The Complete History of Why I Hate Her

“Could what?” he asks.

  “Annihilate me.”

  Kevin thinks about this. And then he says, “It’s true that she is demanding … and controlling, but you—”

  I stare at him, furious. “You better not be saying this is my fault.”

  “No. Not in a direct way. I mean—how can I say this? It seems to me that stealing someone’s identity and … and refusing to claim your own …” He pauses.

  What? I am suddenly more angry with him than I am with Carly!

  He starts again. “Stealing someone’s identity and not owning your own—not being you—they’re the same crime, I think.”

  “I am being me.”

  “I don’t know. You’re being a pale shade of you. Be fierce, Nola.”

  It’s the very thing I say to Song.

  He stands. “Now I’m going to go do what I was born to do.”

  I smile, knowing that he means to do a little late-night cooking. “Do you worry about getting caught?” I ask.

  “Would I care?”

  Chapter 26

  I seem to have been born with only two speeds: off and on. I can bury my negative reactions beneath layers of justification and self-incrimination, or I can blow with volcanic force, spewing in all directions. (Did I know this before running into Bridget?) Now I’m pushed to on.

  We’ve practiced all day for the play, but Carly, who is supposed to be the understudy, never shows.

  “Where’ve you been?” I ask when I head up to our room, after yet another hour-long rehearsal session following the dinner shift.

  She’s stretched out on her bed, writing something.

  “We’re performing in two days—you could help, you know.”

  “Trust me. I can help you with your lines when the time comes,” she says. She sits up and acts out my part in one of the scenes, not missing a single word. I know she’s performing a scripted part—a part thousands have played—but I feel like she’s playing me.

  “Did you tell Pete that Bridget’s pregnant?” I shout.

  She stops her performance mid-sentence.

  “Did you call Pete?” I ask again.

  A slow smile creeps onto her face. She moves so she’s crouching on her bed and looks up at me, like a cat ready to be scratched under the chin.

  “What did you say to him?”

  “I said I was Bridget’s closest friend. I told him I was going to be the godmother to her new baby!”

  “You impersonated someone else?”

  “Brilliant, yes?”

  How should I answer that? I should say, No, Carly. It wasn’t brilliant. It was deceitful and manipulative and mean. But I don’t get the chance.

  “Don’t give me that high-and-mighty look, Nola,” she says. “You were thrilled when I showed up here. Remember? Imagine if you had to spend the summer with Bridget.” She pauses. “And besides, you and I are exactly the same.”

  “The same?”

  “You and me. You are me. You go after what you want too, Nola. You’re one of the most competitive people I know.”

  “When have I ever competed with you?” I ask.

  She finds this question laughable. “I’ll give you credit, Nola. You follow the rules: It’s okay to compete, isn’t it, as long as you pretend you’re not.”

  “What do you mean by ‘compete’?”

  “‘When I use a word, it means just what I choose it to mean, neither more nor less.’”

  What?

  “Alice in Wonderland,” she says. “Remember? Humpty Dumpty?”

  I’m climbing the face of a cliff; there isn’t a foothold, no logic to hold on to. I can’t go up. Can’t go down.

  Mariah flies into the room to tell us there’s a party down the road at a summer home.

  “Cool,” says Carly, as if we were just sitting here thinking of things to do tonight.

  “It’s ten o’clock,” I point out.

  “And you’re Cinderella,” Carly says.

  Mariah laughs. She assumes Carly is being playful.

  I don’t want to go. At this moment I detest Carly. Just being in the same room with her makes me want to scream.

  She stands, walks over to the closet, and pulls out the lacy dress she wore when we dug for mussels. “Harrison told me I looked like moonlight last time I had this on. Let’s see if he finds me shiny again tonight.”

  I dig through my pile of clothes to find my favorite tank top. Game’s on.

  The summer home is within walking distance, but I’ve never seen it. It’s tucked in the trees above a tiny cove, at the end of a long driveway, and I doubt it can be easily seen from the water either. The house itself is spectacular—all polished wood and glass.

