Page 14

A T SOME POINT, I MANAGE to cry myself to sleep, which I only know because the ringing of my phone invades my dreams until my searching hand finally locates it and shoves it to my ear. “Hello?” I ask without even bothering to check who’s calling, because that would involve opening my eyes, and that is simply not a thing I can do yet.

“Are you still sleeping?” My mother. “Aren’t you late for breakfast?”

“Breakfast is optional,” I murmur, which turns into a huge yawn, which I know my mother will not appreciate. I check the time. “My alarm will go off in three minutes.”

“Well, sorry to wake you,” she lies, “but I wanted to make sure to tell you before I headed out to work.” She takes a breath, and somehow, I know what she’s going to say before she even says it. “Unfortunately—”

“You can’t make it to Parents’ Weekend.”

“Did your father tell you?”

“No.” I move the phone a few inches so I can sigh in peace. “Just guessed.” Because I tried to think of the worst news you could be delivering, and expected it.

Another pause, and I know she wants to be offended, but also, I was right, so what is there to say? “It’s complicated, and I’m very sorry.” She’s not sorry. “But I’m sure there’ll be plenty of other students there whose parents couldn’t make it, right? You’ll all keep one another company.”

Truthfully, I don’t know anyone else whose parents aren’t coming, but telling my mom that wouldn’t change anything. I don’t know if anything would. Her job as a paralegal doesn’t come with a lot of time off, and any complaints would be met with a speech I’ve heard way too many times about why work has to come first to pay for all these things. Considering my tuition is an added expense they’d never counted on, I’m in no position to bargain.

Then again, she hasn’t mentioned work, and when work is her excuse, she usually wields it with the same excessiveness my sister does mascara. Which makes me suspect this isn’t about work at all. But is it something else real? Or is it entirely made up to get out of seeing me?

Do I even wanna know?

My alarm goes off just then, and it makes the perfect excuse to get off the phone, which I desperately need because I don’t even know how to react to all of these disappointments anymore. Truthfully, Parents’ Weekend hadn’t even been on my radar alongside everything else, but now, all the little things I’ll be missing out on—the way my mom always tries to fix up my hair and tells me I look beautiful whether she succeeded or not, my dad’s Rice Krispies treats and warm hugs—are bringing me right back to the brink of tears.

God, I hate this week.

I also hate showering first thing in the morning, but I feel so disgusting and headachy and in need of a good cry, and the shower is the perfect place to deal with all three. Afterward, I throw my hair in a wet knot—I’ll deal with the aftermath later—pull on my most boring clothes, and lumber out the door in search of coffee and a pastry big enough to stand in for all my feelings.

Sabrina’s already at the Beast when I arrive, and I’m relieved to see she isn’t sitting with Heather. Or Salem, for that matter; I definitely need some caffeine and sugar before I can deal with last night’s whole weird visit. I use the tiny bit of energy I have to give her a little wave and then go retrieve my breakfast before collapsing in the seat next to her and taking a long sip of way-too-hot liquid.

“So, you do exist,” Sabrina says in a casual tone that isn’t casual at all. “I’d been wondering, considering I’ve barely seen you all week and then you bolted out of the talent show. You know I called you three times last night. And I do not make phone calls.”

She did. I saw them. But I couldn’t answer. I didn’t even know if I could get words out last night. I’m still not sure I can get them out now. Because of course the last person at this school I’m actually happy to see is mad at me. Of course I did something to piss her off. Of course her anger is valid. But I don’t have the energy to explain or apologize or defend myself or even formulate words. If I open my mouth, I will cry.

“I’m sorry,” I offer quietly, as soon as I think I can do it without breaking down. “I’m having a bad week, and I needed some air.”

“You know, most people talk to their friends about their bad weeks.”

Would’ve been nice if I could, I think with no small amount of annoyance. I certainly didn’t ask for my boy troubles to involve my best friend at Camden’s roommate. “It wasn’t something I could talk to you about. Can you just trust me on this, please?”

“Sure,” she says flatly, pushing at her limp pancake with her fork.

I know I should continue the conversation, change the subject, ask how the rest of the talent show was, but I don’t have the energy. Instead, we sit in silence, her shredding her breakfast into a thousand pieces she doesn’t eat and me grimacing at every sip of bitter coffee, until finally another tray clatters down across from us and Salem slides in. “Well, looks like everyone’s having a stellar morning.”

