032. Half-Smoked Cigarettes
At Aquino High, everyone thinks only for themselves.
It takes me less than five minutes to drop my backpack and books by my locker and hurry out of the school. I nearly trip twice on my way to the parking lot, my black wedges suddenly unmanageable due to the uneven spots on the pavement. When I'm just a few feet away from my car, I catch a whiff of smoke—Taylor sits on the hood of his car, taking absentminded drags from a cigarette.
"I didn't know you smoked," I tell him, my worry about Liam temporarily set aside.
Taylor's eyes flick up and he scans me up and down, as if he's weighing his trust in me against my tendency to follow the rules. "Just started, actually," he says after a few seconds. "And if you tell anyone about it, I'll deny it."
I shrug. The next puff of smoke fans my face and I resist the urge to cough. Facts and statistics about lung cancer filter through my brain, but I push them aside.
"Skipping class?" he asks languidly.
"No." Suddenly, I remember Liam, and the fear stabs at me all over again. "I got permission to leave. Liam's in the hospital, and I need to see him."
"Want me to come with you?"
I don't respond for a few seconds. It would be nice to have someone so that I'm not panicking all alone, but at the same time Taylor isn't the most pleasant travel companion. Still, I remember my promise to him and, combined with that tiny tug of affection, find myself nodding. "You can come. But you can't smoke in my car."
In response, he drops the cigarette butt on the pavement and crushes it with the toe of his shoe. I expect him to say something, but then I remember: Taylor isn't one to use words when they can be avoided.
His clothes still smell faintly of smoke as he walks close behind me the last few steps to my car. Neither of us say anything, and the silence begins to eat away at me as I think. Liam could be in the hospital for any imaginable reason, and he could be in various states of emergency. To reassure myself, I imagine he's there for a minor injury—maybe a broken bone or a cut on his lip that needed stitches.
As I fasten my seatbelt, though, I can't help but feel like there's something much more urgent at stake.
My grip on the wheel is tight as I pull out of the school and onto the main road. To comfort myself I focus on the purr of the engine, occasionally glancing sideways to see Taylor studying me in his peripheral vision. On top of everything, I worry about the lecture I'm missing in calc class today—it will almost certainly be on our test, and I can't afford to let my grade drop any lower than it is.
"Your face is going to become permanently creased if you don't stop wrinkling your forehead like that."
I jerk out of my thoughts at Taylor's nonchalant words—I'd forgotten he was beside me. "I'm sorry," I say. "I'm thinking really hard."
"I can tell."
I risk another glance at him, despite the busy intersection I'm crossing, and see that one side of his mouth is raised slightly into half a smile. I realize that half-smiles look even better on him than the real thing. It seems to define him and us—what we are to each other and what we are by ourselves.
"I'm sure Liam's fine," he says after a few more seconds of silence. "And if he isn't...well, you weren't so sure you could trust him anyway."
"You don't understand. Liam's one of my best friends. He's always been there for me."
He turns the volume of the radio all the way down, so that I can't even hear the murmurings of the talk show hosts anymore. "You weren't even that close to him until recently," he says. "After last summer, you grew apart. I watched you two. You barely even spoke until a few months ago."
"I guess." He's right: Liam had practically disappeared from my life until that night at the football game, so many uncountable weeks ago that I can't even remember. Looking back, his proposition at the time seems ridiculous. But once we started talking again, we fell into the kind of rhythmic ease that made him so easy to get along with—almost as if we'd never stopped hanging out.
Flicking on my blinker, I say, "It doesn't matter how long we've been friends. The point is that we are now, and I feel like I can really rely on him. We mean something to each other."
"As friends or more than a friend?"
We've pulled up to the hospital. Right now seems like the most inappropriate time for a conversation like this, but I can tell Taylor's been dying to ask me for quite some time now. Still, I take my time answering, killing the engine and unbuckling my seatbelt before turning back to him. "We're just friends. Always have been, always will be. You don't have to worry about him."
There's a tinge of anger inside me, that Taylor would even bother worrying. Who does he think he is, questioning my friendships? Liam is in the hospital right now and all he can do is overanalyze me wanting to visit him, so that it seems like we're into each other?
Without another word, I swing open the car door and step out. It's freezing outside and I left my coat at school, but I have enough dignity not to ask Taylor for his.
"Erika?" Taylor trails behind me as I stride to the entrance to the hospital, his breath fogging in the cold. "Did I do something to make you upset?"
"No." Even as I say it, I recognize the bitter tinge in my voice. Taylor needs to leave before I take out all my frustration and worry on him.
Unfortunately, he's wise enough to stay quiet and walk a few steps behind me as I approach the front desk. The receptionist is on the phone, and I have to shift from foot to foot for over a minute before she hangs up. Before she can get a word out, I say, "I'm here to visit Liam Alvarado."
She studies me for a second before typing a few things into her computer. "Third floor, room 352," she says finally.
I want to smile at her in thanks, but my throat has closed up and my face has gone numb. Without saying anything else, I turn on my heel and hurry to the elevators. Taylor has to lengthen his stride to keep up with me, his footsteps heavy behind me.
