Between Us and the Moon (19 page)

“Let out?” he asks.

“Escaped,” I say.

I lean into his body and his arm scoops around me. I inhale. He smells like soap and suntan lotion. Comfort.

“Stalking is a felony in Massachusetts,” I say.

“Up to five years in prison for a first time offender,” he says with a proud lift of his chin. “I’d risk it for you.”

It’s enough to make me want to cry.

“I was about to come to the door. Surprise you,” he adds.

Adrenaline pings in my chest. He would have heard the fight.

“Surprise me? With what?” I ask and simultaneously try to figure out a way to explain to him that he
really
can’t come to the door—ever.

“Party,” he says. “Curtis’s house. Want to go? It’s only like two minutes from here.”

“Sure,” I reply and glance back up at Seaside Stomachache. That house has never earned its name more in its existence.

CURTIS’S HOUSE IS ACTUALLY THE STAFF HOUSING
for the Wequasset Inn. It’s the other super fancy resort on the Cape and the employee housing sits on the bay with a massive water view.

“But Curtis doesn’t work at the Wequasset,” I say as we pull into the end of the driveway.

“His parents won’t let him come home, so he stays here.”

There’s a tug on my gut. I couldn’t imagine being ousted from my house forever. The accident can’t be the only reason. I don’t get a chance to ask anything else because we get out of the car. Bass music and loud voices echo from the windows. Andrew turns the knob and we walk inside.

Candles line the mantle above a defunct fireplace. Wax drops onto the ground near a couple of guys with long hair comparing scars on their knees. The music is pumping. Andrew, the boy who gets all the looks from the girls around us, leads
me
through the party. The music plays and the slide on the electric guitar goes up and down. I catch myself in the mirror. Here, as the music plays a hypnotic song, I am beautiful. My hair falls over my shoulders and as the guitar slides again and again, Andrew leads me through the tanned and blond people—lifeguards.

We find Curtis in the kitchen pumping beer into a cup from a silver thing on the floor. Ah. A keg. Scarlett is always saying people are getting “kegs of beer,” but I never knew what it looked like until now.

“Hey!” Curtis says, waving us into the room. He’s not that drunk yet or at least he seems sober. Andrew hands me a drink in a large red cup.

I take a sip.

“You like it?” Andrew asks. “They usually buy shit beer.”

The froth is kind of bitter, but it’s okay. I’m not about to go to the next rager at Summerhill, but I don’t mind the taste.

“Did you know it takes five ounces of CO
₂
to run a keg?” I ask.

Andrew laces his arms around my lower waist, drawing me to him. I try not to spill my beer when we kiss. Our mouths taste like the beer and in that moment it’s just us. No Nancy, no cupcake dress. No Mom yelling at me across a kitchen table.

“That’s why you’re amazing,” he says.

“Because I can remember nearly every scientific fact I have ever heard?”

“Yep.”

“No, no, she’s in New York!” Curtis says behind me, and this gets my attention. Andrew turns around and laughs.

“Give it up. Scarlett is done with you,” Andrew says, and the sound of Scarlett’s name from his mouth is a burst of adrenaline through my stomach. “Broadway ballerina and your fish market ass?” Andrew says, and laughter erupts around us.

“Scarlett?” I ask, trying to dig for information.

“Yeah. Curtis hooks up with her. Her family comes up to Orleans every year. I just like to give him shit. She’s way out of his league.”

So much for Scarlett thinking she’s at local status.

We lean against the kitchen breakfast bar.

“She’s a ballerina,” Andrew says.

“Oh,” I say, trying to sound like this is new information to me.

“But she’s a major bitch. She’s having this huge party at the end of the summer. We’ve never even been to her house, but we all have to go and get dressed up.”

We. He said we.
Andrew is invited.

Of course he’s invited.

I want to cringe. Instead I grip on to Andrew even harder.

“What’s the party for?” I ask. I want Andrew to talk so he can’t tell my voice is weak.

He takes a sip of his beer. “Not sure. Her grandmother or someone is throwing it.”

Scarlett would never leave Andrew out of the party plans; he’s
Curtis’s best friend. Andrew would have shown up at Scarlett’s party even if we
never
met. If I don’t say something before the party, he’ll see me in that horrendous cupcake dress and put it all together. My cup nearly slips from my hand and some beer sloshes onto the floor.

