bracelets clink together when she reaches up to tighten her ponytail.
“Because I heard it was you,” she says.
My mind begins to wrap around the horrifying reality that Addison is the niece of the man who molested me. But she’s not on my side. She isn’t about to apologize for what her uncle did.
She doesn’t believe he did anything wrong.
“If you can spread lies about my uncle? One of the kindest, most generous people I’ve ever known? Then I have no problem spreading lies about you.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“Did you really think you could get away with it? He’s a good person. A real person. With a real family. A family who cares about him. A family who would do anything for him.” Addison shoves me. Not hard. Just hard enough to jostle me. “Including revenge.”
“Why would I lie about that?”
“Duh, for attention. Stupid girls do stupid things.”
“Addison. Think about it. Your uncle threatened to hurt my little sister if I told anyone what he was doing to me. The only reason it got out there is because I told my best friend and she told her mom. It’s not like I was broadcasting what he was doing.”
“But your lies about him got out there.” Addison traces a manicured finger over the loop of her gold hoop earring. She squints at me like I am a lab specimen she’s been assigned to observe. “You pushed him out of his town. He was forced to move away, which he couldn’t afford. He’s still in debt because of you. You destroyed his entire life.”
What about how he destroyed my life? What about how it’s such a challenge for me to trust D, or how I’m scared to move forward with him physically? Why is Addison so determined to believe nothing happened to me?
“I didn’t lie,” I repeat. But I can tell no matter how many times I repeat the truth, Addison will never believe me. She made up her mind about me a long time ago. Nothing I can do will change her beliefs.
“Did that punch stain ever come out?” Addison asks innocently.
“Why were you at that party if you don’t work at the other camp?”
“Because I knew you’d be there, silly! Donovan’s sister is super friendly. She didn’t even question me when we met and I said I was a counselor. She told me about the party and everything. So I wasn’t technically crashing. I haven’t seen her since the party. How is she?” Addison blinks at me with icy eyes. “Oh, that’s right. You and Donovan don’t hang out with his sister, do you? Why do you think that is?”
My face burns with shame. I’ve been wondering the same thing. He hasn’t introduced me to his parents yet, either.
“Yeah.” Addison sneers. “That’s what I thought. You know what else I think? I think things are about to get ugly for you. Real ugly.” She pokes me hard in the center of my chest. “I know where you work.” Poke. “I know where you live.” Poke. “I know more about you than you want me to know. And I’m not shy about using any of it. Oh, and I know all about Donovan, too. Which reminds me . . . how gorgeous is Shayla? We hung out last night. Shayla was at this club I just happened to be at.”
Fear tightens my throat.
“We didn’t talk for that long, though,” Addison continues. “Just long enough for me to tell Shayla that you’re going to break up with Donovan. You know, just so she would know he’s available. As if she’s not already acting like he is. But don’t worry—I swore her to secrecy.”
I can’t breathe. There’s so much I want to say to Addison. But I can’t breathe. I want to tell her off. I want to tell her to go to hell. I want to be fierce and confident and say that if she ever comes near me or anyone else in my life again, I will take her down. But none of these things come out. The sad truth is that I’m afraid of her. I’m afraid that if I say any of these things I want to, she will come at me even harder. She’s already angry enough. One wrong move and I could tip her over the edge.
“Anyway.” Addison gives me a bright smile. “Be seeing you around.” She turns on her heel and leaves me speechless and shaken under the blazing sun.
I mentally beat myself up on the subway ride home. Why didn’t I say more? Why didn’t I stick up for myself? That was my chance to speak up. I had a chance to defend myself and I blew it. I hate myself for letting her intimidate me. I feel so repulsive I can’t even stand to be in my own skin. I am completely violated. Addison ripped me apart until I was naked. She scraped out my insides, ground them into the hot gravel, and smeared them down my chest. And I just stood there and let her do it.
By the time I climb out of the searing subway station, my fear and pain have expanded to fill every crevice in my body. I catch my reflection in some storefront glass. Frazzled. Sweaty. Gross. On the verge of tears. Is this how I look? I’m disgusting. My hair is spazzing out. The heinous combination of unbearable heat and humidity has whipped my hair into a curly, frizzy mess. This is my hair for the rest of my life. I’ll never be able to afford to straighten it. Or even to afford better products to tame it. I am, and will always be, at the mercy of external variables.
The more I think about Addison and how her uncle took advantage of me, the more depressed I become. I try to be a good person. I’m struggling to scrape by even though I work hard. That’s okay with me. But when it’s still not enough to prevent abuse, torment, and deceit, that’s not okay. I’m working harder than ever and for what? To be taken advantage of all over again? I thought I could start a shiny new life here. Reinvent myself in a city where no one knew me. But I was wrong. My past will always follow me. People like me will always get shafted while people like Darcy will keep getting more privileges. Darcy will never have to worry about the things I do, from big picture to trivial details. Right down to her hair. She has the kind of straight hair that does exactly what she wants it to d
o. Everything has been served to Darcy on a silver platter, superior genetics included.
By the time I get home, the subject of my miserable mental ruminating has shifted from Addison to Darcy. What kind of fantasy world was I living in, accepting those clothes from her? Darcy bought those clothes for me out of pity. She obviously sees me as a charity case. I thought we were actually becoming friends. What a joke.
The apartment is sweltering. But I don’t care. Turning on the air conditioner would be like throwing money out the window. I’d rather sweat and save. I strip off my camp clothes and put on the skimpiest shorts and tank I have. Then I yank every piece of clothing Darcy gave me out of my closet and throw everything in a heap on my bed. I rip all of my other clothes off their hangers mercilessly, the way Addison ripped into me.
My face burns with shame as I think about how I’ve been prancing around in these fabulous clothes Darcy gave me. Like I belonged in them. Darcy doesn’t know what it’s like to be so poor you can’t afford to buy the yearbook, pretending like you’re bringing back autograph books that year. Or what it’s like to rummage through used clothes at thrift stores that kids from your school donated during charity drives, only to be exposed by one of the most popular girls in front of the whole class when she was like, “Isn’t that my shirt? I thought my mom threw it out. Ew, did you dig through my garbage?” Darcy never had to pretend to be sick and stay home because she couldn’t afford the extra fee for a field trip. She was encoded for success before she was even born.
Darcy comes home while I’m flinging my clothes everywhere.
“Why didn’t you turn on the air conditioner?” she demands.
THIRTY-FOUR
SADIE
AUSTIN ASKED ME TO GET together with him tonight.
I was looking forward to another boy break weekend while I was walking home from my internship yesterday. I’m working on elaborate warm fuzzies for all of my friends from high school. We’re planning a party in August before college starts and most of them move away. Warm fuzzies will look cute on their bulletin boards. My boy break weekend also featured a whole season of Gilmore Girls to binge-watch and a whole watermelon to eat while I was watching.