Chapter Sixteen

Jennie

Someone is removing my clothes. Who in the hell is removing my clothes?

I begin slapping away the hand that's pulling my shorts down past my knees. I try to remember where I am, why I'm here, and how I got here.

Party.

Cake.

Pine-Sol.

Spilling Pine-Sol on my dress.

Changing.

Drinking more Pine-Sol.

Lots of Pine-Sol.

Watching Lisa love Irene.

God, she loves her so much. I saw it in the way she watches her from across the room. I saw it in the way she touches her. In the way she communicates with her.

I can still smell the alcohol. I can still taste it as I slide my tongue over my lips.

I danced . . .

I drank more Pine-Sol . . .

Oh! The drinking game. I invented my own solitary drinking game, where every time I saw how much Lisa loved Irene, I downed a shot. Unfortunately, that made for a hell of a lot of shots.

Who in the hell is pulling off my shorts?

I try to open my eyes, but I can't tell if it's working. They feel open, but it's still dark inside my head.

Oh, my God. I'm drunk, and someone is undressing me.

I'm about to be raped!

I start kicking at the hands that are yanking the shorts from my feet.

"Jennie!" a girl yells. "Stop!" She's laughing. I focus for a few seconds and can tell the voice belongs to Irene.

"Irene?"

She comes closer, and a soft hand brushes back my hair as the bed dips down next to me. I squeeze my eyes shut, then force them wide open several times, until I finally begin to adjust to the dark. She puts her hands on my shirt and attempts to unbutton it.

Why in the hell is she still taking off my clothes?

Oh, my God! Irene wants to rape me!

I slap at her hand, and she grips my wrist. "Jennie!" She laughs. "You're covered in puke. I'm trying to help you."

Puke? Covered in it?

That explains the massive headache. But . . . it doesn't explain why I'm laughing. Why am I laughing? Am I still drunk? "What time is it?" I ask her.

"I don't know. Tonight, I think. Like, midnight?"

"That's it?"

She nods, then starts laughing with me. "You threw up on Bambam."

Bambam? I met Bambam?

It looks as if her eyes are trying hard to focus on my face. "Can I tell you a secret?" she says.

I nod. "Okay, but I probably won't remember it, because I think I'm still drunk."

She smiles and leans forward. She's so pretty. Irene is really, really pretty. "I can't stand Sorn," she says quietly.

I laugh.

Irene starts laughing again, too, and tries to pull my shirt off, but she's laughing too hard and keeps having to pause for deep breaths.

"Are you drunk, too?" I ask her.

She inhales again, attempting to pause her laughter, and then she exhales. "So drunk. I thought I took your shirt off already, but your shirt keeps coming back on, and I don't know how many shirts you have, but"—she lifts the edge of my shirt sleeve, which is still on my arm, and looks at it in confusion—"oh, my God, I really thought I took it off already, and here it is again."

I lift myself up on the bed, then help her pull my shirt off. "Why am I already in bed if it's only midnight?"

She shrugs. "I have no idea what you just said."

She's funny. I reach to the nightstand and turn on the lamp. Irene scoots off the bed and lowers herself to the floor. She lies flat on her stomach with a sigh and begins moving her arms, making snow angels against the carpet.

"I don't want to go to bed yet," I tell her.

She flips over onto her back and looks up at me. "Then don't. I told Lisa to let you stay up and play because we were having so much fun, but you threw up in Bambam's lap, so she made you go to bed." She sits up. "Let's go play some more. I want more cake." She pushes up on her hands and stands, then reaches for my hands and pulls me off the bed.

I look down at myself. "But you took off my clothes," I say, pouting.

She looks at my bra and underwear. "Where'd you get that bra? It's so cute."

"JCPenney."

"Oh. Lisa likes the kind that clasp in the front, but yours is really cute. I want one."

"You should get one," I say, smiling. "We could be bra twins."

She pulls me toward the door. "Let's go see if Lisa likes it. I want her to buy me one."

I smile. I hope she likes it. "Okay."

Irene opens the door to my room and pulls me behind her into the living room. "Lisa!" she yells. I laugh, because I don't know why she's yelling for her. She can't hear her.

