Usually, hanging out with the girls is one of the things that can smooth out any tense feelings I have, but today it’s not working. I shouldn’t feel so on edge after one disastrous class with Evan, but I do. We argue all the time, that much isn’t new. But we argue from afar, over stock prices and over who is reading the graphs wrong. Now, we actually have to have real conversations to make this project work. Craving academic validation has always been my weakness and I don’t think I’ll ever get out of it; this project is no different.
My mom thought it was just a phase that I’d grow out of, especially growing up with all brothers. When you grow up with four boys who get praised for pissing in the toilet bowl or for tying their shoelaces, you need to work extra hard to be noticed.
You’d think that since I’m the only girl, I’d get special treatment, but no. Instead, you realise more than ever that you’re not special because your brothers could do everything that you do, when they were five years younger.
My mom thought that I just wanted to prove myself in a world where men dominate, but sometimes I think it’s deeper than that.
I know my worth. I know I’m smart. I know I’m good at what I do. And I know I don’t need a grade to determine that. But I’ve always had a strong relationship with numbers, so having it on paper helps. It makes it feel real. People can only assess your worth on what they see in stats.
Oh, she’s got a clothing brand that sells thousands per week: perfect. She has straight A’s and a 4.0 GPA: amazing. She works and studies three hundred and sixty-five days a year, striving for that perfect A at the top of her report: fan-fucking-tastic.
My friends think it’s something that I will eventually grow out of when I finish college. Still, when I close my eyes, I can see myself, ten years from now, still wanting to pin my report card on the fridge.
Wren, Kennedy, and I have been sitting on the floor in our living room for the last hour, in our usual spots. Which means Kennedy is sitting in her bean bag next to the coffee table, Wren’s back is against the sofa with her laptop in her lap, while I’m on my stomach next to her feet.
We have our own mini book club. Every time Wren writes a new chapter of her romance novel, “Stolen Kingdom”, she reads it out loud to us.
She’s become shy with her creative writing, even though she’s been taking the course for over two years, as well as figure skating. I can tell that she’s been in a slump since our friend Gigi got signed with one of the top publishing agencies in the Midwest. We’ve been trying to lift her up, hyping up every chapter, but I can tell something is wrong.
“Just stop getting in your head about it, Wrenny,” I suggest, resting my hand on her knee reassuringly so it stops shaking. She nods, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.
“I know. I know. I’m trying,” she responds, staring at her laptop screen. Sometimes I think she’s too hard on herself, always trying too hard, but she needs to realise how brilliant she is. Even when it’s all we and her boyfriend tell her, but she can’t get it into her head.
“Try digging deeper,” I press. I know I sound harsh, but this girl is incredible if she’d realise it. Kennedy throws a hard candy at me, hitting me right in the back of my head. I flinch, rubbing that spot. “Hey! What was that for?”
“You’re being mean, Scar. You’re going to make her cry,” Kennedy whispers as if Wren isn’t sitting right there.
I snort. “Come on, Ken. She isn’t going to cry. I’m just being honest,” I say and Wren nods, smiling at me. I don’t think I’d be able to cope if she cried right now. Kennedy gets up abruptly, the wrappers she had in the pouch she created with her shirt dropping to the floor as she does. “Where are you going?”
She shrieks as she runs down the corridor. “Stress-induced pee break!” she squeals. Wren and I laugh, knowing her and her bladder problems.
“You don’t think I was being too harsh, do you?” I whisper, poking Wren in the knee. I’ve known her longer than I have known anyone in my life, and we’ve always worked like this. We met Kennedy in high school and since then we’ve been inseparable, but Wren and I have literally been glued to the hip since we were in diapers. “I’m not trying to sound like a bitch. I just care about you, and I know how happy writing makes you and I don’t want you to lose that. You’re an incredibly talented writer, Wren.”
She turns to me, tears brimming her eyes. “Thank you, Scar. It’s just a little hard right now, but I am trying.”
“I know,” I say back, squeezing her hand and she squeezes back. There is nothing that I want more than my friends’ success. Especially Wren’s. God knows she deserves it.
She nudges my knee. “What’s going on with you? I haven’t seen much of you since you left that party with that guy. What’s his name? Charlie?” she quizzes, and I laugh at the change in subject. “He was cute.”
“If you mean his dick size, sure,” I mutter and she nudges me again, chuckling as she tucks her blonde hair behind her ears.
“Oh. So, small, I assume,” she replies, nodding.
