The Sea of Tranquility(76)
Author: Katja Millay

“Of course I know she has feelings. Do you know how smart that girl is? No. Nobody does, because she doesn’t want you to know. She doesn’t want you to know she’s funny and sweet either – yes, I used the word sweet and if you ever mention it again there will be consequences.” He shoots me the look-into-my-eyes-and-feel-my-wrath glare before continuing. “You know who knows those things? I do. So, yes, Nastya, I know she has feelings and I know how to hurt every one of them.”

“So that’s what you do? You feel guilty for hurting her so you make up for it by hurting her more? You’re the definition of a jackhole. Why wouldn’t you have just apologized to her right after it happened? Told people the truth?” I close the laptop and push it aside.

“Because she was so pissed. She broke up with me and said I was everything she ever knew I was and that people were right, that she was pathetic for believing anything else.”

“And that was it?”

Apparently that wasn’t even close to it. He proceeds to tell me that the night Tierney laid all of that on him, he went to a party and had sex with Kara Matthews.

“Why the hell would you do that?” Nothing Drew does should surprise me at this point; but this does.

“Because I was depressed and pissed and I lost her because I was a prick so I figured I might as well act like one.”

“You know, for someone who thinks he’s such an awesome debater, your logic is seriously flawed. You hadn’t lost her. You didn’t lose her until you screwed Kara Matthews. It was a test.”

“First of all, I am an awesome debater. Second of all, it was not a test. She broke up with me for real. She hated me.”

“That’s why it was a test.” How is it that an inexperienced, social loser like me can grasp this and Drew Leighton cannot? “She handed you a golden opportunity to prove her wrong. Instead, you stuck your dick in Kara Matthews and proved that Tierney meant absolutely nothing and that every bad thing she ever thought about you was true.”

I can’t pretend not to know why I adore Drew Leighton. He’s as f**ked up and emotionally stunted as I am, just in a different way. But, right now, I kind of hate him for being so astronomically clueless. I walk over and wrap my arms around him and put my head on his shoulder, because I know what self-loathing looks like and if I want there to be hope for me, I need there to be hope for him.

“You really are an ass**le,” I say.

He sighs and rests his chin on the top of my head. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

***

I end up staying long enough that Mr. and Mrs. Leighton and Sarah get home and I’m roped into having dinner with them, which isn’t such a dreadful thought now that Sarah is not my mortal enemy anymore.

Sometime after the dinner party from hell, Sarah decided she didn’t completely despise me. That whole night may have been the definition of a bad idea, but if one good thing came out of it, it’s that somehow the tension between she and I has dissipated. It’s not like we’re swapping sex stories and bra shopping together, but still. If I knew that teaching her how to knock a guy on the ground would endear her to me, I would have done it months ago. Nevertheless, things have gotten easier, maybe almost nice.

“You’d look a lot better without all that make-up,” she tells me, and I think it’s her idea of a compliment. I don’t know if I’d look better, or just different, but I’m not ready to give it up. “If you looked normal you could have more friends. You know, even with the not talking. People are kind of scared of you.”

Good. That’s the plan. The conversation is pretty one-sided, but it’s better than being scowled at, insulted and generally treated like a pariah, which is what I’m used to from Sarah.

“Not everybody can be as socially blessed as you, Sarah,” Drew chimes in. “It’s a gift being related to me.”

“No, it’s a curse,” she says and it’s genuine.

“Right. As if you’d have half as many friends or go on half as many dates if I weren’t your brother.” I think Drew is joking but it sets her off, and when I hear what she says, I don’t blame her. I feel sorry for her instead.

“You’re absolutely right! That’s the f**king problem, Drew! Girls all want to be friends with me because they think it’s a free pass to you. Guys want to go out with me because they figure I’m a cheap slut like you. You want to take credit for my social life? Go ahead. You are responsible for it.” She pauses because she’s so worked up and I can tell Drew is wishing he never said anything because he didn’t see this coming at all. I don’t even want to be in the room anymore. I wonder if anybody here has an invisibility cloak I could borrow, because that would be awesome.

“I hate being your sister!” Sarah hisses. “I would do anything to not be related to you!”

Drew doesn’t say anything else. No cocky comebacks. No derision. He just walks out and leaves me with Sarah, who starts to cry. I’m seriously hoping they have some ice cream here, because without words, it’s pretty much the only thing I’ve got to work with.

“I hate him,” she says through tears, and I know that she doesn’t, but I can’t tell her that.

***

Later that night, we push all the furniture to the side of the room again and offer to give Mr. and Mrs. Leighton a demonstration of Sarah’s up and coming self-defense skills. I drag Drew back into the room and offer him up as an assailant and then refresh Sarah’s memory on how to cause him bodily harm. And Drew lets her do it as many times as she needs to, even when she doesn’t pull back enough and it’s really starting to hurt. Then the last time he comes at her from behind, he whispers I’m sorry before wrapping his arms around her. There’s a part of me that’s hoping she’ll press her arms up and out before dropping straight down out of his grasp, driving her elbow back into him and then running like I taught her, but I’m glad she doesn’t when he apologizes again and she turns in his arms and hugs him back.

Just as he loosens up, she stomps on his instep for real, then mock knees him in the groin and Mrs. Leighton applauds.

CHAPTER 41

Nastya

“You’re destroying your hands,” Josh tells me, picking them up and turning them over to look at my palms. I pull them back, but I can’t help smiling because it’s a compliment. It’s even better than being called distractingly pretty.