Girl in a Bad Place Page 8

  A man who’s looking at something similar at the other end of the row scowls at us, and we both stifle giggles.

  “Maybe we should just find the camping section,” I suggest.

  Samantha grudgingly puts the overalls back, but she can’t stop herself from hugging a plastic deer before we leave the hunting-and-fishing section.

  “Do you ever feel like you’re not a true Montanan?” she asks. “All that wildlife-gear crap is so completely foreign to me. It’s, like, how can we not even have collided with that world at all in seventeen years of living here?”

  “I guess we’re too suburban,” I say, pausing to run my hand over a pair of fleecy socks that look incredibly soft. “But we collide with it a little, I think. I mean, Gavin hunts and stuff with his dad. And I’ve patted a baby cow on his ranch.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about, though. How has it taken you seventeen years to pet a baby cow?”

  “That is a very good point. I don’t know how it’s their fault, exactly, but I think I’m going to blame my parents for this one.”

  “Good call. I’m going to blame mine, too.”

  We reach the camping supplies, and Samantha cannot stop herself from diving into one of the tents they have on display. It doesn’t say not to go in, but I look around guiltily before I follow her. We sit opposite each other, cross-legged.

  This is a pretty big tent, but it still feels so … stifling. I remember Alexa saying how often the commune members at the Haven go camping. I don’t get how they stand it. What if it rains? Are you really protected from a serious rainstorm by just this thin sheet of fabric? And what if the ground’s uneven underneath your tent? Sleeping would be so uncomfortable.

  “Hey, how’s Cara doing?” Sam asks. “Seems like she’s always busy when I call or text. I know she and Jackson broke up and everything, but … ”

  “She’s doing okay, I think. We went back to that commune again, and she flirted with a guy there. So that’s something.”

  “You went back there? I thought it was horrible the first time.”

  “It wasn’t horrible. Gavin really hated it. I was kinda skeptical. But Cara loved it. She actually went a second time without me, so this was her third visit.” I keep pretending this doesn’t bother me, but it does. “Their leader is weird and intense, but I don’t know. I think he’s also pretty smart and educated. They all seem happy and they have jobs that have to get done and they have schedules, and you know Cara. You can see why she’d be drawn to that.”

  “I can. But you?” She raises an eyebrow at me.

  “I know, I know. She does a lot for me, though. Felt like returning the favor wouldn’t be the worst.”

  I don’t tell Samantha about how I decided to become vegan, because I haven’t told anyone yet except Cara and my parents, and I feel like I have to make it longer than one day as a vegan before I start announcing it.

  “That’s pretty nice. Especially considering how you feel about nature.”

  The tent flap opens and an employee scowls at us. “You aren’t supposed to play in the tents,” he says.

  “Sorry,” we both reply in unison, and vacate.

  “Can’t believe you got us in trouble,” I mutter under my breath, even as I throw her a small smile. Cara’s been so serious lately. I forgot what it feels like to have uncomplicated fun.

  “Can’t take me anywhere.” She grins back, broadly.

  “I know, how do I keep forgetting that?” I search through the sleeping bags for one that’s pretty cheap but that doesn’t feel like sandpaper, while Sam peeks casually inside another display tent, her expression daring the employee to come scold her again.

  “This sleeping bag looks comfortable,” she says, pointing to the interior of the tent. “Maybe you should come test it out.”

  “If you get us kicked out of this store before I manage to buy a sleeping bag, my mom will not be amused.”

  “But I’ll be amused.” She grins again.

  God, why haven’t I been hanging out with Sam more this summer? She’s so easy. So perennially Samantha. She’s not touchy, not unpredictable. The same person she’s always been. I hadn’t realized how tired I’ve been feeling. How exhausted from trying to keep up with Cara’s lightning-fast mood swings.

  “You’re staring,” says Sam. “Please remember, I’m already taken.”

  I roll my eyes. “I was just thinking that I’m really glad we’re friends.”

