I’VE ALWAYS THOUGHT OF ERIN as the mom of our group. She’s the one who has her head on straight, the one with the conscience, the one who knows what to wear and what to say and what not to drink. But she’s been absent since Spring Break, tied up in executive board shit half the time and tied up in Landon the other half. I’ve barely seen her, other than the awkward twenty minutes with her and her real mom, and I’m not even sure she knows what happened last night between Jess and Ashlei. Which means it’s my turn to step up to the plate and put on my mom pants.
Jess hasn’t moved out of her bed all day, so I’m not surprised when I push through our bedroom door and see her still buried under the covers. It’s just after five in the evening, the campus slowly draining itself of parents. Jess’ didn’t even bother sticking around for today’s events, they just left me some cash for Jess and told me to send their love. They assume she’s hungover, but I know the truth—she’s feeling guilty.
As she should.
I leave the big light out, but click on the small lamp on my bedside table before climbing into bed next to Jess. She doesn’t fight me, just lets me slide under the sheets until we’re nose-to-nose. I’m silent for a moment, noting the smeared mascara around her tired brown eyes.
“I brought wine,” I finally say, reaching into the bag I pulled under the covers with us. The brown paper crinkles as I reveal a sweet moscato.
Jess cringes. “Get that away from me.”
“Oh, so you don’t want to drink anymore?” I nod, twisting off the top. Buying a bottle that needed a cork popped would have alerted Mom Cindy. I lift the bottle to my lips, shrugging. “I was so sure you were hell-bent on drinking yourself into stupidity.”
“I think I already hit that town last night.”
“I think you stayed in a hotel overnight and they named the city after you.”
She sighs, sniffling as her eyes connect with mine. “I get it, okay?”
“I don’t think you do, Jess.”
She throws the covers off of us in a huff, the cool air rushing in. “If you came here to lecture me, you can get the fuck out.”
“It’s my room, too.”
“Don’t be a bitch.”
“Me?”
She groans, snatching a pillow up and covering her face with it. “You’re not going away, are you?” she mumbles. I just wait, taking another pull from the wine bottle until she tosses the pillow back down. She exhales like a horse, her lips flapping dramatically. “I fucked up.”
“Mm hmm.”
“So now what?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
Jess flips over to rest on her left elbow, her greasy blonde hair falling over her eyes. She brushes it back behind her ear slowly. “I was pissed, Skyler. They both hid that shit for who knows how long and then they get busted, on camera, and act like nothing happened. I’ve had to stick up for them against all of our sisters who are calling for them to be kicked out of KKB meanwhile I’m pissed at them, myself. And meanwhile, they’ve been like two fucking mice, not saying a word, not apologizing. It’s bullshit.”
“What exactly are they supposed to be apologizing for?”
“For lying! For, for . . .” she trails off, her hands waving wildly as she grasps for something else to be pissed about. “All of it!”
Pressing my lips together, I lean up against the headboard of her bed and take another sip of the wine. When I offer it to Jess again, she grimaces and pushes it back toward me.
“Listen, they don’t have anything to be sorry for. So what if they’re in a relationship? It’s no different than you being in a relationship with your teacher and not telling any of us about it.”
“We’re not in a relationship. And that’s different.”
“You so are, and no, it’s not. And what, they’re supposed to be apologizing for getting caught on camera having sex with one lucky son-of-a-bitch on Spring Break? I hooked up last week, too. I could have been taped just as easily. They’re not at fault here, Jess.”
“Oh, so I’m just some crazy mean bitch, then?”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
She eyes the bottle in my hand like she’s almost tempted to take a drink, but thinks better of it. Squeezing her eyes shut, she covers them with the heels of her hands and blows out a long, slow breath. “I was wasted.”
“That’s still not an apology.”
She huffs. “Fine, I was wrong.”
I nod, satisfied, tipping the bottle back once more. “I’m glad you see it now, but I’m not the one you need to be saying that to.”
She whimpers, falling forward until her head is in my lap. I run my fingers through her hair as she speaks into the covers, her voice muffled. “She hates me. They both do. Where do I even start?”
“Just be honest with them, J-Love. And apologize, don’t make excuses. That’s all you can do. They’ll either forgive you or tell you to go to hell. Either way, you have to say you’re sorry—and mean it.”
