My Sweet Escape by Chelsea M. Cameron
I gave Hannah a look, but she just smiled triumphantly. I shook my head and stood up, following Renee to the sink.
“I told her I didn’t want to go. I have no idea why she wants to go, but she does. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Jos. It’s fine. I’m just... I don’t like being the bad guy. I hate being in that situation. I want to be your older sister, not your mom, and sometimes I cross the line and feel like I have to be your parent.”
“I’m sorry.” Now I felt like absolute shit and I was kind of pissed at Hannah. If she hadn’t been so intent on going to this stupid party, which would probably turn out to be nothing and totally not worth it, Renee wouldn’t be mad at me.
“I’m not mad at you. I know it’s not your fault, Jos.” She turned on the sink and everyone else started bringing their dishes over.
“It’s our turn,” Darah said as she picked up the soap and squirted it on one of the sponges.
“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it,” Renee said.
“Babe, come on,” Paul said, taking her hand. I knew my sister well enough to know that she was on the verge of tears. He took her hand and led her upstairs and I heard the door to their bedroom shut.
“Can I talk to you, Hannah?” I walked toward the downstairs and jerked my head so we could go down into the cave and have a chat.
“I am so sorry. I had no idea that would happen,” she said as I shut the door and walked down the stairs.
“What did you think was going to happen? That you’d just suggest that her underage sister should go into a snake pit filled with alcohol and boys who want to touch me and things that I was all wrapped up in this summer and she’d just go along with it? Seriously, Hannah?”
We’d been friends such a short time that this was our first fight, and it felt like shit.
Her eyes were wide, her usually sassy demeanor deflated.
“I’m so sorry. I just... I’m so sorry.”
“Why did you want to go so bad?”
She walked the rest of the way down the stairs and sat down on the second to last one. I sat a few steps above her.
“It’s so stupid. You’re going to think I’m a moron.”
“Tell me and we’ll find out,” I said. I just wanted people to stop lying to me, or changing the subject. I wanted the truth, for once.
The truth is the most beautiful thing there is, because it’s the most real.
I didn’t believe him when he’d said that, and I wasn’t sure if I believed it now. The truth sucked a lot of the time.
“Okay, so you remember at the party on Sunday that I was being weird? And then we saw those guys in the Union?” I knew it had something to do with that. I just had no idea to what extent, or how.
“So, this guy came up to me and he pretended to flirt with me, invite me to the party and then he went and told all his friends that he’d flirted with a freak. It was some sort of stupid dare or something. I was pissed, of course, but whatever, you know? But then I saw them again and they just pissed me off. I’m not fucking Gandhi. I can’t deal sometimes. So I had this plan to go to the party and fuck them over somehow. I wasn’t exactly sure how I was going to do it. I was going to wait until we go there and, like, pull a Carrie, only, like, get the bad guys this time. You know?”
“Were you planning on bringing a bucket of pig’s blood with you?”
“Obviously not. That was more of a metaphor than an actual plan. I was kind of hoping you’d help me out with it.”
“You are one of the single weirdest people I have ever met.”
“That is not the meanest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
I could imagine.
“Are you mad?”
“A little.” I slid down a step so I was one closer to her. “You could have just told me that’s why you wanted to go instead of orchestrating this crazy plan. Or I would have just told you that those douche bags weren’t worth it and averted this whole thing.”
“I know you’re right. I have this tendency to only trust myself and think that everyone else is going to screw me over. Probably because lots of people have screwed me over. I’d tell you how many times it has happened, but you might not believe some of my stories.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised.” I had stories, too.
She put her head down on her knees.
“I’ve messed things up, haven’t I?”
“It’s okay. You’re allowed. And it’s not like you did it to be mean, or for some malicious reason. I mean, not a malicious reason against people who hadn’t already been assholes to you.” I wasn’t much for an eye for an eye, but getting those guys back seemed like a valid plan. “But would messing with those guys make you feel better?”
“At first.”
“Have you ever done this to someone who’s been like this in the past?”
She finally lifted her head up and I saw a glimmer of her smile.
“There was this girl who used to call me freak face and would move away from me if I was ever near her. She used to say a lot of other horrible things, and this one day, I’d just had enough and snapped.” She moved up and there was only one step between us.
“So every morning she used to get these giant frozen coffees from the Starbucks, right? I mean, they were huge. I’m pretty sure they were the only thing she ever consumed. I can’t remember seeing her eat. I’m pretty sure they were her bitch fuel. Anyway, so I started buying the exact drinks she got and putting them in her locker. So she’d open her locker and they’d just spill over all her shit. Wow, that sounds so much worse when I say it out loud. It was funny that week when every time after lunch she’d open her locker and one would come flying out at her. She never figured it out.”
I had to admit it was pretty good.
“And you know what? I bet that girl is probably screwing some ridiculously hot guy at some awesome college in Florida or something. Bitch,” she said.
