The Bright Effect Page 8

  “I’m sorry,” I say finally, my voice croaky.

  “I’m sorry too.”

  And then she looks at me and I get this feeling—this I’m screwed feeling—like I’m standing on a high ledge and I know there is a choice to be made here. I can either back down off the ledge or I can jump. Either way, I’m about to lose my place.

  “Do you think there’s something out there?” she asks, voice solemn. “I mean, after?”

  “I honestly don’t know, but I hope so.”

  Amelia lets that sink in. “Daphne thinks that it’s impossible so we have to get all our living in while we can.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I’m not sure but, like anything that exists, we’re all just atoms, right? We’re pretty much the same as the stars or sand,” she says, lifting her hand and letting the sand on her palm fall between the cracks of her fingers, “or leaves on trees or water or sky, so I guess we can’t disappear completely. It could be—” she pauses and takes a breath, “—that we just become something different.”

  Maybe it’s weird to think about kissing Amelia when we’re sitting on the beach at midnight talking about our dead mothers and whether or not there’s an afterlife, but with the night winding its spell around us and my heart beating a rhythmic chant in my chest, that’s exactly what I’m doing. And when she turns to me and her face is so close to mine that I can make out the freckles dusting the bridge of her nose, the impulse hits me so hard that it almost hurts.

  “Does that sound crazy?” she asks me in a small voice.

  “No, that sounds right to me,” I tell her as I look away and try to unravel the tight feeling in my abdomen.

  I don’t want to like her. I don’t want to feel anything like the way I’m feeling because I already know where it’s going to lead. No way does a girl like Amelia Bright ever choose me and my complicated life.

  Not ever.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Amelia

  It’s funny how the ride out to the beach seemed to go by so fast, rushing by in clips of black sky and shadowy fields, but the ride home is slower, heavier somehow.

  Or maybe I’m imagining it’s that way because back at the beach was one of the best times of my life and I’m nervous that Sebastian doesn’t think the same thing. And then I start wondering why I’m so concerned with what he thinks about it or me or anything else for that matter. It’s not like this is a date. This is… actually, I’m not sure what this is.

  Fifteen minutes into the drive home, if I’m going by the clock on my phone, he clicks his blinker on and pulls off the road into a deserted parking lot in front of a run-down gas station.

  “Sorry,” he says, yanking the parking brake, “I’m going to have to grab some caffeine to stay up. Do you want anything?”

  Sure. How about a clue as to what you’re thinking?

  But I don’t say this. Obviously.

  I just nod my head and follow him into the empty gas station. The place is far too bright and smells like boiled peanuts. Buried behind the counter there’s an old guy reading a fishing magazine. He eyes us with suspicion for a second and then seems to decide that we’ll do and goes back to his lures and hooks. I leave Sebastian by the humming freezers and meander toward the row of candy.

  “Red Vines?” Sebastian balks when I set my bag up on the register counter next to the energy drink he grabbed.

  “Uh… is that not okay?” I ask, feeling terrifically self-conscious.

  “No, it’s fine,” he says hastily. “But most people go for Twizzlers.”

  “That’s because they can’t appreciate the sweet, plasticky awesomeness that is Red Vines.”

  He laughs and I realize how much he’s smiled and laughed tonight. Because of me. And that knowledge has me feeling weird and almost giddy.

  After we pay, we sit in the car for a bit, not going anywhere, just passing the bag of Red Vines back and forth and talking. Sebastian plays songs for me on his phone—mainly 70s punk bands that I’ve never heard of—and tries to teach me some of the lyrics.

  And then the dashboard clock flips to three in the morning, and he turns to the cracked vinyl steering wheel and says, “I should get you home. Your parents are probably going to go batshit.”

  “I’m sure they went to bed at ten and have no idea that I’m not there. And Daphne would have called if there was a problem,” I say, checking my phone just to be sure I haven’t missed anything. “She might be mad, but she wouldn’t let me get into trouble. It’s twin code.”

  “You’re not worried about a middle of the night bed check?”

  I laugh. “Daddy might wake up on occasion to check on Daphne, but I’ve never given him a reason to worry.”

  “So none of the guys you’ve dated have kept you out all night plying you with Red Vines?”

  It comes off as a joke, but I get the sense that there’s an underlying question there. He wants to know about my lovelife or lack thereof.

  “There haven’t been that many guys,” I tell him, trying to keep my tone level as I reach into the bag of Red Vines. “And they all preferred Twizzlers.”

  He chuckles.

  “Plus I’ve been kind of turned off men since one lost me the three-legged race on Field Day.”

  Sebastian shakes his head and drums his fingers on the gear shift. “I was wondering if you remembered that.”

  “Of course I remember it! I was so mad.”

  “Amelia, we were nine,” he reminds me.

  I shrug and twirl the twisty red piece of candy between two fingers before biting off one end. “Still, I hated losing.”

  “I could tell and I figured that’s why you never talked to me again.”

  I pause, wondering if a small part of him actually believes that. “Well, I’m talking to you now.”