"Hey, Bobby," I say, grinning when I see him on the couch. "Happy Birthday." Sorn is seated next to him, glaring at me. She's looking me up and down, probably jealous because my bra really is cute.

Bobby shakes his head and laughs. "That's only the fiftieth time you've said that tonight, although it's a little more fitting now that you're practically in your birthday suit."

Lisa is sitting on the other side of Sorn. She's shaking her head like Bobby. "Irene wants to know if you like my bra," I say to Lisa. I pull on Irene's hand so she'll turn around and sign to her.

"It's a very nice bra," Lisa says, staring at it with a cocked eyebrow.

I smile. Then I frown.

Did she just . . .? I yank my hand out of Irene's and turn back toward Lisa. "Did you just speak?"

She laughs. "Did you not just ask me a question?"

I glare at her hard, especially when Bobby bursts out into a fit of laughter.

Oh.

My.

God.

She's not deaf?

This whole time, she's been lying to me? It's been a prank?

I instantly want to strangle her. Both of them. Tears sting at my eyes, and the second I lunge forward, a strong hand grips my wrist and yanks my arm back. I turn and look up at . . . Lisa?

I turn back to the couch and look at . . . Lisa?

Bobby is doubled over Sorn's lap now, he's laughing so hard. Lisa Number 1 is laughing now, too. His whole face doesn't laugh when he laughs, like Lisa Number 2's face does.

And his hair is shorter than Lisa Number 2's hair. And darker.

Lisa Number 2 has her arm wrapped around my waist, and she's picking me up.

Now I'm upside down.

Not good for my stomach.

My face is toward her back, and my stomach is slumped over her shoulder as she carries me back toward my bedroom. I look at Bobby and the guy I now realize is Bambam, and then I squeeze my eyes shut, because I think I'm about to throw up all over Lisa Number 2.

I'm being seated on something cold. A floor.

As soon as my mind comprehends where she's put me, my hands reach forward until I grasp the toilet, and then it suddenly feels as if I've eaten Italian food all over again. She holds my hair back while the toilet fills with Pine-Sol.

I wish it really were Pine-Sol. I wouldn't have to clean it.

"Don't you love her bra?" Irene says from behind me, giggling. "I know it's a back clasp, but look at how cute the straps are!"

I feel a hand on one of my bra straps. I can feel Lisa pull her hand away. Her arm moves, and I know she's signing something.

Irene huffs. "I don't want to go to bed yet."

She signs something else, and then Irene sighs and walks into Lisa's bedroom.

When I'm finished, Lisa wipes my face with a rag. I allow my back to fall against the wall of the tub, and I look up at her.

She doesn't look very happy. In fact, she looks a little angry.

"It's a party, Lisa," I mumble, and close my eyes again.

Her hands are under my arms, and I'm being carried again. She makes her way into . . . her room? She lowers me onto her bed, and I roll over and open my eyes. Irene is grinning at me from the pillow next to me.

"Yay. A sleepover," she says with a groggy smile. She grabs my hand and holds it.

"Yay," I say, smiling.

Covers are pulled over both of us, and I close my eyes.

Lisa

"How did you get yourself into this mess?"

Bobby and I are both standing at the edge of my bed, staring down at Irene and Jennie. They're asleep. Jennie is spooning Irene on the left side of the bed, because the right side of the bed is now covered in Irene's puke.

I sigh. "This has been the longest twelve hours of my life."

Bobby nods, then pats me heavily on the back. "Well," he signs, "I wish I could stay and help you nurse them back to health, but I'd rather pretend I have something better to do and leave." He turns and walks out of my room as Bambam makes his way in.

"I'm headed out," he signs. "Got my stuff out of Jennie's room."

I nod and watch as his eyes fall on Jennie and Irene.

"I wish I could say it was fun getting to know Jennie, but I have a feeling I didn't even meet the real Jennie."

I laugh. "Believe me, you didn't. Maybe next time."

He waves and walks out of my bedroom.

I turn and look at them, at both halves of my heart, cuddled tightly together in a bed of irony.

