When You Were Mine (8 page)

“So are you going to tell us about sucking face with my brother or not?” Charlie says. She crosses her arms and raises her eyebrow at Olivia. Olivia bites her lower lip. She’s nervous, it’s obvious. She does ballet and gets this way before every dance recital. Charlie and I usually sneak backstage to see her, and she’s always biting her nails and hopping around like she’s had too much caffeine.

“I already told you this morning. What else do you want to know?” She takes a small sip of water.

“Don’t be cute,” Charlie says. “You still haven’t said how this started.”

Olivia looks up at the ceiling and then back down at her glass. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes. And I’m still not over this. Since when can you keep a secret?
For two months?
”

Olivia sends me a nervous glance, looking for support. “We weren’t sure it was going to be anything.”

I know that Charlie can be scary, and intimidating, but honestly I think it just comes out of how much she cares. She’s tough on Olivia, though. Especially because this couldn’t have come as a total shock to her. I mean, I all but saw them make out multiple times this summer. It was clear they were getting closer. I don’t really buy that Charlie missed it.

“I can’t believe you make out with my brother,” Charlie says.

“He’s a good kisser.”

Charlie’s eyes go wide, and she holds up her hand, palm flat, like,
Stop
. “I lied. I have no interest in hearing about this.” Olivia smirks and elbows her, but Charlie doesn’t crack. “I’m still totally offended you lied to me, though.”

Olivia makes a puppy-dog face, which means she isn’t too concerned. I’m not either. In fact, I’m remembering something from sophomore-year prom. How Olivia went with Taylor and they got into this big fight when we were there because he wanted to smoke and she was pissed about it, and Charlie said—I remember this specifically—“My brother would never show up high.”

“I have a date with Rob tonight,” I say. Both of their heads spin to look at me. At once, like in one of those horror movies. “Umm, yeah,” I say. “We’re sorta going out.”

“Like,
romantically
?” Olivia asks.

“Sure, maybe. I don’t know.” And then it all comes tumbling out. This spring and our good-bye and his letters. “I told you,” Charlie says. “He really missed you.” And then, our knees this morning. Olivia totally loses it.

“So he legitimately said go
out
to dinner?”

“Yes,” I say. “He was very specific about that part.”

“What time?”

“Oh. I guess he’ll just come over?”

“He can’t just show up,” Charlie says. “If it’s a date, he should pick you up. In a car. Not just crawl through the grass and come knocking on your window.” She looks at me and raises her eyebrow, tapping her finger once on her nose. It’s this thing we do when we’re both thinking the same thing. Right now I know she’s thinking about the time in the sixth grade when Rob hacked a hole through the wire fence separating our houses so we wouldn’t have to go all the way up and down each other’s driveways. It was Halloween, and he came dressed in this psycho mask. He showed up at the side of the house, and Charlie and I screamed our heads off. He legitimately looked dead.

Our food comes, and Olivia starts setting chips onto her
napkin. She always does this. Like she’s afraid we’re going to eat them all without her or something. In her defense, she does eat really slowly.

“Are we going to Malibu this weekend?” I ask, trying to change the subject. I’m not sure how to keep talking about this. It’s not like discussing a date with a normal boy. It’s Rob. Luckily, Charlie and Olivia are easily distracted today. I suspect they’re both still thinking a little bit about Ben.

I wipe my fingertips on the corner of a napkin. The cooks make their chips in-house, and they are always deliciously greasy.

“Yes!” Olivia says. “Let’s do it.”

Olivia has a beach house in Malibu that her parents never use. It’s about forty-five minutes away, but we always have parties there. Olivia’s been bribing her housekeeper since we were fifteen and used to drive down illegally with just permits. There was a very complicated round-robin phone tree in place then to ensure our parents never found out we had left San Bellaro.

“We can’t this weekend,” Charlie says, slipping a
queso
-ed chip into her mouth.

“Why?” Olivia asks.

“Hello? Fall Back? Honestly, was anyone paying attention in there?” She puffs out her lip and looks up at the ceiling. She even closes her eyes briefly, for effect.

“What about the weekend after?” Olivia asks, ignoring her.

“Let’s see.”

“You have other plans?” I poke her, and she shrugs.

“Maybe.” Charlie really likes being the one to suggest things. Last year we had a New Year’s Eve party at Olivia’s, and Charlie almost didn’t come because she hadn’t been consulted about it beforehand. Even though she was, technically, visiting relatives in Oregon until the thirtieth. But of course she’ll come around. Charlie loves Malibu.

“Why don’t we say yes and we’ll see how it goes. The guys will come, won’t they?” Olivia turns to me.

“I guess.” I try to make it sound as casual as I possibly can. The truth is, the prospect of an entire weekend in Malibu with Rob has sent my spine tingling.

“Sure,” Charlie says, “if Jake decides to behave for another week.” She takes out her phone, looks at it, and then tosses it away in a huff.

“Are you okay?” I ask. “You seem super on edge.”

“I’m fine.” She sighs. “Just tired.”

“It’s only the first day,” I say. “Things will even out.”

“That is exactly what Ben said to me today,” Olivia says. “I was superupset because we didn’t get calc together, and . . .”

But I’m looking at Charlie, who has stopped listening and is pointing to a newspaper on the table next to ours. She makes a move to get up.

“Watch it,” Olivia says. “These are new.
Hello.
” She points to her shoes. Burberry flats with the print on the underside. Charlie ignores her and grabs the newspaper. She sets it down on our table, knocking over Olivia’s neatly stacked chips.

It’s the local paper, and Charlie flicks her pointer finger over the words.
SENATOR CAPLET RETURNS
. And there, right below the headline, is a picture of my uncle, his wife, and a girl I haven’t seen in ten years.

“Is that your family?” Charlie asks.

“Yes,” I say, peering closer.

“‘The senator and family return to San Bellaro after almost a decade away,’” Charlie reads. She has her elbows on the table and she’s leaning over the paper, like a little kid at the library. “‘The Caplets’ move to Beverly Hills nine years ago caused much rumor and speculation. This will mark their first return to our town since their departure.’”

Charlie looks up. Olivia is looking at me too.

“Strange,” I say, because I’m not sure what to say. Does my dad know? Is he upset about it? And where will she be going to school? With me?

“‘The senator’s only daughter,’” Charlie continues, “‘is delighted about the move. “I can’t wait to spend my senior year in a new place,” she says. “I’m truly looking forward to making San Bellaro my home.”’”

“What’s her name?” Olivia asks.

“Juliet,” I answer. Charlie squints at the paper and then back up at me. “Her name is Juliet.”

What’s in a name, Shakespeare? I’ll tell you: everything.

“You can just show your cousin your sweater,” my
mother says. “You don’t have to wear it now.”

It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m sitting in the backseat of our station wagon with my arms crossed, beads of sweat rolling down my seven-year-old forehead. I have on my new reindeer sweater, the one I insisted on purchasing for our trip down to Los Angeles. It’s wool and itchy, but it has antlers and bells on it. Real bells. And because of this, I think it’s spectacular.

“She has to see it
on
,” I say for what’s probably the tenth time.

My mom nods and turns back around in the front seat, glancing at my dad. He’s gripping the wheel tightly, his jaw set. We’ve been in the car for a while, and tensions are running high.

I gaze out the window and watch the passing coast. It’s a record ninety-five degrees today, the hottest ever in over a decade of Decembers. It doesn’t bother me, though. I’ve only ridden to Los Angeles a few times in my short life, and I’m excited. Especially because we are going to spend Christmas Eve with my cousin, Juliet. She left our town about two months ago, and I can’t wait to see her. We are best friends. Juliet, Rob, and I have played together in our backyards practically since we were born, and even though I like Rob, and I’m getting used to things, I really miss Juliet.

We pull up to Juliet’s house, and my mom takes out a piece of paper with some numbers on it and hands it to my dad. He punches them into a keypad. Huge gates swing open, and we drive all the way up and around a road lined with rosebushes.

Their house is gigantic. Not at all like Juliet’s house back at home. It looks more like the library my mom and I go to on Saturdays. The one with the big white columns and so many rooms that it’s impossible not to get lost inside. The gardens all around are filled with roses, and there are cherry trees hanging over either side of the driveway. It’s like stepping into a fairy tale, and I think how lucky I am that my cousin lives here. That because we’re family, it’s almost like it’s my house too.

My mom makes a fuss of straightening out my clothes, which she usually never does. She asks me one more time if
I’ll take off the sweater, but I just shake my head. I’ve made it to Juliet’s front door. I’m keeping it on. I know Juliet will love it.

We ring the doorbell, and Lucinda answers. They call her a housekeeper, but she’s really like a great big grandma. I throw my arms around her, and she hugs me around my middle. We call her Lucy, but not around Juliet’s mom. My aunt doesn’t like it.

Lucy leads us through what feels like an enormous maze of marble and glass until we get to a big living room. There are huge floor-to-sky windows on three walls of the room and a television that looks like a movie screen. Then I spot her. Juliet is sitting on the floor, playing with a gigantic collection of stuffed animals. They must be new. I’m never seen them before.

I run and throw my arms around her. I start babbling about the drive and our tree house and how much I’ve missed her. I pull back just long enough to shove my reindeer sweater under her nose.

“Look!” I declare loudly.

Juliet sweeps her short brown hair out of her face. She was always a little bit shorter than me, and now her hair is shorter than mine too. It doesn’t matter, though. I bet we could still wear our matching dresses and look like twins.

Lucy leaves, and Juliet’s mother stands up from the sofa. I didn’t even see her there. Her dress looks like the same print as the couch. “I’m so glad you made it,” she says.

Juliet’s mom calls her over, but she doesn’t go right away. She is looking me over, her eyes on the bells on my sweater. She doesn’t seem impressed, though, and suddenly I wish I wasn’t wearing it. Or that it was gigantic, so I could crawl inside and disappear.

Something is wrong.

“Juliet,” her mother says, a little bit louder, “please say hello to your cousin.”

Juliet makes a fuss of getting up, dragging a stuffed-animal horse by the mane. We’re face-to-face, but she still doesn’t move to hug me. She doesn’t even smile.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” she says.

“Can I play with you?” I ask.

“I’m finished.”

How can Juliet be finished playing? We used to play for hours. Outside, inside. In my house, her house, Rob’s house. In our driveways, in our living rooms.

“Jules,” I try, “let’s play.” She turns her head and doesn’t look at me. “Joo Joo?” Still nothing. Then I think of it: She’s mad at me. The problem is, I don’t know what I did wrong.

I’m starving by the time Juliet’s father comes home, and my stomach is making loud growling noises when we all sit down to dinner. No one is really talking. I leave my sweater on because it’s freezing in their house. As cold as it is in the ice cream section of the grocery store.