Free The Story of Us by Deb Caletti Page B

beach, and there it went, working like a charm again. First, awkward silence. And then I complimented Hailey’s sweatshirt. Wow, it was like using the secret key on the golden door. The door swung open, and I heard about Hailey’s boyfriend, Brad; it was his terrific sweatshirt Hailey was wearing, given to her on a cold night, how sweet, but then she’d kept it and it was like having his big, warm arms around her all the time, even though he wanted itback. Her great ring was a gift from her mother, after Hailey got in to UBC, where she was studying environmental science because her mother thought alternative resources would be the wave of the future. She didn’t mind, though, because the building was near the gym where the football players worked out, and Brad would have to understand: You could look , but not touch . Brad could be so insecure .
    Amy ran track ( You’re lucky you’re so tall, I’d said), because all the cutest guys ran track, and she played the clarinet too, even if the band kids were geeks. She used to dance until she quit, which caused a big fight with her mother, who thought she had a real future with ballet. You’re really mature for your age ticked off her sister, but opened the secret door behind the secret door, just like in those adventure movies, where the right stone is touched and the cave wall swivels and there is a shimmering treasure, but a forbidden one, riddled with skulls and bones of those who came before. Her mother didn’t think she was mature, obviously, Amy said. She hadn’t even wanted them to come on this trip. She didn’t even know this woman their father would be marrying, who would now be spending time with her children. What if their father had chosen another one like that Denise, with the kid who took drugs? What’s his name, with the tattoo? Amy said. Freak Job Junior, Hailey answered. Amy rolled her eyes. Still, Mom wanted to come on this trip with us! I’m not six.
    By the time we got back, Hailey had let me try on her ring and Amy was teaching me dance moves on the sand, which Ihope no one saw. I felt a little ashamed, manipulative—you could press on other people’s egos for your own reasons, and it worked too well. It felt wrong, even if it helped things between us. I also felt tired. Egos were hungry things. Like Ben and Janssen, you could feed it breakfast, and a half hour later it would want pizza. You could start out using and end up being used, and by the time I got back up to the house, Amy and Hailey seemed full and happy, and I felt nothing but empty and exhausted.
    I needed a nap now too, and so I headed upstairs to my own room. In the stairwell I could hear music coming from the floor above mine. A guitar. My feet had a plan of their own, or so I told myself. At his half-open door I glanced in. He saw me. He was sitting on his bed, playing that guitar, but he stopped strumming then and met my eyes.
    “You wanna come in?” he asked. Ash. His dark hair, his olive skin—so different than Janssen’s. His long fingers rested flat on the strings to still their hum.
    “That’s okay,” I said.
    “I’ll play you something,” he said.
    No words came. Here I was, almost eighteen. Supposedly going away to college next year. Supposedly a smart, confident person. But I fled, like I was a child who’d just come across a Stranger, capital S , offering candy. That dangerous man your mother warned you about.
    It was embarrassing, God, but I quickly turned away. I went back downstairs like I was being chased. I shut my door;my heart was pounding as if I’d been running. I actually put my hand to my chest, the way people do in the movies when they’re having a heart attack.
    I tried to lie down. But of course I couldn’t sleep. Suddenly, I was completely awake.
    I don’t know why we do it. But sometimes we just swim straight for the net.

chapter
eight
     
     
Dear Janssen—
     
I miss you. I miss you so, so much. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but