SOMETHING’S DEFINITELY UP with Jesse. We were late to the movie, so we parked in the way back, and he’s been nice and everything, but underneath it all, he’s tense. I catch him checking out the other cars like he’s looking for somebody.
“Want popcorn? I’m buying.” It’s the only thing I can think to say to break the silence.
“I got it.” He stuffs a twenty in my hand before I can argue, then goes back to scoping out the tailgates in front of us.
I slam the door behind me. On the way, I stop to use the gross bathrooms around back of the snack shack and projector. I pause under the fly-specked bulb outside, looking for Kat’s pickup. It’s in its usual spot. Wonder if Kenyon’s over there, holding on to whatever secrets he didn’t want to share with me the other night. What would Rhiannon say if she knew he was still carrying a torch for her? I can hear that dry laugh of hers now, see her flick her greenish-hazel eyes up, like he’s just too, too pathetic, the way she did whenever we’d gossip about people. But I guess she thought she could trust him.
When I come out of the bathroom, Kat’s standing at the edge of the light. She wavers a little, like she might step back out of sight, then says, “What up, chiquita?”
“Not much.”
She’s wearing black shortalls with a skull-and-crossbones patch safety-pinned to the bib, a cami so thin it sags to show her breastbone. She sticks her hands in her pockets. “Here with the girls?”
“Not tonight.” I know better than to say who I came with.
Kat rakes her fingers through her hair sideways, making it rest funny. “Sorry about the other night. I was pretty freaked.”
“He’s your brother. I get it.”
She cuts her eyes at me, checking to see if I really do. She’s probably smoked half a bowl since sundown, but I guess she finds whatever it is she’s looking for, because relief flickers over her face. Then she slides back into her stoner thing like a favorite pair of sneakers: “Stop by the truck, if you want. Bet you could get Braden Mosier to drink Jaeger out of your belly button.”
“Come on. Gimme a challenge.” We smile a little. So maybe we’ll never be besties. What we’ve got is still worth having. I could let her go, but I’m not quite ready. “Hey . . . who do you think Rhiannon was waiting for that night?”
Kat shrugs. “Somebody she knew pretty well, I’m guessing. Rhiannon was smart. She wouldn’t meet-in-person with some creeper. Not saying she didn’t do a lot of random stuff that night, but . . .” Her gaze lingers on me.
I remember Kat’s expression that night when her phone hummed and she read the caller ID, holding it out to me. For you. I think. My stomach rolled. Michaud. I’d saved Kat’s number in Nell’s phone for emergencies only, life-or-death.
Darcy? Her keening voice, tear-choked and faraway. Please, please come get me. A gasp. I wanna go home. Then she started sobbing, hard.
Took forever, but I found out where she was—outside that convenience store Chase’s on Irish Lane in Hampden, a half-hour drive away—but I couldn’t get her to say how she got there, if she was hurt, nothing. I said, Call home, I don’t have a ride.
She cried. I can’t. I can’t tell. Mom can’t find out. Please, Darcy.
Ice went through me. You wait, I said. I’ll get there.
Kat was too drunk to drive me. She laughed and sprawled over in the scrub grass when I asked to borrow her truck. Lots of people did the same—Ha-ha, Darcy can’t drive, no way, she’ll put it in the ditch—and I was breathless and scared and about ready to call home when—
Rhiannon stepped up to me, for the first time in nearly a year. I’d almost forgotten how her face looked straight-on: heart-shaped, high cheekbones, her mouth fuller since she’d started outlining it with lip pencil. She held out her car keys in the firelight. When I didn’t move, stunned, wondering if maybe somebody’d roofied me, if this whole thing was a bad trip, she said, Just take them.
In spite of every mean, nasty thing I’d ever wished on her, how I hated her in the way you can only hate your best friend, I took them. Not thanking her, just running to the Fit. Because Nell needed me.
“Why’d she do it? Why’d she give me the keys?” I’m asking myself as much as Kat, a shaky edge to my voice.
Kat lets her gaze slide over the peeling siding, where people have been scribbling for-a-good-time-call graffiti since the 1970s. Half the girls on that wall are probably grandmothers now. I’m on there, fourth down from the left, written in blue ballpoint beside something filthy about a girl name Jennie. “I dunno. Maybe she heard karma’s a bitch.”
So maybe she knows. Maybe Rhiannon told her what really went down between us sophomore year; she’s the only one who could’ve. I take a few steps away, feeling stripped in front of Kat. I don’t know which feels worse, the lies or the truth. “Stay out of jail, lady.”
She watches me go, hugging one thin arm. “No promises.”
I buy more food at the snack counter than I really want and get back into the cab with Jesse, turning it all over in my mind. On-screen, all the people in this wicked uptight town called Peyton Place are having a picnic with three-legged races and pie-eating contests and stuff. I hold out a package of Twizzlers to Jesse. When he doesn’t take any, I bite into one, letting his gaze burn on me until I can’t stand it anymore.
When he kisses me tonight, it’s like he can’t get enough, or like he thinks he won’t get another chance. He presses me back against the door, and we slide down together; the popcorn spills into the darkness under the seat. His hands move up under my shirt, over my stomach and bra and around to the clasp, which I know he won’t be able to open because no guy ever can, so I help him.
I lie there for a couple seconds with my eyes closed before I realize that he’s pulled away. When I look, he’s facing the wheel again, shoving his hair back with one hand. I prop myself up on my elbow. “What now?”
“I shouldn’t—” He breaks off, shakes his head. “Not supposed to be doing this.”
“Why?”
He gives me a look, kind of unbelieving, then shakes his head again. “Tonight wasn’t gonna be like this. I told myself we were really gonna talk and . . .” He swears, looking out the window. “Then I did it again.”