Once we're alone and traveling up the elevator, he asks, "What's wrong with Liam?"
"I don't know." My voice is tight, like I could pop a vocal cord any second now. "Spencer didn't tell me."
"You and Spencer are talking again?"
"Taylor, shut up!" The elevator dings cheerfully and the doors slide open to reveal a tiny third floor lobby.
He catches me by the sleeve and spins me back towards him as I try to get out of the elevator. "Why are you taking things out on me?"
"Because who I'm talking to or not should be the least of your concerns right now! Liam's hospitalized and I just need to figure out if he's okay. I don't need to deal with your jealousy at the same time."
His fingers go slack against my sweater and I pull away, leaving him behind as I close the distance to the first door. My eyes blur so that my vision is obstructed as I scan the numbers on each plaque, getting nearer to Liam with each step. Finally, I reach room 352 and knock loudly.
"Who is it?"
It's Liam's voice, muffled and cracked, but I honestly couldn't be happier to hear him alive.
"It's Erika!" I call through the door. "Are you okay?"
"Come on in and we can talk."
Gingerly, I swing open the door to see Liam resting on a bed. He's in a sterile white hospital gown and the sheets are pulled up about midway to his chest, so that I can see exposed wires monitoring his vitals. Shutting the door behind me, I ask, "What happened?"
His blue eyes are a stormy grey. "I drank, I drank some more, and then I over drank."
"Where did you go last night?"
"To the raging party called my bedroom."
I can't tell if he's serious or not, so I sit down on the side of his bed and press, "Where were you actually?"
"In my bedroom. Alone. Surrounded by a twelve-pack of beer and some vodka I found in the fridge. That stuff isn't strong enough."
"Clearly it was," I point out, "if it was enough to land you in the hospital."
For the first time his parched lips stretch out into a grin—they're spread so tightly I think they'll crack. "It wasn't the strength of the alcohol. It was probably the amount I drank in the time span that I drank it."
"This isn't funny."
He shifts so that I can sit more completely on the bed and chooses not the respond to me, so I press, "How are you feeling?"
His light eyebrows raise. "Physically I feel fine. Emotionally, I'm ready to go home and do it all over again. What day of the week is it?"
"Wednesday."
He groans, barely audible. "That means I don't have an excuse to drink until Taylor's Friday night party. Why don't Aquino students party on weekdays?"
"We do," I say. "Remember your Monday night parties?"
"Right." He inhales suddenly, pressing his fingers into his forehead as if to massage away a headache. "Anyway, what matters is that I'm here now and my parents and the school are going to be pissed. How'd you know I got put in the hospital, anyway?"
"Spencer told me."
"He would."
There's a little more silence before Liam says, "Spencer's the one who found me. Both my parents were out last night, so I called Celia to see if she wanted to come over. She said she was busy. To be honest I wanted sex, but since Celia wasn't available and I'm a loyal guy I settled for getting drunk instead."
I have a feeling Liam wouldn't be telling me any of this if he were in normal condition, so I stay extra quiet.
"I went out to the gas station and got some beer—I didn't notice the vodka in the fridge until later. The cashier tried to give me a tough time with my fake ID but I slipped him a twenty and he shut up about it. Then I went home and it was so nice outside that I decided to sit on my front porch for a while.
"I'd gotten through a few beers before things started to get a little fuzzy. I went inside—guess I forgot to lock the door behind me. After that I don't remember anything. Spencer said he came by to chill and found me passed out on the living room couch."
My heart twists a little bit at the image of Liam slouched over on his couch all alone, surrounded by empty bottles.
"I don't blame Spencer for taking me to the hospital—he probably saved my life—but now I'm going to be in serious trouble. My parents don't mind that I drink, but they're going to get worried now that it actually became dangerous."
"Why'd you want to get drunk?" I ask.
He straightens the sheets against his chest, so that they're creased evenly all the way across the bed. Then he opens his mouth, shuts it, and settles for a shrug.
I wait a little while longer in case he decides to answer, but when he doesn't say anything I press, "Can I ask you something?"
"Shoot."
"Do you do drugs?"
His eyes flicker to the door to the room, as if he's afraid a nurse is eavesdropping through the cracks. Then he exhales loudly and says, "You're like my best friend Erika. I'm not going to lie and say I haven't tried. But it's illegal, and that's sort of a turn-off for me. Not to mention that drinking's a lot more fun."
"Technically, drinking's illegal for you, too."
"Always the logical one," he says, his mouth forming that strained smile again. "You're right. But it doesn't seem so serious, you know? I feel like there's no consequences with the alcohol. Drugs...well, you've heard the stories. Seen the pictures of the drug addicts."
"And yet you've ended up in here."
"I guess. But I'll be responsible in the future. This won't happen again." He reaches forward to pat my hand reassuringly, as if I'm a worried mother. "I'm fine. Seriously. They put me on an IV for a little while, drained it all out of my system, and I'm fine. Don't even really feel hungover."
