Ink Is Thicker Than Water (25 page)

And no matter how far I dig down in me—and it turns out I have way more depth than I realized—I have no idea how I could fix it.

Chapter Twenty-four

After a few days at Dad’s, I’m not necessarily any better. My nerves make me feel wound up like one of Finn’s toys that marches across a flat surface, my guilt makes me feel, I don’t know, Catholic or something, and sadness sort of oozes all around me like I’ve gone emo. This needs to change; the last thing I want to be is a Catholic emo wind-up toy. I guess I’m less raw, but it’s hardly enough to call my state of mind an improvement.

Eventually, my curiosity gets the best of me, and while I’m killing time with the newspaper staff after school, I do a little Googling until I pull up the information I want. (Google, unlike many things in life, rarely lets you down.) I’m terrible with directions, but I pull those up, too, say good-bye to everyone, and am on my way.

Camille’s house is a cute, midsized brick two-story in the enviable location of U City, with my sister’s car parked out front. I seriously believe that my heart literally aches to see it. As always, knowing is one thing, seeing another.

I pull in without thinking, and somehow am thinking even less as I park, get out, and walk up to the front door. My finger pokes the doorbell, and I wait. (Obviously, by now, I am absolutely not thinking at all.)

The door opens, and while I’d hoped for Sara, it’s Camille standing behind it. Of course she’s wearing great jeans and a gray sweater I can tell is expensive, and her hair is brushed back into a Sara-style perfect ponytail.

“Hi,” she says. “Can I help you?”

I kind of stare at her, like how dare she forget who I am?

“Oh,” she says with a bit of a start. “You’re Kellie.”

“Yep. Sara’s sister,” I add for emphasis.

“I didn’t realize Sara was expecting you,” she says.

Something about how she says it has me clenching my fists. Clearly, I’m supposed to turn around and go. “She’s not. Can you let her know I’m here?”

“I know she’s in the midst of her calculus—”

“It’s important,” I say. “It’s a family issue.”

“Well,” she says. “Let me check with her.”

She at least has me wait inside the front door and not out in this windy, cold air. Her front room is pretty plain, totally Sara’s style, with everything neat and in its place. I would hate a home like this. At least Dad’s has calculated personality.

Sara walks down the stairs toward me. “What are you doing here? It’s kind of creepy.”

“Right, checking in on my only sister who I have hardly seen in forever is so frigging creepy.” I’m relieved Camille at least seems to be giving us privacy. “Sara, we really need to talk. Things are falling apart.”

She shrugs with her eyes on her feet, not me. “Why is that my fault?”

“I don’t know how you could say that. You know we need you, Sara, you’re like the only normal person any of us have.”

“That’s not true,” she says.

“Is it because Mom’s a freak?” I ask. “And Russell? And Dad’s all…Dad?”

Sara doesn’t say anything, which feels a lot like
yes
.

“Right now I think this is where I need to be,” she says finally.

“Does she know what’s going on?” I point upstairs like I actually have any idea where Camille is. “Or care?”

“This isn’t about Camille,” Sara says. “And I know you refuse to believe me, but it’s not about you, either.”

“Right,” I say. “So who’s it about, then?”

She finally looks at me, stares really hard. “God, Kellie.
Me
, maybe?”

Why do I suddenly feel like the role of Kellie is being recast as a villain?

“Nothing’s about just yourself,” I say. “Everything you do touches everyone else.”

“You,” she says, “make things…” She holds out her arms, like for a hug, but I know that isn’t the point. “So
big
. Sometimes they aren’t. Sometimes they’re…” She brings her hands in, clasps them together like she’s just captured a lightning bug.

“Sometimes they’re bigger than you think.” I turn and walk outside, surprised but not upset that Sara follows me. “What?”

“I’m asking you to understand,” she says. “Even if you don’t think you do. I think you can try.”

“Trust me,” I say. “I understand why you’d want to leave us. We’re weird and useless, and you’re everything someone should be. I get that. What I don’t get is why you think it’s okay.”

“Kellie,
shut up
,” she says, the knifelike edge back in her voice. I can’t believe I’m already used to it, when it didn’t even exist before Camille came into our lives. “If you can’t even try to understand…”

“I hate how unfair you are.”

“I could say the same about you.” She turns on her heel, looking colder than the chilly air. “Drive home safely.”

I think about not doing so just to spite her, but, really, self? Bad idea. Instead I just get into my car as she walks into the house, and I crumple over my steering wheel in tears. I text Oliver a frantic
can i please come over??
And start to—with my crying now under control—head there, before my phone beeps with
Tonight? Am stuck in meeting for group project
. I deliberate between the rock and a hard place of texting Adelaide (not awkward, not helpful) or Kaitlyn (super awkward, potentially super helpful) and think about seeing what Mitchell or Chelsea is up to. But I know I can’t really fully be honest with them about Sara, so I text Dexter instead.

Even though he suggests a half dozen places to meet up, I am not exactly in any shape to hang out in public. So I end up just heading to his house, which is probably actually worse than being tear-stained in public, considering the last time I’d been here had been that day in May. I’ve stopped dwelling on it, especially now that apparently Oliver and I are going to have sex regularly and it isn’t going to make me cry, but it’s still a little weird.

