The Last Time We Were Us (11 page)

“Well, here I am,” I say awkwardly. “Surprise!”

They both laugh, and Alex squeezes Marisa’s shoulder. Apparently the two of them are on-again.

“You want to go inside?” she asks. “I need something to wash this down.”

I follow them to a slightly less crowded corner of the living room. She sends Alex off to the kitchen, in search of beer and mixers.

“Let’s not wait for him.” Marisa pops the cap off and takes a swig, then hands it to me.

“I’ve actually never had this before.” I run my fingers along the bottle’s shimmery seal.

“Really?” she asks. “It’s like drinking jewelry!”

I laugh to myself, but I take a sip. It burns all the way down.

She grabs the bottle back from me, takes another swig, then screws the cap on, and holds it to her chest like it’s something precious.

“So Alex told me that Alexis was a total bitch to you at Walmart.”

“He did?” I ask, shocked. Not only am I surprised that Alex cares enough to pass that info along, but I would have expected Marisa to take Alexis’s side. I always thought the other girls at Innis’s hangouts were in cahoots together, that I was the odd one out. But now it’s like Marisa is buddying up to me.

“She’s just mad because she knows she’s not going to have a spot at homecoming.”

“Huh?”

Marisa looks around, doesn’t see Alex, uncaps again. She takes a sip and passes it to me. I follow her lead. “Are you telling me you don’t know about homecoming?”

I hand the bottle back to her. “What, do you guys all get a limo together or something?”

Marisa smiles at me like I’m a fresh-faced young pupil. “Wow, you must really like him,” she says.

I feel myself blush. Either that or the Goldschläger’s catching up.

“All right, so yes, for everyone else, homecoming and prom are just dances. But for Innis, it’s this huge production. We all go over to his house, and there’s a whole formal luncheon, like something you’d see in a movie, and then Mrs. Taylor literally has the head stylist from Tresses over to do all the girls’ hair and makeup. And everyone’s parents come over, and we take loads of pictures, and then we all go out somewhere awesome, and there’s a stretch Hummer or Escalade or whatever, and the Taylors pay for the whole thing.”

She pauses for breath—and another sip of Goldschläger.

“But what does that have to do with Alexis and me?” I ask.

“So here’s the thing. Alexis and Innis haven’t been officially together since freshman year, but they’ve never seriously dated anyone else. So he always takes her to dances as a friend, even if he’s hooking up with someone else at the time. It’s kind of sweet, in a weird way.”

I steady myself on the wall. The booze is catching up. “But it’s not like he’s made any kind of homecoming promise to me. It’s months away.”

Marisa smiles. “Sure it is. And maybe he won’t take you,” she says. “Who knows? Maybe Alex will start driving me nuts again, and I won’t get to go, either. But the point is, she sees you with Innis, and she knows you guys have been hanging out, and she kind of feels replaced.”

“So you don’t actually think he’ll take me?” I ask.

She beams. “The thing is, we kind of do think that Innis will take you. I mean, he never hangs out with girls this long. We’re happy he’s with you.”

I’m slightly weirded out by the fact that a committee of girls is sizing me up, that Marisa’s using the royal “we” like Queen freaking Elizabeth. And yet I suddenly feel so accepted, like I never have before. There’s a chance I could boot out Alexis Clairemont, probably the most popular girl in the whole school, from her coveted spot in the stretch Hummer. If that doesn’t make me feel validated, I don’t know what would.

Ever since the week after our first kiss, I’ve thought of Innis as this huge challenge, but I never really thought about the other side, about everything that could come with him. How instantly my status would change.

Alex walks back then, a jug of orange juice in one hand, two open beers in the other.

And behind him is the person I want to see more than anyone right now.

Innis.

Chapter 10

I
NNIS IS WEARING A WHITE
T
-SHIRT, CORAL SHORTS,
and leather boat shoes. His eyes are friendly, and he says, “Hey, Liz,” like he didn’t just avoid me for days. Like he’s been standing here waiting for me the whole time.

Alex hands me my beer, and I take it gratefully. “Hi.”

Innis steps closer, so close, in fact, that I can feel heat emanating from his body, smell the hint of cigarette on his breath. Unlike Jason, Innis only smokes when he’s drinking. It’s still not my cup of tea, but it’s more acceptable to me, somehow.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” he says.