  At this hour it’s packed with kids. The kitchen smells pungent and sweet, a mixture of fruit and spilled beer. A guy I’ve never seen before says, “You haven’t had one yet,” and hands me a green icy concoction in a plastic cup. It tastes like key lime pie. “Daiquiri,” he says.

  “What’s in it?” I ask.

  “Rum,” he answers.

  The rest of the rooms smell of sea and pulsating bodies. I walk into one at the front of the house, and there is Carly with Mariah talking to Dom and Harrison. Harrison catches my eye but reveals nothing as he turns back to the others.

  Carly seems to be on fire, practically glowing. She pulls Annie into the center of the room, and they start to bend to the music, coaxing the guys to dance with them. Dom matches Carly’s movements without hesitation. But Carly’s staring at Harrison, pulling him to her with her eyes.

  He looks mesmerized.

  Do something, I tell myself. But what?

  I move behind a group of kids, trying to both hide and watch. I clasp my drink with both hands and hold it against my breastbone. I can hardly breathe. I don’t want to see what I’m seeing, but I can’t turn away.

  Carly holds her arms out to Harrison.

  He shakes his head and peers around, as if someone just shouted out his name.

  I look to see who could be calling him, and when I turn back, he is standing in front of me.

  He sets my drink on a shelf and pulls me into the dance crowd. Placing his hands on my hips, he gently moves me from side to side. “Follow me,” he says.

  I let go. Harrison turns me around—his arm, his hands cross over my body. I lean back—and he’s there.

  Oh my God. We are synchronized, moving as one person. I face him. He steps back, runs his hands up the back of my neck, through my hair, and cradles my head in his palms, staring at me as we move. His eyes don’t leave mine. It’s more than I can take. I don’t think. I kiss him.

  He kisses back. His mouth’s salty and sweet, tender and demanding. I want to stay locked like this forever. No, in truth, I want to be swallowed up by him.

  But instead, I do something very, very stupid.

  I look over to see how Carly’s reacting.

  Harrison follows my eyes. He sees the intensity between me and Carly—sees that we’re entangled in some sort of contest. It takes only a moment for me to look from Carly back to Harrison, but that moment is too telling. He drops his arms and backs away … then wiggles toward Mariah.

  I don’t know what to do. He’s dancing. He won’t glance back. So I turn and leave, running up the dirt driveway, eyes so full of tears, I bang into someone walking down.

  “Whoa,” Kevin says.

  “Sorry,” I say, and try to run by him, but he grabs the back of my shirt. He pulls me into a hug, and I sob into his tank shirt until it’s soaked.

  “Has someone hurt you?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “Not exactly.”

  “Boy trouble?”

  I nod.

  “No matter,” he says.

  Why? Please, Kevin. Have the magic words to help me go back and straighten this all out.

  “I was coming to get you,” he says. “You’ve got company.”

  Chapter 27

  There, standing in the center of the barn’s rec room, is my sister. I
look around, expecting to see my parents, but it hits me that Song has come alone.

  “Surprise!” she shouts.

  “Do Mom and Dad know you’re here?”

  “Thanks a lot, Nola. I’m happy to see you too.”

  Both of us look at Kevin as if he should somehow be the judge of what’s appropriate at this moment.

  He gives a double-handed wave and backs out the door.

  “I am happy to see you, Song—”

  “No, you’re not. I can see it written all over your face. I should have known you wouldn’t be.”

  “Why? You know—”

  “Carly—”

  My phone rings. It’s Dad. Parents are frantic. They just discovered that Song is not with my aunt, as she told them she would be.

  “She’s here, Dad. Just barely arrived. No, of course not. No, I did not know. Let me call you in a few.”

  “Come here.” I hug her, feel her relax.

  She tells me how Carly thought it would be a great idea to come and see me in the play, how she purchased her own bus ticket and even arranged for a cab to bring her from Bangor to Rocky Cove.

