Hate List Part 20

I blinked and looked down into my lap.

"Will it be easier to tell me, then?" she asked. She didn't say it in some overly nice voice and she didn't try to get all gentle or reach out to me, which I appreciated. Had she reached over to tuck my hair behind my ear or rub the small of my back or something I might have lost it. She just sat next to me on the bed and rested her palms neatly on the mattress beside her and said, "Tell me and I'll tell him. Either way he's got to know. You can't stay here if you're not going to tell him. I'll call your mother myself."

I told her everything. She never said a word while I talked, and she didn't try to hug me when I finished. Just stood up and smoothed the robe down the sides of her legs with her palms and said, "You can change in the bathroom right there on your left," and walked out of the room.

Next thing I knew I was sitting cross-legged on the leather couch, drinking the gla.s.s of milk she'd given me, and listening to them fight in the kitchen.

"She can't let him get away with it," Briley's voice hissed from the kitchen. "You know that."

"She's afraid. Surely you can understand that." Dad's voice, not bothering to hiss. "Besides, she's not going to listen to a d.a.m.n thing I say tonight anyway. That much is perfectly clear."

A part of me wanted to feel smug about causing their fight. About causing a rift between the happy couple. Like I'd had the last laugh, despite Dad's threat. But I couldn't. All I could feel was tired and numb. And stupid. Incredibly stupid.

"She has a hard enough time in school as it is. He didn't hurt her. He doesn't even go to that school anymore. He graduated," Dad was saying.

"That's not the point, Ted. He threatened her. He scared the h.e.l.l out of her. And he had a gun."

"But it wasn't loaded. We don't even know if it was a real gun. Besides... this isn't up to us. Let her mother deal with it, if she decides to tell her mother. Jenny let her go out; she can handle the problem."

"She needs a parent right now, Ted."

"But you're not her parent!" Dad roared.

My mouth dropped open when he said that and I actually found myself feeling sorry for Briley. She must have reacted because suddenly his voice got lower-controlled angry.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry. I know you want us to be a family, but right now it's still too soon. You're not her parent yet. I am."

"Then act like one," came the garbled response, and then footsteps, the sound of slippers slapping the wooden floor of the hallway, and a door shutting softly in the bedroom.

I heard Dad sigh in the kitchen. Then more footsteps. Dad coming into the living room.

"I'll take you home in the morning," he said in a measured voice. "What about the girl who you were supposed to be spending the night with tonight? Don't you think she's going to call your mother when she realizes you're missing?"

"I called her cell and told her I was feeling sick and had you pick me up. She won't be looking for me."

He nodded.

"Listen," he said, sighing, rubbing his forehead. "As a lawyer, I'm telling you, you really should just tell the police that the guy threatened you. See what they say. That way at least they have it on record."

"I'll think about it," I said.

"Think hard," he said, and then paused. "And you have to tell your mother."

"I know," I said, but in the back of my mind I promised myself I wouldn't do it. This party was her South Dakota. And besides, he was right. It's not like I'm some big gun expert or something. It could have been a fake. How would I know the difference?

He turned as if to leave the room. "Better get to bed soon," he said, gesturing at the pillow and blanket next to me on the couch. "I'm taking you home first thing in the morning. I have things to do tomorrow."

He switched off the floor lamp and the living room was bathed in darkness. I stretched back on the couch and stared at the ceiling until my eyes ached, afraid to close them for fear of what images of the night might replay in my head. My brain had so many frightening ones to choose from now. One thing was for sure: I was sick and tired of feeling scared. But from where I lay, every path I could take from here was scary as h.e.l.l.

And something else was clear as well. Dad would never come around. It wasn't worth my time to keep trying. He'd already made his decision about me.

In the morning, Dad loaded me into the Lexus and drove me home. Neither of us spoke until he pulled up against the curb outside the house. It was still so early the sky was gray and the house looked asleep.

"Tell Frankie I'll pick you guys up on Sat.u.r.day morning," he said. "We'll go out to eat or something."

I nodded. "I'll tell him, but I think I'll stay home."

He considered this, searching my face with his eyes. After a while he gave a curt little nod. "I guess I'm not surprised by that."

33.

After Dad dropped me off, I traipsed upstairs to my bedroom and fell asleep facedown on my bed. Mom came in after a while to tell me it was time for therapy and I waved her away, promising I'd call Dr. Hieler that evening instead. I lied, telling her I'd stayed up too late with Jessica and needed to sleep in a little.

