The Bright Effect, Page 2

  “I don’t care how beautiful he is, I wouldn’t go out with him.”

  Daphne shifts back, her posture going defensive. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” I answer honestly. I have nothing concrete against Spencer, I just know that I don’t particularly like him. “I had bio with him last year and he was always making obscene gestures behind Mr. Arvesu’s back and copying off Andi Wilson. And don’t you remember when he shot Maya Schneider’s cat with a BB gun when we were in seventh grade?”

  “We were twelve and that was an accident!”

  “Says who? Spencer?” I retort.

  “The cat was in his trash. And, really, those are his big offenses?” she asks, tightening her gaze. “Not paying enough attention in biology class and mistaking someone’s cat for a rabid raccoon?”

  “I don’t know, it’s more than that. He just seems like the kind of guy who doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”

  Daphne exhales loudly. “Amelia, he’s eighteen and just because he’s not joining up with Habitat for Humanity doesn’t mean that he’s not good for a few dates. Can you get out of your head for a sec and try to understand what a big deal this is for me? I was just asked out by arguably the most amazing guy at our school. Just this once, can’t you be happy for me?”

  “I’m always happy for you.”

  She frowns and shakes her head. “That’s a lie.”

  “Name another time when I wasn’t happy for you,” I challenge.

  Daphne looks back to me and raises both eyebrows. “Are you kidding? Try every time I mention the road trip with Audra next summer. Or heck, whenever I go out of the house on a school night.”

  This feels like a familiar argument. The same one we’ve been having our entire lives.

  “It’s not like I don’t want you to have fun,” I explain. “I just worry you’re not directing your energy in the right place.”

  “And what about the time I learned to cut hair? You weren’t happy for me then.”

  “That’s because you learned on a doll.”

  “So?”

  “It was my doll.”

  Daphne fights a smile. “She looked better with a pixie cut.”

  “That doll was a limited edition.”

  “So was the pixie cut.”

  I can’t help it, I laugh.

  Daphne grins wryly and scoots off the bed. Her nails must be dry because she grabs ahold of my wrist and pulls me to my feet. When we’re eye to eye, she says, “I know you’re just doing the protective twin sister move, but in this case I don’t think it’s necessary. Spencer is a good guy. Daddy and Nancy even know his parents from the Club.”

  “Well, if they approve it must be love,” I snark.

  “Amelia, don’t be so ornery just because you and Jack didn’t work out.”

  I dart a quick glance at my bedroom door. “Shh!”

  She squints and purses her lips in disapproval. “You still haven’t told them that you broke up with Jack?”

  “No, I did, but let me tell you, they were not happy campers,” I whisper to my sister. “I’m still expecting them to try to sign us up for some sort of couple’s counseling.”

  She chuckles because she knows I’m only partly joking. “Trust me, they’ll get over it. You only started dating him this summer so they haven’t had enough time to get too attached.”

  I shrug helplessly. “I’m not so sure about that. When Daddy found out Jack’s golf handicap was below ten, he was happier than a tornado in a trailer park. And I swear that I caught Nancy browsing floral arrangements on a bridal site last week.”

  “I could always talk to them and smooth things over for you.”

  “Could you really?”

  Daphne playfully elbows me in the side. “If you let me borrow a dress.”

  “You’ve resorted to blackmail?”

  She cracks a smile. “If that’s what it takes.”

  Begrudgingly, I stalk over to the closet and fling open the door. “Okay,” I say, plucking the hangers from the rack, “in the purple dress category, you’ve got three options.”

  Daphne quickly dismisses the striped maxi dress I’m holding in my left hand. She takes longer deciding between an A-line Tory Burch and a floral shift.

  “That one.” She indicates the A-line dress. “The other one looks too churchy.”

  I hand it over. “Considering the last time I wore that dress was to church, I suppose that’s not such a terrible thing.”