  “That must have cost a fortune!” I say.

  “The guy didn’t charge me.”

  I pull free, give Song my evil eye. It didn’t take long for her to learn that she could play the tumor card. When she went bald the first time, she started going after anything she wanted. Maybe she thought it was her right—payback for what she was going through.

  She grabs my hands. “Please let me stay, Nola. I really, really, really want to see you in the play. And you know how chemo is. I feel like crap at first, but by the time I’m getting close to my next treatment, I’m back to being myself.”

  “When’s your next appointment?”

  “In a few days. Have to be back on Monday.”

  I am totally torn. There is a part of me that still wants Rocky Cove to be my place—even as screwed up as things are tonight. I feel like I’m just beginning to figure out who I want to be, but with Song here, I’m apt to go right back to being … who? The invisible one. But she’s only asking for a few days.

  Song detects a crack. “Please, Nola. Mom and Dad will listen to you. You needed a break. I feel that way too. I’ll do anything to get away from my room, boring daytime TV, and pills—just for a few days. Besides, I miss you, Nola.”

  She’s got me. I call Mom and Dad to plead her case. I promise them that I will take extraordinary care. I’ll take time off so I can be with Song every minute.

  It’s not easy. After discussing every obstacle, every precaution under the sun, my mother has a brainstorm: “We’ll come too,” she says. “We’ll come and see you in the play.”

  I think about this for a moment, staring at Song. She hasn’t looked at me this way since I was ten years old and holding our dead goldfish. She was, of course, willing me to make it live again. I let her down then. I don’t want to let her down now.

  “I think that might be defeating the purpose,” I say. Maybe, I tell my mother, maybe if Song has just a few days to feel independent, the rest of the summer might not be quite so bad.

  Mom confers with my father. Song can stay for two nights—counting tonight. Just two.

  She won’t get to see the play, but she’ll catch the dress rehearsal. I share the news, prepared to be her hero.

  She jumps up and down and asks, “So where’s Carly?” We move her bag to my room. I tell her twice we’re not going to the party. “Carly isn’t the friend you think she is,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

  “You’re wrong,” she says, resting her head on Carly’s pillow. “What do you know? You haven’t read our letters! You didn’t invite me to come here to Maine. She did!”

  I hear voices and look out the front window. There’s a crowd, but Carly is lagging behind with Harrison. She looks up, sees me. Then she reaches out, grabs Harrison, and kisses him.

  I have no idea if he kisses back. I do know he doesn’t push her away. He looks up and sees me too.

  That is that.

  “Carly’s back,” I say to Song.

  She can hardly contain herself. “Surprise!” she yells, springing up from the cot as Carly comes into the room.

  Carly looks confused for a moment and then embraces Song like her oldest and dearest friend. “God, you look so gorgeous!” she says, rubbing her hand along Song’s head. “I’m going to shave my head too.”

  I don’t doubt it.

  Chapter 28

  We’re at breakfast. Mom has already called twice. I assure her that I gave up my bed, that Song had a good night’s sleep.

  “So where did your name come from?” Nigel asks my sister.

  Carly leans in close and eats a blueberry off Song’s plate.

  “Hey,” says Song. “My real name is Sonya,” she says, “but Nola was four when I was born and thought my name was Song.”

  Everyone agrees that “Song” is a cool mistake.

  “But I will call you ‘Poet’ because that is what you are,” says Carly. “You should hear some of her haiku,” she says to the others. “Right, Nola?”

  “Right,” I say, the Nola puppet. She’s just making sure I remember.

  Pete calls me into the office as soon as I have finished up with my tables that morning. He reminds me that there’s a policy—waitresses are not allowed to have overnight guests, nor are guests allowed to accompany waitresses to staff meals.

  I apologize and tell him about my sister’s unexpected arrival. We agree that I’ll arrange for others to cover my tables, give up my next two days off, and have a percentage of my pay cut to cover the cost of Song’s meals.

  Welcome to the real world, Nola.