“I got it,” Andrew says, planting a kiss on my nose and crossing the kitchen to grab a paper towel. In the second he’s gone, I lean hard against the kitchen counter.

He’s been coming to Scarlett’s house all summer, he just hasn’t known it. He clearly hasn’t paid very close attention to his invitation. He will know the instant he pulls onto Shore Road. He’ll know the second he looks at the invitation.

When he comes back he wipes the spot on the floor and then the outside of my beer cup. He hands it back to me and it’s drier but no easier to hold. My hands tremble. Andrew leans into me again and continues, “Anyway, Scarlett bosses her friends around, talks to people like they’re idiots. And everyone lets her.”

“Not your favorite person?” I ask with a shake in my voice. I say it in my head again and again.
Andrew is invited to Scarlett’s going-away party
.
Of course he is. Why didn’t I see it?

I am supremely stupid. I am absolutely going to have to tell him I’m Scarlett’s sister, there’s no way out of that.

“Scarlett’s okay,” he continues. “She’s just not my kind of person.”

“Who is?” I ask.

“Not you,” he says, but Andrew’s uneven smile tells me he’s playing. “Definitely not my type.”

The tips of our noses are just inches apart. Andrew kisses my
lips but just barely. When he touches me like this I don’t think about the going-away party or the lies I told. His hands are so warm on my body and when he pulls away he keeps his eyes on my mouth. I don’t know what he finds so fascinating about my lips.

“You’re exactly what I want,” he whispers. I exhale. No one has ever said anything like this to me. Not until now. “And you smell
so
good,” Andrew says and inhales deeply. He kisses me again and his stubble pricks at my skin, but his lips are so soft. He runs his mouth over mine again and again. Goose bumps erupt over my arms.

Andrew’s lips press against mine and our kiss deepens. I’m completely engulfed in his arms. If anyone will understand why I kept my identity as Scarlett’s sister a secret, Andrew will. He’ll get what my family thinks of me and who they think I am. I will figure this out no matter what. He already likes the real me. He knows me. We keep kissing, I don’t even know for how long.

I just have to find the right time to tell him.

An hour or so later, Andrew is saying hello to some of his friends outside and I’m still leaning against the kitchen counter. I’m on my third beer and my chest is warm. How the hell am I going to even start to tell Andrew that Scarlett is my sister?

I am deep in my problem when Curtis comes into the kitchen and stops next to me.

“American flag string bikini,” he says in a low voice.

Curtis stands across from me and leans a hand on the counter.

“It was an experiment,” I say and take a large step away.

Curtis squints, confused at first, but he cocks his head. “Oh yeah, you’re a science freak,” he says.

I sip on my beer, trying to act casual.

“MIT or some shit, right?” he says and swigs from his cup.

His eyes are glassy. I remember our drug prevention lecture during health class. Glassy eyes. Slurred words. He is intoxicated. I am supposed to feel bad for him, for Mike’s death and for losing a friend, but I can’t find that place right now.

Behind me, through the kitchen doorway and down a crowded hallway, I search for a sign of Andrew’s blond head.

“You think you know Andrew? You know, right? You know you’re just temporary?” Some of his beer spills onto the tile floor. He doesn’t notice. “Andrew doesn’t even drink anymore. Can you believe that?”

Curtis gestures to me, his cup of beer tips and spills down my shirt. I jump back and a few people groan. It soaks through and trickles down my stomach to the waist of my shorts. Someone yells “Party foul!” from the back of the room. I turn my back to Curtis to find some napkins or a cloth.

“Did I get beer on you? Shit. I’m sorry.”

I start patting my neck and chest with paper towels when Curtis pulls my shoulder to turn me around.

“I’ll help,” he slurs. “I’ll help.”

“I got it,” I say. “It’s okay, I have it under control.”

One of Scarlett’s friends, a girl with long dreads, steps into the kitchen. The sour smell of the beer is overwhelming. “You okay?” she asks, but I don’t have time to respond. Curtis elbows his way next to me.

“Move, Shelby,” he says to the girl. “Give me the paper towels. It’s my fault, I should do it.”