Someone knocks on the door, and I break Liam's gaze long enough to glance over. It cracks open and Taylor pokes his head inside. His dark eyebrows are furrowed together, and they scrunch even closer when he sees me sitting on Liam's bed.
"Done yet?" he asks.
I clench the sheets between my fingers. "You're the one who asked to come," I say. "So deal with it. I'll probably be another ten minutes."
He glances at Liam, tips his head up in what I can only assume is his version of halfhearted well-wishes, and then slips back outside. Anger boils up inside of me again. I realize with frustration that at Aquino High, everyone thinks only for themselves.
The second he leaves, I turn back to Liam. I try to direct the topic of conversation back to his hospitalization but I'm not quick enough; before I can say anything he asks, "Why'd Taylor come with you?"
"He heard you were in the hospital and was worried about you."
His eyes bore into me, reading the sincerity in my lie. Then he says, "He didn't even come in to see me. Try again."
Huffing, I say, "He's obsessed with me. You know that. I'm pretty sure everyone knows that. He was out in the parking lot while I was leaving and practically begged to come with me. I don't know why."
"Probably desperate to spend more time with you," he says with a half-chuckle.
I nod, but my feelings of anger towards Taylor are replaced with pity. As long as I keep painting him as the boy who has unrequited love for me, the more of a laughingstock he'll become among my friends. And even though it's a small price to pay for our relationship, I can't help but feel bad about it.
When will my feelings stop contradicting themselves?
"You should probably head back to school," he says, sitting up straighter. "I doubt you want to miss your second class."
"You know me so well." Smiling, I lean forward and plant a quick kiss on his cheek. He wraps his arms around me and I squeeze tightly, focusing on his comforting presence. After a few seconds we both pull away, and I already feel infinitely better.
As I stand, I turn back to him. "Make sure this doesn't happen again, okay?"
"All right. And if you see Celia, tell her I'm fine, all right? But don't tell her what happened. She hasn't been by to visit me yet, but I'm sure she will once she knows I'm in the hospital. I don't think Spencer's told many people."
I nod. I'm halfway back to the door before he calls out, "You and Spencer are still dating, right?"
For a moment I'm torn between Taylor's and my plan and between my heart. I don't want to lie to my best friend about my relationship, but at the same time I need to protect Taylor. And yet—I realize this with a sickening sweep in my stomach—what if Spencer told Liam the truth about that night last summer? What if Liam is just as guilty as he is for hiding the truth from me?
My head is swimming, but I know better than to bother Liam with this drama while he's still healing. Instead I nod noncommittally before swinging open the door. There—I neither lied to Liam nor told him the complete truth. How long I can keep up this delicate balance of charades, though, I have no idea.
"Text me when you can," I tell him. And then I'm back out in the hallway and before he can say another word, I'm gone.
I retrace my steps back to the third floor lobby, where I find Taylor sprawled out on a chair with his earbuds jammed in. When he sees me, he stands and turns off his music, folding the cord to his earbuds so he can stuff them back in his pocket.
"How's Liam?" he asks, in a tone that implies that he really doesn't care at all.
Pressing the button to call the elevator, I say, "He'll be okay."
"What happened?"
I remember Liam's desire to retain his dignity and not spread the word about his condition. "Just a freak accident. Nothing life-threatening or anything. He'll probably be out tonight."
The conversation falls flat just as quickly as it started, and I know Taylor was never really invested in it at all. It was small talk, intended to breach the topic of my relationship with the other guys in my life. And that's what irritates me the most.
To his credit, Taylor doesn't bring it up until we're on the interstate heading back towards school. I've just merged and am accelerating on the highway when he says suddenly, "So why did Spencer tell you about Liam? I thought you guys hated each other now."
"That's what you wish," I snap. "But believe it or not, we're willing to sacrifice an awkward conversation so we can make sure our mutual friend is okay."
"But you do hate each other?"
I resist the urge to slam on my brakes and lash out at him. "If you bring up Liam or Spencer one more time on the way back, I'm going to be absolutely livid with you. If you're not confident enough about my feelings for you to stop obsessing over every other guy I talk to, then maybe this won't work after all."
He falls into a sulky silence and I drive wordlessly back to school, pulling into the same parking spot that I left only about an hour ago. I'll have to stop by Mrs. Rutledge's room as soon as possible to explain the situation and make sure I didn't miss anything too important from the lecture, and as it is I'm already late for my second class.
Taylor gets out and digs into the pocket of his jeans for another cigarette. Then he strides back over to his car without so much as a goodbye and starts in on that one, watching me out of the corner of his eye as I pass him to get back to school. The tension of our unfinished conversation weighs on me, one more thing for me to worry about and add to my pile of unresolved problems.
As I walk, though, I realize one thing: I'm a step closer to realizing what Liam's big secret is. And like it or not, I'll eventually have to report it to my blackmailer.
My heart nearly breaks at the thought. Somehow I already know: this will be the hardest secret to tell.
A/N: Guesses for everyone's secrets? Remember to vote and comment!