Please Don't Tell - Laura Tims Page 0,46
would come. Now I don’t want her to know I’m still stealing the sadness that should belong to her. I’m sucking the heart out of her and I don’t know how to stop.
I go to throw away the stupid college envelope, but then I notice there’s no return address. What college is it even from? Mom probably glanced at it, saw it was for me, and hoped. I dump the contents onto my desk.
A DVD, and a note.
Joy Morris—
I slam my hands over the note, covering the words. I need to focus on my sister, I can’t do this, I can’t—
I tear through the bottom drawer of my desk, find a full minibottle of Schnapps. I’m sorry, Grace. Levi’s dad flashes into my head, but I force him out and I down the bottle, swallow, swallow, good.
Then I call Preston.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
“What’s wrong? Did you get another note?”
“I give up.” My voice is strangled, wet. “I’m making things worse for you and Grace and I need to take myself away so you guys are safe from me, but I’m too scared to be alone. It’s the worst thing to hate how you are but not know how to change.”
“Joy—”
“I deserve all this, you know? I deserve all of this.”
“Shut up.”
I shut up because I don’t think he’s ever said that to someone before in his life.
“Shut up and stop being a jerk to yourself,” he says, all wavery. “I’m standing up for you.”
“I’m not a bully.”
“Right now you are.” He breathes out. “Read me what the note says, and I will help you figure it out.”
“I don’t want anyone to have to help me anymore—”
“Too bad! That’s life. People help people. Now tell me what it says.”
Grace doesn’t need help.
But instead of saying that, I smooth out the note, blink until my eyes are clear, and start to read.
TWELVE
July 29
Grace
THE RAZOR CLATTERS TO THE BATHROOM floor. Blood wells on Joy’s knee. She groans, balanced on the edge of the tub. “I never shave my knees. But apparently you have to be all slippery smooth like a dolphin if there’s even a chance of a chance that a boy might see you naked.”
There’s less of a chance than that. But Joy and I have spent the last two hours in the bathroom anyway, preparing to go to Adam’s house. I feel sanded down, purified. We change into the outfits we bought for this night: Leggings and a loose, sheer shirt for me. A summer dress for Joy.
In her room, she throws herself on her bed, opens her laptop. “I was doing research. Listen to this. ‘Here’s how to ask for what you want in bed without bruising his ego . . . or anything else.’ That’s ominous.”
I crowd in beside her. “‘Top ten shortcuts to orgasm.’ Like keyboard shortcuts?”
“Command D.”
And then we’re both snorting. She collapses against her pillow, chest bouncing. I collapse with her. We’re sisters again. Better: friends.
“We’re not really going to have sex,” she admits.
“Obviously.” But I have this tiny thought: What if I do and she doesn’t? What if I finally pull ahead of her? I haven’t told her about the nude modeling.
If I can tap my heel against her bed thirteen times before she gets up, it’s my turn to lead her by the hand to wilder places.
She stares up at the smiley-face stickers she plastered all over her ceiling in third grade. It would never occur to her to scrape them off. “I’ve talked to Cassius, like, a grand total of never.”
He hasn’t shown me the painting yet—he says it’s not done. I’ll tell her when it’s done.
“I look at Cassius, and he’s wearing clothes, and then in my head, he stops wearing clothes. I thought it was a guy thing, thinking about naked people all the time.” She presses her palms to her eyelids, messing up the mascara I did for her.
“I mostly just think about me and Adam . . . talking.” I sink into the mattress.
She toys with her hair for a silent minute. “Are you in love with him?”
“No!” And yet. “I just . . . I want to, like, ask him if . . . It’s hard to explain.”
If I could take a damaged person and love him better, wouldn’t that fix me, too?
“Is it bad to want to have sex with someone and not be in love with him?” Joy asks the ceiling after a minute.
“It’s just sex.” It’s so easy to sound like I know what