Fangirl (36 page)

Then he told her about the state fair—more rabbits, more sows, plus a year of serious brownie-making—and he showed her photos of his four blond sisters on his phone.

Cath couldn’t keep track of their names. They were all from the Bible. “Old Testament,” Levi said. He had one sister Cath’s age and one who was still in high school.

“Doesn’t this creep you out?”

“What?”

“Dating someone as young as your little sister?”

“Dating my little sister would creep me out—”

“I’m still a teenager.”

He shrugged. “You’re legal.”

She shoved him.

“Cath, I’m only two and a half years older than you.”

“College years,” she said. “That’s like a decade.”

He rolled his eyes.

“My dad thought you were thirty.”

He pulled back his chin. “He did
not.
… Did he really?”

She giggled. “No.”

Levi saw that she had Simon Snow
Scene It?
and insisted that they play. Cath thought she’d cream him, but his memory was insane, and all the questions were about the movies, not the books.

“Too bad for you that there aren’t any questions about homosexual subtext,” Levi said. “I want you to make me a blue ribbon when I win this.”

At midnight, Cath started thinking about her dad downstairs and how he should really be getting some sleep.

“Are you tired?” she asked Levi.

“Do I get my own tent bed?”

“It’s called a canopy, and no. You get your own couch. If I tell my dad you’re tired, it’ll force him to stop working.”

Levi nodded.

“Do you need pajamas or something?”

“I can sleep in my clothes. It’s only one night.”

She found an extra toothbrush for him, dug out a clean sheet, and grabbed one of her pillows.

When they got downstairs, the papers had multiplied—but her dad gamely cleared off the couch and kissed Cath on the forehead. She made him promise not to keep working in his bedroom—“Don’t make me yell at you in front of company.” Cath made up the couch, and when Levi got out of the bathroom, his face and the front of his hair damp, she handed him the pillow. He set it on the couch and grinned at her.

“Do you need anything else?” she asked.

He shook his head. Cath took a step backwards and he caught her hand. She ran her fingers along his palm, pulling away.

“Good night,” she said.

“Good night, sweetheart.”

*   *   *

Cath woke up at three, her head too clear and her heart beating too fast.

She tiptoed down the stairs, but she knew they’d still creak.

She walked through the kitchen, made sure the stove was turned off, that the back door was locked, that everything was okay.…

Her dad’s door was open; she stood in the doorway until she could hear him breathe. Then she walked as quietly as she could past the couch. The front door was locked. The curtains were drawn. A snowplow was crawling up their street.

When she turned around, Levi had raised himself up on his elbow and was watching her.

He’d taken off his sweater and had on a loose white T-shirt. His hair was wild, and his lips and eyes were thick with sleep.

Head, heart, hands …

“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

Cath shook her head and hurried back upstairs.

*   *   *

Levi had to leave before breakfast; he had to get to Starbucks. Jim Flowers, her dad’s favorite weatherman, said that the roads were much better, but that everybody should “take it slow out there.”

Her dad said he’d drive Cath back to school on Sunday, but Levi looked at the snowed-in Honda and said it was no trouble to come back.

“So…,” her dad said. They were standing on the porch, watching Levi’s truck turn the corner. “That’s your new boyfriend.”

She nodded.

“Still dying to move home? Transfer to UNO? Spend your whole life taking care of your mentally unstable father?”

Cath pushed past him into the living room. “Breakfast?”

*   *   *

It was a good weekend. Five thousand words of
Carry On.
Fish tacos with radish and shredded cabbage. Only two more conversations about Wren. And Sunday afternoon brought Levi back, taking her front steps two at a time.

The Humdrum bounced a small red ball in its hand.

Simon had carried that ball everywhere, for at least a year. He’d lost it when he came to Watford—he hadn’t needed it anymore.

“You’re lying,” Simon said. “You’re not me. You’re no part of me.”

“I’m what’s left of you,” the Humdrum said. And Simon would swear his own voice was never so high and so sweet.

—from chapter 23,
Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak,
copyright © 2010 by
Gemma T. Leslie

TWENTY-EIGHT

“Geez, Cather, if you need a break, just tell me.”