  Laughter bubbles from her mouth as she holds the dress up in front of her body and turns to the full-length mirror beside my dresser.

  Watching my sister, I inhale deeply and shake my head. I know it sounds like a cliché, but she really is the pretty twin and that’s the hand-to-God truth. Daphne and I might have the same building blocks—slim frames, sloped noses, matching dark brown hair so straight and shiny it slides right out of a ponytail holder, and almond-shaped brown eyes passed on from our father’s side of the family—but on her it all fits together differently. People call me cute, maybe charming. But Daphne, I know, is beautiful.

  “That dress is going to look great on you,” I tell her truthfully.

  “Do you think it will go with those strappy platforms Nancy got me last month?”

  “I think so. Very preppy chic.” I take a breath and say as gently as possible, “Just promise me that you’ll be careful with Spencer. Maybe I am being over-protective, but I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Her eyes find mine in the mirror. “Okay, Mommy Dearest.”

  “I’m serious,” I tell her, my voice thin. “Boys are…” Boys are what? I’m not sure what I’m trying to explain. “Boys are a lot of work.”

  “Is that why you broke it off with Jack? Because he was too much work?”

  “Not exactly.” The thing about Jack was that on paper he was everything a proper boyfriend should be. Attractive. Attentive. Driven. Sounds like the perfect southern gentleman, right? Except for the part where he was so boring I had to make sure to guzzle a bunch of caffeine before our dates so I wouldn’t fall asleep. “Jack was nice, but I’ve got school to think about. I didn’t want to spend my senior year distracted by some boy.”

  “Amelia, that is the worst excuse I’ve ever heard. You shouldn’t break up with someone to focus on school.”

  “What about this? Kissing him was kind of like kissing a cricket frog, and I don’t mean one that magically turns into a prince.”

  Daphne spins toward me and screws her face up. “That is nasty.”

  “And he didn’t like that I could beat him in tennis. He threw a hissy fit the last time we were on the courts.”

  “Well now, that’s just stupid.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Her eyebrows draw together. “You know, maybe you being single and me finding Spencer could be the start of something new for us.”

  “Like what? You getting to be Daddy’s favorite?”

  “Pshhh, bless your heart. Don’t you know that I’ve always been his favorite?”

  I laugh. “Then what?”

  Daphne smiles. “The way I see it, this is our last year in Green Cove together. In the autumn you'll be off to whatever amazing school you decide on and I'm—well, I'm not sure where I'll be yet—somewhere outside of South Carolina on an adventure. But that's not the point. The point is that I don't want either of us have any regrets about senior year."

  "What are you implying that I'm going to regret?"

  "Being so serious all the time. No one gets old and looks back on high school and says, ‘I’m so happy I got such good sleep and turned that essay in on time.’ Do you know what I mean? You need to loosen those reins you hold so tightly and live it up."

  “I don’t want to live it up. All I want is to get an A in AP history.”

  She points to the bed where my computer screen is still displaying the Emory website. “But you already know you’re going to get into any of the schools you want.”

  �
�Acceptance is contingent on my grades this year,” I remind her.

  Daphne groans. “Amelia, there’s more to life than grades.”

  I’m about to shoot back with something sarcastic when my brain gets stuck on something.

  Those words. I’ve heard them before, haven’t I?

  Suddenly, I’m in the elementary school cafeteria this afternoon and I’m watching Sebastian Holbrook reach for his brother’s hand. I’m watching his dark hair graze his chin and his stormy grey eyes move over me. I’m seeing the disgust he can barely hide and registering the defiance that beats just beneath the surface of his skin like a pulse.

  Some things are a lot more important than grades and college.

  My throat burns and my heart twists painfully in my chest. I want to shout back at him that he has me all wrong. My world isn’t perfect. I don’t dream about unicorns. I barely sleep. And when I do, I dream about upcoming tests and projects I don’t know how I’m going to have time to finish.

