Love and Other Theories (23 page)

I
can’t stop remembering the first day I met Nathan. I try really hard not to think about it, but it’s embedded in my mind, and it’s always showing up now that I know it’s about to be a distant memory. I wish I could forget.

I was really nervous.

I was really excited.

I was really happy.

My strawberry milkshake was full. It was so good, and I knew that at seven p.m. I should have been hungry enough to drink it. But I couldn’t. Just like I could barely finish the slice of pizza after we left the Drama room. I was full of something else. Butterflies, nerves,
excitement—Sandra used to call it “love stomach”—but whatever it was, I liked it.

Nathan couldn’t finish his milkshake either. Even though strawberry is his favorite.

We hadn’t known each other seven hours before but were now sandwiched in the back of his BMW breathing on each other with strawberry-flavored breath. This made everything seem brighter and better and more exciting.

He touched my arm during lunch, a quick gesture after I’d made him laugh. Now his hands were on my knees because we were so close and my legs were tilted toward him, and it seemed like a natural place for his hands to rest. I leaned into him. I touched his arm, his chest, his hand, anytime I felt like it, but I never could leave my hands on him for too long.

I wasn’t thinking about the theories. I was thinking about Nathan’s hand on my leg. The way he made jokes about school and never once commented on the weather. How sometimes his hands were shaking when they touched me. How his lower lip was always tucked and hidden by his top lip right before he started laughing.

Soon all I could think about was kissing.

Nathan’s hand brushed past my face, past my cheek, and he froze, letting his thumb linger over my lips.

“Can I—” His voice caught. He lowered his eyes and smiled. “Can I kiss you?”

I couldn’t speak, though everything about me was screaming,
YES!
I was desperate for a kiss, but I was terrified to kiss him. There was nothing I wanted more, and that was the terrifying part.

His eyes studied mine. His hand stayed on my face. He moved closer. “I really want to kiss you, and you seem like the kind of girl that needs to be asked.”

“I’m not,” I blurted out.

He smiled at this, and I smiled because he was going to kiss me, and for a second I wondered if we would ever stop smiling and actually kiss. But we did, and it was the best kiss of my life. I think it will always be the best kiss of my life.

I trusted him, without having any reason to. I don’t think that will ever happen again. I won’t ever be that stupid again. I won’t ever let someone have everything because I’m so sure they deserve it. You have to be careful. People can often seem the most deserving before you really know them.

F
riday after school, Shelby tells us she’ll see us later. She promises to meet us wherever we end up. But the place we end up is Sam’s party, and Shelby is nowhere to be found.

Nathan is nowhere to be found either.

Shelby’s absence is obvious. It’s like this party isn’t real yet. It’s missing Shelby’s laugh, and Shelby’s restlessness, and Shelby’s jokes about the things we never knew could be so funny.

I hear “Where’s Shelby?” more than once. I always walk away, out of earshot, before I ever hear an answer.

My ankle has just started to feel better, but now the
burning is in my chest and my head, and I want to run around screaming or curl up into a ball on the floor. I want to vomit or go to sleep or do jumping jacks. I want to crawl out of my skin.

Shelby and Nathan. Alone in the quiet part of the house. Telling secrets. Sitting shoulder to shoulder. I wonder if he had sex with her last weekend, or after school, or if tonight will be their first time. I wonder if he asked before he kissed her or if he knew he didn’t have to.

I decide to erase it. I pour myself a drink, all vodka with just a splash of orange juice. It burns as it goes down, but I don’t care. At least this pain is justified. There’s a logical reason for it.

Everything’s supposed to be funnier when you’re drinking, but tonight it’s not. I have to pretend to be happy, carefree, charismatic; as if Shelby was here, as if Nathan was watching. Because they
all
have to see how okay I am.

It’s only eleven o’clock, or at least I think that’s what the clock says; it might say one, and I’m just seeing double. I’m beyond wasted. I’m more drunk and stupid than I’ve ever been or ever wanted to be. Everything’s fuzzy. Everyone’s too loud. Nothing is flat. I have to lean against the wall, and even the wall feels like it’s tilting. I close my eyes and the wall tips me back.

When I open my eyes I see him. He’s standing in the
kitchen holding a keg cup and talking to Patrick. I try to focus on the people moving around him to see if I can find Shelby, but it’s too hard. Everything’s blurry and spinning. And when I blink again, he’s gone. Patrick’s talking to Leila.

I don’t know what’s real anymore. But I can see the front door—bright white, opening and closing as people walk through it, in and out. I move toward it. I want to get as far away as I can from where Nathan might be. I don’t know how I make it outside and down the street. The trees are reaching for me, the sidewalk is sliding beneath my feet. And when I can’t walk any farther, I stop at a gas station. I don’t need gas, but water sounds good. I press against the cool glass doors. They don’t open. Inside is dark, but I try again anyway.

The failure weighs a ton. All I want is water. I can’t go back; I’m not sure which way I came from. So I sit on the ground. It’s cold and hard and there are cigarette butts around me and an old white Styrofoam coffee cup, but it feels so good to sit. A shiver runs through me, and the parking lot in front of me is sloping. I close my eyes and fumble for my phone.

I have to get out of here. I can’t do it on my own. I need help. I have to call someone.

Of course, there’s only one someone I can call.

“Aubrey?” Trip’s voice is crisp on the phone. I want to bathe in the clarity of it.

I open my mouth to talk and a groan comes out. That’s when I realize I’m crying. My face is wet.

“What’s wrong?”

My tears are making it impossible for me to open my eyes. I can’t breathe and for a second I think I’m going to drown in my own tears and snot.

“Where are you?” His voice is soft. I want to lie down on it.

“The gas station by Stimpy’s.” This is where I am. This is where I’m going to die. I cry so hard my head starts to hurt.