“Or maybe she got knocked up the summer after high school and her parents made her marry him and she had a super ugly baby and she waits tables at a horrible diner and her boss is always grabbing her ass, but she can’t say anything because she can’t afford to lose her job because her baby daddy is an alcoholic who just sits in his recliner and drinks all day.”
She stared at me as if I’d grown an extra head and then burst out laughing.
“Girl, you have a hell of an imagination. You should be a writer.” She wasn’t the first person who’d said that to me. In English, Greg had written comments on my first few prompts that were all positive, and he’d singled me out more than once for recognition. Of course I’d turned into a human fireball every time, and I wished he’d stop doing it.
And because Hannah had told me about one of her little secrets, I decided to share one of mine.
“Hold on a sec.” My laptop was in my room, so I grabbed it and turned it on, clicking on to the internet browser and pulling up my blog. I handed the computer to Hannah without saying anything.
“Okay,” she said, scrolling through my blog. “What is this?”
“It’s mine. My blog. This is my secret identity. My name is Joscelyn Archer and I’m a music blogger.”
Her eyes went wide and she stared at the blog more intently.
“No shit, this is yours? Oh, my God.” I watched her eyes race over my latest album review and then she clicked on some of the tabs and looked at some other things. I waited for the verdict.
“This is so freaking awesome! Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
I shrugged.
“I don’t know. I guess it was just such a personal thing that I was putting out there. I didn’t mind sharing it with strangers because they would never know me or meet me, but sharing it with people I know is something different. What if they thought it was weird? And what
Hannah wouldn’t let me have it.
“No way. You shared this with me and I’m going to take it all in. I told you that you were a good writer, and you are. You’re really, really good. Why are you not an English major?”
Shit. I didn’t know showing her my blog would lead to a rehash of things I didn’t want to talk about.
“Because I don’t fancy working in food service for the rest of my life or ending up living in a refrigerator box on the street.”
Hannah smacked me on the arm.
“You would never end up in a box on the street. Hello? Do you see where you are living right now? Your sister and all her friends would never let that happen. You have a whole fucking houseful of people that care about you and you can’t even see it.”
What was that about?
“I’m not ungrateful. Do I seem ungrateful?”
She sighed and gave my computer back.
“No, that’s not what I meant. That was just my little jealousy monster rearing his incredibly ugly head. Just forget it.”
“You have people who care about you. I care about you,” I said, putting my arm around her. “Once again, I totally sounded like I was into you. But you knew what I meant, right?”
“Totally. And I care about you, too.”
We shared a completely not awkward hug and then started laughing.
“So, a frat party, huh? Did you ever think that the best revenge is living well? I read that somewhere, and I think it would work in this situation. We’ll get you a killer dress and the ladies of Yellowfield House can make you up and then we can go and you can shove it in their faces. If they think they got to you, they win. If you show them you don’t give a shit, then you win,” I said.
She shrugged one shoulder.
“It’s not as good as dumping buckets of pig’s blood on them.” Thinking about Carrie reminded me that Stephen King lived right down the street. I told Hannah and I thought her eyeballs were going to fall out of her head.
“I knew he lived in Bangor, but I didn’t know where.”
“Yeah, we can drive by or something sometime. We could even creepily walk by. But we’d probably get arrested. He’s got security cameras and stuff.”
We both walked back up the stairs and found everyone sitting in the living room, pretending they weren’t waiting for us—except Renee and Paul.
“We didn’t kill each other, and we didn’t devolve into a girl fight of hair-pulling and eye-gouging, if anyone was worried about that,” Hannah said, slinging her arm over my shoulder. “See? All good.”
Everyone seemed to sigh in relief.
“But I think I owe your sister an apology, so I’m going to go do that,” Hannah said, heading for the stairs as if she’d been in the house a hundred times.
I didn’t know if that was a good idea, but I wasn’t going to stop her.
I sat down on the couch next to Taylor, and she leaned her head on my shoulder.
“You know, I’ve never been to a frat party, either. I was a bit curious about the experience, as well.”
Hunter made a grumbling noise.
“What, you don’t think I can defend myself against a few drunk frat guys? I defended myself pretty good against you,” she said.
His eyes narrowed and he pointed at her. “Touché, Missy. Touché.”
Dusty seemed to be watching me. Why hadn’t he gone home yet?
“I’m going to go check on them,” he said suddenly, popping to his feet. “I’m not sure who my money would be on in a fight between Hannah and Renee.” He jogged up the stairs, his pants sliding lower and lower. One of these days I was going to ask him how they stayed up. But he’d make some weird comment and then I’d blush and that wouldn’t be fun. I didn’t need to give him any more fuel.
“I always wished I had red hair,” Taylor said, running her fingers through mine. Hers was so pretty, though. It did that beachy-wave thing that I could never pull off. My hair just sort of...hung on my head.