  “Aw.” She comes over and hugs me, a quick squeeze. “I’m glad, too.”

  And then the guilt kicks in. Not because I didn’t mean what I said. I do; I’m very glad we’re friends. But it’s why I said it, why I was thinking it.

  Because Cara is work right now. It’s awful of me to resent that. I’ve always been work. Always. Except this summer, really. I’ve been pretty low maintenance this summer. And Cara’s been quite the opposite.

  We’re probably about due for the swap, honestly.

  “Hey, Mailee.” Sam’s voice is suddenly kind of serious. “I know Cara’s feeling down and I do think it’s nice that you went with her to this commune, but don’t let yourself get too sucked in, okay?”

  “What do you mean?” I furrow my brow.

  “I mean … you’re a people pleaser. Which isn’t a bad thing. I am, too. Just don’t let her feelings take so much priority over yours that you end up doing something you’re uncomfortable with. Does that make any sense?”

  “Yeah. It does, I guess.”

  She’s right that I’m a people pleaser. I think that’s a pretty common personality trait of actors, to be honest. You want people to like you and be happy with you, it’s all part of the package. But I don’t think that I let other people’s feelings take precedence over mine. In fact, a lot of the time, I’m worried that I’m actually kind of selfish. I let Cara clean my room for me, and I can justify it all I want, but it’s still … a little lazy. A little selfish. I don’t think any harm can come from a few visits to a commune. To eating more vegetables and less steak. It’s not my turn right now, it’s hers.

  She’s my best friend, after all, and she’s totally worth it.

  Gavin stops by unexpectedly the next morning. He texted me when he was outside that his mom had sent him to the store and he didn’t have a lot of time, but he wanted to see me since he was already passing by. I’m dressed and I’m wearing a little bit of makeup, so I figured I was presentable enough and told him to come on up to my room.

  Gavin is a ridiculously loud walker. I can hear his footsteps from the moment he comes in the front door, all the way up the stairs and down the hall. He peeks his head into my open doorway and grins at me.

  “What are you eating there?” Gavin points to the container of soy ice cream sitting next to me at my desk.

  I make a face at the container. Which I’ve been doing for about fifteen minutes already. “Ugh, it’s soy ice cream. Not as good as the real thing, let me tell you.”

  “Uh, yeah. I’d imagine not. Ice cream was not meant to be made out of plants.”

  He kisses me, long and lingering. Who needs ice cream, soy or regular, when you could kiss a handsome boy instead?

  “So are you gonna tell me why you’re eating soy ice cream?”

  He plops down onto my bed, and I swivel my desk chair to face him. Here’s a conversation I haven’t been looking forward to.

  “I … well, Cara and I both decided to try, um, being vegan.”

  His face is utterly expressionless. I’m pretty sure I just killed a part of him with my words. “Do I dare ask why?”

  “Well, you know we went back to the commune again the other day. And I … I had a conversation with Firehorse about open-mindedness. So I looked at his website, and there was just … some pretty compelling and horrifying stuff. And I felt like maybe I don’t want to … ” I trail off because there is no way to end that sentence that won’t offend this ranch-dwelling boy.

  He must be exerting tremendous willpower because his voice is
not a decibel off normal when he says, “Can I see what convinced you?”

  “Yeah. I mean, there was a bunch of stuff, but … ” I swivel back around and type the address into my laptop. Gavin stands behind me with his hands on the back of my chair.

  “Wait, this is his website?” he says derisively. “Mailee, this looks like the first website ever made.”

  “I know. It’s awful. But try to get past the hideousness and just … look at this video, Gavin.” I show him a video of the cows tromping sadly through mud. “I mean, I know your family treats your animals well, but—”

  “Don’t let yourself get sucked in like this, Mailee. This is the worst kind of propaganda, because it tricks you if you don’t know better. Look.” He pauses the video with a click of my laptop’s trackpad, and then moves the cursor to point at the ears of the cow. “She’s not miserable, like the caption says. Her ears are pricked forward, her eyes are bright. She’s happy. And see?” He unpauses it again. “They’re all frolicking. They’re excited, having fun. There’s no context here at all, so I can’t say for sure what’s going on, but these animals are not suffering. It’s probably spring and they’re excited that they get to be outside.”