But after Mom left I'd rolled onto my back and found myself staring at the ceiling once again, unable to go back to sleep. After a while I'd gotten up and asked her to take me to Bea's.

"Oh my," Bea said, taking in the look on my face when I walked into the art studio an hour later. "Oh goodness." But she didn't say any more. Just went back to her jewelry-making, shaking her head piteously every so often and clucking her tongue.

I didn't say anything to Bea, either. I just wanted to be left alone. Wanted to paint, to get away from it all.

I pulled a blank canvas off the shelf and brought it to my easel. I stared at it for so long I was sure Mom would be back to pick me up and I'd have nothing to show for my sitting here, other than a blank canvas that held a thousand images for me only.

Finally I picked up a paintbrush and poised it over the palette, unsure what color to choose.

"Did you know," Bea murmured, plucking a s.h.i.+ny green bead out of a box with her fingernails and threading it onto a bracelet, "that some people mistakenly think that all paintbrushes do is paint? How closed-minded some people can be."

I stared at my brush. My hands suddenly went to work without me, as they'd done so many times before, turning the brush so that the bristles were curled into my palm. I made a tight fist around them. I felt the bristles crush and roll in my fist.

I brought the tip of the paintbrush handle to the canvas and put pressure behind it. A little, and then a lot. And then I felt a pop and heard a small tear as the brush poked through the canvas, gouging a hole in the center. I pulled the brush out and looked at it, then did it again, about an inch away from the first gouge.

To say I was creating anything in particular would be a lie. I had no thought running through my mind as I worked. I only knew that my hands were moving and that with each punch through the canvas I felt an unidentifiable relief pour from me. It wasn't a feeling I was seeking, but something that was being drawn from me.

Soon I had ten slashes in my canvas. I painted them red. I surrounded them with a lot of black, dotted with watery droplets that looked like tear stains.

I sat back and looked at it. It was ugly, dark, uncontrolled. Like a monster's face. Or maybe what I saw there was my own face. I couldn't quite tell. Was the face the image of something evil or the image of myself?

"Both," Bea muttered, as if I'd spoken my question aloud. "Of course it's both. But it shouldn't be. Goodness, no."

Still, I knew then what I had to do. In a way, Troy was right. I didn't belong. Not with Jessica, not with Meghan, definitely not with Josh. I didn't belong at those parties. I didn't belong in Student Council. I didn't belong with Stacey and Duce. With my parents who'd suffered so much. With Frankie who made friends so easily.

Who was I kidding? I never even really belonged with Nick. Because I totally betrayed him, made him think I believed what he believed, made him think I would be on his side no matter what, even if he killed people.

Bea was wrong. I was both the monster and the sad girl. I couldn't separate the two.

And as I dropped the paintbrush, which clattered to the floor, flicking dots of paint all over the bottoms of my jeans, and slunk out of there, I pretended not to hear the encouragement Bea was shouting to my back.

34.

"You can't drop out now," Jessica said. An annoyed little line drew itself across her forehead. "We only have a couple months left to get this together. We need your help. You committed."

"Well, now I'm un-committing," I answered. "I'm out."

I shut my locker and walked toward the bank of gla.s.s doors.

"What is your problem?" Jessica hissed, rus.h.i.+ng behind me. For a moment I could almost see the old Jessica s.h.i.+ning through-could almost hear her voice echoing What are you looking at, Sister Death What are you looking at, Sister Death? Somehow it made what I had to do easier.

"This school is my problem!" I said through clenched teeth. "Your a.s.shole friends are my problem. I just want to be left alone. I just want to finish and get out of here. Why can't you understand that? Why are you always pus.h.i.+ng me to be someone I'm not?" I didn't slow down.

"G.o.d, when are you going to get past that 'I'm not one of you' thing, Valerie? How many times do I have to tell you that you are? I thought we were friends."

I stopped and whipped around to face her. That was almost a mistake. I felt so guilty-I could see hurt in her face-but knew I had to get away from her. To get away from Student Council. To get away from Meghan. Away from Alex Gold who wanted me gone so bad he had Josh babysit me and Troy threaten me at his party. Away from all the confusion and hurt.

