Looking At Us

57. megan

The next morning, Shain was so giddy that I suspected someone (Cori) had put a heap of sugar in her Cheerios. She wasn’t ADHD like Darrin, but she was definitely energetic. She kept bouncing in her seat, knocking over her juice, and talking really fast. I kept looking at Cori or Erick, since they probably had something to do with it. 

     ‘‘Who gave Shain the sugar?’’ Cori asked during breakfast, mirroring my thoughts, but also telling me that she wasn’t the culprit behind Shain’s excitement.  

     Shain frowned. ‘‘What sugar? I’m not hyper.’’

     I said, ‘‘Sure you aren’t.’’

     ‘‘Hey, Erick!’’ said Cori. ‘‘You should kiss Shain for us.’’

     ‘‘What the hell, Cori? Why are you asking Erick to kiss Shain for us at breakfast?’’

     ‘‘Because they’re cute together. Go on, guys!’’

     I rolled my eyes at Cori and watched as Erick leaned over and pressed his lips to Shain’s, putting a hand on her neck and rubbing the skin along her jaw. Shain seemed to relax for one second, but when Erick broke the kiss, Shain giggled in a very un-Shain-like way, and Erick grinned and kissed her again, which really didn’t help. 

     Cori was beaming. I think I had some sort of weird smirk/frown on my face. 

     Erick said, ‘‘Rare.’’

     ‘‘Rare?’’ Shain repeated. 

     ‘‘This breakfast. It’s . . . rare. Like, in a good way.’’

     I frowned. It didn’t seem too unusual; four teenagers sitting on the sun deck at nine a.m., eating different meals that were mostly breakfast-y. I looked down at my muffin, crumbling beside my kiwis, and I guess it was kind of a special breakfast. Cori had scrambled eggs. Erick had toast and a peach. Shain had Cheerios. 

     I said, ‘‘It’s enjoyable.’’

     Cori added, ‘‘Yes.’’

     Shain nodded. ‘‘Delightful.’’

     That day was the morning of our return back home, so we packed and cleaned the bedroom and caught Shain and Erick making out when Cori and I had our backs turned quite a few times. 

     ‘‘You guys are almost worse than Sasha and Darrin,’’ Cori said, picking up a big blue hoody that didn’t look like hers. ‘‘Next thing you know, you’ll be stripping in bed. Oh, damn, I should go return this to Jake. But I have to finish packing . . .’’

     Shain and Erick seemed offended at the ‘stripping in bed’ part. I said, ‘‘I’ll take it to him. I’m done everything, and I could use a quick walk. Know where he would be?’’

     She shrugged. ‘‘Probably at the cliffs, drunk as a pirate. Just look for his truck.’’

     So I went into town and hiked up to the cliffs of last night’s party. Some of the memories were coming back to me now—the taste of the alcohol, the feel of Jake’s lips on mine, the smell of the smoke in the air—and I was surprised with my reaction. Some of the memories were nice. Some were just horrible. I held his sweater to my nose and sniffed, and I could smell his aftershave and the smoke from the fire, a pure aroma of Jake. It made me miss Cris, for some reason.

     I found Jake sprawled out on the ground, smothered in dirt and dried booze, still sleeping. His shirt was off. I wondered if he’d had some sort of affair with a secret girl after we’d left. 

     ‘‘Wake up, sleepyhead,’’ I told him, kicking him lightly in the leg and dumping his sweater on his face. ‘‘You smell like booze.’’ 

     Jake opened his ice-blue eyes and focused on me. He said, ‘‘A beautiful girl comes to wake me up. Am I dreaming?’’

     ‘‘Shut up. You’re not dreaming. Arise, my great ruler.’’

     He pulled himself up and stretched, beautifully exposing his muscles and his athletic structure, and then he mussed up his yellow hair. He tugged up his jeans. He picked up a wrinkled beer can, peered inside it, and chugged the rest of the liquid down. Then he collapsed against the same rock we’d been kissing on. 

     ‘‘Fuck it,’’ he said, exhaling and inhaling like he’d ran for five miles. ‘‘Damn, damn, damn. How long have I been here? Are you guys leaving today?’’

     ‘‘Dammit, don’t swear,’’ I replied, crossing my arms. ‘‘You’ve been here since last night, I guess, unless you sleepwalk. Yes, we are leaving in a few hours. Cori wanted me to give you back your sweater.’’ 

     ‘‘Tell Cori thank you,’’ he said, putting it on rather gracefully, ‘‘and tell her to stop fricken texting me, ‘cause she and I will never get together. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it works.’’ 

     ‘‘Wait, she’s texting you? She has a crush on you?’’

     ‘’I wouldn’t call it a crush. More like a mad obsession.’’ 

     I frowned, thinking that this made no sense, because Cori wasn’t too obsessive, and she had a boyfriend. As I was thinking, Jake pulled out his phone and texted something to someone, then glanced at me. A smile was tugging at the edge of his lips, those same lips that had kissed me so passionately last night.

     ‘‘Cori doesn’t have a crush on you,’’ I said slowly. ‘‘You have a crush on Cori. No, wait—you’re telling me all this to make me jealous!’’

     Jake grinned lazily. ‘‘Huh. You’re smarter than you look, Blondie.’’

     ‘‘Don’t freaking call me Blondie. You asshole! What the hell is your game here?’’

     He looked at the beer can at his feet and kicked it. Glancing back at me, he said, ‘‘You said you’re recovering from a breakup. So am I, actually. We kissed last night.’’

     ‘‘Are you suggesting—oh, God. God, Jake.’’

     He walked up to me. ‘‘I am offering you a choice to stay. To come here for the summer, stay at my place, hang out. Is this your first breakup, Megan? No, I didn’t think so. You’re experienced. So am I. So stay with me.’’ 

     He started singing—rather terribly—to Sam Smith’s Stay With Me, but I wasn’t in the mood for music. Jake was standing a foot away from me. My head was incredibly clouded with thoughts, and I was so pissed off. I probably punched him or kissed him. 

     I remembered that we were leaving in a few hours. I pushed Jake away, tripped on a rock, but steadied myself and walked off. 

     ‘’Go to hell,’’ I spat. 

     Jake said, ‘‘For you, gladly.’’