Everything Changes-The Summer I Turned Pretty

Twelve

The house is dark when we get back. I go straight up to my room, thankful that Belly is still gone.

I collapse on our bed and bury my face in my pillow and cry.

I cry from the shock and fear I felt when I saw Conrad about to get hurt, from the embarrassment of needing to be watched at my first party, and from the pain that still throbs on the side of my face.

I wipe my nose when I finally pull away from my pillow. I click on the lamp on the bedside table and look at myself in the mirror. A bruise is already forming by my eye, and there's a little dry blood by my ear from getting cut by the glass. Lines of mascara run down my cheeks.

I need to get cleaned up before I fall asleep, and crying tired me out enough. I drag myself off my bed to go to the bathroom.

I pass Jeremiah's room. His door is shut and no light is coming out from underneath it so I assume he's asleep. Or at least trying to be.

The bathroom door is halfway closed and the light is on. I give it a soft knock before pushing it open. Conrad's inside, sitting on the floor and holding his head.

"Connie?" I say, crouching down but keeping my distance.

He waves me away and speaks slowly. "I'm fine, I'm fine. I just don't feel very good,"

I take a single step forward which causes him to look up. Conrad's eyes widen and his face seems to get more pale. "Kris, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to..." he coughs and leans over the bath tub like he's going to throw up.

"It looks worse than it feels," I lie. I'm next to him now and rubbing circles on his back. I sigh. "I bet Jere's mad at both of us."

"Who cares who Jere's mad at?" Conrad snaps. "It's my fault anyways. If I wasn't there then I wouldn't be drunk then I wouldn't have hit you then–" his voice cracks and he leans against me, his head in his hands again.

Even drunk, Conrad's storm cloud still hangs over him. I'm not sure what to do and want Jeremiah to come and help, no matter how upset he is with us. Or maybe Mom.

"Do you want me to tell Mom you're sick?" I ask.

"No," Conrad says weakly. His arms have goosebumps and his hair is damp with sweat. He's breathing quicker than usual and I wonder if that's a side effect of being drunk.

"Okay. Well, what can I do?"

"Stay here and talk to me," he tells me. "Please."

I stay quiet, unsure about what to talk about. How I had a terrible night? About how this summer is nothing like it usually is?

"Jeremiah's better at storytelling if you want him," I say.

He shakes his head. "Nevermind. You should probably go to bed anyway."

I pull away from him and Conrad loses his balance, tipping into the wall. I watch him readjust himself as I say, "Stop that. Everyone needs to quit telling me what to do."

"I'm sorry." His face looks apologetic and I believe him.

"Conrad, what's going on?"

He takes a shaky breath. "It's my problem, you don't need to worry about it now."

"Well, it's affecting me so I think it is my problem. And Jere's and Steven's and Belly's."

"No, not theirs. Leave Belly and Steven out of this."

"This is about Mom and Dad, isn't it?" I ask.

Whenever people hear about us, stories about the Fisher family, they think of us as perfect. Perfect parents, perfect children, a perfect home. But behind closed doors, Mom and Dad's relationship is strained. It has been, ever since Dad cheated on Mom when she had cancer. It's been years, yet the problem hasn't been resolved. At this point it is obvious that they're probably going to get a divorce.

"Conrad, you're going to college," I continue when he stays quiet. "It's me and Jere that will have to deal with them, not you. Forget about them. Focus on us, on this summer."

"Right," he clears his throat. "You're right. Focus on you and Jere and the summer."

"Promise?"

"Okay," he clears his throat again. "Yeah."

I sigh with relief. "Thank you, Connie." He gives me a weak smile and I return it. I stand up and head to the sink. "I need to wash up now, then I'll go to bed. Are you sure you don't want me to get Jere or Mom?"

"I'm sure," he says. "I'm going to bed too. Good night Kristin."

I pause from scrubbing the mascara stains off my face. "'Good night. Remember your promise, Con, okay?"

"Yeah," he says, passing me and entering the hall quietly. I hear his door softly close.

With a mixture of relief and still a little concern, I go to bed.