God, he’s annoying. “Guessing yours didn’t start with your parents calling to let you know they’re bailing on Parents’ Weekend.”

At that, even Sabrina frowns sympathetically. “That sucks.”

“Yeah, I was looking forward to seeing that hair in triplicate,” Salem says with a grin, taking a huge bite out of his omnipresent green apple.

“You would’ve been disappointed anyway. It’s from my dad’s side, and he’s been rocking a shiny head for years now. My mom’s hair’s straight and brown, and my sister got hers—I’m the only freak,” I say sourly.

“So you’ll hang out with our family,” Salem says with a shrug. “We’re all freaks. You’ll fit right in.”

I cut a glance at Sabrina, who might still be mad, but she nods. “Our parents will be thrilled that we managed to make a single friend between the two of us.”

It’s a nice offer, especially since I’m not exactly her favorite person right now, but the only place I want to spend Parents’ Weekend now is locked in my own room. “As much as I’d love to meet the mythical creatures who somehow spawned both of you, I think I’m just gonna sleep through the whole weekend.”

“Okay, that actually sounds much better than hanging out with parents,” says Salem, his teeth piercing the shiny green skin again. “I wanna do that instead.”

“Not a chance.” Sabrina whacks him on the shoulder, and it’s such a sibling move that my heart aches at the sight of what it must look like to have a real one. “But anyway, if you change your mind, just text me.”

“Thanks,” I mutter into my coffee, knowing that there’s no way in hell I’ll be doing that.

As it turns out, when Parents’ Weekend arrives, they text me before I even get to attempt my grand sleep marathon. SOS, Sabrina sends me in a group text with them both . Need you here ASAP.

I glance at the time—6:03 P.M. Which means they’re only three minutes into the special show-offy parents’ dinner. How could they possibly need me there? I’m sleeping, I write back.

Salem

I keep telling you, Skeevy, that trick does not work.

Sabrina

Plz. Begging.

Evie

If this is an elaborate plan to save me from my own loneliness, I really do not need it.

Which is mostly true, but I’m intrigued; I’ve read like five pages of my book in the last two hours, and I am b-o-r-e-d. And yeah, okay, maybe my brain keeps drifting over to what everyone else is doing, and what it’s like to be sitting in the auditorium-turned-dining-room in the Student Center, poking at pale chicken breast and limp salad along with everybody else.

Sabrina

Uh, no.

Mom is already getting mad about texting. gg see you soon

If my boredom weren’t already getting the better of me, my curiosity would be, so even though I feel I am going to deeply regret this, I pull myself out of bed and throw on jeans and the most decent shirt I can find. Then I dab on a little makeup, try to coax my curls into something a little less bedhead-y, and thread in a pair of earrings. Greentree is a small town, and it’s been a long time since I’ve met a friend’s parents for the first time. I feel like I should look nice, even if I don’t quite know why.

Evie

Where are you sitting?

No answer. Guess their mom really didn’t like them texting at the table. Oh well. I make my way into the auditorium and start picking my way around the tables, searching for a crew that looks like the Addams Family, when suddenly there’s a gasp, a flash of blond hair in my face, a wave of floral perfume, and the squeeze of someone clearly trying to kill me.

Before I can figure out what the hell is going on, the woman holds me at arm’s length, a huge smile spreading across her face as she looks me over from head to toe. “It’s so nice to finally meet Sammy’s girlfriend!”

What the hell, I mouth at Sabrina as her mother leads me to their table a few feet away; the fact that she couldn’t even stay seated to keep watch is only one of many, many things blowing my mind right now.

I’m sorry. Please go with it, she mouths back. I glance at Salem, who has a fake smile on his face that doesn’t quite go with the look in his eyes that says he knows dinner will be followed by his execution. There’s an empty seat next to him, presumably for me, and I slide into it, immediately digging my fingernails into his thigh. He must’ve expected it, because he grits his teeth but doesn’t make a sound.

“Sammy, aren’t you even going to say hi?” Mrs. Grayson asks, retaking her own seat. “Evie, I’m so glad you could come to dinner. Sammy said you were studying, but I knew you’d make it here so we could get to meet you.” She covers my hand with her freckled one, and I’m struck by the fact that she bears absolutely no resemblance to the twins. “Sammy tells me you work very hard.”

I’m working very hard on not choking every time she says “Sammy,” that’s for sure. But as long as I’m here, I may as well have some fun with this. “I do,” I say, nodding. “Sammy and I study together all the time. He’s such a good listener when he needs things explained to him.”