  He stretches back in the seat, tilting his head so that his grey eyes are still on me. God, he’s hot. Like, three-alarm fire hot. “I know. And have I mentioned yet that I like it?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Well, I do.”

  “Me too.”

  We fall into one of those quiets where it’s apparent that both people are thinking about something but don’t want to say it out loud. Me? Well, I’m thinking about how close we’re sitting and about how mesmerizing the shape of Sebastian’s mouth is and how even in the dark confines of the truck, I can see the little hairs on his jaw and neck and how I’ve never kissed a guy with stubble before.

  “I should warn you,” he says, and I have a momentary freakout that I’ve verbalized this last thought—you know, the one about kissing him—but then Sebastian clears his throat and keeps talking. “I don’t know how to do this.”

  “Do what?”

  His hand flops back and forth between us.

  Oh. Oh.

  “I mean, we don’t have to…” Uncertainty oozes out of all of my pores. I have completely misread the situation.

  “No, it’s not like that.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Let me explain. I don’t want you to think I was saying that I’m not having a great time, but you should know that things in my life aren’t easy. After everything that happened with my mom last year, almost every one of my friends bailed. My girlfriend disappeared faster than you could say ‘kegger on the beach’ and most of the guys I grew up with couldn’t get a grip on how different things became for me. They still wanted to party and hang out and plan how they’re going to get into the bars in Summerville with their fake IDs and that wasn’t my life anymore.”

  “It’s not mine either,” I point out.

  “What I’m trying to tell you,” he says, scrunching his forehead, “is that I got used to everyone fading away. Seth is the only person who’s stuck through it all with me and I’m not sure if it’s because he likes being my friend or if it’s because he’s got a thing for my cat.”

  “Your cat?”

  He nods. “Jinx.”

  I smile.

  “Anyway,” he continues with
determination like the words are pressing on him, “the others come around from time to time to ask how I’m doing. They pretend to care, but I can tell that it’s mainly pity.” Here, he pauses and in that pause, I can hear what he’s not saying. Don’t you dare pity me.

  “I don’t pity you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I reply as gently as I can. I so want to reach over and grab hold of his hand, but we’re not ready for that. Not yet. “Just because your life isn’t like the life of every other student at Green Cove High doesn’t mean that your life is bad. I happen to admire what you’re doing with Carter.”

  He swallows and shifts his jaw.

  “And if we’re being honest about things, there’s something I should probably tell you.”

  “What is it?” he asks, frowning. A few strands of his dark hair have fallen in front of his eyes and it’s taking all my willpower not to reach over and push them back and run my fingers over his sharp cheekbones.

  “I’m allergic to cats.”

  This makes him laugh, and I mean really laugh, and the tension cocooning us shatters. I’m still not entirely positive I know what our conversation was truly about—whether Sebastian had been trying to say in a roundabout but polite way that he doesn’t have any interest in dating me or if we really were talking about forging a friendship—but either way, I guess I can live with it.

  I draw in a breath, my heart twisting to say this. “So… friends?”

  Sebastian looks at me for a long moment and I feel it again—that uncanny pull, like the ocean on the sand—winding its fingers through my ribcage and tugging.

  “Friends,” he says.

  ***

  Somewhere between midnight and sunrise, time and reality lost all real meaning to me. But now that Sebastian is gone and I’m standing in salt-stained clothes on my own downy bathroom rug with a toothbrush in my hand and my flushed reflection staring back, it all floods back in.

  I replay that awful party and my fight with Daphne and I start to feel sick.

  Most people would probably say that it’s completely normal for sisters to get into arguments, but for my sister and me it’s definitely not normal. Sure, I might tease her about being careless and she’s always giving me a hard time for being so serious, but to actually get in a real fight like that and walk away angry? Yeah, it just never happens.

  Almost shyly, I creep in through her bedroom door. Early dawn light is streaming in through the sheer curtains, washing the entire room a soft, pearly blue. As expected, my sister is completely zonked out. Her dark hair is a rat’s nest around her face and she’s snoring softly into her pillow.

  “Daphne?” I touch her shoulder. I’m not sure what I plan to say, but I need to make sure we’re okay. “Daphne?”

  “Amelia?” She groggily blinks her eyes open. “Why are you up so early?

  “I’m not. I haven’t even gone to bed.”

  She starts to sit up, alarm erasing the sleep from her features. “Why? What happened?”

  “Shhh,” I say quietly. “I’ll tell you later, but… can I sleep here with you? I know you’re mad at me, but I don’t want to be alone.”

  In answer, Daphne pulls the bed sheets back and scoots over to make room for me. Relieved, I crawl under the blanket and curl my body into hers.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper after a second.

  She rolls onto her side so that we’re facing each other. “I don’t want you to be sorry. I’m the sorry one.”

  “Does that mean…” I’m almost afraid to ask. “You and Spencer?”

  She shakes her head. “No, we’re fine,” she says, her voice thin. “But I don’t want to fight with you about him. I don’t want to fight with you about anything.”

  “I don’t want that either,” I say, reaching beneath the covers to give her a hard hug.

