Where the Truth Lies (16 page)

“Oh my God,” Grace says. “You’re going on a date with Ethan Prince. He wants you to be his girlfriend. He likes you.” Suddenly, she seems gravely concerned. “Emily. What if he falls in love with you? What if you fall in love with him? Will you go to Stanford? You’ll never get into Stanford. Oh my God. You two could get
married. Emily Meckler-Prince
.” She whistles softly. “That sounds
really
classy.”

“Grace,” I whisper, looking around to make sure he’s gone. I can’t stop smiling. “He just wants to get ice cream.”

“Emily,” Grace says, “he’s a seventeen-year-old boy. He wants more than ice cream.”

In case there was any doubt on my part, Stephanie speaks up. “I wouldn’t get too excited, Emily. I think he’s just being friendly.” She glares at Grace. “It’s not a date. Don’t get your hopes up on being a bridesmaid anytime soon, sweetie.”

I stare at her. “How do you know what he wants?”

“Because he’s my twin brother. We have a connection.”

“Oh, really?” I suddenly can’t stand her. “Did you know that he called me last Christmas break? After the party?”

Stephanie’s expression falls flat. “What?”

“That’s right,” I say. “He called me up just to tell me merry Christmas.” I cross my arms. “What do you think about that?”

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but she glowers at me and Grace. Finally, her voice cracking, she says, “I think my brother is a really nice guy. And I think he deserves a really nice girl.”

She slams her book shut. Then she stands up, shoves her things into her book bag, and walks quickly out of the library.

As I watch her leave, I find myself thinking of Del again, feeling guilty that I’m so excited to go out with Ethan. How would I feel if Del had another girlfriend at his new school?

Del does
not
have another girlfriend. I feel certain. I feel like I would know if he did.

There’s a small part of me, I know, that’s waiting for him to show up again, anticipating him any day now. But I’m not sure what I expect him to do once he gets here.

In my room, there’s a letter for me in a plain white envelope, resting on my pillow, undoubtedly placed there by an already dozing Franny (her underwear says
THURSDAY!
, even though it’s Wednesday). The letter writer was obviously trying to be discreet—there’s no return address or anything—but I would recognize the sloppy handwriting anywhere; it’s from Renee.

I’ve never gotten a letter from anyone besides colleges and junk mail. I tear it open carefully, like it’s an artifact, and sit on top of my covers to read it.

September 8

44 degrees, rainy and overcast

sore throat

Hi Emily,

I
’m writing to you because I figure nobody would expect us to communicate in such an archaic way. The new school is good. Lots of hippie, artsy kids, which I guess is okay. How are you? Did the trainer (Cory? Colby?) take care of everything for you? Last time I saw, you had killer abs, so
I
’m betting there are no problems.

You should go see Bruc
e
’s new movie . The movie itself sucks, but he really liked you. I
t
’s worth ten bucks for a ticket to return the favor, right? He and my mother are going to court again to fight over custody of me .
I
’m seventeen and at boarding school nine months out of the year, so yo
u
’d think the
y
’d give it up by now. Especially because I have
n
’t seen my mother since last year sometime .

My new address is below.
I
’d love to have a pen pal. Miss you and all our adventures. Everythin
g
’s good on your end, yes? Definitely let me know …

Much love,

R .G.

The letter brings tears to my eyes. I’m wiping them away when I hear Grace and Stephanie in the hallway. Before they come in, I shove the letter beneath my mattress.

I’d love to have a pen pal
.

Me, too
, I think. There is so much to say that can’t be said to anyone else.

After chorus, Ethan strolls over to me, cool as can be, and says, “Well? You ready for some ice cream, sweet thing?”

Oh, yeah. It’s a date.

Going to downtown Stonybrook is like stepping back in time. There are soda shops and restaurants along the shore; there’s a long pier with mansions stretching on either side of it down the beach as far as we can see. We get our ice cream—hot fudge sundaes for both of us, which I can imagine Grace will find disappointingly boring—and walk to the end of the pier. Ethan reaches for my hand; I flinch.