“Which isn’t often,” Salem says through gritted teeth. “But yeah, we make a good team.”

God, it feels like he practiced this. Did he practice this? Was the whole invite at breakfast the day I told them my parents weren’t coming part of this plan? I have so many questions. But now is clearly not the time, because their mom has even more, and I am getting all of them.

Yes, I’m from New Hampshire originally.

No, I don’t know where I want to go to college yet. Of course Dartmouth would be great, but yes, it is very competitive.

No, my parents couldn’t make it—they had to work. Bank branch manager and paralegal. Yes, I also have a sister. A year older. Not sure about college yet either. Maybe UNH, or Radleigh University.

By the time the third degree is over—or at least takes a break for the welcome speech—the Grayson parents probably know more about me than my own do. I kept waiting for Salem to break in, but he just sat there, nodding along as if I were fascinating, because apparently acting is on his list of talents as well. I wasn’t, in fact, particularly interesting, and yet the Graysons are looking at me like I’m the second coming. It’s both weird and such a nice change from the looks I got from my parents in the few months before I came here that I haven’t even stuck a fork in Salem’s leg yet for making me do this without warning or explanation.

Then again, I have a much better idea.

“Gosh, I’ve been talking so much about myself that I haven’t even gotten to ask you any questions,” I say to Mrs. Grayson, clasping my hands on the table. “I am dying to know what Sammy was like as a little boy. He did mention being very late to potty training.”

“I did no such—”

“He told you that?” Mr. and Mrs. Grayson exchange a deep laugh, and now it’s my turn to feel claws digging into my thigh. “He must really like you,” Mr. Grayson adds.

“I know it’s still early,” I say with a happy sigh, retrieving Salem’s grasping hand and twining it with mine on the table in their full view, “but we really are serious about each other. As I’m sure he’s told you.”

The beginning of a snort sounds from Sabrina’s direction, and she quickly covers her nose and mouth in a bad imitation of a sneeze. “Bless you.” I nod serenely in my future sister-in-law’s direction.

“Oh, Sammy hasn’t told us nearly enough,” says Mrs. Grayson, and I’m pretty sure she’s looking at my ring finger, trying to figure out my size. “Just that—”

“—we met in English on the first day,” Salem fills in, squeezing my hand hard enough to break bones, and I realize I’m not to let on to his parents that I live in Rumson. “And that we started studying together every night—”

“We do study together every night,” I confirm with a bob of my head. “He takes studying so seriously. But you of course already know that.”

“We, er, didn’t until now,” says Mr. Grayson, rubbing a hand over his dark, close-cropped hair, “but it sounds like Camden’s been really wonderful for him. I don’t know if he told you, but he was a bit of a troublemaker back home.”

“Oh, yes, he did tell me.” I rest a head on his shoulder, knowing full well he’s getting a mouthful of curls. “So hard to imagine, when he’s such a good boy here.”

“Stop making me sound like a puppy,” he growls into my ear.

“Oh, you are in no position to make demands,” I remind him through gritted teeth.

We all shut up for another speech, and then they bring out the main course, which is a buffet that actually smells pretty good. But when Salem’s parents get up to take food, I tell them we’ll be there in a minute, finally seeing an opportunity to get some answers.

“Okay, you have like one minute to explain this to me before your mom definitely comes back here and grabs us to make sure we’re eating well enough,” I hiss. “And you know I’m serious because I’m not even having us dwell on how hilarious it is that your parents call you Sammy.”

“I knew this was a mistake,” Salem tells Sabrina with narrowed eyes.

“I’m sorry, ” she says to him before turning to me. “It was stupid. My parents were on me about dating and how I need to move on et cetera et cetera and I was trying to deflect, so I kind of accidentally mentioned that Salem has a girlfriend so I could get the heat off me.”

“And how did I become the girlfriend in this scenario instead of, you know, his actual girlfriend?” I demand, posing the question to Sabrina but narrowing my eyes at Salem.

“Jenna’s parents took her away for the weekend, but even if she were here, uh, you just met my mom; you think Jenna would’ve managed so much as a fake smile for her? Besides”— he slides his finger under his knife and pops it up, twirling it seamlessly before carving lines into the tablecloth I don’t think he realizes he’s even drawing—“Jenna’s not my ‘girlfriend.’ It would’ve been weird.”

