How It Ends by Catherine Lo (classic novels to read .txt) 📗

there to support me. “I must have drunk more’n I thought,” I say.

Sophie’s eyes are wide when Scott opens the door to her car and folds me inside. “I’m Scott,” he introduces himself, shaking her hand.

We pull away while he waves from the driveway. Sophie gets all the way to the end of the street before she speaks. “Well, well, well.”

“Did you have a good time tonight?” I ask, hoping to distract her from my current predicament.

“Not as good as you, apparently! Now, talk! Who’s the hottie, and why do you smell like a bar?”

“Wha—”

“Don’t even try to hide it.” She pulls over and swivels to face me. “You’re totally drunk. And you apparently have great taste in guys. Now, spill it, sister!”

“Okay. I drank something with rum in it all night and we made out and he’s really cute and I like him a lot.”

Sophie’s laugh bounces around the inside of the car. “Good for you! Now let’s get you home and into bed before my mom and your dad see you.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” I mean for the question to come out in a joking way, but it’s absolutely stark in its seriousness.

Sophie goes still, her laughter gone. “I know this all sucks for you. I know my mom can be a bitch sometimes and that I’ve been kinda rough on you. I just . . . I get so frustrated with you for always making such a huge deal out of everything and picking fights every two minutes. But after you and Mom fought about the art supplies, your dad sat me down and told me the whole story about the night your mom died and how hard it was for you afterward. I guess I kind of get now why you’re always so angry and sad.”

It’s the nicest thing she’s ever said to me. Sadly, maybe even the nicest thing anyone has said since my mom died. I open my mouth to thank her, but a sob comes out instead.

“Good God, Annie! Don’t turn into one of those pathetic girls who get overly emotional when they drink.” She shoots me a sly smile. “I recommend you dry those tears before we get home. The less you have to talk to anyone on our way in, the greater the chances you’ll make it through this undetected.”

At home, Sophie sneaks me into my room and then brings me a glass of water and an Advil. “Drink the whole thing,” she commands, and watches while I drain the glass.

“Thanks, Sophie,” I mutter as I drift off to sleep.

The next thing I know, I’m jolting awake, heart pounding. Madge’s face is inches from mine, and she’s screeching my father’s name. I leap out of bed, bumping into her and knocking the clothes I’d borrowed from Sophie out of her arms.

My dad skids into the doorway, his glasses askew.

“She’s drunk,” Madge accuses.

“Madeleine! I thought someone was hurt!” Dad puts his arm out to prop himself up against the door and clutches at his chest.

I fall back on the bed, watching them through eyelids that are too heavy to keep open. “Can we talk about this in the morning?” I mumble, rolling over.

Madge is clearly not impressed. She slams my bedroom door behind her, ranting about irresponsible behavior. I know there’s a massive grounding on the horizon, but I don’t even care. I curl up under the covers, my cheeks sore from smiling.

Hickville is definitely starting to get interesting.

Jessie

Why didn’t I go to that stupid party on Friday? Everything would be different if I hadn’t been such a loser about it. I let fear win again.

I knew something big had happened when I didn’t hear from Annie all weekend. I sent her message after message, and they all went unanswered. I was convinced that Courtney had gotten to her and turned her against me. I was sick with the thought of Annie ignoring me in the halls on Monday and laughing about me with my old friends.

Turns out that Annie got drunk at the party and her stepmom busted her. She was grounded all weekend with no phone and no screen time, which is why I didn’t see her at all until last night, when she came by under the pretense of borrowing a textbook.

As soon as she walked into my room, I could tell she had news. She looked nervous and excited and jumpy. I should’ve seen it coming a mile away because the first thing she did was ask me for the millionth time if I liked Scott, telling me she needed to hear the absolute truth. Not having any idea of what she was about to say, I swore to her I didn’t like him. And then she hit me with the news: they kissed, and she’s pretty sure they’re going out now.

My room started to spin around me, and I could barely focus my eyes. I had that feeling you get in your stomach when a roller coaster goes over the crest of a hill and then plummets toward the ground. I did my best to keep my face calm, worried that Annie would notice that I was in freefall. She just chattered on and on, though, oblivious to what was happening inside me. She was so happy; it made me sick.

I stayed up half the night with that feeling eating away at my insides. I kept trying to imagine the scene Annie had described—the two of them sitting on a couch kissing—and I couldn’t do it. My mind refused to accept the idea of Annie and Scott together.

Just before I finally drifted off to sleep, around four a.m., I decided that things might not be as bad as they seemed. They were drunk; Annie had said that. Maybe it was just a drunken party thing. Maybe nothing would come of it.

My psychiatrist would call that a defense mechanism—my brain’s attempt to soften the blow of difficult news by rationalizing it. After