Levi was lying on her dorm-room bed, and he’d just told her that he was going home for a few days for his sister’s birthday party—and instead of saying
I’ll miss you
or even
Have fun,
Cath had said, “Oh, that’s perfect.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she apologized. “It’s just, my dad’s going to Tulsa this weekend, so he doesn’t need me. And if you’re going home, you won’t need me, and that means I have all weekend to write; I’m so far behind on
Carry On.…
”

So
far behind. And so out of rhythm.

If she didn’t work on her fic, at least a little bit, every day, Cath lost the thread of it, the momentum. She ended up writing long, go-nowhere conversations—or scenes where Baz and Simon memorized the planes in each other’s faces. (These scenes were weirdly popular with commenters, but they didn’t help the story along.)

“I’ll still
need
you,” Levi said, teasing.

There followed a long go-nowhere conversation during which she tried to memorize the planes of his face. (It was harder than you’d think; they were constantly shifting.) She’d almost kissed him then.…

She’d almost kissed him again this afternoon, when he’d stopped by her dormitory to say good-bye on his way out of town. Cath had stood on the sidewalk, and Levi had leaned out of the cab of his truck, and it would have been so easy to just meet him halfway. It would have been safe, too, because he was trapped in the truck and also leaving the city. So no cascade effect. No one-thing-leads-to-another. No
another.

If Cath had kissed him—if she’d let Levi know that he could kiss her—she wouldn’t still be living off that half-asleep kiss from November.…

It had been six hours since Levi left for Arnold, and Cath had already written two thousand words of Simon. She’d made so much progress tonight, she was thinking about taking a break tomorrow to start her Fiction-Writing assignment—maybe she’d even finish it. It would be awesome to tell Levi she was done when he came home on Sunday.

Cath was leaning back in her chair, stretching her arms, when the door flew open and Reagan barged in. (Cath didn’t even jump.)

“Well, look who we have here,” Reagan said. “All by her lonesome. Shouldn’t you be off bonding somewhere with the pride of Arnold?”

“He went home for his sister’s birthday.”

“I know.” Reagan walked over to her closet and stood there, deliberating. “He tried to get me to ride with him. That boy’s allergic to solitude.”

“He tried to get me to go with him, too,” Cath said.

“Where would you have stayed?”

“He hadn’t worked that out.”

“Ha,” Reagan said, loosening her Olive Garden necktie. “I’d go back to Arnold for that. To see you meet Marlisse.”

“Is she really that bad?”

“Probably not anymore. I broke her in for you—” Reagan lifted her white button-down shirt over her head and reached for a black sweater. Her bra was bright purple.

This. This was exactly the sort of thing that crawled into Cath’s head and kept her from kissing Levi. Getting to see his ex-girlfriend’s Technicolor lingerie. Knowing exactly who it was who broke him in. If only Cath didn’t
like
Reagan so much …

Reagan crossed over to Cath’s side of the room, leaning over and sticking the top of her head in Cath’s face. “Does my hair smell like garlic bread?”

Cath took a cautious breath. “Not unpleasantly.”

“Damn,” Reagan said, standing back up. “I don’t have time to wash it.” She shook her hair out in front of the mirror on the door, then picked up her purse. “Okay,” she said, “unless something goes incredibly wrong, you should have the room to yourself tonight. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“I haven’t so far,” Cath said dryly.

Reagan snorted and walked out.

Cath frowned at the door.
Don’t be jealous.
There was already a rule about this, but Cath should make another one, just for herself:
Don’t compare yourself to Reagan. It’s like comparing apples and … grapefruits.

When her phone rang a few minutes later, Cath shook off the last of her green feelings and smiled. Levi was supposed to call her before he went to bed. She picked up the phone and was about to answer when she saw Wren’s name on the screen.
WREN.

She and Wren hadn’t talked—they hadn’t even texted—since Christmas break. Almost three months ago. Why would Wren be calling her now? Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe it was just another wrong
C.

Cath held the phone in her palm and stared at it, like she was waiting for an explanation.