  I want to yell back at him that almost every night I wake up sweaty and heavy with the weight of all the promises and expectations I’m carrying around.

  Sebastian Holbrook thinks that I look down on him? Well, everything he threw at me today proves that it’s the other way around.

  Back in my bedroom, my sister takes my silence as agreement. She lifts her chin, swings the purple dress over her back and sashays to the door. “See? Amelia, this year is fixing to be the best ever. Don’t waste it.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Bash

  On a Friday night, a normal high school senior might be getting ready for a date or going to a football game with friends. But me? I’m at home trying not to burn a box of macaroni and cheese. I swear, I don’t know what it was or when I did it, but at some point in this lifetime I must have screwed up and in turn, Karma made me her bitch. Hell, boxed pasta won’t even turn out right for me.

  I stare down at the charred mess, wondering where I went wrong. Did I add the cheese too soon or leave it on the stove too long? Or maybe I didn’t use enough water?

  A quick poke with a wooden spoon tells me that most of the noodles and cheese have hardened to the bottom of the pot. But with some effort and a little water, I’m able to scrape together enough for a small bowl.

  “Dinner!” I call loud enough that Carter will be able to hear me over the sound of the TV.

  I hear the TV click off and a few seconds later, my brother wanders into the kitchen with his nose pinched. His gaze zeroes in on the bowl I’ve set out for him.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s dinner.”

  “But what is it?”

  “It’s macaroni and cheese. What does it look like?”

  “Puke.”

  He’s not wrong. Actually, he’s probably being too nice. The gloppy orange stuff looks more like insect guts than pasta.

  I dump the bowl into the sink and head for the tiny pantry. “I think we still have some peanut butter. Maybe even some jelly.”

  “I’ve got the bread,” Carter chirps.

  Then he climbs up onto the counter and we start to build the sandwiches like we’re on an assembly line. Bread. Peanut butter. A smear of jelly.

  “Can I have some milk?” he asks in between bites.

  “Sure thing, hoss,” I say, not wanting Carter to know that in my head I’m counting up how much every bite and every sip costs. I can’t keep all the fears from him, but food is one thing I don’t want him to have to worry about.

  The first month we were on our own, I spent almost every minute panicking. Don’t get me wrong—I still get that ragged, gnawing sensation in my gut when I think about how low we are on basic things like food and toilet paper and toothpaste, but I’ve learned to control the anxiety and squeeze every quarter tight. I remind myself that I get paid Tuesday and I’ll be able to pay the water and electric bill and should have enough left over to stock up on groceries. Until then, I’ll put a brave face on for my little brother and eat dirt myself if that’s what it comes to.

  I pour out the last of the milk and toss the empty container into the trash bin.

  “Here you go, bud.”

  Carter takes a sip and immediately spits it out, showering me with white spray.

  I throw my hands up and jump back. “What the—?”

  His face scrunches up. “Gross!”

  I pluck the container from the trash and check the date. Sure enough, the milk is expired.

  “Sorry,” I say, filling a new glass with tap water.

  He greedily chugs it down to get rid of the sour milk taste. Then he uses his sleeve to wipe off his mouth. “It’s okay.”

  But it’s not okay and I know it. “Some supper I made, huh?”

  Carter tilts his head to one side. “It’s better than the time we went to that Chinese restaurant over in Jefferson and Mama made me eat algae.”

  “It was a Japanese restaurant and it was seaweed,” I say, laughing. “But, yeah, I remember. It was for her birthday.”

  He makes a kind of choking noise. “It tasted so bad.”

  “She was happy that you at least tried it.”

  “I had to. It was her birthday.”

  Her last birthday. Neither of us says it out loud but we don’t have to. The thought reverberates in the air around us.

  Carter is the first one to speak. “You want me to show you something?”

  I can tell that he’s trying to get the conversation away from our mother and right now I’m okay with that. “Sure.”

  He hops off the counter and goes over to where his backpack and lunchbox are piled on the floor next to my boots. He pulls out a book and brings it back over to show me.

