The Catastrophic History of You And Me (12 page)

CHAPTER 19

every breath you take

T
he bonfire burned long into the night. I watched the stars twinkle and fade while the others slept, and felt a strange sort of peace come over me.

I think I’m ready
.

Ready for what?

To go back to Slice. To move on
.

I wish it were that easy, Angel.

A little before dawn, I leaned down and tried to squeeze Sadie’s hand. My fingers went right through hers, but to my surprise, her eyes fluttered. She sat up. Stretched. Leaned over and checked her phone. Then she rubbed her eyes, threw on an extra sweatshirt, and climbed quickly, quietly out of her sleeping bag.

Careful not to wake Emma and Tess, Sadie slipped on her Converse sneakers and began to walk.

I walked with her.

We went north on the beach for a while, until we finally rounded the dunes. She took a familiar path toward the place where all the picnic tables were set up. A spot we’d all been to a million times, where kids from school would get together for barbeques and beach volleyball on holiday weekends and during the summer.

Sadie chose a table and sat down, crossing her legs. I sat down next to her on the bench. Even in all of her sleepiness, she was so beautiful. Long, curly dark hair. Tan, perfect skin. The brownest, warmest eyes. Full of spark. Full of life.

I wish you could see me. I wish you knew I was here
.

Together, Sadie and I watched as the soft glow of morning began to spill out across the sky in sleepy pastels—a symphony of violets and blues and ballerina pinks. A
perfect
sunrise. Emma and Tess would be sorry they’d missed it. Lazies. Those two could probably sleep forever if you’d let them.

“It’s so beautiful,” Sadie said, breaking the silence.

And then she began to weep.

“Sadie?” I scooted closer as she began to sob and shake in a way I’d never seen before.

“Oh, sweetie.” A lump rose up in my throat. “Don’t cry. I’m right here.”

“Brie.”
Her voice was full of pain. “I’m so sorry. I’m so,
so
sorry.”

It was then that I realized just how hard my death had been on her. How hard it had been on all of them. It was one thing to leave. But to be left. That had to be even worse.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,
shhh,
don’t be sorry,” I whispered, trying to rub her back. “It’s not your fault, Sadie. Please don’t cry.” I wrapped my arms around her—even if she couldn’t feel me—as hot tears ran down her cheeks and slipped through the cracks of the old wooden table.

It’s going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay
.

Maybe it was because my eyes were closed. Or maybe it was because she was crying so loudly. Either way, I never noticed the person coming up over the dunes. I never heard the sound of footsteps in the sand.

“Sadie?”

That voice.

I turned and felt her break from my embrace. Heard her cry out as she began to sob even louder. And then I watched, in devastating slow motion, as my best friend in the whole, wide, wondrous world ran straight into Jacob Fischer’s outstretched arms.

CHAPTER 20

what becomes of the broken hearted?

M
y soul had gone totally numb.

It’s her. It’s Sadie.

“No,” I whispered, collapsing onto my knees as I watched my first love take my best friend’s hands in his own. I’m not sure how long he held her, and I’m not sure when they finally broke apart so he could walk back to his car and she could sneak back to Emma and Tess. I’m not even sure how long it took for Patrick to find me there, curled into a ball, my eyes locked on the horizon ten miles out to sea. Time didn’t matter anymore.

Because I was in hell.

“Try not to think about it, Angel,” Patrick said when he finally gathered me up like it was nothing, and carried me back to Slice.

All I could see were Sadie’s arms wrapped around Jacob’s. Her eyes squeezed shut so tightly. His hands resting on her lower back. It made sense. They’d been close friends since we were little. She’d probably been in love with him the whole entire time. And he with her.

No. Stop it. You belong to ME. Both of you.

It’s a strange thing to find yourself suddenly obsessing over every single moment you’ve ever spent with your best friend. Replaying the millions of sleep-overs, the giggle-fests, the girl talk, the boy talk, the boob talk (or lack-of-boob talk), the sex talk, the blowout fights, the sobbing makeups, the weekend bike rides, the birthday hugs, the Britney sing-alongs, the lunchtime texts, the after-school shopping trips, the four-hour phone calls about Everything and Nothing all at once.

All of the memories, still just as familiar. Just as meaningful. Except for the fact that none of it meant what you thought it meant. That actually the whole thing was one big Capital
L
. Capital
I
. Capital
E
.