“Did what? What’s the problem?”
“What do you think, Darcy?” When I throw my hands up, he says, “I feel like a piece of shit, hooking up with you. But you’re so—” He breaks off again. “Nobody knows about us. Well—Mason. But I didn’t tell anybody else what we been doing.”
I make a little sound in my throat. A piece of shit. That’s how I make him feel.
Jesse’s eyes are dark in the half-light. “I never cheated with anybody before. I mean, I’m no saint or anything, not saying that, but I don’t screw around. I always said I never would.”
I swallow down an acid taste, getting it now, why he’s been running so hot and cold. “You have a girlfriend.”
“Huh? No. I’m talking about you and Shea.” All I can do is blink. “Come on. He told everybody about the Fourth, how you guys finally did it up at the quarry. Surprised he didn’t put up billboards, telling everybody what a stud he is.”
This isn’t exactly news, but I still flush all over, not sure if I’m ashamed or just furious. I try to keep my voice level. “What’s that mean?”
“He’s wanted you forever. He always says—well, he talks about what he’d like to do to you, with you, whatever. Says you like him, too, that you flirt and come on to him all the time.”
“I do not.” I spit it out, thinking of the Fourth, what I can remember of it: drinking way too much, until I was fighting to keep my head up, and then Shea beside me, smiling with those good white teeth and tawny eyes, being all nice, for some reason. I knew what he was about—how he and some other boys threw rotten crabapples at Rhiannon and me in seventh grade and ruined Rhiannon’s new white hoodie, how he’ll say or do any mean thing to get a laugh—but that seemed pretty fuzzy right then. I can’t say if I flirted back, but if I did, I was mostly joking, even when he started kissing my neck. The first time he asked me to go for a walk with him, I said no; the fourth time, I caved, grateful when he put his arm around me to keep me steady. I didn’t plan to have sex. That’s not why I went out there. “I never led him on, that’s crap.” I’m choking on my words. “I bet Mr. Big-Badass-Stud didn’t tell you that I never even called him after, that I don’t want anything to do with him.” Jesse’s quiet. “Yeah. Didn’t think so.”
“What about in the barrens? You guys are always going back and forth, giving each other hell.”
“So?”
“So I figured that meant you were still hanging out.”
“You mean hooking up.” I stuff myself back into my bra. “No. We fight all the time because he’s an ass. I told him I’d out-rake him, and his ego can’t handle it.”
“You can’t win.”
“God, Jesse. Thanks for having my back.”
“No, you don’t get it. You can’t beat him.” When I look at him, his head’s down, his fists resting on his thighs. “Duke . . . helps him out every harvest. He messes with Shea’s numbers, gives him credit for more boxes than he actually raked. How do you think Shea affords the payments on that crotch rocket of his?”
I just stare. Shea’s Ninja, black-and-poison-green, waxed to a shine. I look down at my clenched fists. “How long have you known?” My voice is soft.
“Since the first week of raking this harvest. He told me and Mason, made us promise to keep our mouths shut.”
I nod slowly, working my fists, letting my nails bite into my palms. “No wonder all the guys have been laughing at me.”
“Nobody knows but us, Darcy. Even that was a mistake, I think. He got so caught up in bragging about all the money he’s making that he let it slip.” A weak laugh, like maybe I might join in, like we might still be in this together.
“The Wardwells got no idea?”
“Bob trusts Duke. End of harvest, things don’t quite match up, they blame it on miscounting, scales being off, whatever. All part of the business. Duke never takes enough off the top to get anybody worried. I guess he thinks he’s helping out his nephew.”
I breathe out through my nose. “And you’re okay with this?” My voice is almost a whisper.
Jesse shrugs. “No. But what am I gonna do, tell on them? Duke’s got kids and bills and everything, and he’s on layoff most of the winter. He needs what he makes harvesting. Mason and me aren’t gonna be the reason he gets fired. And Shea”—he looks over, but I won’t meet his eyes—“we been friends since we were twelve. I know he can be a douche. But with you and me . . . I mean, I already thought you were cute and all, and when it seemed like you liked me . . .” He gives up on catching my gaze and looks out at the night, his voice flat. “But Shea, he’s in love with you.”
I laugh harshly, startling him. “Oh, yeah. He loves me.” Me, kissing Shea in the dark, running my nails over his back, laughing a little and not taking it seriously. “That’s gotta be it.” Things moving faster, too fast, us on the ground and him reaching under my skirt and tugging down my underwear, pushing my legs up before I can stop him. “That’s how come he calls me a slut, and trash. That’s how come he treats me so good.” I can feel Jesse’s surprise and I can’t stand it, won’t wait for him to ask questions. I won’t answer his damned questions. “Take me home.”
He begins to say something, then swallows his words and starts the engine. I face the window rigidly the whole way, watching woods and lit houses stream by without really seeing them. Shea, loving me. Jesse, not loving me at all.
When we reach my house, he leans over, saying, “Don’t go yet,” like it’s still not too late, like we can save this.
I shrug him off. “No. I thought you were . . .” Somebody different. I shove the door open. “I’m done.”
I cross the yard, breaking into a run, getting one clear image of Nell’s cards scattered all over the table by the wind before I’m through the door, with the sound of his engine roaring away in my ears.
Upstairs, I fall asleep in my clothes, my mind raging, headphones on, and the stuffed dog I’m too old for squished under one arm. Nobody comes to check on me, and I’m glad.
Around one a.m., I thrash awake, sure that the car is out there again, positive that if I’d opened my eyes a second sooner, I would’ve seen the headlights track across my wall. I go to the window, but when I part the curtains, there’s nothing out there but the night.