“Please stop!” I cry and step back from Curtis entirely. I’m about to leave the kitchen when he points his finger at me and yells, “You don’t have to be a bitch about it.” Curtis pulls at my hand and I drop the towels to the floor. “Hey, science bitch. I’m sorry. No. You’re not a bitch. And I’m sorry about the beer. I’m
sorry.
”

“Stop it!” I say loud and clear. I yank myself out of Curtis’s tight grip but an immediate pain pins in the center of my wrist. “Let me go!”

I head for the hallway and cradle my aching wrist.

“I want to say ‘I’m sorry’ to your face,” he yells. “I want to say it to you!”

Shelby steps into the kitchen even farther, as though she’s shielding me from Curtis. I can’t find Andrew in the crowd.

“Let it go, Curtis,” Shelby says.

“I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to
her
! She’s only my best friend’s girlfriend.”

There’s a sharp tug on the neck of my shirt, choking me. I am yanked backward. Curtis is tugging me!

I catch myself on a side table and almost in the same instant I am pushed even farther. I grab on to the kitchen doorway to stand back up. Andrew has moved me out of the way of Curtis and rushed into the kitchen. His face is very red and his hands are clenched into tight fists.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Andrew shoves Curtis so his back smacks against the refrigerator.

“Nothing! She’s lying about me. I didn’t do anything! She’s lying!”

“I saw you. Don’t you ever touch her like that again.”

Curtis lunges at Andrew. Andrew stumbles back a few feet but throws his arms out to catch his balance. Andrew’s back muscles tense under his T-shirt. He shoves Curtis away again so he falls into a kitchen table and chairs knocking them sideways. His sneakers squeak and slide on the linoleum.

“I didn’t do anything!” Curtis screams. “She’s lying about me.”

What is he even talking about?

“What? Do you think you’re too good for me now?” Curtis says and spit flies out of his mouth. His face screws up into uncomfortable grimaces when he talks. He tries to lunge at Andrew again, but Andrew is sober so it’s easy for him to get out of the way or push back. Curtis tries to regain his balance but then swings a wide punch, missing Andrew entirely.

“Stop it, Curtis. Stop fighting me!” Andrew warns.

My wrist pulses in pain and I rub at it to dull the ache.

“You weren’t there that night. You’re never there,” Curtis says, just on the edge of tears.

I can’t pull my eyes away from the fight. My heart is pounding and I can’t help but feeling that somehow this is all my fault.

“I was driving Mike to your house!” Curtis yells.

There’s a huge crowd behind me now.

“You weren’t there,” Curtis slurs. More spit flies out of his mouth and into the air. “You think you’re better than everyone. Better than me. With your slutty girlfriends like Maggie and that wannabe—”

“Don’t say it,” Andrew warns. “Don’t do it.”

Curtis gestures to me. “I don’t need to say it.” He pauses. “Slu—”

Andrew throws a punch and the hard smack of flesh against flesh echoes.

I push through the crowd to get out of that house.

“Sarah!” Shelby calls after me, but I maneuver through the bodies to the front door.

I escape to the front yard. Low tide and cigarettes permeate the air. I rub at my wrist; it’s sore and I might even have a bruise in a couple of hours. I rub at it again—it really hurts.

I stand on the lawn imagining all the different ways I could have stopped the fight. Maybe I should have jumped on Curtis and brought him to the ground. I wanted to, but I didn’t know I wanted to until this second. It makes sense to me now that his parents kicked him out. Maybe he is this violent and drunk all the time. What about AA?

“Sarah!”

I spin around.

Andrew hesitates in the doorway and runs outside. A red scrape swipes up his cheekbone. He opens his arms to me, wrapping me in his smell. His shirt is wet from sweat and his heartbeat slams against my head.

“Holy crap, I’m sorry,” he says, and I can hear his voice vibrating through the tight hold of his body.

“What was that all about?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he says, but his breath is still labored. “Mike. The accident, I think. Let’s get out of here.”

“I think—I think I want to walk,” I say.

“I’ll go with you,” he offers. “It’s my fault we’re even here right now. I thought it would be a good time.”

I need to think through what just happened in that house, what I saw, and why I’ve never seen anger and pain coupled with such violence before. Not in person, anyway, not with my own eyes.

I back toward the street. “I kind of want to be alone,” I say.

“You’re hurt,” he says, and the concern in his tone makes me want to cry. He gestures to me. I’m still cradling my wrist but didn’t realize.