Side Effects (2 page)

Sam points to a house atop a pyramid that he's just drawn and the two of us begin to climb it. Atop the mountain is a city that Sam draws for us to ride through on a motorcycle. I feel my
hair fly behind me as we tear through the city on the bike. Sam keeps singing about how he could keep us safe and sound as he paints object after object. The two of us are laughing and all I can think about is how this feels like we're on a tropical island somewhere in the Caribbean. I never want to go home again if this is what life is like on an island.

I grab Sam's hand again and give it a tight squeeze. As I do, I feel myself get sucked out of his painting and back onto the swings. I want to cry out for a moment to stop reality from taking over again. That world my brother created—that I created through my hallucination—was a beautiful, happy one. But the boy behind those paintings is right here on the swing next to me and I know now I should never let him go. It's my job to make
him
feel safe and sound. Not his to make me feel that way. Maybe it's our job to help each other; we're brother and sister after all.

I hand Sam back his sketchbook, pausing to look at a multicolored dragon he's drawn. He places the book on top of the photo box on the ground. The two of us pump our legs at the same time and begin to soar into the cool air. Our hair lifts up and starts to fly around us. I can barely see Sam's eyes anymore, but I know he's looking at me and wondering what I'm thinking.

“Sam, you're incredible! Why didn't you ever tell us how good you were?”

Sam's cheeks color as he climbs higher. “I knew you'd all figure it out on your own. Eventually.”

I start to laugh and he joins in. We keep pumping our legs till our swings go so high it feels like we could touch the sky.

12// LEXI

Sam may have been the first one off the field, but I struck out seconds later.

I was halfway down the bike path before I realized I had no clue where I was going.

What else was new?

It's one thing for your twin to call you trashy. We shared a womb, so Jason can get away with trading barbs with me that other people can't. Besides, I dish it out pretty good myself.

But when your baby brother basically calls you a clown and doesn't realize he actually means something much worse, it gets to you.

“On your left!” I hear a bicyclist bark seconds before barreling me down. I jump backward and almost wind up in the bushes. Two more bikes zoom by right behind the first followed by a pack of rollerblading girls before I realize I need a new, safer place to sulk.

I cut through the bushes—seems smarter than staying on the maniac cyclist path—and spot a playground a few yards off. I can hear the sounds of laughter and squealing all
the way from here. There's a bunch of moms and toddlers overrunning the sandbox and the swings area, but the seesaws are pretty much deserted. I guess they're all washed up. Just like me.

I sit down at one end and pull my compact out of my bag. The sun bounces off the mirror and makes me squint for a second before my face comes into view. My brown eyes are heavily made up in smoky shades of gray and black, both above and below my eye, which is also outlined in a thick black liner and three coats of black mascara. I barely recognize the girl I'm looking at. Maybe that was the point after Mom died. I wanted to be in anyone's skin but my own. Sam didn't have that luxury. It turns out he didn't have anybody. Jason stopped playing ball. Whit's shoulder to lean on became her therapist. God, I've been a crappy sister.

I rummage around my bag till I find the eye makeup remover wipes that I go through like breath mints. The sounds of the swings squeaking back and forth nearby almost lull me to sleep; I'm so exhausted. But then I hear a kid screech when his mom pushes him too high, and I jolt back awake and remember what I'm doing. Using the compact as a guide, I slowly wipe away my upper lid shadow, being careful not to smudge the liner at the same time (a girl can't survive without at least eyeliner). Then I do the other eye. I stare into the mirror and
blink a few times to make sure the face I'm looking at is really my own. I never look into the mirror at night after I wash it. Here, in the bright light of morning, on a playground seesaw, there is no escaping me.

Hi ya, old Lexi. It's been a while.

Thump!
The seesaw goes flying upward and I grab the sides to hang on, dropping my compact in the dirt in the process. I look over and see Zak sitting down on the other end. He gives me a shit-eating grin, and I consider picking my compact up and bouncing light off the mirror to blind him. Instead, I shoot him death rays.