  “Like I eat anything!” says Song, flopped down on my bed.

  “I think Pete’s being pretty generous, Song,” I tell her. “He’s already breaking two of the rules for you.”

  “He’s charging her!” says Carly, wiggling out of her uniform. “Song is now a paying guest and should be treated like one. You can eat in the dining room, Song!” says Carly. “I’ll be your waitress!”

  Song looks at Carly as if she is creating the only patch of sun in a very chilly forest.

  I leave the room to shower. When I return, Carly and Song are gone.

  “Don’t change into your suit, Nola,” says Lucy. “We want to get in another run-through before the dress rehearsal this afternoon.”

  “The dress is not tonight?”

  “Nope,” Brita says, popping out of her room to join the conversation. Her eyes tell me something big is up.

  Ledges.

  I can’t concentrate. Where did Carly take Song? I promised my parents I’d look after my sister, but now I have no idea where she is.

  “Of course you do,” Lucy says, not unkindly. “They’re at the docks—right where we’d be if we weren’t here.”

  “What else is there to do at ten thirty in the morning?” says Brita.

  They’re right. No doubt Carly and Song are in the sun—oh, shit. The sun.

  I tell the others that I’ll be right back. I run upstairs, grab my tube of sunscreen, and take off for the docks.

  “Are you running at this hour?” Carly asks when I arrive.

  “No. I just thought Song might have forgotten this.” I hold out the tube of sunscreen but feel like a total jerk. Song is covered head to foot in fabrics—loose, flowing pants and a light silky top of Carly’s. She even has a hat on. She looks as funky and artistically cool as Carly did the first day I met her.

  Song rolls her eyes at Carly.

  Carly smiles. “She tries,” she says.

  I’ve performed only my opening lines during dress rehearsal when Carly and Song skip out again. Damn it!

  But what can I do? I can’t stop the rehearsal and chase after them—we have guests, including Mrs. Barnes, who are watching this afternoon’s run-through instead of squeezing in tomorrow night.

  I think of Song saying she came all that way to wat
ch me in the play, and it burns.

  No doubt Carly is trying to anger me. I won’t let her have the satisfaction. I put in my best performance so far.

  It’s weird, but when you’re acting—being someone else—you not only escape your own life, you actually get to experience the present more fully. It must have something to do with acceptance, I think. We accept who we’re pretending to be (it’s just pretend, right?) so we don’t judge. We just are.

  “Yoo-hoo, Miss Nola,” whispers Kevin, calling me back to my part.

  Whoops, looks like neither Vera nor Nola was present in that moment.

  We’re just about to wrap things up for dinner when Harrison walks into the barn.

  “Can we help you?” Nigel asks.

  Harrison catches my eye, but I don’t move. I admit it, up until last night I harbored the hope that he would choose me. But I know better now. I’m embarrassed by my foolishness and look down. When I look up again, he’s gone.

  Obviously. The one he was looking for wasn’t here.

  Kevin comes to me, puts his hand on the back of my neck, and squeezes.

  The rest of the cast circles around me. They know just what to do. Instead of mumbling things like, He’s not worth it, Nola, they talk about how funny and lively the play is going to be. They tell me that the guests are never going to see me as just one of the Cannolis again.

  And I realize for the first time that summer that I don’t belong just because Carly made it possible. In another twenty-four hours my sister will be gone, Harrison and Carly will likely be hanging out in the grotto, but I will still be a part of this place, one of these friends.

  Chapter 29

  Before I begin the dinner shift, Pete sends Nigel up to get me—to have me come to the office. This time I’m panicked. Is Song all right? I haven’t seen her all afternoon. Once when we were younger, and staying on Gotts Island, Song wandered away from where we were sitting on the beach. I’ll never forget the fear on my parents’ faces (a look that would reappear many more times in later years). I feel that same agonizing worry as I race down the hill, leaving Nigel behind.

  I can hear my mother’s voice from our phone call last night: This isn’t a simple babysitting job, Nola—this is life and death. You know that.