  “It’s got chapters,” he says, excitedly flipping through the pages so that I can see the chapter headings. “I told Amelia that I wanted to try a book with chapters and she brought this to school today. This one is all about different animals who live in a pet store.”

  For the past week and a half I’ve tried not to think about Amelia Bright. Looking back at the day we clashed, I figure that I was kind of a dick to her. Yes, she was being nosy, but her questions are the same ones I’ve fielded a hundred times. How do you do it? Aren’t you tired?

  I get it for sure. When you’re in high school and you’re raising your little brother, it’s only natural for people to be curious.

  So why in the hell did I lose it like that?

  “Haa-ha-ahh-mmmm-ssstttt-er. Hamster,” Carter reads, pointing to a word at the start of a chapter.

  “Good job, hoss.”

  He beams at the approval. “Thanks! Amelia taught me how to stretch out my words. She told me that once I know how to do that I’ll be able to read anything I put my mind to.”

  “She sounds right smart.”

  In response, Carter nods, but his eyes are on the book. He’s slowly following his finger down the page. “Amelia’s the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

  “Smarter than Mrs. Ruiz?” That’s his teacher.

  “Yep.”

  “Smarter than me?”

  This one stumps Carter. He doesn’t want to hurt my feelings, but it’s obvious that he thinks Amelia is indeed smarter. “Well, you’re a different-smart,” he says diplomatically.

  I laugh and ruffle his mop of brown hair. He’s going to need another haircut soon. Another thing to add to my always-growing list. “It’s after eight—about time for bed.”

  “But…!” he exclaims, nose still in the book. “Can’t I at least finish this chapter?”

  “How about this? If you go ahead and brush your teeth, you can read two more chapters in bed. Do we have a deal, bud?”

  His grin stretches wide. “Deal!”

  ***

  My fingers are pruny and I’m up to my elbows in soapy water when the doorbell rings.

  “Goddamn it all,” I mutter. Who rings the doorbell at this time of night when they know a kid is inside?

  I grab a dishrag and dry my hands. Then I peek into
Carter’s room, hoping that the dumbass on the other side of the door didn’t wake him up. Everything is good. Carter rolls over in his sleep and I see the blue blanket and big red teddy bear he likes to sleep with clutched tightly in his small hands. Relieved, I close his bedroom door and make my way down the hall to the front door.

  Seth Cavanaugh is standing under the yellow porch light in loose jeans and a raggedy baseball cap.

  “I’ve told you not to ring the doorbell at night,” I greet him. “It’s late and I don’t want you waking Carter up.”

  “Shit, I forgot.”

  “Sometimes your brain doesn’t work. What are you doing here anyway?”

  “I didn’t feel like going home yet,” he says with a shrug.

  “Well, I’m finishing up the dishes. C’mon in before we let all the AC out.”

  “Tonight Monica had some people over,” he tells me as he follows me back to the kitchen. “You missed out on a good time.”

  “Oh yeah?” I don’t really care about what I missed at Monica Yancey’s house. I’m sure it was the same old crowd doing the same old thing that they’re always doing: smoking weed and pretending to want real conversation until someone realizes there’s nothing new to talk about in Green Cove and decides to power on the Xbox 360.

  He rests his back against the kitchen counter. “Rachel was there.”

  “Is that so?”

  “She asked me about you.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Hell, Bash. Don’t you want to know what she said?”

  Do I? “Not particularly.”

  Seth doesn’t seem to care about my answer. “She’s worried about you.”

  “And why would she be worried?”

  “I’d say she’s worried because you never go out anymore and because you’ve stopped talking to anyone but me.”

  “I stopped talking to Rachel because she slept with someone else,” I remind him, my patience thinning.

  “I get it. Just letting you know it’s obvious to everyone who sees you, including me, that you’re running on empty.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Still leaning against the counter, Seth reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes.