First Published in Great Britain in 2015

by Electric Monkey, an imprint of Egmont UK Limited

The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

First published in the USA in 2015

by Alfred A Knopf,

an imprint of Random House Children’s Books,

a division of Random House LLC,

a Penguin Random House Company, New York

Text copyright © 2015 David Levithan

The moral rights of the author have been asserted

First e-book edition 2015

ISBN 978 1 4052 7343 5

Ebook ISBN 978 1 7803 1623 9

www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Please note: Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont is not responsible for content hosted by third parties or advertising. Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet.

For my nephew, Matthew

(May you find happiness every day)

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Back series promotional page

1

I watch his car as it pulls into the parking lot. I watch him get out of it. I am in the corner of his eye, moving toward its center – but he isn’t looking for me. He’s heading into school without noticing I’m right here. I could call out for him, but he doesn’t like that. He says it’s something needy girls do, always calling out to their boyfriends.

It hurts that I can be so full of him while he’s so empty of me.

I wonder if last night is the reason he isn’t looking for me. I wonder if our fight is still happening. Like most of our fights, it’s about something stupid, with other non-stupid things right underneath. All I did was ask him if he wanted to go to Steve’s party on Saturday. That was it. And he asked me why, on Sunday night, I was already asking him about Saturday. He said I’m always doing this, trying to pin him down, as if he won’t want to be with me if I don’t ask him about it months ahead of time. I told him it wasn’t my fault he’s always afraid of plans, afraid of figuring out what’s next.

Mistake. Calling him afraid was a big mistake. That’s probably the only word he heard.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said.

“I was talking about a party at Steve’s house on Saturday,” I told him, my voice way too upset for either of us. “That’s all.”

But that’s not all. Justin loves me and hates me as much as I love him and hate him. I know that. We each have our triggers, and we should never reach in to pull them. But sometimes we can’t help ourselves. We know each other too well, but never well enough.

I am in love with someone who’s afraid of the future. And, like a fool, I keep bringing it up.

I follow him. Of course I do. Only a needy girl would be mad at her boyfriend because he didn’t notice her in a parking lot.

As I’m walking to his locker, I wonder which Justin I’ll find there. It probably won’t be Sweet Justin, because it’s rare for Sweet Justin to show up at school. And hopefully it won’t be Angry Justin, because I haven’t done anything that wrong, I don’t think. I’m hoping for Chill Justin, because I like Chill Justin. When he’s around, we can all calm down.

I stand there as he takes his books out of his locker. I look at the back of his neck because I am in love with the back of his neck. There is something so physical about it, something that makes me want to lean over and kiss it.

Finally he looks at me. I can’t read his expression, not right away. It’s like he’s trying to figure me out at the same time I’m trying to figure him out. I think maybe this is a good sign, because maybe it means he’s worried about me. Or it’s a bad sign, because he doesn’t understand why I’m here.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” I say back.

There’s something really intense about the way he’s looking at me. I’m sure he’s finding something wrong. There’s always something wrong for him to find.

But he doesn’t say anything. Which is weird. Then, even weirder, he asks me, “Are you okay?”

I must look really pathetic if he’s asking me that.

“Sure,” I tell him. Because I don’t know what the answer is supposed to be. I am not okay – that’s actually the answer. But it’s not the right answer to say to him. I know that much.

If this is some kind of trap, I don’t appreciate it. If this is payback for what I said last night, I want it over with.

“Are you mad at me?” I ask, not sure I want to know the answer.

And he goes, “No. I’m not mad at you at all.”

Liar.

When we have problems, I’m usually the one who sees them. I do the worrying for both of us. I just can’t tell him about it too often, because then it’s almost like I’m bragging that I understand what’s going on while he doesn’t.

Uncertainty. Do I ask about last night? Or do I pretend it never happened – that it never happens?

“Do you still want to get lunch today?” I ask. It’s only after I ask that I realize I’m trying to make plans again.

Maybe I am a needy girl after all.

“Absolutely,” Justin says. “Lunch would be great.”

Bullshit. He’s playing with me. He has to be.

“No big deal,” he adds.

I look at him, and it seems genuine. Maybe I’m wrong to assume the worst. And maybe I’ve managed to make him feel stupid by being so surprised.

I take his hand and hold it. If he’s willing to step back from last night, I am, too. This is what we do. When the stupid fights are over, we’re good.

“I’m glad you’re not mad at me,” I tell him. “I just want everything to be okay.”

He knows I love him. I know he loves me. That is never the question. The question is always how we’ll deal with it.

Time. The bell rings. I have to remind myself that school is not a thing that exists solely to give us a place to be together.

“I’ll see you later,” he says.

I hold on to that. It’s the only thing that will get me through the empty space that follows.

I was watching one of my shows, and one of the housewives was like, “He’s a fuckup, but he’s my fuckup,” and I thought, Oh, shit, I really shouldn’t be relating to this, but I am, and so what? That has to be what love is – seeing what a mess he is and loving him anyway, because you know you’re a mess, too, maybe even worse.

We weren’t an hour into our first date before Justin was setting off the alarms.

“I’m warning you – I’m trouble,” he said over dinner at TGI Friday’s. “Total trouble.”

“And do you warn all the other girls?” I replied, flirting.

But what I got back wasn’t flirtation. It was real.

“No,” he said. “I don’t.”

This was his way of letting me know that I was someone he cared about. Even at the very beginning.

He hadn’t meant to tell me. But there it was.

And even though he’s forgotten a lot of other details about that first date, he’s never forgotten what he said.

I warned you! he’ll yell at me on nights when it’s really bad, really hard. You can’t say I didn’t warn you!

Sometimes this only makes me hold him tighter.

Sometimes I’ve already let go, feeling awful that there’s nothing I can do.

The only time our paths intersect in the morning is between first and second periods, so I look for him then. We only have a minute to share, sometimes less, but I’m always thankful. It’s like I’m taking attendance. Love? Here! Even if we’re tired (which is pretty much always) and even if we don’t have much to say, I know he won’t just pass me by.

Today I smile, because, all things considered, the morning went pretty well. And he smiles back at me.

Good signs. I am always looking for good signs.

I head to Justin’s class as soon as fourth period is over, but he hasn’t waited for me. So I go to the cafeteria, to where we usually sit. He’s not there, either. I ask Rebecca if she’s seen him. She says she hasn’t, and doesn’t seem too surprised that I’m looking. I decide to ignore that. I check my locker and he’s not there. I’m starting to think he’s forgotten, or was playing with me all along. I decide to check his locker, even though it’s about as far from the cafeteria as you can get. He never stops there before lunch. But I guess today he has, because there he is.

I’m happy to see him, but also exhausted. It’s just so much work. He looks worse than I feel, staring into his locker like there’s a window in there. In some people, this would mean daydreams. But Justin doesn’t daydream. When he’s gone, he’s really gone.

Now he’s back. Right when I get to him.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” I say back.

I’m hungry, but not that hungry. The most important thing is for us to be in the same place. I can do that anywhere.

He’s putting all of his books in his locker now, as if he’s done with the day. I hope nothing’s wrong. I hope he’s not giving up. If I’m going to be stuck here, I want him stuck here, too.

He stands up and puts his hand on my arm. Gentle. Way too gentle. It’s something I’d do to him, not something he’d do to me. I like it, but I also don’t like it.

“Let’s go somewhere,” he says. “Where do you want to go?”

Again, I think there has to be a right answer to this question, and that if I get it wrong, I will ruin everything. He wants something from me, but I’m not sure what.

“I don’t know,” I tell him.

He takes his hand off my arm and I think, okay, wrong answer. But then he takes my hand.

“Come on,” he says.

There’s an electricity in his eyes. Power. Light.

He closes the locker and pulls me forward. I don’t understand. We’re walking hand in hand through the almost-empty halls. We never do this. He gets this grin on his face and we go faster. It’s like we’re little kids at recess. Running, actually running down the halls. People look at us like we’re insane. It’s so ridiculous. He swings us by my locker and tells me to leave my books here, too. I don’t understand, but I go along with it – he’s in a great mood, and I don’t want to do anything that will break it.

Once my locker’s closed, we keep going. Right out the door. Simple as that. Escape. We’re always talking about how we want to leave, and this time we’re doing it. I figure he’ll take me out for pizza or something. Maybe be late to fifth period. We get to his car and I don’t even want to ask him what we’re doing. I just want to let him do it.

