How It Ends (27 page)

I picked at my lunch and debated what to do. I was sure Annie must have read my emails, and I was petrified that she somehow knew I'd messaged Scott. I looked at Charlie and Jody, and I felt like throwing up, remembering what I'd done. What would they think of me if they found out?

“You okay?” Jody asked, swatting at Kevin's hand as he stole a fry off my plate.

I shrugged and tried to smile. “Sort of.”

She looked over at Annie and then back at me. “Go get her.”

That's what I like about Jody. I don't have to say a word for her to know exactly what I'm thinking.

I got up shakily and made my way to where Annie was sitting. As I passed by Courtney's table, I felt her eyes on me and remembered how, in seventh grade, she'd threatened that anyone who spoke to me would become an immediate social outcast.

I hurried over to Annie's table and stood awkwardly, waiting for her to notice me. I cleared my throat, but she didn't look up. “Um . . . Annie?” I gave a little wave that finally caught her attention. She sighed and pulled out her earphones. I could hear the music thrumming through them from across the table.

“What?” The hostility in her voice made me jump. I shifted from one foot to the other and looked back at Charlie for courage.

“I . . . um . . . I just wanted to say hi. And see if you want to sit with us?” My voice went up annoyingly at the end of my sentence, making me sound like a scared little kid.

Annie stared me down for a moment before looking scornfully over at my friends. “No.”

“Wh-what?”

She narrowed her black-rimmed eyes and put her earphones back in, tuning me out. Then she picked up her book and pretended I wasn't even there.

Hot tears threatened to spill out of my eyes, and I turned and headed out of the cafeteria before Annie could see.

As I passed by their table, I heard Courtney sing out, “Poor Jess. Even the socially diseased won't talk to her.”

I am disgusting.

I always kind of suspected I was fucked up in the head. I mean, I'd be coming by it honestly, with my mom dying and Madeleine the super bitch invading my life. But this is really and truly messed up. I
know
that.

I'm sitting in the cafeteria hiding behind a book and pretending not to watch Scott hang all over Courtney. They walked in here holding hands and she's now sitting on his lap, feeding him fries off her plate. And it shouldn't matter to me at all.

I shouldn't feel like this. Like my heart is being ripped out of my chest. Not after everything that's happened.

I stare in sick fascination as he loops an arm around her waist the way he used to do with me. She's smiling at him so hard my cheeks hurt just watching it. I can see every feeling I've ever had for him written all over her face, and it hurts so much I can barely breathe.

And suddenly two things are crystal clear to me.

One: Everyone's lives have gone on. While I was locked up indoors, hiding under my covers and wishing I was dead, everyone else's life rolled merrily along. My old friends weren't worried about me. They weren't even thinking about me. Even Jess is sitting with a whole new crowd, smiling and laughing. No one has even noticed that I've become no one.

And two: I am well-and-truly messed up.

When I look at Scott and Courtney, I should feel angry. I should hate them both for what they've done to me. I shouldn't feel what I do feel—which is sad and regretful and jealous.
I
should be the girl under his arm.
I
should be at that cafeteria table, smiling up at him. He told me he loved me. How could he have his arm around someone else?

I've read all the novels and seen all the shows that tell me how I
should
feel, if I was a healthy and whole person. I should be standing tall and knowing I'm better than they are. I should feel happy I'm not the one sitting at that table with him, falling for his lies. I
know
I should gather my dignity around me and move on. But here's the thing . . . I haven't got any dignity left. And I'm not healthy. Or whole.

“Get up!”

I groan and roll over. I am so not in the mood for this.

“I just got off the phone with your history teacher,” Madge announces, whipping the covers off of me and throwing them on the ground. “You're lucky I hadn't left for work yet. Her next step was to try your father at the office.”

My whole body aches.

“You need to pull yourself together, Anne. This is getting out of control.”

I sit up and rub my eyes, my fingers coming away black from the makeup I didn't bother to take off last night. I know I should feel some sense of urgency, but mostly I just feel annoyed. I was planning on staying home today, and there's no way Madge will let me get away with that now.

“What did you tell her?”

“That we're aware you're having difficulties and we're handling it. I covered for you
this
time, Anne. You've got to drop this whole depressed teenager thing, though, and pull yourself together, or there'll be more phone calls and meetings. Do you want your father getting involved? Is that what you want?”

I shrug and lie back down. I don't care anymore. Everything is shit already.

“No way!” she shouts. “Get out of that bed right now. I stuck my neck out for you. I took you to that godawful clinic and fixed everything for you, and this is the way you repay me?”

“
Repay
you?” I can't believe I'm hearing this right. “You pushed me into the worst day of my life before I was ready, and you want me to
repay
you? This is all your fault!”

I'm awake now, anger coursing through my body. I can feel it all the way to my fingers and toes. It feels strangely good. Like I'm
alive.