“Emily? Is this okay?” he asks.

I smile. “Yes.”
It’s just that I had a secret baby with Del Sugar over the summer, and I’m not sure but I think there’s a slight possibility that I still love Del, and I have no idea where he is, and I’m not even ready to start dealing with my feelings about giving the baby up for adoption, so it’s not like I’m exactly ready to jump into a serious relationship right now, especially with someone as sweet and normal as you.
“It’s great.”

He laces his fingers through mine. His hand is cold, the evening cool. He keeps holding my hand as we sit down on a bench. I rest my head on his shoulder. I’ve done it a million times; until he started acting differently toward me, he was almost like a brother.

At first I feel uncomfortable being so close to a boy again. But then I remind myself: this is Ethan. He’s a good person. Ethan Prince would
not
impregnate his girlfriend while secretly abusing cocaine behind her back, and then leave her all alone.

“Emily?” His voice is more nervous than I’ve ever heard it. “I wanted to tell you something.”

It’s past dusk on the pier; the sun slips gently into the sea and we’re left chilly, almost alone as the tourists start to meander back to their cars.

“I’ve liked you for a long time,” Ethan says.

It’s so cold that I can see my breath. I remember Del’s red blanket wrapped around my body.

“It isn’t covered in dirt. It’s covered in you.”

But Del is gone. Ethan is right here. “I had an idea,” I tell him. “I mean, there was the Christmas party.”

“I was going to ask you out last year,” he explains, “as soon as we got to school. But then everything happened with you and Del, and I didn’t get the chance. I wasn’t even supposed to talk to you.”

“You can talk to me now.”

“I know,” he says. He smiles. “I don’t want to waste any more time.”

“I have to tell you, Ethan, this is all kind of hard to believe. I mean, you’re my best friend’s twin brother.”

“I know,” he repeats. “I hope you don’t think it’s too weird.”

I pause, taking a moment to think about it. I look at him; I mean, I
really
look at him. Renee was wrong about Ethan; he’s not boring. He’s kind and concerned and intelligent. He loves music, just like I do. He is honest. He feels calm. He feels safe.

“No,” I say, “I don’t think it’s weird. I think it’s kind of wonderful.”

He smiles again. “When we got back to school last year, I’d been waiting to ask you out all summer. Then my parents split up, and you and Del got together, and everything got all screwed up.” His grin turns into a scowl. “I could have killed Del for what he did. Sneaking off all the time behind your back. Getting kicked out the way he did. I watched you cry, you know? I just wanted to hug you, to tell you there were better guys out there, but you were so heartbroken, I didn’t know what I could possibly say to make you feel better.” Then he asks, “Are you over him?”

“Um. God, Ethan, this is a lot of information you’re giving me! I mean, what about Stephanie? Have you thought about her? You know she’s furious with me, don’t you?”

He shrugs. “She’s my sister. And you’re her best friend. She’ll get over it, trust me. She’ll be happy for us.”

But I’m not so sure. And as worried as I am about what Stephanie might think, all I can
really
think about is DelDelDel. Aboyaboyaboy. My boy. The mess that’s been left behind in his absence. The fact that I have no idea where he is feels painful. The fact that we never got to say good-bye, that I never got to tell him how angry I was, and that our child is out there somewhere, is too much to think about right now, sitting on the pier with Ethan.

“We never had any real closure,” I explain. “He was just gone.”

Ethan seems surprised. “You haven’t heard from him at all?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Wow. You’d think Boy Genius would have figured out a way to contact you.”

The words sting; he’s just said out loud what I’ve been thinking all summer. Del is the smartest person I’ve ever met. If he wanted to get in touch with me, I’m sure he would have found a way by now. So that’s it. It’s over. All I have to do is forget. But is that what I really want? It’s all so emotionally messy, so difficult to think about with any clarity. If only a normal boy had fathered my illegitimate child, things would be much easier.