“Are you alone?”

My crying answers for me.

“All right, just hang tight, okay?”

But I can’t stop crying, so I can’t answer him.

“Aubrey. Listen to me, okay? It’s going to be all right. Do you understand?”

“Okay,” I say. If Trip thinks I’ll be all right, then maybe I will be. I lie down on the cold, dirty cement.

My breath starts to come easier. I’m going to be rescued. The world won’t be spinning if I’m in bed. And Trip’s bed seems like the best place to be right now. I squeeze my phone with both hands and hold it against my chest. It vibrates in my hands, so I turn it over to stare at it. The screen is bright, and the words are fuzzy, but if I put it really close to my face I can read it.

Two text messages. From Melissa and Danica.

WHERE ARE YOU?

And:
WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU GO?
Because Danica curses in all her text messages.

My phone fumbles in my hands, and the buttons are so small, but I manage. I type
TRIP
and press send.

My phone buzzes again.
Nathan Diggs
. His name is on my screen.

I’M AT SAM’S. ARE YOU STILL HERE?

I want to tell him that he’s stupid. That it doesn’t matter where I am. And especially not where I am in relation to where he is. But there’s too much to say and the buttons are too small and the screen is too bright. I do the next best thing. I throw the phone. I watch it skid a few feet away from me in the parking lot after cracking against the pavement. It’s probably broken. Just like Nathan and me
. Good.

I don’t feel like crying anymore. I don’t want to know if Nathan’s on my phone. It doesn’t matter where he is or what he wants.

A truck pulls into the parking lot and it makes me jump. I’ve lost track of time. I don’t know how long I’ve been lying here. Hours, maybe.

It’s not Trip’s blue-and-white truck that pulls up. It’s Zane’s black truck. But it’s not Zane who climbs out and walks over to me. It’s Chiffon.

“You’re not Trip,” I say. My tongue feels heavy and dry in my mouth. If it were possible, I would spit it out.

“No shit, Sherlock.” She grabs my purse off the curb. She shakes her head and mumbles something that sounds mean as she walks over to my phone, picks it up, and slips it into my purse. She holds out her hand for me.

“Where’s Trip?” I raise my hand limply to meet hers. My hand weighs 189 pounds.

“He’s at school. Remember? An hour away.” Her voice is annoyed, angry. She shoves her hand into mine and uses her other hand to steady me. “He called Zane to come get you, but since Zane has Billy this weekend, I thought I’d do him a favor.”

I’m standing now, and somehow walking without falling toward the car. Chiffon struggles to open the truck door while holding me up, so I try to stand on my own. I can’t do it. The truck moves, the ground tilts. I grab onto Chiffon. She stumbles a little.

It takes me three tries to get into the truck, even with Chiffon’s hands pushing and pulling me onto the seat. I feel like a liability, a burden—which is ironic because I’ve always gone out of my way to
not
be either. I want to tell this to Chiffon, but she’s talking to someone on her phone.

“Yeah, I got her.” She’s buckling my seat belt. She’s rolling down the window. Her phone is sandwiched between her shoulder and ear. “Not good. Plastered. . . .Well, her phone was in the middle of the parking lot so I doubt she could answer it. . . . How am I supposed to know how
it got there? The girl is wasted. . . . Yeah, she’ll live.” She eyes me carefully. It can’t be very pretty. I’ve got my head leaning against the door, practically hanging out the window. I couldn’t change position even if I wanted to. “Okay. Okay. Okay! Christ, Trip. I get it.” She slams her phone down on the dash and mutters, “I can’t decide if you or Trip is the bigger pain in the ass right now.”

I mean to laugh at this, but the cool wind feels so good against my face that I close my eyes and imagine I’m flying.

And then I’m falling. Chiffon is telling me to walk. I’m standing. There’s gravel under my feet and it’s so loud when I step on it. It’s impossible to walk on.

Dive-bomb!
I hear Shelby’s voice in my head and a small giggle comes out. The gravel is in my hands. Chiffon is cursing. My knees hurt. But I know this gravel. This is the gravel in the Chapmans’ driveway. Chiffon’s arms are pulling me up, sliding around my waist, moving me forward.

I wish Shelby were taking care of me. I wish Melissa and Danica were here too. This would all be funny if Shelby were here. Danica would be telling everyone to relax and offering cigarettes. Melissa would be just as drunk as me, so I wouldn’t be alone. Shelby would sing,
“Hey, lush, have fun, it’s the weekend,”
as she put me to bed.

Chiffon walks me to Trip’s room and helps me into
his bed. I want to thank her. But when I try to talk, all I can do is moan.

“Go to sleep, Aubrey,” she says. And that’s exactly what I do.

When I wake up, I can’t tell how much time has passed. Probably not a lot, because Trip’s room is still dark and usually the sun peeks through his blinds and lights up his entire room. I don’t know what time it is, or how long I’ve been asleep, but my head is pounding, my stomach is turning, and I know for certain that if I don’t make it to the bathroom, Trip’s bed is going to be covered in vomit.

I launch myself through the door, which is thankfully not completely closed, and down the hallway into the tiny bathroom. And again, I’m lost in a timeless space, curled up on the cool tile of the bathroom floor or bent over the toilet. I’m sweaty, and freezing, and my brain feels like it wants to break out of my skull.

“Aubrey.” I feel cold hands on me, rubbing my back.

He stays with me the rest of the night. He brings me a fleece blanket for my shivers. He rubs my back when I throw up, and feeds me water and ginger ale and crackers. He leans against the bathtub and lets me lean against him when I’m not perched over the toilet. The night is a blur of sickness and dizziness, with just bits of relief and warmth when I’m lying against Trip and his arms are around me.