  She takes the embrace for a moment but, too soon, winces and pulls away from me.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, worried all over again.

  “I fell into a door,” she says, sheepishly rubbing her arm. “That was after you left.”

  I give a soft laugh. “You were so drunk.”

  Her grin is a little sad. “I know and I swear that it’s never going to happen again.”

  “Never is a long time,” I say.

  “Okay, at least not until next weekend,” she rectifies as she slips one hand beneath her pillow and shakes out her hair so that it’s not caught beneath her shoulder. “Tell me—did you really leave the party with Bash Holbrook? Because that’s what Audra said.”

  I nod in silent confirmation.

  “What’s he like?”

  “He’s…he’s not the way everyone says he is. You know how he missed all that school last year and people think he got in trouble?”

  “Yeah?”

  I shake my head weakly. “He wasn’t expelled or on the run from the police. His mother was dying and he was shuttling her back and forth to doctor appointments.”

  “Wow,” her voice wavers. “I don’t even know what to say.”

  “I know. And tonight he drove me out to Murrels Inlet and it was… well, it was kind of incredible.”

  Daphne’s eyes grow big and earnest. “Tell me everything.”

  “I will, I will,” I reply on a yawn. “But not right now, okay? I swear if I don’t go to sleep in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to start hallucinating.”

  She laughs. “At least tell me if you guys are, like, together.”

  “It’s not like that with him,” I insist, maybe trying to convince myself as much as her. “We’re just friends.”

  She gives me a skeptical look. “Friends who go to the beach in the middle of the night?”

  “Well... yeah.”

  She sighs wistfully. “If you say so.”

  “I say so.”

  “M’kay. Night.” And with that, my sister turns over and snuggles into her side of the mattress.

  “Night, Daphne. I’m glad we’re okay.”

  “Me too.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you more,” she whispers back.

  I close my eyes in contentment and exhale slowly, letting my body settle into the quiet. And just as the deep recesses of sleep grab my ankles and drag me under the surface, I have one last thought. I wonder if maybe, just maybe, my dreams will be filled with marshy grasses, dark waves, and flickering starlight and, best of all, Sebastian Holbrook.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Bash

  “It’s been nine days and counting,” Seth says as he scoops up a massive amount of tater tots and deposits them in a shallow bowl on his cafeteria tray.

  I follow him down the lunch line and reach for one of the sesame bagels that’s been shoved up next to a pile of watery-looking cantaloupe chunks. “Since what?”

  “Since Byron’s party and this unlikely friendship you’ve got going on with Amelia Bright,” he says, moving on to the corndogs. He grabs two of them and coats them with a river of artificial cheese. Since we’ve been kids, Seth’s appetite has fascinated me.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Dude, for one, you left the party with her, which you still haven’t told me a thing about. Though,” he continues with a wicked grin, “I gotta tell you, my imagination has filled in a lot of the blanks.”

  “Your imagination is misguided.”

  Seth ignores this. “And now you’re talking to her in the halls between classes and bringing her gifts.”

  “I am not bringing her gifts,” I say stiffly.

  “Then explain what happened during morning break yesterday.”

  “I gave her a bag of Red Vines.”

  “Red Vines,” he repeats in wonder like I’ve suddenly started speaking in tongues and he finds it astounding.

  I give a small shrug. “She likes them.”

  He shakes his head and hands over his student card to Evelyn, the lady who runs the cafeteria register. “Bash, bringing a girl candy is the equivalent of tattooing her name in a h
eart on your arm and posting that shit on Instagram.”

  Jesus, is that true? “It’s not like that with us.”

  “Then what’s it like?”

  “She’s... cool.”

  This appears to mystify him more than the Red Vines. “She’s cool? No shit she’s cool. That’s all you’re going to say about it?”

  “I’m not sure what else you want from me.”

  “I want details, and by ‘details’ I mean that I need to know if her ass is as perfect as I think it is,” he presses, winking at Evelyn when she flashes him a disapproving glare.

  “I wouldn’t know anything about her ass.” Except that it looked great in the jeans she wore to school on Monday—an observation I’m not about to share with Seth.

  “Fine, fine… don’t tell me everything yet. But at least assure me that this means that you’re getting out of your slump.”

  “My slump?”

  “The sad and romantically tortured state you’ve been in since last year.”

  “The only thing that I would classify as torture is being forced to have this conversation with you,” I say definitively. “And Amelia and I are friends. End of the story.”

  “Friends?”

  “Friends,” I repeat. And it’s the truth. Well, at least, I think it’s the truth.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Don’t mmm-hmm me. It makes you sound like a girl.”

  “What’s wrong with sounding like a girl? Don’t be such a misogynist.”

  “Me?” I choke out. “You were the one who was asking about asses, dillweed.”

  “That was for research purposes,” he tells me like this makes perfect sense. Then he balances his lunch tray in one hand and points across the cafeteria. “And if you really are such great buds with Amelia, let’s go over there and eat lunch with her today.”

  “Did you get high during fourth period or something? We’re not eating lunch with her.”