“So come on, Emily,” Ethan says. “What do you think?”

The truth is, I’ve always had a little crush on Ethan. I just never considered it was possible that he’d like me back.

A boy!
Aboyaboyaboy! “Okay.” I smile. “But you have to promise that we can take things slow. I have a lot going on in my head right now.” I feel stupid just saying the words. I’m practically a solid C student, and Ethan is head prefect. I almost expect him to laugh at me—I mean, he must figure, how much could there possibly be going on in my head?

But then, so gently and with such warmth that I shiver, Ethan leans forward, brushes the hair from my eyes, and gives me a soft kiss on the forehead. “I know you do,” he says. “That’s what I like about you.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Really. Emily … I’m going to treat you so good, you’ll forget all about Del Sugar.”

I close my eyes. I let him kiss my forehead again, and then my nose, and finally my lips. All I can think is,
You go ahead and try, Superman.

chapter fifteen

The dream is violent: pounding rain, rain so hard that I can barely breathe in it, and I wake up to a weak slap in the face, a brittle arm shaking me, Franny sitting beside me while Grace and Stephanie stare down at me.

I try to gasp. I need air, and nothing is coming.

“What’s the matter with her?” Franny asks, her voice almost a shriek. All the lights are on in the quad, my roommates looking disheveled in their pj’s, Grace’s hair in its usual set of curlers for the night, dots of zit cream in Steph’s T-zone, and Franny’s cheekbones looking painfully prominent as she leans in and says, “Breathe, Em, breathe!”

I try to gasp again. I feel air rushing into my lungs, and I fall back onto my pillow. Tears come to my eyes, my roommates’ faces suddenly blurred. I begin to breathe deeply, frantically, grateful for every breath.

I’m nauseous. My sheets are damp with sweat.

“Franny, scoot over,” Steph says. She sits beside me, peers down into my eyes. “Emily.” Her tone is worried and serious. “What the hell is the matter with you? You were like something from
The Exorcist
.”

“You woke all of us up,” Grace says.

“Sweetie, what’s the matter? Why are you crying?” Stephanie gazes at me with a peculiar expression, shifting from concern to curiosity. “Did something happen?”

I shake my head, still teary and sick to my stomach, still trying to catch my breath. I feel like, if they hadn’t woken me, I could have drowned right there in my bed.

Once I’ve calmed down, Stephanie says, “Come with me, hon. Let’s go downstairs, okay?”

I nod.

“We’ll make some tea and watch the
Late Show
,” she says, half-smiling.

“Okay.”

Downstairs, the dorm is eerily dark, everyone else asleep. From upstairs, I smell cigarette smoke curling down the hallway, its unmistakable stink infiltrating the whole dorm. It’s undoubtedly Franny and Grace; I imagine them perched in the windowsill, talking about me.

It’s past two in the morning; we’re watching a
rerun
of the
Late Show
, sipping tea, my head on Stephanie’s shoulder and our bodies tucked together beneath a blanket in the still of the deep night. Aside from the light coming from the television, everything around us is black, senseless, almost surreal.

“Emily,” Stephanie says, turning down the television, “what’s the matter?”

I take a sip of my tea. “I had a nightmare,” I say.

“Worse than usual?” she asks.

“Yes. I couldn’t breathe until you woke me up. I felt like I was drowning.”

“You weren’t. You were making an awful noise like a scream and a gasp all at once.” She hesitates. “You should talk to Dr. Miller tomorrow. This isn’t normal.”

I nod, but don’t say anything. Dr. Miller is no help whatsoever. I’m not going to get any real answers until I confront my mom about Sandy Gray. Her name was in my father’s handwriting, but my mother
must
know who she is.

“What did you and Ethan do tonight?” she asks.

Her tone is light enough, but the question is out of nowhere.

“We went out for ice cream,” I say.

“And? What did he want?”

“Stephanie, you know what he wants.”

