Filed to story: If He Had Been With Me Book PDF Free
“If you guys want to,” he says.
“Where would we get it from though?” I ask.
“My brother works at the liquor store on Rock Road,” Jack says.
“Are you serious?” I look at Finny. “Is that where you always got your stuff?”
“Yeah,” Jack says. Finny shrugs again.
***
We sit in the parked car with the windows down and get drunk behind our mothers’ houses. The boys got a liter of Coke, poured a third out, and filled the rest up with whiskey. They are sitting in the front passing it back and forth. I’m stretched out in the backseat with a six-pack of something pink with tropical flowers on it. Finny picked it out for me. He said I would like it. I wonder if it’s what Sylvie drinks.
“You’re going to have to stay at my place tonight,” Finny says. “I’m not going to be able to drive you home.” Jack takes a long swig and passes the bottle.
“You sure won’t,” he says. I giggle and watch Finny take a huge gulp. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and somehow makes the gesture masculine and elegant.
“So, Autumn,” Jack says. He turns around in his seat to face me. “Why did you break up with Jamie? ‘Cause everybody thought you two were gonna get married and stuff.”
“Yeah, so did I,” I say. “But he cheated on me with Sasha, so that’s not happening.”
“Seriously?” Jack says. He makes a face and holds his hands up. “She’s not even—um—“
“Half as pretty as me? Yeah, I know.”
Jack laughs out loud. “Well, you’re modest.”
“But it’s true.”
“Yeah, but you’re not supposed to know that.”
“Why?” I say. I sit up and lean forward so my head is between their seats. “Why should I have to pretend that I don’t know I’m pretty when everybody’s telling me all the time?”
“You’re just not supposed to know.”
“While you two argue, I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” Finny says. He gets out and closes the door. Jack watches him go.
“I mean, it’s not like I think I’m a better person or something,” I say. “It’s not even an accomplishment. It’s just the way I look.” I hear the screen door close behind Finny.
“Listen,” Jack says. He looks back at me. “Can you honestly tell me you’re not just screwing with his head?”
“What?” I say.
“I’m serious. Finn’s my friend, you know?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“I was there back in middle school,” Jack says.
“Okay,” I say. “So was I.”
Jack sighs. “If you’re not serious about this, then don’t mess with his head. He and Sylvie aren’t always good together, but it’s better than him obsessing over you again.”
“He—what?” I feel as if Jack had turned around and punched me in the stomach. I swallow even though my mouth is suddenly dry. Finny hadn’t kissed me just because he wanted to see what it was like to kiss a girl; he really had liked me. Even though we are alone, I lower my voice. “Has he said something to you?”
“No. He says you guys are just friends. But he said that last time and it still took him forever to get over you,” Jack says. I look down, afraid that I’m going to cry from disappointment. For one moment, my heart had leaped into my throat. “I didn’t mean to upset you or whatever,” Jack says.
“No,” I say, “it’s just not like that with me an’ Finny.” I swallow again and take a breath. Jack picks up the jug again.
“That’s weird,” he says.
“What is?” I say.
“You call him ‘Finny,’ like his mother does.” I smile a little.
“Well,” I say, “I’ve known him for almost as long as his mother has.”
“I know.”
“And that’s what everyone used to call him. The Mothers sometimes call him Phineas, though, and I only call him that when I’m mad at him.” I hear the back door open, and we both turn and look. Finny walks down the back steps. He’s carrying a bag of pretzels.
“Don’t say anything, okay?” Jack says.
“Of course not. And it’s not like that with us anyway.”
We fell asleep on his bed again. But I am awake now. The afternoon light from the window is streaming over us. On the floor next to the bed is our empty pizza box from lunch. His video game is paused. My book is on his nightstand.
Last night around three a.m., we got our blood pressure taken at one of those machines you stick your arm in at the grocery store. Finny’s was perfect and mine was only a little high. We celebrated with a pound of gummy worms and what was left of the whiskey.
Tomorrow I’m going to have lunch with my dad, so we won’t be able to stay out too late tonight. I wonder if Finny will stay up late without me or if he’ll just go to sleep like me.
I stretch and roll onto my side slowly so that I don’t jostle him. He’s lying on his back with his hands behind his head. His mouth is a little open but he doesn’t look silly, just relaxed and warm.
We had been watching the shadows of the tree outside his window and talking about my parent’s divorce, and then how we should go the art museum sometime or at least the zoo. Somewhere in there, my memory goes fuzzy and I must have fallen asleep. I wonder if it was before or after him. Perhaps we fell together.
It’s nice, looking at his face.
This close, I can see that he isn’t exactly perfect. He has a tiny pimple on the side of his nose and a chickenpox scar on his cheek. We had the chickenpox at the same time. We spent a week in bed together, watching movies and eating nachos off the same plate. Finny was better about not scratching. He got better two days before me, but The Mothers let him stay with me anyway.
The longing to touch that scar is more unbearable than any itch I ever felt.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “We used to even get sick together and I ruined it all.”
If he were awake, he would say it was okay, and he would mean it. But it’s not okay. Jack said that it took him forever to get over me, but that still means he got over me.
“I love you,” I say to him, so quietly that even I cannot hear it. I close my eyes and listen to his breathing. I go back to the story in my head about how it could have been. I’m at the part where he is teaching me how to drive when I hear him take a deep breath, almost a gasp. I still remember that sound; it’s the sound he makes when he wakes up, as if he is coming up from underwater. I let my eyes stay closed. He rolls over onto his stomach, slowly, the way I rolled onto my side. I expect him to put his hand on my shoulder or say my name, but he doesn’t. I wait a little longer, and finally decide he’s gone back to sleep. I open my eyes.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I say.
“I guess our late nights are starting to catch up with us,” he says.
“Yeah.”
We don’t say anything else and we don’t move and we don’t look away.
I wish that this meant something. I wish I could hope that he is lying still and looking at me for the same reason I am, that he is thinking the same things I am.