A/N: I known I've shown some of these characters before, but I thought it would be easier to allow you to picture them all at once so...here they are!  

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011. Sisters Before Misters

At Aquino High, memories do more than just stick—they haunt you for the rest of your life.

The next day is Saturday, and I'm relieved because I wake up bleary-eyed and exhausted. Even though I left the party relatively early, helping Allison and getting her settled for the night wore me out. Thinking about anything that happened at the party only makes me more tired, so I try to put my mind on something else as I get dressed.

After I pull on jeans and a sweater, I text Cassidy and Brynn to see if they're up for lunch. Cassidy replies immediately with a yes, but Brynn doesn't answer until I'm downstairs unlocking the front door.

Sure, she types, and that one-word reply in addition to her cold attitude the previous night makes me wonder if there's anything wrong.

I drive about ten minutes to the café that neighbors Aquino High. Usually there's a decent crowd of high school students there after school or even throughout the rest of the day, but when I step inside it's practically empty. I assume everyone is still sleeping off the events of the previous night.

Thinking about the party sends my brain into a spiral of memories. The two most poignant are Taylor's hand on my cheek and Spencer's eyes as he left me in the car with Allison. They're both battling for attention, flashing one after the other in my mind's eye until the effect is dizzying. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, but that only strengthens the images.

"Erika!"

My eyes snap open and I see Cassidy in front of me, her arms extended for a hug. I stand and let her plant a kiss on my cheek as she says, "We have so much to talk about! You have no idea. Last night was so crazy!" When I don't reply immediately, she asks, "You didn't leave too early, did you? I didn't see you anywhere."

She sits down across from me and I begin fiddling with the silverware on her place setting. "I was with Taylor most of the time," I admit. "We were on the porch talking."

"Just talking, right? Still, no wonder Brynn's angry."

"Brynn's angry?" I ask. I question how she could have even seen me with him. The party was dark and loud, and unless she was actively looking for us she would have never stumbled across us on the porch.

Cassidy shrugs, but at that moment the café door opens at Brynn steps inside. Unlike Cassidy and me, she looks well-rested, but her usually bright and cheerful face has a shadow cast over it.

"I'm going to get coffee and lunch," Cassidy says, standing. "Maybe you guys should talk this out. Want me to get you anything?"

I hand her two tens. "Order whatever."

I'm watching Cassidy approach the barista when Brynn reaches the table. She stands behind her chair for a few seconds, studying me, before she sits down.

"Hey," I say. "You look good today."

I mean it sincerely, but she frowns as if I'm only sucking up to her. "You look tired. Did you party too much last night?"

"I barely partied at all, actually," I say. "I was stuck playing babysitter for Allison. I had to take her home early and she was so drunk I had to get her water and put her in the shower and make sure my dad didn't hear her clunking around upstairs."

Brynn's frown deepened. "Before that you were with Taylor, right?"

She doesn't sound angry, but her usually wide eyes look even more vulnerable than usual. I know that as her best friend, she trusts me to tell her the complete and utter truth. So I do.

"Yeah," I say, exhaling slowly. Cassidy returns with our tray of food and coffee and sets it before us; she'd gotten grilled cheese for the three of us. "After we finished beer pong I had to talk to him, so we went out to the porch."

I can tell there's questions hanging on the tips of their tongues, but I don't know what else to say. I remember the desperation in Taylor's eyes and the pleading in his voice as he begged me to never tell anyone about Allison and him. Yet unless I provide a decent reason for talking to Taylor, Brynn will never understand why we were even together.

"I wanted to ask him about the Post-It system," I say finally, after way too much delay.

Cassidy wrinkles her nose. "You're still trying to figure out who's leaving those on your locker?"

"Yes." No. I have more important things to worry about now. Worry about a stupid high school tradition has evolved into real, permanent fear about Taylor Cunningham. Even I can't explain it, but something about him makes me uneasy. Maybe it's how close we sat together on the back porch last night. Maybe it's that I'm undeniably beginning to feel something for him, but I know how poisonous he is.

"You guys were out there for a long time," Brynn says, taking a bite of her sandwich.

My heart begins pounding faster—a trademark reaction when I start lying. "I know," I say. "We had a lot to talk about. He just...wanted someone to rant to and I was sort of there."

"About what?" It's Cassidy this time, her mouth so full pieces of bread are sticking out at the corners. "If there's some juicy secret about Taylor we totally want to know. He ruined Brynn and now we can get back at him!"

I glance over at Brynn to see her reluctantly nodding in agreement. For a tense few moments my heart battles with my mind; then, before I can stop myself, I say, "He's just having girl issues."

I'm met with two empty stares, so I take a deep breath and dive in. "He's got this crush on some girl but he thinks he's messed everything up and has no chance with her anymore. So he just wanted someone to talk it over with and I happened to be sitting there. It's not a big deal, really."