I mean everything. The good stuff; the bad stuff; the in-between stuff; the stuff you’d never even tell your sister (if you actually had a sister). And even though you’re still desperate to believe that deep down, nothing could ever, EVER come between you and your BFF, now you’ve got to face the reality that the whole entire friendship—the whole freaking thing—was one big joke.

The worst part?

The joke was on you
.

This was Sadie. This was my best friend. My
oldest
friend. The friend who had known me longer and better and closer than anyone, ever. She knew me backward and forward and upside down and practically better than I knew myself. She was the friend I’d cried to when my parakeet Crackers flew away and never came back. The friend who used to stretch out with me on my roof and wish upon stars hours after my parents had gone to bed. The friend I’d giggled with all night long once when we’d made the unfortunate (um, fortunate?) discovery that,
whoa,
her parents had a subscription to the Playboy Channel. She was the friend who’d taught me one million card tricks, and had come with me to my grandma Rita’s funeral, and always had my back no matter what.

Sadie was the one I’d called the second I’d flown through my front door and up the stairs to my bedroom that night last summer:
August 11, 2010
. My fifty-fifth-to-last night on earth, when my heart was still pounding and my cheeks were still warm and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop shaking. In a good way.

The night I lost my virginity.

Sadie answered the phone and guessed it right away, without me even having to say a word.

“You did it, didn’t you?” she whispered.

“Maybe.” I giggled. “Or maybe not.”

“Ohmigod you DID. How was it? Holy shit, Brie,
how was it
?”

His hands. Ohmigod his hands all over me. His kisses. Sweet and light and deep and reckless and perfect.

“That good, huh?” she said, sounding impressed.

I let out a crazy laugh, but slapped my hands over my mouth, in case my mom or dad or Jack happened to be listening at my bedroom door.

“Did it hurt?”

Holy GOD, yes.

“Not really.”

“You little slut, I don’t believe you!”

“Well, maybe a little.”

“How much is a little?”

“Sadie!” I screamed. “A LOT, okay? Satisfied?”

“Oh my god.” I could hear her shaking her head at me on the other end of the phone line. “I am insanely jealous of you right now.”

No kidding. So jealous, you decided to steal him away from me.

I glanced up at my reflection in my bedroom mirror to see if I looked any different. My cheeks were warm and rosy. My skin was buzzing. Would people be able to tell?

“Did he say it?” she asked.

“Did he say what?”

“Come on, Brie, what do you
think
?”

His hands, running through my hair. His eyes, looking too deeply into mine to be real. His words, burning into me.

I love you.

He’d said it. He’d said it and he’d meant it.

Hadn’t he?

“Hello?”

I fell back onto my bed, smiling through the phone. “Yes. Yes, he said it.”

She didn’t speak for a second and I could guess why. For the first time ever, something epic was happening to me before her. In all the time we’d been best friends, Sadie had always gone through all the big milestones first. She’d lost her first tooth before me. She’d learned to ride her bike before me. She’d gotten her period a whole year before me, in seventh grade. And though neither of us had ever needed to say it, we’d both known Sadie would be the first to fall in love.

Except she wasn’t. Not this time. Because this time, I had won.
I
was first. For once, I’d gotten there before Sadie Russo.

For once
.

We spent the next hour chattering and giggling and going over
ev-e-ry
single detail—even though I had a seven a.m. diving practice the next day. But I didn’t care. They could’ve made me swim a million laps across ten Olympic-size pools and I’d
still
have that same dumb smile on my face all day long.

Why? Because when you’re in love, the world is brighter. Sunnier. The air smells flowerier, and your hair is silkier, and suddenly you find yourself smiling at babies and strangers and old couples walking down the beach holding hands. You smile because now you’re in on one of life’s Greatest Secrets Ever. You’ve graduated to the Big Time, Baby. You’re officially in the Cool Kids Club. And suddenly, now when people look at you, they can’t help noticing that something’s different.

“Did you change your hair?”

Nope.

“New clothes?”

Not even.

“Get contacts?”

Try again.

You grin at them and they still can’t quite put their finger on it. And when you walk away, they secretly wonder to themselves when you got so beautiful.

It must have been love, but it’s over now.

It must have been good, but I lost it somehow.

