Page 51 of People Like Us

“It could be,” I said, desperate. “You could have so much more, Em. I know you can’t tell your parents, but we’ll all leave this shitty town soon. And when we do, I hope you take what you deserve from the world.” The words came out soft, and I meant them.

Her lashes glistened in the porch light, and for once, Emily had nothing to say back.

“Are you in love with Penelope?” I asked after a beat.

She reared back, and for a moment I thought she might smack me. But instead her shoulders fell and she breathed out. “No. Her best friend.”

A small laugh escaped me. “Angelica?”

She nodded, quietly.

“You hate Penelope because she can have her in a way you can’t?”

Another small nod. I pulled her close, wrapped my arms around her shoulders, and kissed the top of her shiny blonde hair. “Oh, Em, we are two fucked-up peas in the same very fucked-up pod, huh?”

She squeezed me, then whispered into my shoulder, “Are you in love with the loser across the street?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

We stayed outside, sitting on the edge of the porch, talking until our boyfriends came out of the house, the pair of them laughing and oblivious as they climbed into Andy’s truck.

The drive home felt louder than the rest of the night had somehow. Emily sat curled in the passenger seat of my hatchback with her knees tucked to her chest, the radio low enough to be swallowed by the sound of wind howling outside. The roads in Woodland always smelled damp after dark, like wet dirt and dying things. The fields of corn stretched black on either side of us, interrupted only by the occasional porch light glowing weak and yellow through the crops.

Emily watched the blur of farmland through the window. I kept glancing at her hands grasping her ankles.

“You can stay over if you want,” I said before I could lose the nerve. The pause that followed made my stomach tighten instantly.

I had never invited anyone to my house before. Andy had picked me up for church enough times that he knew where I lived, but he’d rarely stepped foot inside the trailer, unless my parents weren’t home. My friends existed in one world; my family existed in another. I kept them separated carefully, like mixing chemicals that might explode if they touched.

Emily looked over at me slowly. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” I forced a shrug. “It’s late anyway.”

She studied me for a second too long, like she could pinpoint the source for the strain in my voice. Then she smiled softly. “Okay.”

The trailer park sat at the edge of town beside an abandoned textile building with busted-out windows. A man-made river that powered an electric company ran behind it, where locals liked to slide down the slippery rocks for fun during the summer.

Most of the trailers leaned slightly to one side, porch lights glowing over moss-covered steps and tiny patches of grass we liked to call a yard. Mine was near the back, tucked beneath two massive pine trees that dropped needles thick enough to hide the dirt beneath them.

I parked behind my father’s truck. “Get out on my side, there’s a big puddle over there,” I warned Emily, as I unbuckled my seat belt. She didn’t seem to have a reaction to having to climb over my center counsel.

The porch creaked when we stepped onto it. The neighbor’s small dog barked once through the window, then went silent after my headlights shut off.

The trailer smelled faintly like bleach and orange furniture polish when we stepped inside. My father cleaned obsessively before bed every night, a habit from the old days he’d never outgrown. A small lamp over the stove cast the outdated kitchen in a buttery yellow glow.

I slipped my shoes off by the door, leaving them on the speckled gold linoleum floor and motioned for Emily to follow me down the narrow hallway. My parents’ bedroom door was shut, but I could hear my father snoring through the paneled walls. The only other sound, the faint melody coming from the radio on the counter my father kept on a christian station at all times.

I led Emily into my room and picked up the door that hung loose on its hinges by its tarnished knob to push it softly into the frame, hoping it’d stay in place for the duration of the night. When it rained a lot, the trailer seemed to warp and shift, and the particle board doors would either swing open on their own, or get stuck in place. I kept my shoulder pressed against it for a moment before I realized she was watching me.

I suddenly saw the room through her eyes.

The metal bedframe with chipped white paint, and sagging mattress. The dresser with one drawer permanently crooked from where I’d kicked it shut too hard years ago. The stickers still plastered across the wood—cartoon hearts, faded butterflies, band logos peeling at the corners. The mismatched desk shoved beneath the window with the old sewing machine sitting on top of it.

A stack of thrifted bedsheets sat folded beside the desk in uneven piles. Florals, varying shades of ivory, and yellowing lace curling at the edges. The room smelled faintly of lavender detergent and fabric dust.

“It’s nice,” Emily said gently. I knew she was lying.

“Here.” I crouched by the dresser and pulled out an oversized T-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts. “You can change into these.”