t h i r t e e n
“Life’s under no obligation to give us what we expect.”
—Margaret Mitchell
Turning off the shower, I step out on the bath mat and wrap a towel around me. As I twist out the excess water from my hair into the sink, I face myself in the mirror.
I look like hell.
The mirror tells me all I need to know about last night. Red eyes. Puffy cheeks like a chipmunk. Swollen glands. After Mason went to bed, I raided our cabinets. I grabbed whatever food I could find that didn’t need to be cooked. Chips. Pretzels. Trail mix. Cashews. Rice cakes. Bagels. Royce’s old leftover pork rinds. Disgusting? Huh?
I can’t stop thinking about how horrible I feel about bingeing on all that food. It didn’t even taste as good as it used to. Nothing does. Nothing has a taste anymore.
I hate chewing. I hate swallowing. I hate puking.
It’s all so repetitive and boring.
Last night, after what happened with Jackson, I kept thinking that maybe I shouldn’t have lost weight. If that’s what happens to skinny girls, I thought in my drunken stupor, I’d rather eat myself to death. It’s stupid logic. I know. Bulimia logic. It’s not like I want to go untouched forever. I just wish Jackson hadn’t been such a creep. Is he always like that? Does Zach know? If he does, I can’t imagine them being friends. It seems so out of character for Zach. I know I don’t know everything about him, but he wouldn’t think that was cool. My head spins from all the questions. I don’t think I’ve purged all the alcohol yet. Nausea sits in the pit of my stomach, gnawing at me. I should probably try to eat some food to settle my stomach, but my throat stings from vomiting when I woke up this morning. I was so tired last night that I fell asleep without purging first.
Putting on my bathrobe, I walk downstairs to grab some water. I’m on the landing when I hear a knock at the door. I’m really not in the mood and I’m not dressed. I look around to see if someone will get the door first, but no one else seems to be in the house.
The person knocks again. This time a little louder and more insistently. I think about ignoring them and going back upstairs, but they keep knocking.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I answer the door. It’s Antonia.
She steps past me into the house without giving me a chance to invite her inside. “Why didn’t you answer my texts? I’ve sent you like ten already this morning.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t see them. My phone’s dead. I forgot to plug it in.”
“I saw you leave with Jackson.” Antonia gives me the same up-and-down look that Mika gave to me, only Antonia adds a sneer like she’s been practicing it all day just to use it on me. She’s not happy. Clearly. “I can’t believe you ditched us for him.”
“I didn’t ditch you,” I say. “And you didn’t text me.”
I hate when Antonia gets mad at me. It always becomes this huge dramatic fight that consumes my entire life. Everything is my fault. She’s going to tell me what a selfish friend I am. Which I already know. I wish I could go to bed and fall asleep for a hundred years like a fairy-tale princess frozen in time. Forget last night happened.
“You ruined everything,” she says.
“Did I miss something? You guys barely acknowledged me the whole time. Then you left.”
“After you went outside with Jackson and completely disappeared. You not only ruined everything, but you didn’t have the...whatever...to even call me and tell me. I’m lucky I happened to see you walk outside with him.”
“You could have come looking for me,” I say, trying to come up with a lame excuse. “I wasn’t gone that long.”
“You put me in the worst position! I had to lie to Heather about where you went. She was worried about you and wanted to call your parents. And we had to listen to Mika talk all night. She ended up being the third wheel, which—let me tell you—was more awkward for us than it probably was for her.”
I know she’s expecting a big fat apology, but after what she just said I am not in the mood to let that happen. “You could have told her the truth,” I say. Now I’m pointing at her. “Thanks for sticking me with Miss Mika the Chakra Clearing Queen, who was creepier than any horror movie I’ve seen in the last ten years.”
“I didn’t drag you there, Liv. You didn’t look like you were having that bad of a time. Were you? How many drinks did you have? Three? Four? More than that?”
I know I should just tell her what happened with Jackson, but I can’t make myself do it. I open my mouth to respond, but my throat tightens like I’m about to cry.
“Now you’re so worried about what I drink or not?” I say, barely getting out the words. “You obviously didn’t care what happened to me last night.”
Antonia’s jaw drops. “Why should I care? You’re the one who decided to jump ship to hang out with Jackson. He’s such a sleaze. I thought you had a crush on Zach.”
I want to tell her about Jackson—about how he groped me until I practically had to push him off—but I can’t get the words out. It’ll just confirm how stupid I am.