  My stomach sinks. God, I was so easily taken in. Gavin’s totally right. If you look closely at the cows, they don’t look upset, they don’t look beaten down or sick. They look enthusiastic and healthy, just a little bit muddy. But the video’s caption said they were suffering. It’s what I was told, so it’s what I saw. I feel so dumb, and the defensive part of me wants to fight back a little. Wants to be right.

  “But what about the ones who don’t get to go outside at all?”

  “I don’t have all the answers. But something I’ve heard my dad say every time he gets fired up about people being jerks to farmers and ranchers is that unhappy, unhealthy cows don’t produce high-quality beef or as much milk. Your animals aren’t healthy, your product isn’t good. Plus, think about how much time and effort farmers put in every day. Out in the cold, in the rain, in the heat. Sure, there’s always going to be monsters, but do you think most people are willing to put in that much work if they don’t care about the animals at all?”

  “No,” I say in a small voice. I feel small. “But Firehorse said that sometimes people who are inside the industry can’t see the problems. I mean … ”

  Gavin’s jaw works. “Does it make any sense that Firehorse, or any random person on the Internet for that matter, would know more about farming than an actual farmer? If you research how rockets work, does that make you more of an expert than someone who builds them?”

  I furrow my brow because he’s being a little meaner than he needs to be, even though I get his point.

  “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “It’s not up to me to decide what you should or shouldn’t eat. But I’m not gonna lie, Mailee, the reasoning behind it … it’s hard not to take it personally. And I really think this guy is trying to manipulate you. It’s gross.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Is it not also manipulative for my boyfriend to tell me I’m hurting his feelings by not eating meat?”

  He runs a hand roughly through his hair. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m not trying to. I just want you to look at other websites besides his website, okay? Make your own choice. And remember that experts are experts. They know what’s wrong, what needs to be fixed. They’re not ignoring it. They’re doing their best.”

  “You’re right. You are. I just got really fired up. God, am I that easy to convince about things?”

  “If you weren’t, I’d never have gotten you to go out with me,” Gavin says with a mischievous smile.

  I tilt my head like I’m contemplating this. “True. I mean, there is definitely zero reason I should be dating you. You must’ve tricked me into it somehow.”

  He laughs and bends to kiss me. “I’ve gotta go home. Call me later?”

  “We’ll see.” I smirk.

  He leaves with a fake pout that could almost rival Cara’s, and as soon as he’s gone, I open up my web browser and search for more information about meat and dairy and all of it. Even the stuff about electromagnetic fields, which I was skeptical about to begin with. I read as much as I can find, pro and con, and vow not to let myself get coerced into a belief by a single source ever again.

  I remember what Sam said yesterday about my people pleasing, and I feel like a mess inside. Like I’m being pulled in all of these directions. I don’t want to be part of that freaking commune. But I do want them all to like me, to accept me. And I don’t want Cara to feel alone, especially not right now with the anniversary of Harper’s death approaching. And I also don’t want Gavin to be disappointed in me. His opinion matters almost as much to me as Cara’s. No matter what I do, I’m going to see one of their faces let down.

  But neither of them is the key to this. It’s Firehorse. Thinking back to the language he used, it was totally manipulative. He made me feel like I was being a close-minded jerk for not listening to what he had to say. And he implied that people who are actual experts at something know less because they’re too invested in the thing they’re an expert at. How did I fall for that?

  For dinner, Mom cooks a steak. And I eat the crap out of it.

  My week at theater camp turns out to be basically the best ever, and I cannot wait to tell Cara about it. She’s leaving Tuesday for her family’s annual vacation, and I want to talk to her before then. Her family vacations are predictably awful; her parents basically hate each other now and I don’t know why they force themselves to endure a whole week together every single summer. Not only that, but the trip now coincides very closely with the anniversary of Harper’s death. Personally, I think it’d be best for everyone if they each grieved separately instead of in forced togetherness.