She swallows, but nods, leaning up to face me again. “I should go find Ashlei.”
Wrinkling my nose, I eye the shirt she was wearing last night paired with underwear that could have that same reputation for all I know. “You should shower first.”
Jess laughs, smacking me with a pillow, but then her mouth pulls to the side. She leans into me, wrapping her lean arms around me and leaning her head on my shoulder. I hold her for a minute, trying to be the strength she needs. “Thank you, Skyler.”
Petting her hair, I offer a reassuring smile. “What are sisters for?”
AN HOUR LATER, Clinton is unloading Clayton’s bag from the cab as we stand on the curb outside of the departing flights terminal. They’ve both been joking around the entire cab ride, but Clinton filled me in on what happened with Shawna just before we piled into the car, so I’m itching to talk to him more about it. Though judging by his forced playfulness with his brother, I can tell he isn’t. I wonder if it’s one of those situations where I’ll need to let him come to me again, the same way I had to wait with his family drama last semester.
It’s not that I think racism is dead—I’d be naïve to honestly believe that. Still, I’ve never been so up close and personal to it before. Shawna seemed so into Clinton, she seemed like a down to earth chick. The fact that she let her prejudiced parents break them apart throttles me.
I can only imagine how Clinton feels.
“I think that Zeta wants me,” Clayton says with a sly grin as the cab pulls away and we make our way inside. “She gave me her phone number.”
“Oh yeah? Let me see.” I hold out my hand and Clayton places his cell phone into my palm, a number pulled up on the screen under the name Ass-tastic Jazzy. I chuckle at the name, but full on laugh when I see the number. “Oh, Baby Bear.”
“What?!” He looks alarmed, snatching the phone away like I’ve deleted the number.
“That’s the Loser Line.”
His brows tug inward over his chocolate irises. “What’s that?”
“It’s a phone number the local radio station gives out to girls so they can blow off losers. If you call that number and leave a voicemail, they’ll probably play it on the air,” Clinton explains.
Clayton narrows his eyes and snaps his fingers together. “What a minx. She’s playing hard to get.”
Clinton nudges him with a grin as I roll my eyes.
The Penningtons are something else.
We check Clayton’s bag and make our way toward security, the mood shifting. There’s something about seeing boys express emotion that really gets to me. I’ve never seen my father cry, nor have I stuck around long enough to see any of my exes cry, either. But I feel the weight of Clayton’s departure, and Clinton keeps pressing his lips together and chewing the skin next to his thumb nail, fighting back what I’m positive would be tears if he’d let them fall.
“Well, I guess this is it, little bro,” he finally says as we reach the security line. Clayton adjusts the small backpack he’s using as a carry-on over his shoulder, his eyes on his shoes. “Did you call to make sure Mom would be there to pick you up?”
“Nah, Mac’s mom is coming to get me.”
Clinton frowns. “Are you staying there again tonight?”
When Clayton twists his mouth and lifts his eyes to mine, my heart stops before he even says a word.
Uh oh.
“I’m sort of staying there every night . . .”
It takes two-and-a-half seconds for Clinton to catch on, and when he does, I watch his nose flare as his fists tighten at his sides. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t be mad,” Clayton pleads, holding his hands up. “Mac’s family is cool with it. They think of me like a son, and I’m doing chores and stuff to help out around the house.”
“Mac’s mom I understand, but I have a really fucking hard time believing our mom is okay with this.” I remember Clinton telling me over Winter Break that his mom never let him leave when he wanted to, even the time his aunt offered her spare bedroom up. His mom needs to feel in control of her kids’ lives, no matter how dangerous that may be.
“Well, I wouldn’t know.”
Clinton and I exchange questioning glances. “What do you mean, Baby Bear?” I ask.
He sighs, his dark fingers fidgeting with the straps of his backpack. “She never came home in December. Neither did Carleton.”
Shit.
Clinton’s anger disappears as all emotions drain from his face. It’s the palest I’ve ever seen him. “Are you telling me you’ve been living with Mac since December and you haven’t told me?” Clayton doesn’t dare answer and I don’t dare move. I’m almost afraid to breathe.