He turns and asks, “Where do you want to go? Tell me, truly, where you’d love to go.”

Strange. He’s asking me as if I’m the one who knows the right answer.

I really hope this isn’t a trick. I really hope I won’t regret this.

I say the first thing that comes to my mind.

“I want to go to the ocean. I want you to take me to the ocean.”

I figure he’ll laugh and say what he really meant was that we should go to his house while his parents are gone and spend the afternoon having sex and watching TV. Or that he’s trying to prove a point about not making plans, to prove that I like being spontaneous better. Or he’ll tell me to go have fun at the ocean while he gets lunch. All of these are possibilities, and they all play at the same time in my head.

The only thing I’m not expecting is for him to assume it’s a good idea.

“Okay,” he says, pulling out of the parking lot. I still think he’s joking, but then he’s asking me the best way to get there. I tell him which highways we should take – there’s a beach my family used to go to a lot in summer, and if we’re going to the ocean, we might as well go there.

As he steers, I can tell he’s enjoying himself. It should put me at ease, but it’s making me nervous. It would be just like Justin to take me somewhere really special in order to dump me. Make a big production of it. Maybe leave me stranded there. I don’t actually think this is going to happen – but it’s possible. As a way of proving to me that he’s able to make plans. As a way of showing he’s not as afraid of the future as I said he was.

You’re being crazy, Rhiannon, I tell myself. It’s something he says to me all the time. A lot of the time, he’s right.

Just enjoy it, I think. Because we’re not in school. We’re together.

He turns on the radio and tells me to take over. What? My car, my radio – how many times have I heard him say that? But it seems like his offer is real, so I slip from station to station, trying to find something he’ll be into. When I pause too long on a song I like, he says, “Why not that one?” And I’m thinking, Because you hate it. But I don’t say that out loud. I let the song play. I wait for him to make a joke about it, say the singer sounds like she’s having her period.

Instead, he starts to sing along.

Disbelief. Justin never sings along. He will yell at the radio. He will talk back to whatever the talk radio people are saying. Every now and then he might beat along on his steering wheel. But he does not sing.

I wonder if he’s on drugs. But I’ve seen him on drugs before, and it’s never been like this.

“What’s gotten into you?” I ask.

“Music,” he says.

“Ha.”

“No, really.”

He’s not joking. He’s not laughing at me somewhere inside. I am looking at him and I can see that. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not that.

I decide to see how far I can push it. Because that’s what a needy girl does.

“In that case . . .” I say. I flip stations until I find the least Justin song possible.

And there it is. Kelly Clarkson. Singing how what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

I turn it up. In my head, I dare him to sing along.

Surprise.

We are belting it out. I have no idea how he knows the words. But I don’t question it. I am singing with everything I’ve got, never knowing I could love this song as much as I do right now, because it is making everything okay – it is making us okay. I refuse to think about anything other than that. I want us to stay inside the song. Because this is something we’ve never done before and it feels great.

When it’s done, I roll down my window – I want to feel the wind in my hair. Without a word, Justin rolls down all the other windows, and it’s like we’re in a wind tunnel, like this is a ride in an amusement park when really it’s just a car driving down the highway. He looks so happy. It makes me realize how rare it is for me to see him happy, the kind of happy where there isn’t anything else on his mind besides the happiness. He’s usually so afraid to show it, as if it might be stolen away at any moment.

He takes my hand and starts to ask me questions. Personal questions.

He starts with, “How are your parents doing?”

“Um . . . I don’t know,” I say. He’s never really cared about my parents before. I know he wants them to like him, but because he’s not sure they will, he pretends it doesn’t matter. “I mean, you know. Mom is trying to hold it all together without actually doing anything. My dad has his moments, but he’s not exactly the most fun person to be around. The older he gets, the less he seems to give a damn about anything.”

“And what’s it like with Liza at college?”

When he asks this question, it’s as if he’s proud that he’s remembered my sister’s name. That sounds more like Justin.