Hot tears rolled down my face, burning my skin. Uncontrollable. Unstoppable.

“Shh,” whispered Patrick. “I’m here, Angel. I’m here.”

How could they? How could they do this to me?

The ache in my chest was back—the wound fresh and raw and heavy.

Turns out, hell’s not so much a burning, scalding pit of fire and misery. It’s actually much, much worse than that. Hell is when the people you love the most reach right into your soul and rip it out of you. And they do it because they can.

I felt my chest tighten and constrict.

How long has this been going on?

A week? A month? Maybe longer?

I felt an earthquake raging inside my skull, and sirens blaring behind my eyes. I beat the sand with my fists and cried out, but my words were lost against the sound of hungry gulls and the early-morning Pacific. Also, there was sand stuck in between my toes. I really hate that.

Suddenly, everything made sense. Every weird look and awkward silence Jacob and I had ever shared. Every time he’d pulled away when I’d reached for his hand or snuck my hand into his jeans back pocket. I knew then that I’d been right. I had felt something changing between us in the weeks before my death—slow and steady—but just hadn’t wanted to admit it. A distance had been brewing, all chilly and gray. I’d chosen to sit and watch the storm clouds gather instead of running for cover at the first hint of rain. And I had paid the price for waiting. Because the storm became a hurricane.

My gut had been trying to clue me in all along. I wasn’t paranoid and I wasn’t crazy. Jacob had lied to me.
Sadie
had lied to me. She had listened and waited and watched for months and months as I’d fallen for him. She had collected my secrets, one by one, so she could use them against me later.

“It hurts,” I whispered. “It hurts so bad.”

Shhh, I’ve got you
, Patrick said, his voice soft.

I felt the wind against my face and neck as he lifted me into his arms.

My eyes were locked on the spot, just three or four feet away, where Sadie and Jacob’s footprints had started to blur together in the sand.

I can’t breathe.

“You can.” Patrick brushed his lips lightly against my forehead. “You have to.” Then, in one swift movement, his feet left the ground, and I felt the earth begin to fall away beneath us.

Aubrie, open your eyes
.

I took a deep breath and opened them. Then I laid my head against Patrick’s chest and watched as my old, familiar, perfect world slowly went up in flames.

CHAPTER 21

1, 2, 3, 4, tell me that you love me more

I
n my slice of heaven, all of the days smelled the same. My hours were made out of roasted eggplant and portobello mushroom and fizzy, bubbly Sprite and Wendy’s Frostys (my own personal request).
My minutes were made out of checkered linoleum floors, stained and scratched from where chairs had been scraped over them decade after decade. My seconds buzzed like static on that old tiny TV with terrible reception—the one I’d seen Patrick stare at for hours on end without blinking. Ceiling fans whirred
and spun lazily above my head, reminding me of all the summer vacations and pool parties and ice-cold lemonades I’d never get to enjoy again with my best friends.

Not that I cared.

Best friends are overrated.

Sure, there were plenty of things to distract me from thinking about my new discovery. I taught myself how to tear snowflake patterns into paper napkins. I learned how to throw a football and put on really heavy eyeliner, thanks to my new friends Quarterback Dude and Lady Gothga. Crossword Lady even took me under her wing and helped me finish my very first crossword puzzle.

The truth was, in my slice of heaven, there was always plenty of pizza to eat. Always plenty of waves to surf. Always plenty of time to kill. But the sort of sucky thing is, time doesn’t necessarily heal all wounds.

Sometimes, it just makes the wounds worse.

“Wanna go for a walk or something?” Patrick was fidgety. Bored.

“Nope.”

“Maybe a swim?”

“Negatory.”

“Pony ride?”

“No, thanks.”

“Wanna make out?”

I looked up from my book. “Excuse me?”

Patrick grinned. “Thought that might get your attention.”

“You’re a lunatic.”

“Aw,” he gushed, “that is so sweet.” He glanced over at Nintendo Boy and Bojangles. “See? She likes me. You two are my witnesses.”

“I’m pretty sure she hates you,” the boy replied in a monotone voice, his thumbs flying across the keypad.

Patrick huffed and looked back at me. “Kids. What do they know?”

I ignored him and sped through the last paragraph. Slapped the
D&G
shut and pushed it toward him across the booth table. “There. Finished.”

“So?” he said. “What did you learn today, Grasshopper?”