“Okay, but I’m even less your girlfriend. This is much weirder.”

“Except you have a vested interested in making me look good to my parents,” Salem reminds me in a low voice, his gray eyes flashing silver. “Remember?”

That stupid pact. God. It feels like a million years ago.

“And why’s that?” Sabrina asks.

Crap. I’d forgotten that she was even here, and that she has no idea what we’re talking about. “Just a stupid bet,” I mutter, and I guess we’re just weird enough for that to be sufficient. “Anyway, what happens when Jenna finds out?”

Salem shrugs. “She’ll probably think it’s funny. Or stupid. Or both. You really do not have to worry about Jenna London.”

Every girl on campus has to worry about Jenna London, I think, and then Mrs. Grayson is calling to us, gesturing for us to get in line. We stand to meet them, but as Sabrina moves forward, I grab Salem’s elbow and hold him back. “I’ll play along this weekend,” I tell him, “but that’s the end of this pact. All right?”

He opens his mouth, and I brace myself for mockery, but instead, he lapses into a flash of a smile. “Deal. But you better fill up your plate. Mama Grayson likes a girl with an appetite.”

It’s a weirdly good weekend, all things considered. My parents do text to say they’re sorry they couldn’t make it, and I send them pictures and videos of random stuff they’re missing. Meanwhile, the Graysons take me in like a triplet, insisting I join them for breakfast, at which Mrs. Grayson—“Please! Call me Naomi!”—urges Salem to heap a thousand things on his plate I know he’ll never eat, and suddenly that first breakfast together makes sense. I beg off for the orientation and accompanying seminar, and I’m still trying to decide how to spend the rest of my day when Sabrina swings by and tells me we’re going to lunch.

“Okay, I think there’s a limit to just how much Grayson family time I’m gonna horn in on,” I tell her as she stands tapping her foot in my doorway. “Seriously, you do not need a fifth wheel. Just go.”

“Ew. Did you just imply Salem and I are a couple?”

I roll my eyes. “I feel pretty confident you know what I mean, and you two have been more than implying that Salem and I are a couple all day.”

“Yeah, that part’s pretty damn funny. I keep waiting for Jenna and her parents to show up; Salem doesn’t even know how long they’re gone for.”

“And what exactly is the plan if we bump into them?” I press.

“That’s Salem’s problem,” she says with a shrug, flicking a piece of dust off her ISN’T IT NECROMANTIC? sweater. “Now, come on—you don’t want to offend Ted and Naomi, do you? Their children do that enough already.”

“Don’t you think the more time I spend with you guys, the likelier they are to figure out that Salem and I aren’t a couple?”

Sabrina arches one of her thin brows. “Uh, no. Have you seen the way you two are constantly touching and whispering and finishing each other’s sentences? Half the time I don’t remember you’re not a couple. Now grab your jacket—it’s a wee bit nippy out.”

“ You’re a wee bit nippy,” I snap, busying myself with hunting down my jacket so she won’t see the flush in my cheeks at her comment about me and Salem. We do not act like a couple.

“Well, we can’t all have your assets,” she says with a pointed look at my chest, and as I stomp out after her, slipping my arms into my sleeves, I vow to start making new friends as soon as this weekend is over.

But lunch is surprisingly fun too, and revelatory—I learn about Sabrina’s first pet, a guinea pig who lived up to his job title for way too many of her practice spells, and that Salem was afraid of lightning until junior high and Sabrina’s not convinced he’s over it. (“I’ll protect you,” I assure him in a serious whisper, patting his hand on the table while Naomi Grayson watches us like she’s about to advise on our china pattern.)

Of course, Salem and I are forced to recount our “first date,” and while we definitely do not finish each other’s sentences, it’s pretty easy without even discussing it to simultaneously come up with that first movie night as the setting. Naomi is riveted at the detail that Salem loaned me his jacket (naturally, we give it a very different context), and glows as we one-up each other with stupid additions that make it sound more like Salem took me to Cannes than that we walked together across campus to watch a cheesy movie in an auditorium.

“Sammy.” I swear she’s holding back tears as she squeezes his hand over the table, and okay, maybe I feel a little bit bad for having so much fun with this. “I’m so proud of you. You promised that you’d turn into a real stand-up citizen if you got a fresh start, and you really have.”

