The Last Time We Were Us (20 page)

“You mean that?” I ask, without looking up.

“I do.”

So many times I wanted Jason to apologize to me, in those months and years after we grew apart. But when Jason left, I stopped thinking that way. I had to. I built a new world for myself. And now he’s here, saying it so much better than I could have imagined, and everything I used to feel is rushing back. It’s not butterflies, or the thrumming of my heart, but an all-over ache, a wash of appreciation, of deep understanding so strong I can feel it making my cheeks red.

I want Jason to be honest about everything. When you know someone so well, there are some things you just can’t stand not to know.

I scoot closer then, force myself to look up. “What is it that you won’t tell me?” I ask. “I know there’s something.”

He doesn’t speak for a moment, and I think he’s going to spill it. But then: “Some things aren’t worth telling,” he says finally. “You don’t tell everything to me.”

I move back, give him some space. “What am I keeping from you?”

“You and Innis.”

“What about me and Innis?” I make even more room.

“Whatever you guys are.”

“Maybe because I don’t know exactly.”

“But you want it to be something serious with Innis?” he asks.

I nod. “Jason,” I say, and he scoots closer this time. “You’re the one who said you didn’t want anything to happen . . .”

“I know.”

“And so, what’s between me and Innis, it has nothing to do with you.”

His eyes flash with anger, but as quick as it comes, it’s gone. “It’s not that simple,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

“There are things you don’t know about Innis.”

I roll my eyes, because he’s starting to sound like a broken record. “Have you ever thought that maybe you don’t know everything about him?”

Jason doesn’t answer my question. “Does he know you’re spending time with me?”

My lips press together. It’s the only answer he needs.

Jason stares down at his hands. “It was an accident,” he says after a moment. I hold my breath, because it’s the first time he’s given me anything besides the vague excuses, but he doesn’t elaborate.

“You mean it wasn’t your fault?” I ask.

He scoffs, jerks his head away, and I can see—in a flash—how he could have done what they say. There is a deep pool of anger in Jason, and who knows how deep it runs?

Skip knows. Skip Taylor knows.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t my fault,” he snaps. “I only said it was an accident.”

“Then why didn’t you tell anyone? Why did you plead guilty?”

Jason rushes his words. “Everyone pleads guilty. That’s what you do. Unless you’re willing to bet a whole lot more.”

It reminds me of what Dad said, that sometimes innocent people take pleas. I narrow my eyes at him. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying everyone takes Innis’s word at face value because he’s Innis Taylor.”

“So you mean he made a mistake?”

Jason laughs. “Lizzie,” he says, with a deep sigh. “You are so naive.”

“And you’re so vague and secretive,” I snap. But as soon as it’s out I regret it. “I want us to be friends again,” I say. “But you have to give me a reason to believe you.”

He stares at his feet. “You’re going to believe what you want to. So is everyone else. I only wish you wanted to believe better things about me.”

T
HAT AFTERNOON MARKS
my first Alexandria Fields Fourth of July block party with MacKenzie.

It is my third without Jason.

“This is insane,” MacKenzie says as she reaches for a deviled egg.

I bat at her hand. “Wait until we get to Suzanne’s to get the deviled eggs.”

Around us, grills are rolled out to the street, forming a massive communal cookout, while card tables hold slaw, potato salad, corn on the cob, and everything else delicious. As to be expected, there is sweet tea
everywhere
, and there are at least four or five cakes made to look like flags.

“Does it really matter?” MacKenzie asks. “Isn’t an egg just an egg?”

“I’ve been doing this for years. I know the tricks. Suzanne has the best deviled eggs. My mom has the best potato salad. And Mrs. Packton has the best creamed spinach in the world.”

MacKenzie eyes the spinach already on her plate. “Yes, so I’ve heard.”

We grab corn bread instead and make our way to Suzanne’s. She’s standing at her table with my mother, drinking white wine from a clear plastic cup, laughing loudly. The tray of deviled eggs looks disappointingly picked over.

“Are you out?” I ask.