He isn't bothered by my glare a bit. “The little dude got to you, huh?”

I lean back and almost upend myself. “No.” I reach down and grab the compact, dusting it off instead of looking at Zak. I freaking hate how the guy can read me like a book. “The wind blew dirt in my eye. I walked off to find a bathroom so I could flush it out.” I push off with my feet and Zak allows the seesaw to glide into the air. For a few minutes, we just enjoy the ride. Up, down. Up, down. But I can't shake the look he's giving me. His eyes never leave my face, and I feel the heat rush into my cheeks. I wish I could make the color stop, just like I wish I could stop sneaking glances at the boy across from me. He's looking at me like I'm a cross between someone he needs to
save and someone he wants to elope with in Vegas. I'm not sure which is worse.

When Zak's feet hit the ground again, he holds the seesaw there and I'm held prisoner in the air. My body is pulled forward and my legs dangle helplessly. There's nothing I can do, but focus on him as he hoarsely blurts out, “Lexi, it's just me here, okay? You can tell me anything.” I glance down at the washed-out red wood on the seesaw and think about how easy it would be to get a splinter if I ran my finger along the grain. It's impossible not to hear him when he adds, “I'm here for you. You know that, right? So tell me what you're thinking.”

There's a part of me that wants to spill my guts to him. Lay it all out in big, bold letters and skywriting and all that other shit. But when I look back and see Zak's face, all I see is pity. The same pity my mom's friends give me when they pass me in the supermarket. The same look the guidance counselor shoots me when I say college isn't even on my radar. The exact expression Whitney's psychiatrist flashes me when I pick up my sister from an appointment. They think I'm a total screwup just like Sam does. And they're right.

“I thought I said to leave me alone.” My voice sounds like sandpaper. I wait for Zak to argue. Instead I feel the seesaw drop and I hold on to the bar for dear life as the seat hits the dirt and I almost bounce off it. When I look up, he's already walking away. “Wait,
what the
?”

Zak turns around. The look he gives me this time is anything but pitiful. It's angry. “You're acting like a total bitch, Lexi, and you know what? I'm finally over it.” He disappears down the path, sidestepping two kids racing by on scooters.

I stare at his retreating frame. I should scream. Shout. Run in front of Zak and stop him with my own hands. But I don't. This time, I've gone too far and I'm too ashamed to do anything about it. “God, I am a bitch,” I mumble.

I don't know how long I sit there hating myself before I get off the seesaw, grab the compact that dropped again, and head back to the car. Keith, Whitney, and Sam are already there. I glance quickly in the car and see Jason talking quietly with Zak in the backseat. He doesn't look up.

“So what did you find out?” Whitney asks Keith.

“The coach says there was a man fitting Dad's description here a few months back.” Keith stares at the photo of Mom and Dad's anniversary. “He was just sitting in the bleachers during a downpour.” Keith shakes his head. “The coach says it might have been Dad.”

“Really?” Sam sounds so excited, my heart might split into two.

Bitchy Lexi would take this moment to shoot Sam down so that's exactly what I don't do. “Did he see which way this guy went?”

Keith looks hopefully at me. “His best guess was down
Route Ten. Thirty-three was closed because of a mudslide.”

“Excellent!” Sam jumps up and down. “You said Route Ten was where we used to camp, right?” Whitney nods. “Then let's go!”

“All right then. You heard, Sam. Let's load up the car and go!” Keith puts his hands on Sam's shoulders and steers him back toward the car.

Whitney and I just stand there and watch until Sam is tucked inside.

“Do you really think it was Dad?” she asks me, her brown eyes big and wide and way too innocent for this conversation.

I glance at Zak again, wishing he would look up so I could smile at him. Then maybe he'd smile back and things would be right again. As right as they ever could be when all we do is bicker.

I choose my words carefully. “Statistically, it's probably not Dad.” Whitney's face falls. “But . . . I'm going to be more optimistic from here on out, so yes. It was definitely Dad.”