  Anyway, Cara will inevitably come back miserable and depressed, and there won’t be room for my theater camp gushing then. I want to do it now so that when she comes back, I can focus on helping to cheer her up.

  She agrees to hang out, but it takes her a lot longer than usual to respond to my texts. I wonder if she’s getting pre-depressed for her trip. I couldn’t blame her if she was. On my way to her house, I stop by the store for some ice cream. Mint chocolate chip is her favorite; she can never withstand its charms.

  I let myself into her house, like I always do. Her parents are at work, so I don’t have to make awkward small talk with either (or, God forbid, both), and I drop off the pint of ice cream in the freezer before I head upstairs, in case I need to produce it later for a surprise cheer-up.

  Cara’s in her room, exactly where I expected her to be. Her house is bigger than mine, and so is her bedroom. And because everything in here is so organized, it looks even bigger. There’s no clutter, no clothes strewn across the floor, nothing. She has a few posters on the wall, but they’re arranged decoratively, not thrown up wildly like mine are. Her bed is made, her desk is organized, and she’s sitting in the corner, reading a book.

  “Hey!” she says, but doesn’t look up.

  Whatever she’s reading cannot possibly be that interesting. I suppress a flash of irritation.

  “Did you miss me?” I ask cheerfully.

  “Of course.” She marks her page and slowly lowers the book to her lap. “Did you have fun?”

  “So much. I was worried since this is my last summer that it wouldn’t live up to my expectations, but oh man. It was so great. The best year so far, hands down. This fall is going to be amazing. Can you believe it’s almost our senior year?”

  Her face breaks into a tentative smile at my enthusiasm. “I can’t believe it at all.”

  “Everything we’ve worked for, all coming together.”

  Her smile fades. “Yeah.”

  “Hey, are you all right?” I sink onto her bed. Maybe I shouldn’t have gushed so hard about camp. Maybe she regrets that she didn’t come. A stab of guilt pierces me. I’m starting to really hate feeling this way around her all the time.

  “Of course.
Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking about, you know, Harper and stuff.”

  “I’m sorry.” I vacate my spot on the bed, and instead join her in her big leather armchair. This was easier when we were younger. We could both fit in the seat. But as we’ve gotten taller and developed hips, we’ve had to adjust. I sit on the arm with my feet beside her in the seat of the chair. I wrap my arms around her like I’ve done every time she’s been sad in this room for the past decade. She rests her head against the side of my leg, but no tears fall. She looks hollowed out. It feels like I’m hindering, not helping.

  “I like your necklace,” I say, trying to get her mind onto something else. “Is it new?”

  “Thanks.” She touches her fingertips to the pendant. “Alexa suggested it to me. It helps protect against toxic frequencies and stuff.”

  Toxic … frequencies?

  “That’s neat,” I say. “What are toxic frequencies?”

  She pulls back and gazes up at me. “I thought you read Firehorse’s website?”

  “I did, but—oh. Like from Wi-Fi and stuff?”

  “Yeah. Wi-Fi, phones, other technology. Probably in places we don’t even know about. It’s hard to avoid it if you’re not, you know, up in the mountains, but this helps. It makes me feel … I’m sure you’ll think it’s crazy, but I honestly feel healthier since I’ve started wearing this. Like my brain is lighter.”

  “That’s good.”

  I don’t know what else to say. I’m glad she’s feeling healthy, but this has got to be some kind of serious placebo effect. Does she want me to ask where she got it so I can wear one, too? I’m … not going to do that.

  An awkward silence grows between us. I have never been good with awkward silences. Or silences in general. My brain screams at me to blurt out something, anything, for the sake of putting noise back into the room.

  “I brought you some mint chocolate chip ice cream,” I tell her.

  She looks at me like I’m an idiot. “I can’t eat that.”

  “What? Why not?”