“Hey.” Dexter opens the front door and steps aside. “You any good at zombie slayage?”

“The situation’s never presented itself,” I say. “Also I really hope you’re talking about a video game.”

“Just got it, not having any luck with the zombies. Come on.”

I follow him downstairs to the TV room, which seems to be only for him and Oliver given the total dude movie posters. It’s not shocking, considering that the McAuleys are definitely better off than either one of my families. They can afford a room just for kids to hang out in. “Is this like your fortress of solitude?”

“More like my bat cave.” He settles on the floor and grabs a game controller. “Come on.”

“Fine, fine.” I sit down next to him and glance his way, thinking I probably should tell him what just happened with Sara, but it’s tough forming the actual words. All of it sucks, from Sara being a jerk, to me falling apart in the car like someone in a made for TV movie. I do at least successfully take down a line of zombies, though. Small victories.

“You okay?” I ask like I’m not the one who’s clearly been recently crying.

“My girlfriend’s still refusing most of my calls,” he says. “Not really. You?”

“Not at all,” I say. “But aren’t you like the most popular guy at Chaminade?”

“And that has to do with what?”

“Just, you know. Is pining over Sara necessary?” Sara is my family, and I have to fix things with her for something bigger than both of us. For Dexter, though, it is totally a choice.

“What’re you saying, Kells?” he asks as I accidentally collide zombie-killing gun barrels with his avatar.

“Oops, sorry.”

“Get out of my space, woman. And there’s girls lined up so I can just forget about Sara? There are dudes besides Ol who want to jump you, so if something happened you’d be over him right away?”

“I guess that wasn’t fair of me.”

“Not much, nope.” Dexter’s avatar is killed in battle with the zombie lord, so I do my best to take care of that job on my own. “Also the hot/genius combo thing doesn’t come along all the time.”

My little avatar is also reduced to a pile of bloody guts, so Dexter restarts the game. “Yeah, Sara’s pretty special.”

“So things good with Ol?” Dexter asks. “He’s cool to you and all?”

“Is there some reason he wouldn’t be?”

“Well, Alice,” Dexter says like he would have said
blue
if I’d asked what color the sky was. “But he’s better now, yeah? I guess I still worry about the guy sometimes.”

My heart hammers out a scary rhythm in my throat. “Who’s Alice?”

“The girl?” Dexter is still talking like I’d missed out on life lessons like how to breathe and whether or not ice cream is tasty. “You know, the whole reason for the direction of his life.”

“Oliver’s life is all directed at some girl?” I ask, adding
who isn’t me?
only in my head.

“No, just—You know the story, Kells.”

“I actually don’t.” I know enough, though. I know this has to be what Oliver had done to also change the direction of Dexter’s life. Maybe I shouldn’t learn this thing.

“Oh.” Dexter sets down his controller, meaning zombies quickly devour him. “I kinda think you should know.”

I don’t like the sound of that at all! People don’t say things like
I kinda think you should know that you’re actually owed a billion dollars!

“Ol had this girlfriend his junior year,” Dexter says. “Alice. He was really serious about her, but I guess she was just having fun. He falls pretty fast when he’s into someone.”

I start nodding like
oh my God, yes!
but stop when I realize this is not something to bond over and be excited about.

“Alice was a year older and was getting ready to go off to college in Seattle. Ol
freaked
out, started saying all of this crap to get her to stay, tried to find out if he could follow her to Seattle, just crazy shit. Of course, she breaks up with him, because she’s going off to college and doesn’t want to deal with a lunatic. One night after she’d left for school, Oliver took a bunch of pills. I found him right away, called 911. They pumped his stomach, and he was fine.”

I just sit there and stare at him.

“I’m sure he’s cool with stuff now,” Dexter says, like that will take away all I’ve just heard, from the craziness to the wanting to move and the
trying to kill himself
.

“Was it scary?” I ask, even though it’s hard imagining Dexter scared of anything. “When you found him?”

“Scariest thing in my whole life.” He runs his hands back through his hair. “He’s a good guy, Kells. It shouldn’t change things, if they’re good.”

“Mostly they’re good,” I say.

“Mostly ain’t bad,” he says and picks up his controller again. “Trust me.”

“I’m in high school, though,” I say. “Isn’t making stuff work for marriage and other crap grown-ups do?”

He looks at me so long the zombies get him again. “I guess I don’t expect everyone to be so perfect.”

Oliver calls me while I’m driving from the McAuleys’ to Dad’s, but I just side-button him. He leaves a message about hanging out tonight, but even though it’d been my idea, I delete it and don’t call back. It definitely isn’t his fault I found out today, but I don’t know how to just talk to him like things are normal. I mean, except that they are.

Obviously, I don’t say anything to Dad, just finish all of my homework except geometry, which I slog through just enough not to fail. Hopefully. Oliver sends a cute text (
Roommate wants to know why his stuff was moved, I blamed a hot oceanography major
), but I can’t make myself respond to that, either.