Suzanne leans over, pulls a fresh tray from underneath the table. “You know I’ll always save some for you, dear.”

We take two each and find seats on the curb in the middle of the cul-de-sac. I spot Lyla down the street with Benny and his whole family. She looks happy, if a little hungover. Dad hasn’t moved all day from his spot at the grill, but it doesn’t look like he wants to. He used to have company in Mr. Sullivan, but a lot of things used to be different.

I take a bite of the first egg. “Amazing, right?”

Kenzie takes a small bite. “Tastes like a deviled egg.”

My heart sinks. Jason and I had a whole game of it, rating all the different dishes, picking our favorites. One year when we were eight or so, we ate no less than six plates of food between the two of us, then lay down in my front lawn, our stomachs distended, laughing about how ill we both felt.

I take another bite, surprised at how upset I am that she’s not the appropriate level of excited. Maybe I’m still emotionally charged by this morning. Jason didn’t touch me, didn’t grab my cheeks or lean in for a kiss, but there was something so intimate about the way he asked me to believe him, something so raw and hopeful and sad at the same time.

Kenzie puts her plate down and crosses her arms. “Now that we’ve successfully obtained all of Alexandria Fields’ culinary delights, can we talk about something other than food?”

“Shoot,” I say, mouth full of potato salad.

A toothy grin lights up MacKenzie’s face, and her chocolaty eyes practically pop out of her head. “Payton wants to be boyfriend-girlfriend.” It comes out in a single high-pitched squeal.
Paytonwantstobeboyfriendgirlfriend!!

I swallow my potato salad, not remotely surprised. “And I’m guessing you want the same?”

“Of course,” she says. “He’s a great guy, you know. He’s so cute and funny, and when you get to know him, he can be so sweet.”

Sweet
. Like that supersweet time he keyed Jason’s car. But I put on a smile, even set my plate down. “I’m so happy for you.”

And I don’t know why, but it suddenly feels so much like acting.

“Thanks. It’s going to be soon with Innis, too. I just know it.”

And then what? Beyond Crawford Hall and the fancy homecomings, what would Innis and I really be like together? The movies never tell you what comes next. The movie version of us would have ended when Innis told me he liked me. We’d have kissed, and an indie song would have played for the credits, and all the girls would have gone home and dreamed about their own Innis.

I take another bite of potato salad, weirdly nervous. Everything I’ve ever wanted—scratch that, more than I’ve ever wanted—is about to be mine. So why is there such a weight to it? Why don’t I feel like MacKenzie, heart light and totally infatuated, looking forward to nothing but rainbows and butterflies, or at least cold beer and pool parties, ahead?

Jason’s words ring in my head.
You are so naive
.

“We’ll see,” I say. “We are going out tomorrow.”

Then her face gets serious. She bites her lip.

“What is it?”

“I want to be honest with you. It’s not that bad, I promise.”

“Just spit it out, Kenzie.”

She stares at me a sec. “All right. I may have told Payton you were hanging out with Jason.”

I feel fear all through me, rushing through my blood, to the tips of my fingers, filling me up like a water balloon. Too much, and I’ll just pop.

“Why in the world would you do that?”

“Calm down.”

I stand up. “Seriously, why would you do that?” I ask, loudly enough that Mom looks over. I sit back down, lower my voice. “What were you thinking?”

“You made it sound like it was no big deal, like it was nothing.”

“To you,” I say. “To you, my best friend, who I thought I could trust to keep a secret. Innis won’t think it’s nothing.” I look up, but Mom’s back to talking to Suzanne. “My parents won’t think it’s nothing.
Lyla
won’t think it’s nothing. I trusted you.”

Fear fills her eyes. “I was drunk, okay? We were hanging out last night, me and Payton, and he was going on about how Innis is so into you, and it slipped.”

“What do you mean, it slipped?”

“I was trying to help you, all right, to get things going for you. I just said that he better hurry, before she gets snatched up, or something, and then he was on me about it, and then I said that you’d seen Jason a couple times, and—”

“MacKenzie.” I turn away from her. “I can’t believe you.”

“He won’t tell Innis. I made him promise.”

