Where the Staircase Ends (6 page)

Logan tightened his grip on Sunny and gave her a shake, his flinty eyes narrowing as he glared at her. “Shut up,” he spat, a hard edge entering his voice. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Sunny’s chin knocked against her chest when he shook her again, and she let out a small whimper.

“Stop it, you’re hurting her,” I shouted over the music as I tried to pry Sunny out of his angry hands. His eyes were wild and wide, and I was reminded of his short-tempered reputation, but when he met my gaze his face softened, and as quickly as the rage appeared, it was gone.

“I’m sorry.” He stepped away from Sunny and ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t know what came over me. Did I hurt you, Sunny? Are you okay? I’m so sorry.”

Sunny let out a belch and shrugged. “Can we go home now?” She pouted her lower lip and attempted to walk forward, but I had to hold her so she wouldn’t stumble.

Logan took a tentative step in her direction, his hands poised to help again. I gave him a curt nod to let him know it was okay, but watched him closely out of the corner of my eye.

As we shuffled Sunny out of the smoke-filled club toward The Bee, he murmured encouraging words and kept his hand perched on the small of her back. I didn’t know how he remained so patient, especially given the way he’d previously snapped at her.

“Sunny, would you get in the damn car?” I was beyond irritated at that point. Every time we almost had her seated, she’d jump up and try to bop Logan on the nose, playing a drunken game of whack-a-mole with his face. “Sit down, for crap sake.”

She finally slumped into the seat, pouting back at me as I clicked her seatbelt into place. I slammed the door before she could make another escape attempt.

“Thanks for your help.”

“Don’t mention it.” Logan followed me to the driver’s side and closed the door once I was seated. “It was nice bumping into you. Maybe we can do it again sometime?” Before I could answer, he leaned into the window and brushed his lips against my cheek. “You should drive in the right lane—she’s going to puke any minute.”

He turned on his heel before I could react, my cheek still prickling from the kiss.

“Strange guy, huh?” I looked at Sunny for support, but she hadn’t noticed the interaction. She was too busy fighting with the seat recliner.

We were barely onto the highway when I heard gurgling noises coming from her throat and saw her fingers struggling to find the window button.

I managed to pull The Bee over just in time for Sunny to open the passenger door and puke the bazillion shots she’d consumed onto the pavement, the contents of her stomach splashing in a heavy stream against the highway.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” she said when she finished, leaning against the frame of the car door to steady herself.

“You just were.” I couldn’t keep the hard edge of impatience from my voice. I was pissed beyond belief. I hated when she did this. Not just because I suspected it was all for attention, but because she was forcing me to drive on the highway knowing full and well that it terrified me. It was my mom’s fault—her complete lack of faith in me meant she rarely let me borrow her car, and on the rare occasions she did, I was forbidden from driving anywhere interesting. As a result I was a terrible, under-practiced driver.

“I’m sorry I ruined your big night.” She slid back into the passenger seat and let out an alcohol-fueled burp. I ignored her and rolled down my window to dispel the scent of vomit and cigarettes that clung to her hair. “Please don’t hate me. You can’t hate me. You’re my only real friend.”

“Please, you have plenty of friends. Don’t be so dramatic.” I concentrated on the black and white lines of the highway, attempting to keep the car steady while my hands clung desperately to the steering wheel. The horrific smell of puke filling the interior of the car made it nearly impossible to think.

“He won’t even look at me,” she whispered, turning her head toward the window so she could stare up at the half-circle of the moon like it held the answers. “He says I look just like her. But he hates her. Do you think that means he hates me too?”

She was talking about her father, and I sucked in a breath. Sunny rarely talked about her father.

“No, he doesn’t hate you, Sunny. He’s just still sad about your mom leaving.”

“Do you think I look like her?” She angled her face toward mine so I could get a better look.

“Yes,” I answered honestly. It was a long time ago, but my memory of Sunny’s mother was as crisp as a photograph: long coppery hair, wide smiling mouth, skin that glowed from the inside out. She was a sun and everyone else was meant to orbit around her. Sunny was her mother in every way.

“I haven’t heard from her in three years,” Sunny said quietly. “Not even on my birthday. It’s like she disappeared.” She made a choked sound, as though the next word got stuck on its way out of her mouth. When she turned back to look at me her face was somber. “Promise me you won’t leave me, too.” She grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. “I know I can be a real bitch sometimes, but I don’t mean it. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

I swallowed thickly, trying to push back my anger from the evening’s events.

“I promise.” It was so like Sunny to find a way to eclipse my anger.

“Can we swing by my house so I can walk Miss Violet Beauregard? She gets lonely, and I’m the only one who looks after her. She needs me.”

“She’ll be fine. It’s only one night.” My voice was tight and filled with warning. As it was, my mother would be pissed because I didn’t call to let her know we were heading home, and I wasn’t about to release a hand from the steering wheel for fear of veering off the road. Besides, that dog was a cockroach. Between the doggy door and automated food and water dispensers littering the house, she could survive Armageddon without ever needing another human. In fact, she looked like she already had—she was easily the ugliest, meanest creature I had ever met. I never understood what it was Sunny loved so much about that dog.

“You can walk her in the morning,” I added so Sunny wouldn’t protest further.

My mom was ready to launch into a lecture when I walked through the front door. Her hands were perched on her hips and a familiar scowl deepened the line between her eyebrows.

She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it once she caught sight of Sunny’s unsteady eyes and barf-covered shirt.

