Paula Stokes - The Art of Lainey

Wait. 5:31? “Shit.” I pull out my phone and check my messages. None. If my mom gets up and realizes I never came home, she’ll freak. “One second.” I rattle off a quick text message telling her I fell asleep watching movies at Kendall’s house and that I’ll be home in a little while.

Turning back to Micah I take a deep breath and blurt out the words I’ve been trying to say for almost two weeks: “I’m sorry about what happened at Beat.”

He runs a hand through his mohawk. “Me too,” he says.

“I didn’t mean those things. I meant what I said on the patio.” I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror and realize I have no makeup on and that the humidity has turned my hair into a mess of frizz. Oh, well, there’s no hiding the real me now. “I spent weeks trying to convince myself there was something more than ancient Chinese strategy between us and that night everything changed for me,” I say. “And I thought you felt the same way. But then you trotted after Amber like an obedient puppy.” I clench my hands into fists. My fingernails cut crescent moons into my palms.

“I know what it looked like, me going after her like that,” Micah says. “I shouldn’t have been there in the first place. I only went because I knew you’d be there.”

“Wait. Are you saying you only brought her there to make me jealous ?” I ask. “You tried to Art of War me?”

“Something like that,” he says. “I was pissed that you’d rather date no one than date me, and I figured if the strategies worked for Jason and Amber they would work for you too. But then after that whole screwed-up night, I decided you were probably right about not rushing into something new.”

So where does that leave us? I can’t quite bring myself to ask. I glance over at him. “I still can’t believe you tried to use my own strategies against me.”

Micah rubs at the scar on his temple. “It was a shitty thing to do, and it wasn’t fair to you or Amber. I treated both of you like crap that night.”

“You did,” I say. “You, the guy who told me to stop making excuses for people’s shitty behavior.”

“So don’t make excuses. I apologized to her. And now I’m apologizing to you. I’m sorry, Lainey.” He exhales deeply.

I barely hear him. I am focused on his barely parted lips. I don’t know what this means, him being here with me, him saying these things. I know what I want it to mean, but I’m afraid to get my hopes up. “Was it all fake to you?” I blurt out. I look down at my lap and then back up at him. “At Beat, you said you liked me. Was there a but in that sentence? I mean, is there something wrong with me?” I whisper.

His lips curve slightly. “Oh, Glinda Elaine, there are so many things wrong with you. I don’t know where to start.”

I frown. My head is feels like the drummer of Arachne’s Revenge is practicing a new solo behind my eyes. One with lots of cymbal clashes. “How do you even remember my real name?” I fumble in my purse for some ibuprofen.

“I went to grade school with you for five years. You used to practically crawl inside your desk every time a sub took attendance.”

I shake the little white bottle of pills but I can’t seem to line up the arrows well enough to get the cap off. I curl my fingers tight around the pill bottle and yank with all my might. “But that was forever ago. I can barely remember what I had to eat last night.”

“Well, it’s a hard name to forget,” Micah quips. Then, seeing my face crumple, he reaches out and quickly snaps the top off the ibuprofen. “We used to get along. Don’t you remember?” He shakes two pills out into my palm. “I thought you were kind of cool back then. Back when you were still Elaine Mitchell. Before you became Kendall Chase’s clone.”

I can’t dry-swallow the pills so I have no choice but to wash them down with another swig of whiskey.

Micah takes the flask away from me and caps it. “That’s probably enough of that.”

The whiskey burns my throat. “I am not Kendall’s clone,” I say. “Not anymore.”

But I was. I made you . She told me what to like and who to be, and I let her. Once I got popular, well, who walks away from the feeling that everyone else wants to be you? Not me, apparently. The worst part is, like a true clone, I was a lower-quality replica. Not quite as pretty, not quite as popular, not quite as good at soccer.

Micah reads my thoughts from the expressions flitting across my face. “Glad to hear it.”

I want to reach over the center console and hug him, but I’m afraid to. “I messed everything up, didn’t I?”

“With Kendall?”

“With you.”

Micah pushes a chunk of hair back from my eyes. His touch makes me tremble. I bury my shaking fingers in my lap. “You didn’t mess things up with me, Lainey. I’m glad I found you.”

“What are you even doing here so early?”

“I couldn’t sleep so I went for a drive. I saw your car on the way home. I’ve been meaning to thank you for being so cool to Trin. She told me everything you did for her yesterday.”

“Is she okay? I could not believe she was going to walk home with that baseball-sized knot on her head.”

“Girls. No common sense.” He laughs under his breath. “She had to give a report to the cops, which was kind of scary for her, but her X-rays and CT scan came back negative, and once she got some pain medicine she said she was awesome-sauce, whatever that means.”

My lower lip wavers. I tighten my jaw and bite back a couple of tears. “I’m glad.”

“Me too.”

“Sorry I ran off at the hospital. I just saw you and Amber together and kind of lost it.”

Micah furrows his brow. “Right. Yeah, we were grabbing a bite to eat after finishing up at the Humane Society when I got the message. Trin and Amber are pretty tight so she wanted to come along.” He yawns. “But I didn’t find you to talk about my sister or Amber. I found you to apologize.”

“You did already,” I remind him. Inside I am replaying what he just said over and over. Does that mean Amber was only with him as a friend? I should just ask him, but I can’t. I can’t handle the answer if it’s not what I want to hear. I’ll start crying. I don’t want to do that to him again.

“I’m not finished apologizing. There’s something I want to show you. Pretty sure you’re going to think it’s”—he pauses and makes his voice high-pitched and girly—“totally to die for.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup.” He sniffs. “But we’re taking my car. This thing smells like a distillery.”

“I didn’t drink that much,” I insist. “I think I spilled some.”

“Didn’t you use that same line last week with me?” He snickers. “I’d start working up a better story for your parents.”

“No, last week someone else spilled beer on me. This time—”

“Whatever.” Micah winks. “Get your alcoholic ass out of the car.”

I feel like I lose another fifty pounds as I slide out of my brother’s car and settle into the passenger seat of the Beast. I can’t believe Micah and I are talking again. I swear if I get another chance I will not mess things up. My heart is beating so fast it’s practically vibrating. Get a grip, Lainey.

As Micah turns out of the Denali parking lot, he fishes his phone out of the center console with one hand while he holds the steering wheel steady with the other. He hooks his phone into the stereo, swiping blindly to find his music.

“Let me help.” I reach over and skim through the options on his phone until his music library appears. He’s got a bunch of playlists. I start to read the labels aloud. “Denali. Driving. Gym.” I snort. “Gym? Really?”