I shake my head, because I know she’s wrong. “The fact that you think you have that much control over him is funny.”

I
T’S JUST ME
and my parents at the fireworks that night. MacKenzie made an excuse to leave not long after she dropped the bomb, likely because I sat there and stuffed my face, barely talking to her in my rage. Lyla’s spending the evening with Benny’s parents, who watch their fireworks at the lake, not on the hill of the town park like us.

Just after nine, the fireworks start with a raucous pop, the first of them bursting into the sky in a spattering of white. Little lights curl downward, crackling as they go, and my parents stop talking about how much fun the block party was, stop pretending like it’s not totally weird for it to be just the three of us tonight. They pop one after another—in red, blue, and green bursts of color.

My phone dings after one of the fancier smiley-face ones, and I take it out, expecting it to be Innis.

Two texts, one after another.

we’re looking at the same fireworks, you and me

i wish we could do it together

It’s a ridiculous wish; he knows it as well as I do, even though I want it just the same. Even if we could be friends, we could never be those kinds of friends. We could never be us again, not the way we were.

Because too many things have changed since the last time we stared at the sky together.

Another three pop, lighting up the sky—explosive.

Things like fireworks—once they happen, they can’t ever be undone.

Chapter 19

I
DON
’
T EVEN BOTHER HEADING DOWNSTAIRS THE
next night, sure that Innis is just not going to show.

He didn’t text all day. I spent my entire babysitting shift checking obsessively, so much so that Mary Ryan said I was like her daddy, constantly on the phone.

But to my surprise, at six minutes past seven, I hear his car coming up the street. Luckily I did my makeup, just in case.

I jet down the stairs and call out to my parents that I’m leaving before they can try to talk to him again—I have a feeling he’s going to be in an awful mood, and Innis doesn’t do a good job of hiding his moods.

I’m not in his car five minutes before I know that he knows.

His face is pale and blank, and he doesn’t smile once, just dutifully asks me how the Fourth was and whether the final installment of the superhero series that should never have been made is a good movie choice. I briefly consider trying to get ahead of the problem by bringing it up myself, but I can’t quite find the words.

Scantily clad ladies and musclemen run across the screen, saving a city that’s supposed to be New York. Innis’s hands are in his lap, nowhere near mine.

“Do you want some?” I push the Junior Mints over with a rattle, but he shakes his head.

He definitely knows.

The movie ends, and we head back to his car. The air outside is warm and muggy, swimming around us, between us, a sharp contrast from the clinical coolness of the movie theater AC. I wonder why he didn’t cancel, or stand me up.

“It’s crazy hot out,” I say.

“It’s summer in North Carolina.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “Of
course
it’s hot out.”

Ouch
.

I watch him closely as we cross the parking lot. His steps are even, quick. His lips are drawn into a thin, tight line, all:
Don’t even try to talk to me about the weather right now
.

He clicks the keys, his car makes a friendly, welcoming noise, and I open the door, slipping in. He does the same.

Before either of us can pretend anymore, I turn to him. “Okay, just get on with it.”

“What?” He stares at me, shocked at my boldness, but I can see he understands.

“Just go,” I say. “I know you want to talk about something.”

He clenches his fists, unclenches, clenches them again. “MacKenzie told me about you and Jason. Have you really been seeing that asshole?”

I don’t hesitate, don’t try to point out that Jason’s not an asshole. “Yeah.”

Innis slams his hands on the steering wheel. “Jesus Christ.”

“It’s not like that. He came over to his old house a couple of times, and I ran into him, and I went over there once to see his dad.”

“But why?” The words are concrete, hard and cold.

“Because he used to be a big part of my life.”

“His dad or
him
?”

“I don’t know. Both, I guess.”

Innis shakes his head in disgust. “And you don’t care about what he did to my brother? You forgive him for that?”

“No. I don’t.”

“I really liked you.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Like what?”

“Past tense.”

He leans in. “Are you and Jason . . . ?”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. Leaves the gaps open, for me to fill in as I choose.

“No.” I rush to the words. “No, not at all.”