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“Patrick could barely afford what he did pay.” I flattened the cocktail napkin that saidlittle lies.It was crumpled but whole. When I pressed it to my cheek, my sister gave me a strange look. “And I wantedhim, Alexis. Not some rich boy with deep pockets.”
Going to my dresser, she began folding my tumbled clothes and putting them away.
“I’m sure you had a very good reason for doing what you did,” she said carefully.
I took a makeup wipe and swiped it across theWHOREscrawled on the mirror. The insult disappeared into a red smudge on the white cloth.
“I needed money,” I murmured. “Let’s leave it at that.”
Alexis straightened to her usual confident posture, though her hands shook as she folded my clothes.
“Why didn’t you just askmefor help?”
I picked up one of my cheerleading uniforms from the foot of the closet, running my fingers over the embroidery.
“I didn’t think you could ever understand fucking up like this. You’re the perfect Alexis.”
“God.” Her voice was hoarse. “I’m the furthest thing from that. I ran awayto you!I understand.”
“Yeah? Would any of these things ever happen to you?”
“Never.” She smiled slightly. “But take that as a compliment. You’re the interesting one.”
“Uh-uh. I’m the runner-up. The screw-up. You’re so brilliant and accomplished…”
I choked up. The next second we were hugging hard, half-laughing and half-crying, our cheeks pressed together, until we were interrupted by a sudden buzz.
“Your phone’s ringing,” Alexis hiccuped.
I reached for my purse, but it hung silent on my desk chair.
“That’s not mine.”
The buzzing came from my bed. I dropped my uniform and groped the sheets until I found a silver phone.
Patrick’s. It must have fallen out this afternoon when he stripped off his clothes. On the screen, over the same picture of the Coliseum that hung in his room, it saidNick.
I knew how it felt to have your privacy violated. But I was so sick of secrets.
I swiped the screen.
“Hello?”
The phone crackled, like there was a problem with the connection.
“Who’s this? I need to talk to my brother.”
His deep voice sounded enough like Patrick’s to throw me off. But it was younger, faster, slurred. He’d been drinking.
“I’m Christina. Patrick left his phone in my room. He’ll be back, I don’t know when.”
“‘He’ll be back,’” he repeated, his tone laden with sarcasm. “I’ve heard that before. Oh, wait, I haven’t. But he keeps showing up.”
I didn’t know what to say, but I wanted to keep Nick on the phone. “I’ve seen your picture.”
“Oh?”
“You were a cute kid.”
