C. K. Kelly Martin - I Know Its Over

contents

rage on

one

The first time Sasha lay spread across my bed, I felt like the world had changed. She was wearing cutoff jean shorts and a plain white T-shirt, not the tiny, cropped kind lots of girls wearSasha never wears that kind of stuff. So it has to be my rules, she repeated, propping her head up and peering steadily into my eyes. I stared at her long, tan legs and thought: Dont screw this up now, Nick.

Your rules, I agreed, and I didnt screw it up, not then anyway. We went on like that for nearly five months, stretching her rules, rewriting them together, until she told me we were getting too serious, that I was too much of a distraction and she had her whole future to think about.

I want to worry about school, she said, crossing her arms and frowning like only Sasha canlike the world was coming to an end. Not about trying to get on the pill.

Now I know she was wrong about the world, thougheither wrong or earlybecause I can live without Sasha. The past month has proven that. But I dont know how to deal with what shes telling me now.

Say something, she says urgently, grabbing my arm and squeezing hard. Dont do this to me, Nick.

I glance up the driveway towards my house, at the icicle lights everyone but my mom continually forgets to switch on, and wrench my arm away. Dad will be here to pick me up in less than an hour. Christmas at his place with Bridgettethat was my big problem until thirty seconds ago.

Nick, Sasha repeats. Snow is falling on her hair and shes wearing the leather gloves her mom bought her at the end of October. She still looks beautiful to me, or at least I know she would if I could feel anything.

I run a hand through my snow-crowned hair and say, This has to be a mistake. Its what everybody says and now I know why.

Dont you think I checked? Her hands close into fists. You think Id come over here to tell you if I didnt know for sure?

I dont know what youd do, Sasha. I squint in her direction. The sky is filled with white as bright as sunshine. I dont know you anymore, remember?

Sasha laughs like she hates me. She turns in the direction of the road and stands there, motionless. Shes prepared to wait, to become some kind of ice princess at the edge of my lawn. Not a nice fairy talethe pregnant ex-girlfriendbut then I guess most of them arent. Not in the beginning anyway. I glance at the dark hair spilling down the back of Sashas coat and shiver. My heart stopped beating at the beginning of this conversation.

So what do you want me to say? I snap, taking a step back. Sasha laughs again, shakes her head, and stares down my street. What has she done to deserve this, thats what shes thinking, no doubt. Theres snow on her lashes, her cheeks are red from the cold, and suddenly I feel like a complete asshole.

Does anyone else know?

Lindsay was there when I took the test. She swivels to watch me from the corner of her eyes. Its not safe to look at me yet. She doesnt know who Ill be.

What about your parents?

Sasha doesnt laugh this time. Her parents arent a joke to either of us. We spent five months arranging meetings behind their backs and coaching Lindsay and Sashas other friends on alibis. We never even came close to getting caught. Or so I thought.

So what happened? Okay, I know what happened, but it barely qualified as a mistake. And it was once, thats all. I reach out and touch Sashas armshe doesnt pull away. Shes more mature than I am maybe, at the very least shes had more time to think. We shouldve gone I begin, but Sashas way ahead of me.

I know we shouldve. Her cheeks hollow out as the cold steals the word from her lips. I wish we did. Its too late now. Our eyes lock. Freeze. Dart away. Shit! Sasha exclaims, her eyes on the road.

Mom is motoring up the street towards us, waving, with her extreme happy face fixed firmly in place. If theres one thing I cant deal with now, its that lame happy holiday face. The real thing is bad enough, but Moms imitation sucks any real life out of the holidays and reminds me of a time when they used to mean something besides trying too hard. Or maybe back then I was too impressed by stuff like company Christmas parties where the boss would dress up as a skinny Santa Claus and dole out cheap board games and action figure knockoffs. I mean, I know it wasnt perfect. I remember the arguments as well as anyone, but I also remember the four of us driving around looking at Christmas lights for weeks beforehand and my parents taking turns bringing my sister, Holland, and me shopping for each others presents. Some of that was real. I can feel the difference.

Sasha, I have to go, I say. My dads picking me up soon.

Sasha shoots me an incredulous glare. This is important.

Yeah, I know. I take a step back as Mom pulls into the drive. Ill call you when I get there, okay?

Sasha doesnt wait for my mom to get out of the car. She storms off, kicking up snow and folding her arms in front of her. I know thats a shitty thing to dojust let her go like thatbut I cant help it. Well, I could, but I dont want to have to try. I keep thinking maybe shes wrong about the whole thing. Those tests cant be a hundred percent accuratenothing is.

Mom opens the car door, ducks down in front of the passenger seat, and emerges with a collection of bags. Nicholas, give me a hand, she says, handing me half her stash. That stupid stale smile is stretched across her face so tight shes practically mummified. Get the door, please, she sings, all nursery rhymelike. Im glad Im not going to be here for Christmas, if you want to know the truth. All the pretending gives me a massive headache, but whenever Holland or I decide to stop, Mom withdraws into a catatonic state.

I pull my keys out of my pocket, unlock the door, drop the bags down by the wall, and prepare to sprint upstairs before Mom can question me about Sashas former presence on our lawn. Holland zooms around the corner towards me, her rainbow-colored hair back in a ponytail and her legs drowning in baggy pants, before I can make my escape. Theres a message from Babette on the machine, she mutters. Theyre going to be a little later than expected due to the inclement weather. I laugh in spite of everything. If you knew Bridgette, thats exactly how she sounds, like she was born in a country club.

Lights, Holland says abruptly. She rushes past me to flick on the icicle lights, nearly colliding with Mom in the doorway.

Just once Id like to come home and find the Christmas lights already on, Mom complains. Its Christmas Eve, for heavens sake. She turns towards me, her lips on the verge of a new sentence: Nicholas

Its not even dark yet, I cut in, doing my best to distract her. Its too snowy to really get dark.

Mom nods and hands her bags to Holland. What are these? Holland asks. Thank you, Holland. I kick off my shoes and rush upstairs to start packing, Hollands voice wafting up through the vent under my desk. Sometimes I wonder what Mom would do without Holland and me. Maybe shed be that sleepwalker person all the time if she never had to pretend.

I start emptying my closet into my backpack. Way too many clothesI need a bigger backpack. Ill have to carry Dads present. Hell be disappointed that theres only one; hes hinted often enough about buying Bridgette something too. I told him he was lucky I was coming in the first place. Look at Holland, she hasnt spoken to him since she found out about Bridgetteor Babette, as she prefers to call herlast March.

Bridgettes not really the Babette type, though; for one thing shes too old, and for another shes got too much class. Too much class for her own good actually; shes plenty stuck-up. Still, Holland has a point. She always does. Hollands fourteen and a half going on thirty, or so she likes to think. Shed never get herself into Sashas situation.