She laughs again, shaking her head. “Yikes,” she mutters. “I don’t want to dick-shame, but if Miles’ dick was smaller than it is, I don’t think we’d be dating. It just wouldn’t do the job.”
The way this girl has grown in the last year shocks me. She would hardly ever speak openly about sex like this. Well, because she hadn’t had much experience before dating Miles, but still, I find it funny.
“I know, right? I mean, not with Miles’s dong, but in general. I just don’t see how-” I start but I’m interrupted by Kennedy’s loud entrance into the room, sitting down onto her beanbag.
“Okay, okay. Enough talk about penises. Two updates, go!” Kennedy says, pointing at the both of us.
We’ve been doing the ‘Two Updates’ game since freshman year where we have to give two updates on what our life has been like when we haven’t been able to hang out. Most of the time, I’m out at some event, Kennedy is in the studio until late and Wren’s at the rink. So, when there’s a time we’re all together, we have to give updates.
“I’ll go first,” Wren says, shutting her laptop and pushing it onto the coffee table. “Okay, so I got new skates from my mom as a pity gift for missing my birthday. Classic Hacks. And I got to use them while I went skating with Miles and his sister. Boring updates, but I’ve got a boring life now.”
Wren sulks and we clap, like we always do. “Still great, Wrenny. Still great,” I say, patting her arm. “My first update is that I got that Buelli painting I’ve been eyeing for a while. But, I have to work with Evan for our class project, so that’s fantastic.”
“There it is,” Kennedy whistles, beaming at me. “You can’t get through an update without mentioning him.”
“I do not,” I retort with a gasp.
“You do,” Wren adds and Kennedy nods. “I still stand by what I said. I think you need a good fuck to get it out the way. Hate-sex is much better, according to my readers.”
“The only thing Evan is getting from me is a slap to the face,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “Anyway, Kenny, what are your updates?”
She smiles wide, her lined dimples popping out. “You know that project I was stressing out about? As soon as you guys left, I cracked it and it’s done. It’s not perfect, but my teacher said it’s probably going to be the best in the class. Not that it matters, of course, but it felt amazing. And I alsohadaonenightstand.”
Her last few words blend together, not making sense as she pulls her hair into her face, a thing that she does when she’s nervous. “Didn’t quite get the end of that, babe.”
She sighs, blowing her hair out of her face. “I had a one night stand!” she shouts and mine and Wren’s mouths hang open.
Kennedy does not do casual. Ever. Mostly because she doesn’t date and gets the ick too easily. If she wants to be in a relationship, she’ll be in one. She hates the uncertainty of situationships, so her sleeping with someone randomly is insane.
“Who?” Wren and I gawk at the same time, looking at each other and then back to Kennedy.
“I will neither deny nor confirm if it was someone from the hockey team,” she whispers. Wren’s hand goes to her chest dramatically.
“Kennedy, you wouldn’t,” she mutters and then Kennedy very slightly, it’s barely noticeable, but she nods, and we both know who it was.
Harry Butler, the guy she’s been on and off with since the start of this year. They never actually dated, but after a kiss during a game of seven minutes in heaven, I’m sure they’re not strictly best friends, as much as Ken likes to hide it.
‘We were both sad and emotional and he was there, and I kissed him, and he felt good and the next thing I knew we were naked,’ she explains, doing a poor job at trying to hide her blush.
‘Oh, my fucking God, Ken,’ I whisper.
‘I know,’ she mutters back. ‘It’s terrible. But we’re just friends, so it’s never going to happen again.’
‘Just friends, huh?’ Wren mocks. Kennedy tries to nod, showing that she’s telling the truth, but the way her face looks like it’s radiating heat is enough of a giveaway.
Wren tackles her to the ground, pestering her with excited questions and I’m about to join in, but my phone lights up with a text.
UNKNOWN: Hey, we should meet up soon to start working on the project.
My heartbeat triples in pace. Evan and I never text. If I ever needed to contact him, I’ve only done it through Miles or if I’m desperate, it’s through Instagram. I don’t like the thought of him having my number. It feels like we’re crossing some sort of invisible line. The kind of line that has been put up for several reasons.
ME: How did you get my number, u weirdo?
EVAN: Miles gave it to me under strict conditions.
EVAN: Not to piss you off because then you’ll tell Wren and Wren will tell Miles and Miles will tell me and I’ll never hear the end of it.
Huh. I’ll have to give Miles some brownie points for that one. Even when I was fooling around with his dickwad of a teammate, Jake, Miles was the only one I could tolerate, which is why I’m glad Wren is dating him.