For a moment, Clinton just nods, short little nods as his eyes scan the airport, looking everywhere but at Clayton. He chews the insides of his lips and I see the wheels spinning.
“I’m coming home with you. Right now.”
“No!” Clayton yells at the same time as I grab Clinton’s arm.
“Bear, just relax a second.”
“Skyler,” he warns and I pull my hand away. He turns his attention back to his brother. “I’m coming. End of story.”
“Please, don’t.” Clayton’s eyes brim with tears, his age showing more than it has all weekend. I keep forgetting he’s only thirteen. That realization only makes my heart ache more. “You’re the only one in our family who has their shit together. I can’t wait to get out of Pittsburgh and be with you. If you come home and throw this semester away, you’ll fall back and have to take extra classes to catch up or stay another year, and that’s if you even ever come back. I don’t want that for you, for me, for either of us.”
“I’m not going to let you live by yourself. Without a mom, without any fucking family.”
“I have a family,” he pleads. “Mac and his sister and their parents. They make dinner every night, did you know that? I didn’t think anyone did that anymore.” He smiles, his eyes still glossy, his movements animated as he tries to make his big brother see his side. “And we play video games and go do fun things on the weekend. There’s no smoke in the house, no drugs, no fighting.”
Clinton crosses his arms, still staring somewhere behind his little brother. Suddenly, his eyes grow wide. “Where are the boys?”
I snap my attention back to Clayton, the realization that Carleton has two sons hitting me as hard and fast as it hit Clinton.
“They’re with Tara. They’re okay, she’s taking care of them. I see them on the weekends.”
Clinton exhales a breath, letting me know it’s okay I do the same. I think Tara is the mom, but I’m not sure. My eyes find Clinton again. Noting his steadier breathing, I take the opportunity to give my input.
“Bear, he’s right. You can’t just leave Palm South. I know this isn’t easy to hear, but look at Clayton.” I point in his direction. “He’s fine. He’s better than fine.”
“I should be there for him.”
“You are,” Clayton emphasizes. “By being here and being the man I hope to be, you’re there for me. That’s what I need from you right now.”
I nod, still not believing how wise Clayton is for such a young kid. “Listen, let’s plan a trip home to see him this summer. You can see where he’s staying and if you decide then that it’s not good enough, then you can stay. I won’t even ask you twice to come back.” The words sting as they leave my lips, but I know they’re necessary. Clinton needs to hear that he has options, especially when it comes to the last family member he really cares about.
“I’ll have Mac’s mom call you as soon as I get home so you can talk. She’s been wanting me to tell you.”
“But you didn’t,” Clinton throws back.
“And this is why.”
Clinton shakes his head, his arms still tight over his chest. When his eyes turn to mine, they ask me for permission I’m not sure I can really give. But I smile, giving a short nod to let him know I think it’s okay—and truly, I do.
Blowing out a long breath, he pulls his little brother into him and crushes his arms around the smaller version of himself. They hold each other tight and I lean in long enough to ruffle Clayton’s curls.
“I’ll give you two a minute. Catch you later, Baby Bear. Don’t grow up too much before I see you again.”
“Afraid you’ll want to date me, Sky?”
Clinton finally laughs and I just shoot Clayton a wink before excusing myself. I wait on a small bench as they say their goodbyes, pretending to look through my phone, though I’m too aware of the moment being shared between them to really do anything else. After a while, Clinton makes his way back toward me and I stand to meet him, his eyes still not meeting mine.
Clayton waves at us once more as he hands his ID to the TSA agent and Bear sighs. Sliding my hand into his, I lean my head on his shoulder and he tightens his grip around my fingers.
“Everything is falling to shit, Skyler.”
I kiss his arm, squeezing his hand just once. “We’ll get through it together. We always do.”
He peeks down at me, the smallest smile curving over his lips as he tucks me under his arm. When Clayton finally disappears from view on the other side of security, Clinton pulls me all the way into him, his large frame folding into me. He doesn’t sob, but he clutches me tight, using me to steady himself.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he finally whispers, sniffling as he straightens once more. The left side of my mouth quirks up and I tug him toward the exit.
“Ditto, Bear. Ditto.”