I couldn't tell Jessica the truth about what had happened with Troy at the party. She'd already strong-armed Meghan into accepting me. She would probably go breaking down Troy's door and put him under citizen's arrest. I could imagine her making me her cause, forcing everyone in Garvin to accept me again, whether they wanted to or not. I was sick of being Garvin's charity project, always under scrutiny, always in the spotlight. I just couldn't do it anymore.

"Well, you were wrong. We're not friends. I was only doing this because I felt guilty about the notebook. They don't want me there, Jessica. And I don't want to be there anymore. Nick couldn't stand your little crowd and neither can I."

Her face reddened. "In case you haven't noticed, Valerie, Nick is dead. So it doesn't matter what he thinks anymore. And for the record, I don't think it ever did except for a few minutes in May. But I thought you were different. I thought you were better. You saved my life, remember?"

I squinted my eyes and peered right into hers, pretending I had confidence to match hers. "Don't you get it? I didn't mean to save you," I said. "I just wanted him to stop shooting. You could have been anyone."

Her face showed no emotion, although her breath started coming in harder rasps. I could see her chest rise and fall with it.

"I don't believe you," she said. "I don't believe a word."

"Well, believe it. Because it's true. You can finish your little StuCo project without me."

I whirled around and continued walking.

Just as I was about to reach the double doors, Jessica's voice rang out at my back. "You seriously think this has been easy for me?" she called. I stopped, turned. She was still standing where I'd left her. Her face looked funny, almost writhing with emotion. "Do you?" She dropped her backpack on the floor and started walking toward me, steadily, one hand on her chest. "Well, it's not. I still have nightmares. I still hear the gunshots. I still... see Nick's face every time I look at... you." She had begun crying, her chin wrinkling like a little kid's, but her voice was steady and strong. "I didn't like you... before. I can't change that. I've had to fight my friends to include you. I've had to fight my parents. But at least I'm trying."

"n.o.body told you to try," I said. "n.o.body said you had to make me your friend."

She shook her head wildly. "You're wrong," she said. "May second told me. I lived, and that made everything different."

"You're crazy," I said, but my voice was wobbly and uncertain.

"And you're selfish," she said. "If you walk away from me now, you're just plain selfish."

She got within just a few paces of me and all I could think about was getting out of there, whether that made me selfish or not. I plunged through the doors and into the open air. I fell into Mom's car and sank back into the seat. My chest felt heavy and cold. My chin spasmed and my throat felt full.

"Let's go home," I said as Mom drove away.

35.

"Still not talking?" Dr. Hieler asked, settling into his chair. He handed me a c.o.ke. I said nothing. I hadn't said a word since he came out into the waiting room to get me. Hadn't said a word when he asked if I wanted a c.o.ke, nor acknowledged him when he told me he was going to step out to get us both something to drink and would be right back. I just sat, sulkily, on his couch, slouched back into the cus.h.i.+ons with my arms crossed and a scowl darkening my face.

We sat in silence for a while.

"Did you bring me that notebook? I still want to see your drawings," he said.

I shook my head.

"Chess?"

I moved from my seat on the couch and sat across the chess board from him.

"You know," he said, slowly, making his move on the chess board. "I'm beginning to think something's upsetting you." He tipped his eyes toward me and grinned. "I read a book about human behavior once. That's what makes me so adept at recognizing when someone's upset."

I didn't return his smile. Just looked back down at the board and made my move.

We played for a while in silence, me promising myself all the while that I wouldn't say anything. That I'd just go back to that friendly place of quiet and solitude that had cradled me in the hospital. Just curl up into myself until I disappeared. Never speak to anyone again. The problem was, it was so hard to be silent with Dr. Hieler. He cared too much. He was too safe.

"Want to talk about it?" he asked, and before I could do anything to stop it, a tear rolled down my cheek.

"Jessica and I aren't friends anymore," I said. I rolled my eyes and swiped at my cheek angrily. "And I don't even know why I'm crying about it. It's not like we ever really were friends anyway. It's so stupid."

"How'd this come about?" he asked, abandoning the chess game and sitting back. "She finally decide you were too much of a loser to be her friend?"

"No," I said. "Jessica would never say that."

"So who did? Meghan?"

"No," I said.

"Ginny?"

"I haven't even seen Ginny since the first day of school."

"Hm," he said, nodding his head. He looked at the chess board thoughtfully. "So you're the only one talking then, huh?"

"She still wants to be friends," I added. "But I can't."