The phone stopped ringing. Cath watched. It started again.

WREN.

Cath pushed Accept and held the phone up to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hello?” It wasn’t Wren’s voice. “Cather?”

“Yes?”

“Thank God. It’s … your mom.”

Your mom.
Cath pulled her ear away.

“Cather?”

“Yes,” Cath said faintly.

“I’m at the hospital with Wren.”

Your mom. Cather.

Wren.

“Why? Is she okay?”

“She’s had too much to drink. Someone—honestly, I don’t really know anything—someone dropped her off. I thought maybe
you’d
know.”

“No,” Cath said, “I don’t. I’m coming. You’re at the hospital?”

“St. Elizabeth’s. I called your dad already—he’s flying back.”

“Right,” Cath said. “I’m coming.”

“Okay,” Laura said.
Your mom.
“Good.”

Cath nodded, still holding the phone away from her ear, then let it drop to her lap and pressed End.

*   *   *

Reagan came back for her. Cath had tried to call Levi first—not because she thought he could help, he was four hours away—but she wanted to touch base. (The “tag” kind of base. The kind that means safe.) Levi didn’t pick up, so she sent him a bare-bones text,
“wren’s in the hospital,”
then called her dad. He didn’t pick up either.

Reagan knew where St. Elizabeth’s was and dropped Cath off at the front door. “Do you need company?”

“No,” Cath said, hoping that Reagan would see right through her. Reagan didn’t. She drove away, and Cath stood for a moment in the revolving door, feeling like she couldn’t push through.

The hospital was mostly locked up for the night. The reception desk was empty, and the main elevators were turned off. Cath eventually made her way to the emergency room. A clerk there told her that Wren was already upstairs, and sent Cath down another empty hallway. Eventually she was stepping out of an elevator onto the sixth floor, not sure whom she was looking for.

When she tried to picture Laura, all Cath could remember was what her mother looked like in family photos. Long brown hair, big brown eyes. Silver rings. Faded jeans. In a simple yellow sundress on her wedding day, already starting to show.

That woman wasn’t here.

The waiting room was empty except for a blond woman sitting in the corner, her fists clenched in her lap. She looked up when Cath walked into the room.

“Cather?”

It took a few seconds for the lines and colors to resolve into a face Cath thought she might recognize. In those seconds, a part of Cath ran to the blond stranger, wrapped her arms around her thighs, and pressed her face into her stomach. Part of Cath screamed. As loud as she could. And part of her set the whole world on fire just to watch it burn.

The woman stood up and stepped toward Cath.

Cath stood still.

Laura walked past her to the nurses’ station and said something quietly.

“You’re the sister?” the nurse asked, looking up.

Cath nodded.

“We just need you to answer a few questions.”

Cath did her best: She didn’t know what Wren had been drinking. She didn’t know where she’d been or whom she was with.

All the other questions felt like things Cath shouldn’t answer in front of a stranger—in front of Laura, who was just standing there, watching Cath’s face like she was taking notes. Cath looked at her, helplessly, defensively, and Laura walked back to the corner.
Was Wren a regular drinker?
Yes.
Did she often drink to drunkenness?
Yes.
Did she black out?
Yes.
Did she use any other drugs?
I don’t know.
Was she on any medication?
Birth control.
Do you have an insurance card?
Yes.

“Can I see her?” Cath asked.

“Not yet,” the nurse answered.

“Is she okay?”

“I’m not her nurse. But the doctor just briefed your mom.”

Cath looked back at Laura, at her mom, at this upset blond woman with tired eyes and really expensive jeans. Cath went to sit across from her, steadying herself. This wasn’t a reunion; this wasn’t anything. Cath was here for Wren.

“Is she okay?”

Her mom looked up. “I think so. She hasn’t woken up yet. Someone dropped her off at the emergency room a few hours ago, then left. I guess she wasn’t breathing … enough. I don’t really know how it works. They’re giving her fluids. It’s just time now. Waiting.”

Laura’s hair was cut into a long bob that hung like two sharp wings under her chin. She was wearing a stiff, white shirt and too many rings on her fingers.