ME: And how well is that working out for u so far?
EVAN: You’re still texting me, so I’d say pretty well.
Apparently, he’s more bearable over text, which is probably because I can’t see his smug face and I can have more than five seconds to think of a reply. Being in his presence makes me nervous and not in a good way. But texting him feels easy. Easier to insult. Easier to talk to. It’s a win-win.
The girls must have caught onto whatever stupid grin is on my face because they’ve stopped the interrogation and they’re both staring at me. I raise my eyebrows at them.
“Who are you texting?” Kennedy asks, leaning over to look at my phone and I let her have a peek.
“And he’s making you laugh,” Wren mentions, tilting her head to the side.
“Yeah, at his stupidity,” I retort.
“Riiiight,” the girls say in unison, sounding like Kronk from ‘The Emperor’s New Groove.’ I get up, interrupting their overanalyses of a stupid half-smile that doesn’t mean anything.
“I’ve got to go. I need to go see my mom,” I say, brushing off my long skirt, readjusting my white top.
“If you’re going to meet Evan, you can tell us,” Wren says quietly. “We don’t hate him as much as you do.”
They don’t have a reason to. When they met him, he was his charming self that he puts up when they’re around. Opposite to our first interaction.
* * *
I know that every time I walk into my house, my mom is going to be on some sort of new rant. I don’t know why I get surprised anymore. This time, she’s going on about how she won’t know what to do if my dad doesn’t pull through: immediately going to the worst case scenario. My dad will pull through. He has to.
My parents had the picture-perfect wedding, all five of their kids being able to attend. I had only just learnt to walk, so I was a little wobbly going down the aisle in the pictures, but there is no doubt that my parents are so sickly in love with each other. You’d think that after twenty years of marriage and thirty-five years of being together, they’d dial it down, but no. They remind me of a modern day Morticia and Gomez Addams, constantly all over each other, never being afraid to show off their love to us kids.
That’s why it hits so hard that my dad isn’t here to be the rock for my mom. She is an independent woman, and she always has been, but there’s a certain light in her eyes that can only be lit by my dad. She has been with my dad before Voss got popular and that grounded both of them, knowing that they always chose each other, no matter what.
As the brand grew from clothing into designer accessories, you start to realise that the numbers on the spreadsheets you come across in your parents’ bedroom aren’t just little figures. The dollar sign means power and not everyone knows what to do with that kind of power.
My dad never lied to us about our competitors, and as a business student now, I know how important competition is, but I didn’t realise the dirty truths behind why some companies are so desperate to take the other down.
“You need to stop worrying, mom,” I say, stopping her pacing as she stalks around the coffee table in the living room. I guide her into her favourite plush violet chair, letting her settle in it before taking a seat across from her. “Gio is going to be there if things fall through. Which they won’t because dad is the strongest person I know.”
The mention of my uncle soothes her somehow and she nods, tapping her foot rhythmically. “Can I worry about you instead?”
“Why would you need to worry about me?” I laugh.
‘Because you don’t have a partner yet,” she says, sounding genuinely frightened that I won’t ever settle down. I’m twenty, for God’s sake. I do not need to be settling down. She adds with a pout, “Even Henry has a girlfriend.’
‘Yeah, because he’s a manwhore,’ I say through another laugh.
‘Don’t call your brother a manwhore.’
‘It’s true,’ I mutter, and she swats me on the arm. Honestly, I’ve called Hen a manwhore to his face and he just laughed at me, telling me he’s going to use that insult in the future and thanked me for my service. My mom doesn’t seem so happy about it though. Her deep brown brows are furrowed and she’s gnawing at her bottom lip. ‘I’m fine, mom. I don’t need a relationship right now. Dad’s not here and you’re doing okay, I think I can manage.’
She sighs deeply. ‘Yes, because I have years of marriage to fall back on. Don’t you want someone to take care of you? The same way me and your dad look out for each other. The way he took care of me when I was going through chemo.’
The mentions of my mom’s battle with cancer sends a dagger straight through my heart. Those two years were probably the worst two years of my life, watching my mom slowly fade away while I couldn’t do anything to help. But she pulled through. She always does. And she’s been cancer-free for almost two years now.
‘I don’t need someone to look after me, mom. I have you, dad, myself and four brothers to do that,” I say proudly, holding up my chin.
‘Scarlett, my love, we’re going in circles here.” I’ve been playing this game for too long, so I just smile, letting her project all of her worries onto me if it distracts her from thinking about my dad. For a minute, it distracts me too.
