Page 81 of Miss Behaved
“—you’ve reached Carson, leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
I hang up, the sound of his voice stirring in my belly. It’s only eight, so there’s no way he’s already in bed. He’s probably either out or dodging my call. He’d be justified in either. Tucking my phone in my pocket, I look up at the sky, which is dark and void of stars with the light pollution from the city.
Nothing to wish on.
No take-backs.
If I could, I’d rewind to sitting in Carson’s rental truck, looking up at the sharp shine of stars in the desert sky. Back to being in his arms and consumed by the woodsy scent of the forest he’s carried for as long as I can remember. I’d rewind all the way back to the porch, when he sat down beside me, knowing then it was the start of something bigger.
But that’s the problem with mistakes: you can’t take them back. You just have to live with them.
Every story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. And I’m worried Carson and I have just reached the final page of ours.
33
Monica
Ifitcouldstopraining already, that would be great. I get it, universe, you’re mad that I’m acting a fool. But there’s already enough thunderstorms going on in my head at the moment. I don’t need them on the outside too.
My parents’ house is the last place I want to be right now, even if I should be excited to see my family. But the house next door is taunting me. If it could stick its tongue out, I’m sure it would.
The bastard.
It stirs mixed feelings every time I see it. Ever since Carson’s dad passed and another family moved in. A kid’s bicycle sits on the front walkway, and wind chimes hang on the porch.
Life breathed into it.
When Carson lived there, it always felt cold, closed off. He was the warmest thing about it. I look up at his window, now covered with magenta curtains, and close my eyes to imagine what it looked like with him standing there.
“Monica!” My eyes fly open as my mom comes through the front door. She stops at the edge of the porch and waves me in. “Get in here, you’re soaked.”
I am?
I look down and realize my umbrella is hanging at my side and I’m standing in the pouring rain. I rush toward the porch and shake my hair out, spraying my mom with water, and she laughs.
“I’m so happy to see you,” she says, ignoring the fact that I’m dripping wet and pulling me in for a hug.
It feels good to be in her arms, finding relief from the weight behind my ribs, even if only for a moment. Rain splatters the pavement as she holds me. And I grip tighter.
“Feels good to be home,” I tell her when we finally break apart, and in her arms I mean it. Even with Carson’s house next door, there is no place I’d rather be right now.
Mom brushes my wet curls back and smiles, the wrinkles around her mouth drawing deeper.
“Let’s get you dried up,” she says.
I take my bag to my old room, still just as I left it. Boy band posters cover the walls, and it makes me smile remembering how much Carson hated them. Those and my awful pink bedspread. He used to complain about how I was always so bright—my room, my clothes. But I saw the glimmer in his eyes, and I’m pretty sure he secretly liked it.
“This place is a tragedy,” Merry says, coming through the doorway. She thinks it’s ridiculous that my parents have kept our rooms the same after all these years, especially mine since it looks like aTiger Beatmagazine threw up in it.
“Hey, sis.” I reach in for a hug, but she one-arms it.
Merry is beautiful under the scowl and thick makeup. Her hair is jet black, matching her clothes, but she’s wearing a coating of bronze shimmer on her eyelids that brings out the gold flecks in her eyes.
“Do you own anything that isn’t black?” My eyes skim over her outfit: dark ripped jeans and a black skintight long-sleeve shirt. Rings fill her fingers on both hands, and she’s wearing a black satin choker.
“Do you own anything that won’t make me go blind?” she shoots back, pretending to cover her eyes as if my neon-orange T-shirt is blinding her.
“I missed you.”