“Plus,” Antonia continues, “you can’t just expect Heather to deal with everything all at once. I’m still trying to sort out my feelings about coming out. And I can’t believe my best friend’s not there to support me.”
“Of course I support you,” I say.
It breaks my heart that Antonia doesn’t think I support her. This has nothing to do with Antonia wanting to date Heather.
“Please, Liv. You’ve barely asked me about it.” Antonia isn’t one to back down from a fight. “You’ve been so self-centered. Everything’s about you and your problems.”
Antonia storms off to her car, leaving me standing there. I fold my arms over each other, hugging them tight to my chest. I feel completely alone.
Just then Dad and Rich pull up the driveway. I must look ridiculous, standing in the open doorway sopping wet and wearing only a bathrobe.
“What was that all about?” Dad asks once he’s out of the car.
“Nothing,” I say, adding, “I’m going back to bed.”
“Oh no you’re not. We have something to talk to you about.”
“What? Does Rich have to be here?”
“As a matter of fact, yes, he does. It’s about your part in the campaign.”
“Can’t I put some clothes on first? This is embarrassing.”
Dad nods. “You come right back down.”
What I want to do is cry, but I know once I start, I won’t be able to stop for a while. And I’ve got to go face whatever Dad wants to talk to me about that’s so urgent.
Once I’m upstairs, I pull on a shirt and sweatpants. Then I pick up all the wrappers from last night and hide them in the garbage can under my sink.
Dad and Rich are talking at the dining room table when I enter. Rich goes completely quiet, like a ghost just walked into the room.
“Take a seat,” Dad says. “We need to discuss your behavior.”
Did Mason rat me out to Mom and Dad last night?
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“Perhaps you need a little photographic reminder?” Rich pushes a tablet across the table at me. “That was published on Radar Online at 4 a.m. this morning.”
Looking at the tablet, I see a headline splashed across the screen. BUSTED! UNDERAGE OLIVIA BLAKELY CAUGHT PARTYING IN SILVER LAKE.
The headline is followed by a picture of me downing a drink next to Mika doing her pelvic circles followed by another of me flirting and dancing with Jackson.
The photographs are all dim and grainy. Probably from a cell phone.
“I think I’ve seen enough,” I say.
“You should read the entire article,” Rich says. “It’s rather enlightening.”
The bright screen makes the pounding in my head even worse, but I look back down at the tablet and start reading anyway. I’m not getting out of this one.
Olivia Blakely, teenage daughter of high-profile Republican Congressman Colin Blakely, was caught Saturday night partying with friends at Silver Lake Lounge. Though her father is a famously staid and reserved politician, Olivia seems like she has a little more fun! There’s no way for us to know what Ms. Blakely was chugging, but she did seem to get pretty cozy with two as-of-yet unidentified guests at the lounge—a woman and a man, one of whom she later joined in a car. Blakely’s bender leaves more questions than answers. Are they friends? Lovers? Is the Speaker of the House’s daughter just being a teenager? Or is she a wild child? Leave your comments below.
“Don’t look at the comments,” Rich says, stealing back the tablet.
“Why not?” I ask. “I’ve already seen the worst.”
Rich chuckles. “No you haven’t—just leave the comments to me.”
“I’m not even going to ask you what happened last night, but I thought you had a better head on your shoulders, Olivia.” Dad takes off his glasses and wipes his eyes. “You look like a total party girl. Is that what you want to do with your life? Repeat Mason’s mistakes? That’s not the Liv I know. Or is it? You tell me.”
I hold back the wet, hot tears welling up in my eyes. I want to tell him I’m not a complete screwup, but I’m humiliated. These pictures aren’t what he thinks they are.
“If you have nothing to say for yourself, then you may as well go,” Dad says, frowning. “I hope you enjoyed your night. You’re grounded for a month. At least.”
I storm past him, through the living room, down the hall and up to my bedroom. I sit on my bed, brushing my hand over the scabbed-up scar forming on my inner thigh. This is so stupid. I’m sick of all these arguments, especially with Antonia. I don’t want to fight with her. We barely just started hanging out after she was gone all summer.
Why couldn’t I explain to Dad what happened last night? Why couldn’t I tell Antonia, my freaking best friend, about Jackson trying to basically maul me?
Why is life filled with so many secrets?
I walk over to the drawings I’ve been doing for the portfolio. They stare at me with their shaky lines and erase marks, mocking me. I rip them all apart, crumpling and throwing them on the floor. Nothing I do will ever be good enough for anyone.
Especially me.