My Life After Now - By Jessica Verdi Page 0,39

the removal date.

But now it seemed she had the two things she’d always wanted, and I wasn’t a part of any of it.

I went up to her in homeroom and spoke to her for the first time in weeks. “Are you going out with Steven Kimani?” I said.

Courtney tried, unsuccessfully, to hide her smile. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t even know you liked him,” I said.

“Well, you haven’t exactly been around lately.”

“Don’t have sex with him, okay?” I blurted out. I don’t know what made me say it—it wasn’t even an appropriate response to her comment.

A shadow crossed Courtney’s face. “Excuse me?”

“Just…trust me. Nothing good can come of it.”

“That’s rich, coming from you!” Her voice was rising. “Go away, Lucy.”

Max came into the classroom right then.

He looked from Courtney to me, confused. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Lucy has decided that it’s somehow her business whether I do it with Steven or not,” Courtney announced, apparently not caring that people were starting to look.

I couldn’t help but notice Evan’s head snap up. He was listening to our every word.

“Never mind. I’m sorry I said anything,” I muttered, and walked out.

Max followed me down the hall.

“What do you want?” I barked, spinning on my heels.

“What exactly did you say to her in there?”

I sighed. “I told her not to have sex with Steven.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

I gave a noncommittal shrug.

“Listen, Lucy, just because things didn’t work out for you and Ty or Evan or that guitar guy doesn’t mean it won’t for Courtney and Steven. Just stay out of it. Don’t ruin this for her.”

I shook my head and gave a little sarcastic laugh. “You have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, Max, so why don’t you stay out of it?”

“Fine,” he said.

“Fine,” I said back.

We stared each other down there in the empty hallway for a suspended, unblinking moment, and for just the tiniest split-second I thought I saw something sad in his face, something that made me think that maybe he was just as unhappy as I was with the way things between us had deteriorated. But then it was gone, and the anger was back, and we went our separate ways.

• • •

“Lu! Dinner’s almost ready!” Dad called.

Reluctantly, I put my guitar down and slogged downstairs. The kitchen smelled amazing.

My dads had decided to forgo the usual full-day Thanksgiving marathon visit to both sides of the family and instead opted for cooking a small dinner at home. Not having to put on a happy-untroubled-teenager act for my grandparents was what I was most thankful for this year.

“The turkey just needs a few more minutes in the oven, and then we’ll be ready to eat,” Papa said, moving around the place settings to find room for the salad bowl.

I stared at the table. The roasted potatoes were there and so was the stuffing. But there was also an unfamiliar brownish puffy-looking thing in a casserole dish. “What’s that?” I asked.

“Lisa made it,” Dad said. “Wasn’t that nice?”

Nice and Lisa weren’t two words I’d put in the same sentence. “But what is it?”

“Steak and kidney pie,” Lisa said proudly.

“Steak and kidney pie,” I repeated, just to make sure I’d heard right.

She nodded. “It’s English. Try it.”

“Sounds…good,” I said, and turned my attention back to the actual edible food on the table.

Papa came in with the turkey. “Ta da!” he proclaimed, placing the turkey in the center of the table. “Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!”

The turkey was golden, cooked to perfection, and…revolting. A dead bird was lying in the middle of our kitchen table. A headless carcass, wings folded, innards confiscated. Those visible dark veins used to house pumping blood. A reminder that no matter where I looked, death was following me.

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and fought the urge to bolt. “Papa,” I whispered, “can you get that thing out of here, please?”

“What thing? The turkey?” he asked.

“Yes.”

I could only imagine Dad and Papa’s silent exchange—they were probably engaging in a series of concerned glances and word-mouthing. There was some shuffling and clanking of dishes, and then Papa said, “Okay, it’s gone.”

I opened my eyes and blinked against the light. The turkey was nowhere to be seen. “Thanks,” I muttered.

“Lucy—” Dad began gently.

But I stopped him. “Let’s eat,” I said, and speared a potato with my fork. Dad and Papa seemed to understand that I didn’t want to talk about it, but Lisa was another story.

“What the bloody hell was that all about?” she said.

Silence. Three pairs of curious eyes pointed my way.