The Rules of Us by Jennifer Nissley

Author:Jennifer Nissley [Nissley, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2023-05-09T00:00:00+00:00

CARLA’S BEDROOM IS SMALL, and her furniture doesn’t match, the walls cluttered with art I don’t understand. Some of it is her own—swipes of charcoal, a series of randomly overlapping cubes—but most are printouts or are torn from books. She flops onto her bed and gathers a comforter off the carpet, swaddling herself so only her eyes and nose are visible. Offering me no clue about where to sit, what to say. Her house isn’t what I expected. Squat and square and agonizingly quiet, her parents and little sister probably asleep. On her comforter, tabby kittens float through a galaxy of stars.

She says, “Thanks for driving. This is cool, right? You can stay until I sober up? If it’s too risky, you could always drive my car home and pick me up for practice in the morning. Like, if your parents are the ‘nuclear option’ sort.”

I haven’t checked my phone, scared of seeing for myself how many more texts Henry’s sent—or worse, if he’s given up. But the dashboard clock read 9:35 when I pulled into Carla’s. Not exactly late. “I can wait. As long as you’re okay with it.”

She grins. “Totally.”

“Great. I mean…cool.” I peer at the wall over her head. More cubes. “I think my parents might be the opposite of the nuclear-option sort, actually.” I’m more concerned about explaining to Carla why the street she’s dropping me off at is on the other side of town from where she picked me up.

“Lucky.” A slurry giggle. “Can I vent to you for a sec? I just, like, so need to vent.”

“Sure.” Her desk chair is loaded with what must be crew equipment—a Nike duffel bag and sneakers, a stopwatch—why?—and an unopened box of PowerBars. One by one, I move everything to the floor. The chair makes a fart sound as I lower myself onto it.

“It’s like,” she begins, “like Bea enjoys messing with me. Sometimes I swear they do. Sometimes I think making me feel bad is their only way to experience joy. All because I prioritize my art? Am I not supposed to do that? If I don’t get into Yale, I’ll die. Also, Bea doesn’t even like Rachelle McNutt. I know for a fact. They just want to make me jealous.” She snorts. “Like I care.”

“That’s tough.” Even I, with my ricocheting nerves, hear how hopelessly unsupportive this sounds. I can do better. But it’s hard with wisps of hair pulling from her bun, her face framed by stars.

The desk is shoved close to her bed, our knees inches apart. When Carla knocks hers against mine, all her breath goes out. “What’s your ex like in bed?” She smirks. “Is he big?”

“I’m not telling you about Henry’s penis.” That’s completely private—she should know better than to ask.

Carla roars “Penis!” and shakes her head, wisps swirling. “I cannot believe you just said that.”

“That’s the correct term,” I say helplessly. “The anatomical one.”

Carla pours herself backward, this sloppy slow-motion collapse across her bed. “No, I totally get it. Next time somebody says ‘dick’ around me, I’m going to correct them.

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