The guilt at our deception gives way to a little pride, because this means I have definitely delivered on my half of the bargain. Judging by the way Salem’s cheeks flush as he stares at the tabletop, but without letting go of his mom’s hand, this is exactly what he’s been waiting to hear. And I’m genuinely happy for him that he’s getting to hear it.

This time, when I put a hand on his knee and squeeze, I’m not trying to draw blood.

Still, I find I need a break from the charade; it’s all starting to feel a little too real for comfort, and I don’t like the way Sabrina keeps eyeing us and smirking. I really don’t like thinking about whether this is a shitty thing to do to Jenna—much as she sucks—and how, if it is, I of all people should know better. So after lunch, I’m considerably firmer about not accompanying them on the next portion of their weekend, and I spend the rest of the afternoon playing online poker and reading Sabrina’s and my next GSA read—this time, it’s the football player / cheerleader romance, which Sabs has already grudgingly admitted is better than she expected.

I don’t even realize it’s growing dark around me until a knock sounds at my door, forcing me to look up from the page. “Come in!”

The knob turns and Salem lets himself inside, holding one of the beige clamshells they keep at the Beast for takeout. My stomach rumbles at the sight; missing dinner may have been a necessary sacrifice for privacy, but it wasn’t a welcome one. “Any chance that’s for me?”

“You know it is,” he says, perching on the edge of my desk. “Complete with extra garlic bread, in thanks for your service this weekend.”

“Good thing I won’t actually be kissing anyone tonight,” I say, motioning for him to hand over the food. Mmm, garlic bread . “So, your parents seemed pretty eager to buy that.”

“Right?” He shakes his head. “It’s so bizarre. I think it’s a weird PTSD reaction to Sabrina’s breakup with Molly, or something. It was rough.”

I pluck a piece of garlic bread from the clamshell and take a careful bite; I’m definitely not trying to sleep in crumbs tonight. “Looks to me like they actually care about seeing you happy and well adjusted. Novel concept, I know.”

He snorts. “This may be hard for you to believe, but I was fine and even relatively well adjusted at my old school. I mean, yeah, I smoked a lot of weed, skipped some classes, and got in trouble occasionally—”

“Salem. You got caught spray-painting unspeakably raunchy pictures of Daniel Tiger on a public wall.”

“First of all, that’s disgusting. Daniel Tiger is a child. The pictures were of his parents, and it’s not my fault they’re so foxy.”

“Do you ever actually listen to yourself speak?”

“Nah, who wants to hear that noise?” He rakes a hand through his hair, and it falls back in his eyes immediately. “Anyway, thank you. I know we didn’t give you a whole lot of choice in signing on for that this weekend, but you made my parents happy, and they really needed a win.”

Don’t I know that feeling… “So, you think they liked me?”

He rolls his eyes. “They fucking loved you.”

That shouldn’t make me nearly as happy as it does. “What’d they say?”

His mouth quirks up in a grin. “That it was nice to finally meet someone in our circle with an ounce of social grace.”

Social grace. I don’t think anyone in the world has ever said anything like that about me before, and I like the sound of it.

Frankly, it makes me a little disappointed that it was fake, too. Not because of Salem, of course, but I’ll miss his parents and their warm seal of approval.

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye,” I say, and I mean it.

“Don’t worry—I told them you had cramps. They got it.”

“Oh my God, I despise you.”

He smirks. “No, you don’t. I’m the bringer of emergency tampons. And garlic bread.”

“And trouble. Always trouble.”

“That too. But listen—”

The ringing of my cell phone cuts him off, and we both instinctively glance over and see the call is coming from my mom. “I haven’t been able to connect with my parents for more than a text all weekend, so I should probably take this,” I say apologetically, grabbing it from my nightstand. “But we’ll talk tomorrow?”

He nods. “Yeah, okay. G’night, Skeevy.”

I answer the phone as I watch him go, but wait to speak until the door closes behind him. “Hey, Mom.”

“Evie.” She sighs, and I want to remind her that she called me, and I haven’t said nearly enough to exhaust her yet. “I’m sorry, again, that we couldn’t make it this weekend. We’re… we’re with your sister.”

“Of course you are,” I say before I can stop myself. “Of course Sierra’s the reason you’re not here. What is it now? Meeting with Principal Myers? Angry parent? Did she get another bootleg tattoo?”

There’s a long silence, and I worry that maybe I’ve gone too far, until she speaks again. “We’re in a rehab facility in Vermont, Everett. Your sister’s checking in.”