"Is it about me?" If it's even possible, Brynn's hopeful eyes double in size.

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I study her, trying to decide how best to break the news. "No," I say finally, slowly. "It's someone else. I asked specifically if it was you."

The fact that I at least asked will hopefully gain back points in my favor, but for the time being Brynn looks absolutely distraught. She sets her grilled cheese carefully down in its basket and wipes her fingers on her napkin, her eyes downturned.

Cassidy and I exchange concerned glances, and finally she leans forward and sets a hand on Brynn's. "It's okay, Brynn," she soothes. "I know it's hard right now, but you really do need to get over him. He's no good, and it's time you let go. We know it's difficult to hear, but we're only saying these things because we love you."

Gently, I reach across the table to pick up Brynn's other hand. It's small, pale, and cold inside of mine. "What can we do to help you get over him, once and for all?"

She finally glances up, meeting each of our eyes in turn. "I know it sounds weird, but I just need closure," she says softly. Her eyes are welling up with tears—a tendency to cry easily is a trait we both share. "I wish I could revisit that beach trip and remember it for better times than what happened."

"Let's do that," I say. "I have photo albums in my room with a bunch of happy memories. Why don't we look through those?"

She nods reluctantly, and Cassidy and I exchange glances over the top of her head. It strikes me as strange that she would want to look through pictures of her enjoying herself with Taylor, Celia, and others that she now hates, but I realize that everyone has their own way of healing. This is Brynn's, and especially after the lie I told her about last night, I owe it to her to help however I can.

We finish our sandwiches in a peaceful silence and then all drive back to my house. All the shutters are still closed, implying that Allison is still asleep and Dad left the house early. Part of me figures I should check on my sister, but I don't.

Upstairs in my bedroom, we sit cross-legged on my carpet while I pull towards me a large box. It's completely covered on the top with stickers: bumper stickers advertising the name of the beach, large stick-ons with crabs or dolphins, and other mementos from the trip. I wipe off the dusty lid with my palm and then lift it, exposing my souvenirs beneath.

I haven't opened this box since I threw everything in it after the tip and shoved it under my bed. It's almost as painful for me to look inside as I imagine it is for Brynn.

First, I lift a few menus from restaurants and flyers from the top layer of junk, rifling through for the large photo album at the bottom. It's brown and the leather is scratched, but other than that it looks relatively untouched. When I open it, a piece of paper falls out immediately.

My breath hitches—I'd completely forgotten that this letter existed. Before Cassidy or Brynn can ask any questions, I swiftly snatch it from its position on the floor and toss it onto my nightstand. Then I flip to the first page of photos.

The very first picture is of all of us standing on the beach, grinning as if we don't have a care in the world. Brynn and I are sitting perched on Taylor and Spencer's backs, laughing hysterically as they tickle our legs. Suddenly I remember as if it were yesterday the moment this picture was taken.

I scan the rest of the pictures on the page and switch to the next one. Brynn points to a photo of Cassidy buried in the sand and laughs softly, and I join in. I remember racing to bury one of her arms while Allison worked on the other. I haven't heard the sounds of us laughing in unison for a very long time.

The more pictures we flip through, the more memories stand out poignantly to me. While most of the group was on the pier posing for goofy pictures Titanic-style, I remember Spencer and I staying behind to swing on the hammock at the back of the beach house. We sat and soaked in the sun, talking about everything and nothing at the same time while my head rested on his chest. His fingers had absentmindedly played with mine as we'd laughed together.

Thinking about that reminds me of the bonfire we'd crashed on the beach, and when I turn the next few pages in the photo album I see evidence from that event, too. That night had been amazing: we'd all laughed until our sides were sore and danced like nobody was watching. Afterwards we crashed at our own pool by the beachhouse. I think we stayed out there all night, illuminated only by the porch lights and the crescent moon.

Then I remember the next day, and how painful things had been—how quickly pure joy had gone downhill. How Spencer and Taylor were sharing a room at the house, but I walked with Brynn to the kitchen in the middle of the night to find Spencer crashed on the couch. His face had been one of pure panic as he'd tried to stop us from going inside Taylor's room, but it was too late. The damage had been done.

I glance sideways at Brynn's face. I don't think she's remembering that tragic night because instead, she's smiling fondly as she runs her finger down a photo of the three of us in the ocean waves. Mentally, I compare her current expression to the one of utter shock on her face that fateful night.

Everything collapsed into itself after that. I'd never been able to forgive Allison or Taylor for what they'd done, and Celia had taken their side—she'd always been closer to Allison than me, but the betrayal stung. Spencer and I didn't speak about how he helped Taylor cheat on Brynn, but the deed had already been done and in my mind, nothing could be done to reconcile it.