I tip my beer back, take a sip. “You didn’t ask me.” It comes out so bold it surprises me.

But he just smiles and says: “I know. I should have.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Marisa step aside, pulling Alex with her, leaving us alone. “How was fishing?” I ask.

His eyes light up like shiny river rocks, but he doesn’t answer.

“I like your dress.”

Before I can stop myself, I yank the hem down. If I were really bold, as smooth as I imagine myself when I replay conversations in my head, I’d wave my hand and say,
I wore it for you
, or,
And what are you gonna do about it?
I’d reach into his pocket and grab his pack of cigarettes and balance one on my lips and ask for a light. Not for the smoke—
gross
—but to look like Lauren Bacall in
To Have and Have Not
, Mom’s all-time favorite movie.
You know how to whistle, don’t you, Steve? You just put your lips together and . . . blow
.

But I don’t do anything that cool. I just say thanks.

“Come with me,” he says. “I need another beer.”

It’s even more crowded as we push our way to the kitchen. The Lords and Ladies of East Bonneville High fist pump and nod at us as we walk by: Mary Burke, head cheerleader. Luke Brown, basketball giant. Ainsley Landry, senior student body president who’s on the softball team with MacKenzie. Erich Moon, a fellow one time plebeian who realized he’s funny enough to make it in the cool crowd, standing on an ottoman and regaling the others with an especially weird face—their dedicated court jester.

Innis ignores everyone, dragging me into the kitchen, where it’s only us and a few empty coolers.

“Looks pretty beerless,” I say, immediately cursing myself for my corniness. It’s a dadism if I ever heard one.
Ten-four. We’ve got a beer shortage. The kitchen is beerless. I repeat, the kitchen is beerless.

“Don’t worry,” Innis says. He whips open the fridge. Inside is another case of cheap stuff. He grabs two and hands one to me.

I finish the one I’m holding quickly, the cold fizziness rushing to my head. Innis leans on the counter, and I sink back against the fridge.

“I really didn’t expect to see you here,” he says again.

I mess with the strap of my dress. “Why not?”

“I didn’t know you’d even know about it.”

“MacKenzie asked me,” I say, wondering, briefly, if she’s still mad.

He nods. “She and Payton are getting pretty serious, I guess.” His tone is flat and unreadable. Either subtle approval or bro-y protectiveness. Or he’s just too cool to care.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline from my fight with MacKenzie, or maybe it’s all the nice things Marisa said, how hopeful she made me feel. Or maybe it’s just the cocktail of Goldschläger and beer, winding its way through my bloodstream. Whatever it is, I channel all the moxie I’ve got and look him straight in the eyes, finally ready to speak my mind. “You know, you’re not exactly making me feel welcome.” I take another sip—okay, a gulp this time—and relish my boldness.

“That’s not it,” he says.

“And I’m not about to sit around waiting on invites from you. They don’t ever seem to come.”

Innis sets his beer down and steps closer. “I deserve that.” His voice is so soft and kind and intimate, I find myself holding my breath, waiting to wake up.

But I force myself to focus, to say what I want to say. “Uh, yeah, you do. You basically tell your ex you only saw me accidentally. Then you don’t text me for days. You leave me thinking that . . .”

“That I’m a dick.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to say that exactly—”

“That I don’t care, then?” He’s so close now I can feel his breath on my lips. Mine begin to tremble.

“Yeah.” I look down for relief. “That’s what I thought.”

He cups my face in his hands and tilts it up to his. “I like you.”

If my stomach were a gymnast, it would medal in the Olympics. Because these are not the words I expect from Innis. They’re contrary to every fiber of his being.

He lets his hands fall but he doesn’t step back, doesn’t give me the room I both crave and despise. “With Alexis,” he says, but then he stops himself. “Sorry, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about Alexis.”

“No, I don’t.”

“The thing is, I haven’t liked anyone in a really long time. And I already had the fishing thing planned with my grandpa, and I thought maybe if we didn’t talk for a few days, it would go back to normal.”

“What is normal?” I ask. “Buying beer and watching you play video games?”

He shrugs. “Sure.”

