A Midsummer's Nightmare

My head began to spin. My whole body felt alive, like it was on fire. I gasped for breath between each kiss, my fingers digging into his soft cotton T-shirt. Something like euphoria swept over me, and I couldn’t think about anything anymore. It was just Nathan and me and way too many layers of clothing between us. I wanted to touch every inch of him. I wanted to melt into him. I wanted him. So much.

But Nathan’s hand moved to my shoulder, and without warning he pushed me up, away from him.

“No,” he panted. “I can’t do this, Whit.”

“Nathan,” I whined. “We’re not actually related. It isn’t weird, okay? Please, just—”

“That’s not it,” he said, rolling me off him and sitting up on the bed.

I propped myself on an elbow, frustrated. “Then what the hell is your problem?” I demanded. “Seriously, Nathan. I’ve thrown myself at you twice, and you shut me down both times. I know you want me, too.”

“That’s just it,” he said, standing up and walking across the room. “I want you… more of you than you’re willing to give.”

“More than I’m…?” I frowned, getting to my knees on the mattress. “What are you talking about?”

He turned to face me, his hand already on the doorknob. “I told you. I don’t want to be that kind of guy. I don’t just want sex, Whit. I want more. I want everything. I want you.”

“Nathan…”

“I’m not settling for less, Whitley,” he said. “And neither should you.”

And he walked out of the room.

For a minute, I was pissed. Really pissed. He wanted everything, but what was everything? I was all over him, willing to do anything in that moment. Anything. What more could he ask for?

Then I remembered what he’d told me in the diner after Harrison’s party. He didn’t want something cheap. He wanted a girl he liked, a girl he could have a future with. And he wanted me to be that girl. He had since graduation night, since we’d made out in the armchair and I’d named all the songs about blue eyes. Even then, he hadn’t just wanted my body. He’d wanted me.

And after this summer, after I’d broken his heart, after he’d actually gotten to know me, he hadn’t changed his mind. I fell backward onto the pillows. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

It took me a long time to stand up, but I did. There was something I had to do. Something I’d been afraid to attempt for weeks. But, finally, I felt like I could do it.

I knelt down next to my duffel bag and began pulling out the wrinkled clothes, folding them up and placing them one by one in the drawers of the oak dresser.

My dresser. In my bedroom.

People cared about me here. Nathan, Bailey, Sylvia—I’d given them every reason in the world to hate me, but they didn’t. They’d tried so hard to make me feel welcome in this house, even when Dad had ignored me. And slowly, I’d come to care about them, too. Maybe I didn’t fit in, but they were willing to make room for me here. And I was ready to take them up on that.

27

“Enjoying your stay at your dad’s?”

“Yeah.”

“Been spending time with him and his new family?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You like them?”

“Yes. Very much.”

Mom and I hadn’t spoken in weeks, and the one time I actually answered her call, she started digging. For insults. For bitch fits. For anything negative about Dad. It was the morning after I’d unpacked, after I’d decided I belonged here with these people. And Mom was reminding me exactly why I felt more comfortable here than in her house.

“I bet you see them more than you see your father, don’t you?” she scoffed. “Good God. I mean, you’ve known them for five minutes, and he’s already leaving you alone with them all the time, I’d imagine. What if they’re psychos or something?”

“They’re not.”

“You don’t know that, Whitley. Your father has never had good judgment.”

“Mom, they’re fine,” I snapped. “I like them, okay? Drop it.”

Silence. I’d shut her up. But only for a second.

“Honey, is something wrong?” Mom asked. “You sound upset. What’s the matter? You can tell me.”

“No,” I said through gritted teeth. “No, Mom, I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you that Dad and I barely speak to each other. Or that I think he likes his new family more than me. Or that it hurts because I love his family, too. I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you anything because all you do is bitch! You bitch and bitch and bitch about Dad. All the time.”

Hot tears were burning in the corners of my eyes. I tried to fight them. This was dumb. Crying on the phone with Mom was stupid and dumb. Because it wasn’t as if she gave a shit. Not about my feelings.

“Whitley—”

“Shut up,” I growled. “Just shut up. Hearing you complain about Dad isn’t helping me. It hasn’t helped me for the past six goddamn years. All you think about is him. How much you hate him. How much he’s hurt you. But you forget that I love him, that sometimes I’m like him. And I’m still here! So just shut up and think about someone else for a change. Like your own fucking daughter.”

There was silence again. This time, she didn’t break it.

I took a few deep breaths, rubbing my eyes with the back of my wrist. I couldn’t believe I’d just done it. I’d said all of the things I’d been thinking for years. But I hadn’t meant to. They just poured out. Gushed from my lips without my permission. Now that it was out there, though, it was kind of a relief.

And kind of terrifying.

“Mom, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

I hung up before she could say another word.

Bailey’s cheerleading tryouts that week were a family event. Sylvia even took off work to make it to the three o’clock session. Though, in reality, there wasn’t much to do or see. Dad, Sylvia, Nathan, and I mostly just stood out in the high school’s ugly orange-and-blue hallway, waiting with our fingers crossed as Bailey and two dozen other girls auditioned behind the closed gymnasium doors.

I tried not to feel bitter. I mean, my dad only saw me two and a half months out of the year, and he barely noticed me then, yet he was going to his not-even-stepdaughter’s cheerleading tryouts. Tryouts he couldn’t actually witness. But, yeah, I did my best to push that feeling away. This was Bailey’s day, and being selfish would make me both a crappy friend and sister.

Sylvia twitched nervously beside me, letting out her breath in long, low bursts. Her foot tapped against the tile floor, and she stared straight ahead, unable to be distracted by the rest of us. Christ, she was more stressed about this than Bailey had been. Just looking at her made me anxious.

“So, Nate, did you watch the game last night?”

I glanced to my left. Dad was trying to distract himself. That or make up for the boredom of standing in this ugly-ass hallway. Either way, he was employing Nathan. His new son. The athlete he’d always wanted. Nathan was going to his old college, playing his favorite sport, doing all the things he’d urged Trace and me to do.

No wonder he didn’t need us anymore. He had the child he’d always hoped for now.

My eyes slid over to Nathan, standing on the other side of my father. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, and his foot bounced in the same rhythm as Sylvia’s. For a second, he met my gaze, and I had to turn away.

Things had been weird for us since the kiss a few nights ago…. Well, weird for me, at least. Nathan went on like everything was normal. Smiling at me. Laughing with me. Making his usual jokes and comments. Like we hadn’t made out yet again. Like we were still just friends or stepsiblings or whatever the hell we had been. Like nothing had changed.

And I guess, technically, nothing had.