I remember the next day, the day we all exploded at each other. Liam had stood between the two factions and tried to mediate but it was too late; the damage had already been done. Half of the friends I'd thought I'd have for life had betrayed me and my best friend, and it was impossible for me to forgive them.

I'm startled out of my thoughts by Brynn and Cassidy laughing. When I glance at them they show me a photo of me trying to do handstands in the sand. It takes me a moment but then I remember that snapshot of our vacation, too—how I'd been filled with such happiness that I'd gone absolutely crazy with glee. I'd been a lot more carefree then.

"Is this helping at all?" Cassidy asks Brynn as she turns a page in the album.

Brynn nods, but quickly flips past a page that contains a collage of her with Taylor. I bite the inside of my cheek as I catch a glimpse of the way he used to look at her. He told me last night that he had been in love with Allison. How easy had it been for him to fake that gaze of adoration?

Looking at these pictures makes me consider more and more what Taylor is doing to me. His gaze is exhilarating and his touch electrifying, but I honestly don't know if I can have someone like that in my life. He made mistakes and I get that now he's burdened by them, but who's to say he won't repeat those wrongdoings?

My bedroom door opens. Allison is standing in the doorway, her eyes half-closed. Enormous blue shadows are above her cheekbones and she looks more haggard than I've ever seen her.

"Why are you looking at that?" she manages, her voice cracking from dehydration.

I stand and offer her the water bottle sitting on my nightstand. "We just felt like it," I say as she gratefully takes a few sips.

At first I think she'll walk away, but then she sits down, her back pressed up against my bed. She's crazy, thinking she can hang out with us, is the first thought that comes to my mind, but I push it back.

Brynn is staring at my sister as if she's replaying that night in her head. She opens her mouth, shuts it, and then purses her lips. A second later she's looking at the photo album again, as if Allison hadn't even entered the room.

I sit back and filter through the rest of the box while Brynn and Cassidy finish looking at the photos. There's not a lot left in there, just some seashells from our beach excursions and a tiny little jar with sand. I can't remember what drove me to put sand in a jar, but I set it back gently, anyway.

People say that high school creates memories that will stay with you forever. At Aquino High, those memories do more than just stick—they haunt you for the rest of your life. As my friends finish looking through the album, put it back in its box and fasten the lid, feeling like I'm containing a package of snakes. When I look down, I realize my hands are shaking.

"I'm going to go now," says Brynn, standing. She avoids looking at Allison as she heads toward my bedroom door, her bare feet leaving little indentions on my carpet.

"Do you feel better?" I ask.

Finally, her head turns to Allison. "I feel fine," she announces, probably more to my sister than to me. Then she turns around and hurries out, my door shutting behind her.

"What's up with her?" asks Allison, a small smile playing on her lips. "Too many old memories?"

I whip around to face her, unable to believe what she just said.

My sister still looks awful, but the words coming out of her mouth are even more nauseating. "We all know she's still heartbroken about what Taylor and I did. Why can't she just get over it?"

"I don't think you should be bringing that up now," I snap.

Cassidy shoves the box into its place under my bed. "What's going on?"

"Nothing." As much as I want to tell Cassidy everything, I can't. I feel like I need to protect Taylor from harm, like I should be sheltering him from the scathing critique he'll suffer from if everyone learns his secret. "You should probably go, Cass."

Obediently, Cassidy stands and leaves the room, saying, "I'll be downstairs if you want to talk."

I nod and turn to Allison the second she's gone. "You need to leave, too," I say. "What you just said is revolting and I can't believe you have no filter."

I expect my sister to argue, but she doesn't. "Have you ever considered that maybe I'm lashing out on Brynn because if she'd kept Taylor happy, he wouldn't have had to come to me? Then, maybe none of this wouldn't have happened and I wouldn't be freaking out over whether or not he's my brother."

"How dare you!" I slam my palm on the nightstand causing her to jump back. "Get out. Get out now and don't speak to me, Brynn, or Cassidy ever again. You chose your allegiance the second you shut that door behind you in Taylor's room that night. Don't try and make excuses for it now."

"I'm not. I'm just suggesting that maybe you consider who's really to blame."

There are a million words that I want to throw at her, but she stands and leaves before I can even figure out where to start. When the door slams shut behind her it rattles the frame, jarring my pounding heart.

Shutting my eyes, I sweep my hand across the nightstand, focusing on the soothing, cool touch of the finished wood. Something hits my thumb and falls to the ground; when I open my eyes I see the letter sitting face down on my carpet.

For a while I just stare at it unblinkingly, debating. Then I bend over, pick it up, and set it in the first drawer of my nightstand. There I leave it in case I ever want to open it, read it over, and remember all over again what it feels like to be destroyed.

A/N: Don't forget to vote/comment! I love y'all :)