Kody Keplinger: A Midsummer's Nightmare

But I wasn’t sure that would be enough.

Not even a week had passed since I’d finally put my clothes into the drawers of the oak dresser, and here I was, already packing them up again. The thought did cross my mind, how much easier this would’ve been if I’d just left all of my stuff in the duffel bag. If I’d never unpacked. If I’d never let this place become my home.

Bailey sat at the foot of my bed, watching as I moved sluggishly around the room, my hands clutching one personal belonging or another. She and Sylvia had gotten back home about an hour after my fight with Dad. When Bailey had come upstairs to show me her shoes, she found me still half in tears after my phone call with Trace.

I told her everything. Well, not everything. I left out the part about my would-be one-night-stand with Nathan earlier this summer. She was too young to hear that shit. So I started by telling her that we were seeing each other, then worked my way up to this morning in the kitchen with Dad.

She didn’t cry, but I could tell she wanted to.

“You know,” she said with a weak, forced smile, “I knew there was something going on with you and Nathan.”

“Yeah,” I said, my laugh sounding strangled and pathetic. “Yeah, you did. Good guess.”

“I didn’t have to guess,” she mumbled, toying with a loose thread in the comforter. “It was pretty obvious.”

I shoved a few wrinkled T-shirts into my duffel bag, trying not to think about what I was doing. I focused on Bailey. On what she was saying. On anything but the fact that I was leaving tomorrow afternoon. Because when I thought about how long it might be before I saw her again, it felt like someone was twisting a knife in my gut.

Would Dad let me come to the wedding next month after all of this?

Two months ago, I would have done anything to leave this house. Now, I would have done anything to stay.

The next words Bailey said came out in a half-sobbed whisper: “What about my birthday?”

The knife plunged deeper.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry, Bailey. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have said… Anyway, I’m sure Harrison will take you shopping.”

Harrison. Christ, I needed to call him. To tell him why I was going to vanish a week and a half early. But the idea of saying good-bye to him made my eyes sting again. Goddamn it, I wasn’t supposed to be a crier, but I’d cried so freaking much this summer.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“That makes two of us.”

I zipped up my duffel bag.

“Maybe Mom will talk Greg out of sending you home,” she said.

“Or maybe she’ll be just as upset as he is about Nathan and me dating.”

Bailey lowered her head, defeated.

“Hey, guys…”

His voice echoed down the hallway, causing a lump to lodge itself in my throat. No, no, no, I thought. Even though I’d be seeing him again soon, at college, telling Nathan I was leaving would be the hardest. Because I knew him. I knew he’d blame himself. And I couldn’t handle that right now.

“What’s going on?” He poked his head into my room. “Mom and Greg are arguing in their room, and—” He stopped, his eyes scanning my face. “What’s wrong?”

I opened my mouth, but the words got lost somewhere behind that knife, which was still carving away at my insides. I looked down at my duffel bag, and I felt his eyes slide down my frame and land on it, too.

“What…?”

“I’ll leave you two alone.”

Bailey stood up and walked past her brother, edging out the door. She glanced back at me with those sad brown eyes before vanishing into the hallway.

“Whit,” he said when she’d gone. “What’s going on? Why are you packing again? You don’t leave until—”

I was already shaking my head. “No,” I said, biting my lip. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning. Dad’s having someone fill in for him on the news.”

“Why?”

“Have you been on Facebook?”

“Not today.”

“Well, we’re famous.” I tried to smile. Tried to pretend it was funny. “Nice picture of you and me at the Nest. Dad was admiring the photographer’s handiwork.”

Nathan’s face went sickly pale. “So… he saw. And he’s making you leave because of me.”

I shook my head, sinking down onto the bed. “No, it’s my fault. I talked back to him, and I think he basically kicked me out.” I forced myself to smile when I looked at him. “Because I can drink and sleep around all I want, but it’s a mortal sin to kiss the kid whose mom is marrying my dad.”

“Stepbrother,” he said.

“You’re not my stepbrother,” I said, exasperated. “Not yet. And don’t say it like you think it’s wrong, too. We aren’t siblings. It isn’t that weird. And Nathan, I really can’t take you blaming yourself or feeling guilty right now, okay?” No tears, no tears. I wouldn’t. I would not cry again. “I don’t want to think that I was wrong, because I know I wasn’t. Dad is being an asshole, and that’s the end of the story. Please, just be on my fucking side!”

“Hey, hey.” Nathan moved forward and sat down on the bed beside me. “Calm down, all right? I am on your side. I’m always on your side.” He put an arm around me, and I leaned against him, my face buried in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled into the fabric of his T-shirt. “I just don’t get it! He ignored me for the whole summer, and all of a sudden he gives a damn? But instead of fixing it, he’s sending me back to Mom’s. Why? Why now?”

“I think you should ask him.”

I scoffed, pulling away from Nathan. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious, Whit. You two really need to talk.”

“That’s what Trace said.”

“Well, he’s right.”

“I get it!” I yelled, pushing Nathan away and standing up. “But I’ve tried. I have totally tried.”

“I know you have,” he said. “But right now, you’re the only one who can make things better. You’re the one who has changed this summer. If you want things to change with your dad, you’ll have to be the one to change them.”

“I can’t.”

“Whitley,” he said, using that tone that meant he was about to explain something very simple, like I was a five-year-old he had to reason with. “You two will never fix anything if you keep your mouths shut. He’s your dad. He loves you.”

I snorted. “He likes you better.”

“Stop being so melodramatic.” Nathan stood up and walked over to stand in front of me, putting his hands on my hips. “Look, I want you to stay. You know I do, but I’ll see you in a few weeks at college, and they’ll have no say over what we do then. But right now, your dad is the most important thing to worry about. If we have to put our relationship on hold so you two can work things out, I’m fine with that.”

“Why do you have to be so damn nice?” I asked, annoyed. “Why can’t you get pissed off, too? It would make my life so much easier.”

He kissed my forehead—so freaking condescending—and said, with that same old smile, “Because being pissed won’t solve anything. Go downstairs and talk to your dad. I’ll be here when you’re done. Okay?”

“I told you, Trace already suggested that, but it won’t work. And besides, I don’t want to.”

“Yeah, you do.” His hands tightened on my hips and he nudged me backward, toward the door. “You really, really do.” Then he basically shoved me out of the bedroom, then closed—and locked—the door in my face.