Madge rolls her eyes. “Don't you dare try to pin this all on me. I'm not the one who got pregnant at fifteen. You got
yourself
in trouble. If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at yourself.”

“Don't you think I am?” I shout, the words exploding out of me before I can stop them. “Don't you think I hate myself for what happened?”

Madge falters a bit, gripping my bed frame for support. “Anne,” she says softly.

But it's too much to bear. I don't want her pity, and it's too late for her to show compassion. The time for kindness was when I was limping home from the clinic. Not now. Not when I've had to beg for it.

“It
is
your fault that you pushed me into that abortion,” I shout at her. “I wasn't
ready,
Madeleine. I needed time to figure things out. But like everything else, you just pushed and pushed to get your own way. You went barreling ahead and booked the appointment and loaded me into your car like I was nothing. Like I was a problem to be fixed. You've
never
seen me as a person. I'm just the shit you got stuck with when you married my dad.”

“What did you want me to do? I can't win with you. It doesn't matter what I do. When I try to help you, I'm interfering, and when I leave you alone, I'm ignoring you. I was trying to
help,
Anne. I was trying to be a stepmother to you. Sophie told me how girls were tormenting you at school and that you were all alone with no one to help you. Do you really think I wanted to be calling and faxing abortion clinics, for Christ's sake? No! I stepped up because you needed an adult in your corner and I wanted to be that person for you.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “You said it yourself. You only helped me because you think I'm a screwup and you don't want my mistakes ruining everything. You've hated me since the day you met me, so don't try to pretend you were helping me out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Is that really what you think? That I hate you? Because I see things differently.”

“I'm sure you do. And let me guess: I'm in the wrong.”

She groans and pulls at her hair. “You're maddening, you know that? And the crazy part of it is that you remind me of me. You're stubborn and confrontational, and you don't let anyone push you around.”

I clench my jaw and stare at the ceiling.
I am nothing like her.

Madge rubs her hands over her face. “Whether you want me in your life or not, Anne, I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere. I care about your father and this family, and—I've got a news flash for you—I care about you, too. So even though this is going to make you hate me even more than you already do, I'm making sure you get yourself out of this bed and off to school today. Not because I'm a bitch, but because it's what's best for you.”

She looks at her watch. “You have exactly twenty minutes to get ready for school, and I'll give you a ride. Any later than that, and I'll phone your dad to come pick you up. I'm done with worrying about whether he'll find out about all this. If you want to tell him, then come out with it and tell him. Don't lounge around in bed like a coward waiting for him to stumble upon the truth himself.”

She picks my covers up off the floor and drops them onto my bed.

“I'll walk,” I tell her. I don't want to be stuck in that SUV with her again.

“Fine. And I'll phone the school to make sure you get there.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

She can force me to go to school, I decide, but she can't force me to attend classes. I ditch second period and hide out in a stairwell, blaring my music in an attempt to keep Madge's words out of my head. She's not allowed to be reasonable right now. I want to
fight.
I want to yell and scream. Why can't she just stick to her role as the wicked stepmother, and I'll stick to mine as the fucked-up stepdaughter?

With my music blaring, I don't even hear Jess sneaking up until she sits down right across from me and tugs my earphones out of my ears.

What the hell? Why won't everyone just leave me alone?

“I want to talk,” she declares. “I know something's wrong, and I want to help you.”

What a joke. I look at her, with her preppy clothes and painted fingernails, and I suddenly feel a thousand years old. What would an overgrown child like Jess know about my problems? Her biggest worry is whether she'll get an A or a B on her next test.

“Go away, Jess. I don't want to talk to you.”

“I'm not leaving. You need help, Annie. I'm really scared for you.”

“
Scared
for me? Don't insult me. You just can't stand to be on the outside of anything. You want to play the big hero swooping in to save me, but you never even bothered to find out what's wrong.”

“We both made mistakes,” she says evenly. “But I'm here now. You're my friend and I want to help you.”

“You're not my friend.” My voice is an icy knife. “When I told Courtney about your anxiety, I did it to
help
you. I did it because I
cared.
You turned your back on me when I needed you the most. That's not friendship. Do you really expect me to believe that you of all people can't see how bad things are for me right now?”

Jessie goes quiet. She bows her head, and big tears drop into her lap.

“You gave up the right to say you care,” I say, reveling in the sensation of finally letting all my anger loose. “You gave up the right to talk about me like you know me when you turned your back on me and spent your days laughing with your new friends. You're not helping me, so just leave me alone.”

She looks up then, fire in her eyes. “I didn't think you
needed
my help, Annie. I didn't think all . . .
this
. . . would happen. This isn't you! How can you just put your head down and give up? You're supposed to
fight!
You're not supposed to let Courtney win.”

“You think all this is about
Courtney?
Jesus, Jess. You don't know anything. You never did.”

“I know that girls like you don't just roll over and take crap from girls like Courtney.”