“So you’d have an excuse to fly off the handle?” Hunter said, picking up his guitar again. It seemed to be his go-to in times of turmoil.
“Ha-ha, you wish,” Taylor said.
We sat for a few more minutes as Mase turned on NESN and checked the sports stats. Both Hannah and Dusty had been gone for longer than I was comfortable with, but it was nearly silent upstairs.
I got up and went for the stairs. I heard the rest of them talking behind me, but I didn’t care.
Being careful to walk quietly and carefully, I approached Renee and Paul’s room. The door was cracked just a bit. Dusty’s voice was the one I heard first.
“She’s going to have so many people watching her, she won’t be able to sneeze without one of us saying ‘bless you.’ Trust me.”
“Why should I trust you?” That was Renee.
I leaned closer and maybe a little too far, catching myself off balance and banging into the door, which slammed open and banged off the wall. Not the most graceful of entrances I’d ever made.
“Sorry, I just came up to see if everything was okay. I didn’t hear anything downstairs, so I was hoping I wasn’t going to come up and find a pile of bodies and one of you holding a knife or something,” I said, trying to save myself.
“Where would someone get a knife in my bedroom?” Renee said, recovering first from being burst in on.
“You do have that really pointy nail file,” Paul said, chiming in. Dusty was composed but Hannah was a little red-faced.
I wanted, desperately, to know what Dusty’s answer to Renee’s question would have been, but I couldn’t admit that I’d been listening.
“Sorry I flew off the handle,” Renee said, sitting down on the edge of her bed.
“No, it’s okay. Mom would have done the same thing,” I said.
“But I’m not your mom. Even though you’ve made some bad decisions in the past, you’ve been doing really great lately, and I haven’t given you enough credit. I’m proud of you.” The praise was going right to my ears, and I could feel them heating up. She couldn’t have done this when we were alone? I mean, I didn’t care if she did it with Paul around, because he was practically family, but with Dusty and Hannah there, it was embarrassing.
Dusty cleared his throat and moved toward the door, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“I think that’s my cue to go home. I’ll see you all...at some point. Okay, good night.” He was out of there quicker than you could say “saggy pants.”
“Sometimes I have an issue picking up on social cues, but this isn’t one of those times. I will see you tomorrow, Jos. Thanks for understanding, Renee. ’Bye, Paul.” Hannah scurried after Dusty, and I was left with Renee and Paul.
“I think I’m going to give you two a minute.” Paul left and closed the door quietly behind him. I sat down next to Renee on the bed.
“So what were you talking about when I made my awesome entrance?” I said.
“Nothing. Hannah was just explaining her reasons for wanting to go to the party. I swear, ninety percent of guys are complete and utter douche bags.” She closed her eyes and flopped backward.
“If that’s true, then how is it possible that we have three non–douche bags living in this house? I mean, those are, like, Powerball odds.” I joined her and let myself fall backward and we stared at the ceiling.
“I don’t know. But I’m thinking we should start buying more scratch tickets,” she said.
The comforter was bunched up under my head, so I smoothed it out.
“You ever take that thing off?” She reached for my bracelet, fingering the elepha
“No.” I let her play with it for a second longer and then turned on my side, propping my head on my hand. She did the same. It felt like when we were little and used to build forts out of pillows and sheets in the living room with all the chairs from the dining room. That was before a lot of our siblings entered our lives. All I could remember was that it was pretty quiet back then.
“Sometimes I feel so old,” she said.
“How so?”
“Just between everything with Mom and Dad and with our family being so crazy. Do you remember that time when Mom forgot us at school and we had to hitchhike?”
I rolled my eyes.
“Which time?” It had happened often in our youth.
“It’s a wonder the two of us even managed to turn out relatively normal.” I tapped the side of her head.
“Relatively? Speak for yourself.”
“Hey, ‘relatively normal’ is a compliment for you,” she said, grabbing a pillow and whacking me with it.
“What the hell?” I dived and got a hold of one and smacked her back. And then, because we were sisters, we had a pillow fight. Renee didn’t have down pillows, so there were no feathers, but it got pretty ridiculous anyway.
By the time both of us were out of breath, we had an audience. One of the guys must have heard us yelling and carrying on and thought we were killing each other, but they found us collapsed and laughing in exhaustion.
“So, you’re good, then?” Mase said. “Because you could, you know, keep doing that. I wouldn’t complain.” He grinned, and Darah made a disgusted sound.
“I think the odds are going down,” I said to Renee and she laughed.
“What odds?” Hunter said.
“Never mind,” we both said at the same time.
Chapter 14
Hannah was more reluctant to go shopping than a virgin being led to the sacrificial altar.
“You agreed to this plan. It will be okay, I swear,” I said as I drove us toward the Bangor Mall. She kept changing the radio stations and it was driving me mad. I finally reached out and turned off the radio.