Page 53 of The Way I Used to Be
I have no idea why I do, but I do. Then Mara takes it from me.
“My heart is racing,” I tell Troy, holding my hand over my chest.
“That’s normal,” he tells me, and he takes my hand and puts it over his heart instead. “See?”
“But your heart’s not racing,” I tell him.
“Neither is yours,” he says, giggling.
“What?” I ask. “That doesn’t even make sense,” I tell him, feeling my mouth spread out into a smile.
“It doesn’t?” he laughs. “I thought it did.”
Suddenly this all feels like the funniest thing that’s ever happened, so I start laughing too, until I can barely breathe.
I feel like one second I look and I see Mara and Alex laughing and the next I look and they’re not there anymore. “Where did they go?” I ask Troy.
“Over there,” he says slowly, pointing down. He’s pushing her on the giant horse swing. They’re laughing slowly.
“Mara?” I yell.
“Hi-ii-iii,” she yells back, waving her arm over her head.
“This is so weird,” I whisper.
“Yeah,” he agrees with a smile, and he lies down, stretching out the length of the bridge.
The next thing I know, I’m opening my eyes, Mara shaking my shoulder. Alex standing behind her, their voices blending together, saying, “Wake up! Get up! Get up!”
“Dude, get up—Troy!” he shouts.
“Edy, it’s three in the morning—we need to get out of here!”
“Oh, man,” Troy mumbles, moving his arm from behind my neck.
I sit up slowly from this total stranger’s arms. “What happened?”
“We all fell asleep,” Mara answers. “Now we have to hurry the hell up and get home before we’re on house arrest until we’re twenty-one!” Mara shouts, pulling on my arm.
We hurry to gather all our things and race down the stairs and across the bridges, holding our shoes in our hands.
“OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod,” Mara mutters under her breath the entire way to the car.
“Bye!” the guys call after us.
“We are so fucked!” Mara yells once we get in the car.
“Okay, calm down. There’s a perfectly good lie that can explain everything. Let’s just think. You said you were staying at my house. I said I was staying at your house. Change of plans. We stayed at Megan’s house instead.”
“Who’s Megan?” she cries as we peel out of the parking lot.
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell her, my mind thinking quickly. “We stayed up late and we were all having a good time until she started being mean and we got in an argument and left. That’s why we’re coming home in the middle of the night. See? Not fucked, okay?”
“You think that will work?” she asks frantically.
“Yes. Just stick to the story and act like it’s the truth. Remember how good you were with the gas station guy?” I remind her.
“Uh-huh,” she murmurs, looking like she might actually cry.
