The Last Time We Were Us Read Online Free Page B

it makes me angry. My hair is white blond, his long and shaggy, and the birthday hats sit crookedly on our heads.
    I stare at the photo, wondering what his condo looks like, how much his dad has aged; if he wishes his mom were closer, more of a mom. She left only a couple weeks after that birthday, went back to Connecticut without warning. Jason used to visit her twice a year. I wonder if she visited him at all when he was in juvie.
    I return the photo, shut the box, and push it all under the bed. No matter what Jason went through, no matter how much her leaving messed him up, it doesn’t excuse what happened.
    Nothing does.
    I DON’T KNOW when I finally managed to fall asleep, but I wake up feeling groggy. I smell coffee brewing, so I stumble downstairs and into the kitchen, where Mom is stirring a pot of grits, her Sunday morning ritual. She looks up and smiles. “Hey there, sleepyhead.”
    I rub at my eyes. “I couldn’t sleep. What time is it?”
    “Almost eleven.” She wipes her hands on an old dishtowel. “Sit. I’ll pour you a cup of coffee.”
    I follow her orders and try to get my bearings, as she delivers first a piping hot cup and then a plate of grits and eggs. Then she sits down next to me, opening a magazine.
    I can’t remember what I dreamed about, but flashes of Jason and Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan are there, hanging around in the back of my mind as if I invited them over for breakfast. I finish my plate and take it up to the sink, but I can’t shake it, this burning desire to see him, one more time. I hesitate, Innis filling my mind, the way he wavered from typical boy to sweet boy (friend?) —how mad he would be if he knew I was even thinking of going back there. MacKenzie, too.
    But it’s not about Innis or Kenzie or Mom or even Lyla.
    Jason was my friend once. Beyond everything else, he was my friend.
    So many years of history, and we can’t come down to a fake ID and a case of Natty Light. Dad asks where I’m headed as I pass him on the porch. He’s wearing an embarrassing fishing hat and a T-shirt that’s hung around from his college days, despite my mother’s steady threatening to take it to Goodwill. He’s tinkering with the newel post, which seems to wobble no matter what he does. During the week, Dad is as clean and trim as a marketing manager should be, but on the weekends, he lets stubble show, avoids combing his salt-and-pepper hair, and works on the house. Greg Grant, modern-day Jekyll and Hyde.
    “I’m going shopping with MacKenzie,” I say, instantly feeling bad. Lying about who I’m seeing feels worse than just lying about buying beer. Maybe I’ll swing by Kenzie’s house, zip up the stairs and tell her I hate everything in my closet and we need to go to the mall, stat . She’d do it, I know she would.
    “Have fun,” he says. “You need any money?”
    “No,” I say, his generosity only making me feel worse. “Mrs. Ellison just paid me on Thursday.”
    “I hope you’re saving some of it.”
    “I am.” Dad’s been lecturing me on the importance of saving money since I kept quarters in a piggy bank. It’s one way, at least, I can outdo Lyla, who’s terrible with money—not that it matters, now that she’s got Benny.
    I head to the car. Inside, a hula girl smiles at me, dancing among a shore of receipts and wrappers. I back out and cruise down the street under the oaks and elms dutifully standing guard like tired giants.
    I wave to the neighbors and stroller moms, and I slow as I approach MacKenzie’s house, pale blue with black shutters. Her car’s out front, so I know she’s home. I could still spend the day with her at the mall, analyzing what happened between her and Payton, what kind of-maybe- almost happened between me and Innis, and then there wouldn’t be a lie, not to Dad, not to my friends, not to anyone.
    But I don’t. I press the gas and keep my eyes from the rearview until I’m on the highway, headed where I know I shouldn’t go.
    T HERE’S