“Oh, you poor dear. I’ll get you some water,” she said to Sunny, watching as I struggled to get her into the house. Then she leaned in and whispered to me, “Why don’t you soak her shirt in the sink so we can wash it in the morning?” Like she didn’t want to hurt Sunny’s feelings by telling her how disgusting she looked.

I tried not to let my mom see my irritation, focusing instead on getting Sunny up the stairs without breaking something. If I came home drunk and puke-covered, I’d never get a sympathetic
oh, you poor dear
from my mom, let alone a glass of water. But when it came to perfect Sunny, all was forgiven. Sometimes I wondered if my mom ended up with the wrong daughter.

“I’m really sorry about tonight,” Sunny muttered after I’d finally gotten her cleaned up and under the covers of my trundle bed. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear. Will you forgive me?”

She shifted her weight, letting the creak of bedsprings cut through the darkness. I had already forgiven her, the way that I always did, but I kept my lips pressed together and turned toward the wall.

I didn’t remember what I dreamed about that night, but for the first time in months I didn’t wake up thinking about Justin Cobb.

Instead, I woke up thinking about Logan.

HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE A GIRL IN GYM SHORTS

This time I wasn’t surprised when I appeared back on the staircase. The posters on my bedroom wall faded into a blue sky, and like before, my feet were moving up the steps like they’d never stopped. Was it possible to be in two places at once?

I squinted against the bright afternoon, searching the steps. Something green swayed in the distance. At first I thought it was another ghost waiting to torture me, but as I got closer I saw that it was nothing more than the reaching stem of a sunflower.

Weird
. I climbed closer to the plant. It was the first sign of life I’d seen since appearing on the staircase. How had a flower managed to grow in the middle of bumblebutt nowhere?

The green stalk stretched up through a crack in the stone until it was almost at my knees. Bright leaves splayed helter-skelter along the stem, and at the top sat a perfect circle of yellow petals, opened like a palm toward the sky.

There was something brave about the flower, something defiant in the way it broke through the steps like nothing could hold it back. Maybe my brain was still mash-potatoed from the car crash, but I thought it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

I wanted it. No, I
needed
it. There was no way I could take another step without having the perfect yellow petals to keep me company.

I wrapped my hands around the stem, surprised at how sturdy it felt, and gave it a sharp tug.

The flower didn’t move.

I tried again, this time pulling and yanking and twisting with everything I had, but the damn thing wouldn’t budge. It stayed rooted in place like it was planted in cement.

Something inside me snapped. It wasn’t just the flower—it was everything. The staircase. Sunny. Logan. Justin. It all welled up inside me until I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted to take it all out on the immobile flower. The stupid, stupid flower that was so hell-bent on staying put.

I jumped on top of it, using my heels to grind the stem into the staircase. I kicked it and clawed it, then hopped and danced and jumped until I was sure the flower was mashed into paste.

But when I stepped to the side to admire my destruction, the flower looked unfazed. Its leaves still stretched toward the sky, and its yellow petals beamed as brightly as ever. It was as if nothing happened.

As if I didn’t exist.

No
.
There was no effing way I was going to leave there without yanking that stupid flower from the ground.

I tried again, this time pounding and pounding until I was sure my fists would bleed from the force, but nothing happened. My hands were clean and blood-free, and the flower looked as if no one had ever touched it. It didn’t seem fair. How could it still sit there like that? How was it that my actions had no effect on it?

As if that wasn’t strange enough, I realized that all the jumping and tugging and pounding wasn’t making me tired. I used every ounce of strength I had to try to smash the flower, but I hadn’t so much as broken a sweat. In fact, I didn’t think I’d felt winded since arriving on the stairs—not even when I ran to catch up to the source of the voice.

The obvious answer to the riddle was probably that I was dead. It’s not like dead people needed to breathe or use their lungs. But I didn’t
feel
any different. To prove it, I tried sucking a breath in and out to see if I could, and sure enough, I breathed like I always did. So why wasn’t I getting tired?

I kicked at the flower again and lost my balance, tumbling forward onto the steps so that the plant was locked behind me where I couldn’t reach.

“God, if you’re up there, I want you to know that this sucks. Can you hear me? This place sucks!”

I didn’t know why I bothered saying the words out loud. No one was listening.

I stood and started to brush myself off until I realized there was nothing to brush off. Everything was as it had been, because nothing ever changed on this godforsaken staircase.

Two hands touched my back, their fingers splaying out against my skin in a comforting gesture. They reached around my shoulders and neck until they were holding me in a tight hug, and I felt a warm cheek press against my back.

A sigh escaped my lips. It felt nice to be held. It made me think of my mother’s warm arms, always willing to give me an encouraging embrace when I was younger. Somewhere along the way a rift had formed between us. I wasn’t even sure what started it, but one day I started to feel like she wanted me to be someone else, like I wasn’t good enough for her.

I leaned into her arms, happy and sad all at the same time because I suddenly missed her so much; because I wanted a chance to close the distance between us and be the daughter she wanted me to be. I would study harder. I would be better. I would do whatever she needed me to do, if I could just get another chance.

“Mom?” I looked down at the hands that were folded against my heart, hoping to see the familiar curve of her unpolished fingernails.

Instead I saw Sunny’s signature French manicure.

No
.

“Get off me,” I snapped, shaking myself free from her claws. Tears pricked at the corner of my eyes. I pressed my thumbs into my tear ducts, trying to keep the wetness from seeping out. She would
not
make me cry.

Sunny launched herself in front of me to block my path. In her hand, she held the sunflower, its roots dropping clumps of dirt onto the ground in front of me. An amused grin split her face as she held it out to me, as if to say, “Look what I so easily pulled out of the ground. Jealous much?”