“You mean besides the fact that you smell like pepperoni?”

“Very funny.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“What
else
did you learn?”

“That your m—”

“Do not say that my
mother smells like pepperoni.”

I made a face. “Well, she does.”

He sighed and pointed at my necklace. “I like that, by the way. Been meaning to tell you.”

I reached up, twisting the delicate gold chain back and forth between my fingers.

He watched me quietly. “Where’d you get it?”

I didn’t answer.

“Sore subject?”

“I want to go to the bridge,” I blurted out.

“Excuse me?” He sat back, looking shocked. “And what would the point of that be, exactly?”

I shrugged. “I just think I’m ready.”

He smacked his hand on his forehead and shook his head.

“What?”

“I was just wondering,” he said with an extra dose of sarcasm, “do you ENJOY pain and suffering?”

I glared back.

“Well? Do
you?”

“No,” I mumbled.

He arched his eyebrow. “That’s funny. Because I think you do. I think you love it.”

“Well, I think you’re an idiot.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” I said. “A big one.”

“Idiot or not, you’re not going. You’re not ready.”

“Oh no?” I shot back. “Who made you the authority?”

“Me,”
he said, leaning forward. “I made me the authority. Ever since you decided to throw all logic and reason right out the window.”

“I just want to—”

“What?” he cut me off. “You just want to what? See them together again? See them happier without you? Think you can handle that?” He leaned back. “’Cause I don’t.”

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion,” I snapped.

“Well,
I
don’t remember you asking me when you decided to mope around for months and months. Because
that’s
been really
fun for me.”

Months and months.

He was right. Time was passing all around us. A shabby little plastic Christmas tree still sat in the corner window of Slice, even though Christmas had come and gone. I’d been dead long enough now that people back home were probably starting to forget. I could see younger kids coming up through the grades finding my picture in the PCH yearbook. Imagined them thinking that I looked a little bit dated. Expired. Like the pink skinny jeans I bought and was obsessed with in eighth grade, but which I wouldn’t be caught dead in now.

Ugh.

“Oh right,” I chimed back in. “Forgive me for ruining all your fun. Because you obviously have so much going on in your busy schedule.”

He threw up his hands. “What? Do you want to tie the poor kids to the railroad tracks? Drown them in the sea? Throw them in an abandoned ditch?”

I gave him a big smile. “Glad we’re finally speaking the same language.”

“Come on,” he groaned. “I know you’re all scorned and brokenhearted and stuff, but don’t you think maybe it’s time to let it go? Live and let live or something?”

“Let it go?” I asked. “How can you even say that? You know what they did to me.” I shook my head, disgusted. “I don’t care what you say, but I am not going to let them get away with it. They don’t
deserve
to get away with it.”

“Listen up, Little Miss Fatal Attraction.” Patrick gave me a stern look. “I’m all for a little payback, but you’ve had your fun. What’s done is done. You’re going to need to accept it sooner or later, and I’m not going to continue encouraging your stalkerish ways and raging hormones in the meantime.” He nodded at the book. “You haven’t learned anything, have you?”

“Oh,” I said, “on the contrary. I’ve learned a lot. I just read that Basic Object Interaction is less about controlling the thing than it is about controlling yourself. And any object found and collected on earth becomes the ‘soul’ property of its finder
.
So there.”

It was a pretty cool rule, actually. Probably could’ve explained a bunch of the world’s missing socks and stolen diamonds.

“How astute,” Patrick said.

“Also, I learned you should never zoom on an empty stomach.” I grabbed my Frosty and took a giant slurp, super-loud and obnoxious. “So now that we’ve taken care of that—”

“Now nothing,” he said. “But for the last time, you are still not going back.”

“For the last time, YOU are not the boss of me.”

“Says who?”

“Said
you
. I make the rules, remember? I’m ready when I say I’m ready. If you don’t want to come with me, that’s fine. Because I don’t need you.” I took another long, slow sip, stinging my tongue with icy, chocolatey sweetness. “I don’t need
anybody
.”

“Wow.” Patrick shook his head. “That’s pretty heartless, Cheeto.”

“Ironic, doncha think?”

“Oh, what the hell,” Patrick said. He grabbed the Frosty out of my hand, threw it back, and slurped down the very last drop.

“There’s no place like home.”