“Sorry to ruin your plans.”

“Hey.” He reaches his palms to my cheeks again. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

Then he leans in and touches his lips to mine, and it’s soft and sweet, with a question mark at the end. My blood pumps quicker, and I’m kissing him back, fast and furious, like our lives depend on it. My hands are all over him, and I want him, just as much as he wants me.

And whatever the question is, the answer is yes.

E
VENTUALLY, WE MAKE
our way out of the kitchen, moving hand in hand through the crowd. I pass MacKenzie and Payton in the living room, and she looks so happy to see me with Innis, and I’m so happy to be with Innis, that all we do is smile at each other, like the argument never even happened. “Good luck,” she mouths, and I just smile wider in return.

We’re almost to the stairs that lead up to who knows what, when we pass Skip, standing on the hall table, leaning one hand on the wall and singing into a beer-can mike with the other, belting out lyrics in a drunken stupor.

In a parallel universe, he’d be poring over reception menus with my sister, getting fitted for a tux, not standing here, humiliating himself at a party he’s way too old for.

Innis stops, standing there, lips pressed tight, taking it in. I’m about to ask him if Skip’s okay when one of the rising juniors, a lanky guy whose name I can’t remember, turns to his friend. “What a loser.”

My hand instinctively reaches for Innis’s arm, but I can’t stop him. Before Skip can get to the next line, he’s got the guy by the collar, up against the wall.

“What the hell did you say?”

The guy shoots off a string of apologies I know won’t do a thing.

Innis hits him once, quick to the gut, and the breath goes out of him as he melts against the wall like a Popsicle in summer.

The crowd rushes around, but I grab Innis, pull him to me, and catch the slightest mist of tears in his eyes. I wrap my arms around him and hug him tight, but he wiggles away, looks at me with a face so sad I want to do anything I can to make him feel better.

“Come on,” I say. “Let’s go upstairs.”

He nods, and our fingers entwine, and we step through the crowd and head up. I turn back to see the lanky boy and his friend stumble away.

We walk down the hallway, covered with floral wallpaper and looking more wholesome than it should. We stop at a door that’s slightly ajar, and he squeezes my hand, pushes the door open.

Inside, there’s a half circle of people passing around a bottle of rum. Blake Edgeworth, Innis and Payton’s friend from lacrosse, is there, and the two of them exchange a look. Then he stands up, says they should all go smoke, and stumbles out the door, his cronies in tow.

Innis shuts it behind him, and in seconds, we’re kissing again. He smells like Downy and cologne and faint cigarettes. His lips are salty with summer sweat.

My hands rake through his hair, tugging at his soft curls, pulling his lips even closer to mine, as his hands move up and down the length of my body, searching and finding.

He is so good, I realize. He cares so much, enough to stop anyone who dares to say a word against his brother. He is so much more than his looks and his money and all the things that everyone else sees.

He pushes against me, and we fall onto the bed, the sheets rumpled from Lord knows what’s happened in here already. Our kisses are hard and hungry; his hands mess with my skirt before reaching up underneath.

His fingers brush against my lace underwear, one half of the set I hid from my mother because I felt weird buying it, the one I only bought because MacKenzie told me I should.

I think about stopping, but then MacKenzie’s words are with me—“you might even like it”—and there is beer on my tongue, and he is good, so good, and I kiss him harder, because I’m not 100 percent sure now, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be.

“Is this okay?” he whispers.

This time, I don’t push him away.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
I’m already awake and thinking about last night when MacKenzie’s eyes flutter slowly open.

“Hey there, lady. I think someone’s got a story to tell.” She smiles groggily. Sunbeams peak through the blinds, and she looks like my guardian angel, sent to teach me the ways of boys and parties.

I bite my lip. “How do you know?”

“I saw you guys walk upstairs. I was sober, remember? I had to drive your booty-getting booty home.”

I gulp down the glass of water MacKenzie benevolently left on the nightstand. Even though she force-fed me water last night, I still have a headache.

“So . . . ?” she asks.

“You want details?”

MacKenzie shakes her head. “Just a basic understanding.”

My skin gets all hot and tingly as I think about what we did. “It wasn’t anything huge, okay? But a little more than before.”