She sits up straighter. She turns to stare at me in the almost-dark, light from the television hitting her face to illuminate it just enough for me to see her serious expression. She’s not thrilled. “He talked about you all summer.”

“Did he tell you he liked me?”

“Yes.”

“You told me earlier there was no way he wanted to go out,” I say.

“I know.” She blinks. “I didn’t want to think about it. It feels like you and Del just broke up. And, Emily, he’s my
brother
.”

“So what?”

“What do you mean, ‘
so what?
’ Emily, you’ve been off the map lately. Things haven’t exactly been peachy between you and me. We barely talked all summer. I’m just looking out for him.” She pauses. “Have you talked to Del?”

I shake my head.

“Not at all? No e-mail, nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh. I thought for sure … I mean, you two never really broke up.”

I nod. “I know that.”

“Don’t you feel like you’re cheating on him? With my brother?”

“Steph, I didn’t do anything with Ethan.”

“I don’t want to know,” she says. “But you have to get yourself under control. I don’t want you dating my brother when you’re practically waking up the whole dorm with your nightmares.” Her tone softens just a bit. “Emily, you can talk to me. You can tell me anything. Don’t you know that?”

“Can we just watch TV?” I ask, putting my head back on her shoulder, scooting closer to her beneath the blanket so that our crossed legs overlap. The truth is, I haven’t remembered how to talk to Stephanie about anything serious in a long time.

“Sure we can. Drink your tea.” And she rests her head against mine, our bodies taking the same familiar position that they have for years, since we were just little girls.

I don’t remember falling asleep. But when I wake up, the sun is beginning to shine through the window at dawn. We’re still in the common room, still tucked under the blanket together. The local news is on television; aside from that, the dorm is quiet and still.

I shake Stephanie awake and we go upstairs. Instead of getting into my own bed, I crawl into hers and we sleep together for another couple of hours. When I wake up, it’s from an elbow to the face; Franny has climbed into bed with us at some point in the morning.

Sometime between last night and now, she’s changed her underwear to announce that it’s
THURSDAY!
Except, once again, she’s got it wrong—it’s a Tuesday. I wonder what the hell is going on with her.

“Franny, my God, you’re a bag of bones,” I murmur, pinching the skin against her ribs. I sit up, stretching my arms toward the ceiling. The three of us are crammed between the rails of the bunk bed.

“You looked so peaceful,” she says, “I just wanted to cuddle.”

Her eyes still closed, Stephanie snorts. “It’s like cuddling with a coat hanger.”

“Shut up.” Franny gets out of bed, turning off the alarm before it has a chance to go off.

Above us, Grace stirs. “Did I miss a cuddlepalooza?”

“Mm-hmm,” I say.

“Aww, dammit.”

“I’m taking a shower,” Franny announces, gathering her towel and supplies.

“Can we cuddle again tonight?” Grace pouts. “It’s not fair that I missed it.”

“Your curlers are too big for comfortable cuddling, Grace,” I tell her.

“I won’t wear them!”

“There isn’t enough
room
for everyone.”

“We’ll push the beds together! Come on, guys—cuddlefest. Cuddles.” Grace stands up, stares at us, her lips curled into an adorable pout.

I yawn, smiling at her. It feels so good to have a normal conversation. This is why I love my roommates. “Maybe,” I say.

But as normal and sweet and easy as the conversation feels, there’s no forgetting last night, and the feeling of suffocation that took hold of me as I slept.

Once Grace and Franny are both out of the room, Stephanie puts her arm around me. “Are you better now?”

I nod. “Yes. Thanks.”

“Anytime.” She smiles. “Just let someone help you,” she says.

I feel nauseous again, like something is stirring within my gut. There’s no way for me to know what’s about to happen, but it feels like threads from all over are being tugged within my body, attached to something I can’t identify, pulling me apart.

ICE stands for “in case of emergency.” I don’t know how or why, but I think I can sense one coming.