𝐙𝐔𝐌𝐀! | harry styles

𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈

BY the time Anna walks back into the dining room, Bruce is still standing, Mom is shaky and sniffling, and I'm sitting here in the upholstered, plaid electric chair. I'm not sure why I didn't get up when everyone left. There's certainly nothing keeping me here, but I stayed. So here we all are.

Bruce sighs, and it's like a knife cutting into my gut. He's such a happy, vivacious man that it's jarring to see him so… deflated. "Anna, I thought you had a big night planned. Go enjoy your birthday."

"I… want to be here. I think I need to be. I can hang out with my friends tomorrow." She sits in her usual chair gently like it's about to break. Just like the eggshells littering the floor.

I haven't seen her in weeks, and she looks different. Older, somehow. Prettier. More mature. There's an aura about her that's new. She's glowing even though I've brought a miserable end to her big day.

I'm not dumb, I know it's Harry.

It was inevitable from the moment I brought him home that they would end up together. They just fit a lot better than he and I ever did. I saw the sly looks he'd give her at the table, felt his protectiveness and interest in her. My stomach dropped when I saw them sitting so cozy together–not because of any lingering feelings– but because he's such a good guy, the guilt he stirs in me makes me feel uneasy. I know he deserved better in the little time he spent with me, but it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. Even though I didn't love him.

She's not looking at me and I can't blame her. I think about my eighteenth birthday, when we went for huge ice cream sundaes that she paid for with the money she made babysitting. The memory makes me feel like shit.

"I'm sorry," I say to her, my head bowed as I finger the gift I bought her. I place it on the table. "I didn't mean to ruin your birthday." Harry's words still ring in my ears, and it comes out harsher than I wanted.

"S'okay. You didn't." She says it with confidence, but her foot slides over her other, something she does when she's nervous, like when she asked for my help picking out an outfit for her date with the film guy.

Mom takes a deep breath, her body shuddering as she lets it out. Her hands wring together in a nervous gesture. "Why don't we go into the living room? I'll make coffee." Mom moves to the percolator and reaches for the can of Maxwell House.

I'm the first one up, and I stomp over to the pillows on the floor, plopping myself down. Anna follows and we sit there awkwardly for a minute without Bruce and Mom. She's not saying anything, but I can tell she wants to. "Just spit it out."

"I'm sorry, too."

I wasn't expecting that. "For what, exactly?"

She shifts around on the pillows, but stares me straight in the eyes. "I told them about the magazine."

My stomach twists. This is the first time I've even thought about how anyone might have discovered my secret after the magazine hit the racks. I was just… caught up in the moment, enjoying my five minutes of fame. To know Anna saw it somewhere–a gas station or at Mac's where some boy shoved it in her face–and then had to tell our parents… well, it never occurred to me to imagine it. "You ratted me out?" I ask, narrowing my eyes in anger even though I really feel nauseous.

"I told Dad and Lori what I thought they should know."

I cluck my tongue. "Who are you to decide what they should know?"

She stares at me and crosses her arms, just as Mom and Bruce enter. Mom places a tray on the ottoman in the middle of the pillows, but none of us make a move to grab a cup. After some hesitation, she pulls a magazine from under her arm and places it on the floor.