• • •

I spent the entire morning assisting them as they alternated between the trash can and the bathroom. By lunch, Jennie's vomiting had subsided, and she made her way back to her own room. It's late afternoon now, and I'm spoon-feeding Irene liquids and forcing her to down medicine.

"I just need sleep," she signs. "I'll be fine." She rolls over and pulls the covers up to her chin.

I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, then run my hand down to her shoulder, where I trace circles with my thumb. Her eyes are now closed, and she's curled up in a fetal position. She looks so fragile right now, and I wish I could wrap myself around her like a cocoon and shield her from every single thing this world has left to throw at her.

I look over at the nightstand when the screen on my phone lights up. I tuck the covers more securely around Irene and bend forward and kiss her cheek, then reach for my phone.

Jennie: Not that you haven't done enough, but could you please tell Bobby to turn the volume down on the porn?

I laugh and text Bobby.

Me: Turn the porn down. It's so loud even I can hear it.

I stand and walk into Jennie's room to check on her. She's flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. I sit on the edge of her bed, reach to her face, and brush back a strand of hair from her forehead.

She tilts her face toward me and smiles, then picks up her phone. Her body is so weak she makes it look as if the phone weighs fifty pounds when she tries to text me.

I take the phone from her and shake my head, letting her know she just needs to rest. I set the phone on her nightstand and bring my attention back to her. Her head is relaxed against the pillow. Her hair is in waves, trailing down her shoulders. I run my fingers over a section of her hair, admiring how soft it is. She tilts her face toward my hand until her cheek is resting flush against it. I brush across her cheekbone with my thumb and watch as her eyes fall closed. The lyrics I wrote about her flash through my mind: Lines are drawn, but then they fade. For her I bend, for you I break.

What kind of man does that make me? If I can't prevent myself from falling for another girl, do I even deserve Irene? I refuse to answer that, because I know that if I don't deserve Irene, I also don't deserve Jennie. The thought of losing either of them, much less both of them, is something I can't bring myself to entertain. I lift my hand and trace the edge of Jennie's face with my fingertips, running them across her hairline, down her jaw, and up her chin, until my fingers reach her lips. I slowly trace the shape of her mouth, feeling the warm waves of breath pass her lips each time I circle around them. She opens her eyes, and the familiar pool of pain floats behind them.

She lifts a hand to my fingers. She pulls them firmly to her mouth and kisses them, then pulls our hands away, bringing them to rest on her stomach.

I'm looking at our hands now. She opens a flat palm, and I do the same, and we press them together.

I don't know a lot about the human body, but I would be willing to bet there's a nerve that runs directly from the palm of the hand, straight to the heart.

Our fingers are outstretched until she laces them together, squeezing gently when our hands connect completely, weaving together.

It's the first time I've ever held her hand.

We stare at our hands for what feels like an eternity. Every feeling and every nerve are centered in our palms, in our fingers, in our thumbs, occasionally brushing back and forth over one another.

Our hands mold together perfectly, just like the two of us.

Jennie and me.

I'm convinced that people come across others in life whose souls are completely compatible with their own. Some refer to them as soul mates. Some refer to it as true love. Some people believe their souls are compatible with more than one person, and I'm beginning to understand how true that might be. I've known since the moment I met Irene years ago that our souls were compatible, and they are. That's not even a question.

However, I also know that my soul is compatible with Jennie's, but it's also so much more than that. Our souls aren't just compatible—they're perfectly attuned. I feel everything she feels. I understand things she never even has to say. I know that what she needs is exactly what I could give her, and what she's wishing she could give me is something I never even knew I needed.

She understands me. She respects me. She astounds me. She predicts me. She's never once, since the second I met her, made me feel as if my inability to hear is even an inability at all.

I can also tell just by looking at her that she's falling in love with me. It serves as further proof that I need to do what should have been done a long time ago.

I very reluctantly lean forward, reach over to her nightstand, and grab a pen. I pull my fingers from hers and open her palm to write on it: I need you to move out.

I close her fingers over her palm so she doesn't read it while I'm watching her, and I walk away, leaving behind an entire half of my heart as I go.