Her face breaks into a wide grin. The grin I'm still hoping Zak will flash me when we get into the car. The one I hope Sam will give me again when I prove to him that I'm a sister worth having. When I show Keith I'm not a total screwup. When I prove to Jason I'm a twin he can be happy to have. A smile from Whitney is a good start.

I slide into the empty passenger seat next to Keith and listen to the engine rev to life again. “Let's go,” I say and we're off.

13// KEITH

When we pull up to Emmet State Park, I breathe a huge sigh of relief.

At least something in our lives hasn't changed.

The rustic campground looks exactly like we left it. Towering coastal redwood trees (that as a kid reminded me of
Star Wars's
moon of Endor) still dot the landscape as far as the eye can see. Wood cabins and yurts are lined up along the river next to fire pits. In the distance, I see the familiar RV site area, the playground, and the camp store and laundry facilities. But it's the large wood cabin home on the hill that I'm most curious about. Last time we were here a few years back, it belonged to the camp's longtime owners, the Carraghers.

I hear the leather seats crinkle and turn around. Whitney is leaning over the third row, watching Jason. He's staring at a photograph and I don't have to see it to know which one it is. There was a batch of photos of us camping here, but one sticks out in my mind as much as it does his—us with the Carragher sisters.

“She'll probably be here,” Whitney sings, her voice lighter
than I've heard it in a while. “But I bet her dad won't be too happy to see you.”

Jason grimaces, but doesn't say anything. He's been quiet for the last forty-five minutes it took to get up here. Zak leans over, looks at the photograph, and whistles. “They're hot,” he says and Lexi's head almost spins off its axis. “Who are they?”

“Rachel and Anna Carragher,” Whitney explains, her voice giddy. “Jason dated Rachel every summer. Her dad caught them skinny dipping two summers ago.”

“Eww, skinny dipping?” Sam asks. “Why would anyone want to do that?”

I stroke the scruff growing in on my chin. Skinny dipping is nothing compared to what I was doing with Anna.

“It was Keith's idea,” Jason says, sounding defensive. “He said he'd warn me if anyone was coming.”

Lexi and Whitney both smack me in the head. “Hey!” I duck to get out of their line of fire. “In my defense, I was much younger and not a responsible caretaker like I am now.” Whitney gives me a look. “I was distracted back then.”

“Is that the trip you lost your virginity?” Jason pipes up.

“What? No!” I stammer while they all continue to stare at me. Zak gives me a thumbs-up and sly smile. “I . . . this is not a topic of discussion!” They all burst out laughing, even Sam. “I
hate you all.” I think this is one of those moments when I'm supposed to be parental. “Everyone out of the car!” I bark, sounding more like Dad.

I'm out first, mostly so I can avoid them seeing how flush my face is. I hope the cool mountain air brings my cheeks back to a normal temperature. I put my hands on my hips and look around at the familiar patch of dirt, fire pit, rickety grill, and utility hookups. “Here we are. Site forty-four. Our usual.”

Whitney walks around for a moment before grabbing a long twig and poking it in the darkened fire pit. “Doesn't look like anyone's been here in a while.”

“Did you think Dad would just magically be here when we showed up?” Jason huffs.

“No.” Whitney pushes her hair out of her face and kicks some dirt around, looking like a bull about to charge. “I just meant it isn't really camping season right now.”

“All right, all right.” I put my hands up in a sign of peace before another Connolly civil war breaks out. “Let's set up camp and then we can spread out and ask if anyone's seen him. Sound good?”

Everyone nods and we head to the car to unload our camping equipment. Sam grabs the sleeping bags, Lexi takes the pillows, Whitney hauls out the cooler, and I feel a pit of dread in my stomach when I see Jason and Zak lift out the
tent. I don't remember ever putting this thing together without Dad's help. The guys drop it on the ground with a
thud
and I roll the tent around.