“I don’t know,” I tell him. “You know we were more like sisters living under a truce than best friends. I don’t know if I miss her that much, although it was easier having her around, because then there were two of us, you know? She never calls home. Even when my mom calls her, she doesn’t call back. I don’t blame her for that – I’m sure she has better things to do. And really, I always knew that once she left, she’d be gone. So I’m not shocked or anything.”

I realize as I’m talking that I’m getting close to the nerve, talking about what happens when high school is over. But Justin doesn’t seem to be taking it personally. Instead, he asks me if I think school is much different this year than last year. Which is a weird question. Something my grandmother would ask. Not my boyfriend.

I tread carefully.

“I don’t know. School sucks. That’s not different. But, you know – while I really want it to be over, I’m also worried about everything that’s going to come after. Not that I have it planned out. I don’t. I know you think that I have all of these plans – but if you actually look at the things I’ve done to prepare myself for life after high school, all you’ll see is a huge blank. I’m just as unprepared as anyone else.”

Shut up, shut up, shut up, I’m telling myself. Why are you bringing this up?

But maybe I have a reason. Maybe I’m bringing it up to see what he’ll do. He tests me all the time, but I’m not exactly innocent in that department, either.

“What do you think?” I ask him.

And he says, “Honestly, I’m just trying to live day to day.”

I know. But I appreciate it more when it’s said like this, in a voice that acknowledges we’re on the same side. I wait for him to say more, to edge back into last night’s fight. But he lets it go. I am grateful.

It’s been over a year, and there’ve been at least a hundred times when I’ve told myself that this was it – this was the new start. Sometimes I was right. But not as much as I wanted to be.

I will not let myself think that things are suddenly better. I will not let myself think that we’ve somehow escaped the us we always end up being. But at the same time, I will not deny what’s happening. I will not deny this happiness. Because if happiness feels real, it almost doesn’t matter if it’s real or not.

Instead of plugging the destination into his phone, he’s asking me to keep giving him directions. I screw up and tell him to get off the highway one exit too soon, but when I realize this, he doesn’t freak out at all – he just gets back on the highway and goes one more exit. Now I’m no longer wondering if he’s on drugs – I’m wondering if he’s on medication. If so, it’s kicking in pretty quickly.

I do not say a word. I don’t want to jinx it.

“I should be in English class,” I say as we make the last turn before the beach.

“I should be in bio,” Justin says back.

But this is more important. I can make up my homework, but I can’t make up my life.

“Let’s just enjoy ourselves,” he says.

“Okay,” I tell him. “I like that. I spend so much time thinking about running away – it’s nice to actually do it. For a day. It’s good to be on the other side of the window. I don’t do this enough.”

Maybe this is what we’ve needed all along. Distance from everything else, and closeness to each other.

Something is working here – I can feel it working.

Memory. This is the beach my family would come to, on days when the house was too hot or my parents were sick of staying in the same place. When we came here, we’d be surrounded by other families. I liked to imagine that each of our blankets was a house, and that a certain number of blankets made a town. I’m sure there were a few kids I saw all the time, whose parents took them here, too, but I can’t remember any of them now. I can only remember my own family – my mother always under an umbrella, either not wanting to burn or not wanting to be seen; my sister taking out a book and staying inside it the whole time; my father talking to the other fathers about sports or stocks. When it got too hot, he would race me down into the water and ask me what kind of fish I wanted to be. I knew that the right answer was flying fish, because if I told him that, he would gather me in his arms and throw me into the air.

I don’t know why I’ve never brought Justin here before. Last summer, we stayed indoors, waiting for his parents to leave for work so we could have sex in every room of the house, including some of the closets. Then, when it was done, we’d watch TV or play video games. Sometimes we’d call around to see what everyone else was doing, and by the time his parents came home, we’d be off at someone’s house, drinking or watching TV or playing video games or some mix of the three. It was great, because it wasn’t school, and we were with each other. But it didn’t really get us anywhere.

I leave my shoes in the car, just like I did when I was a kid. There’s the awkward couple of steps when I’m still in the parking lot and the pavement hurts, but then there’s the sand and everything’s fine. The beach is completely empty today, and even though I didn’t expect there to be a lot of people here, it’s still surprising, like we’ve caught the beach napping.

I can’t help myself. I run right down into it, spin around. Mine, I think. The beach is mine. The time is mine. Justin is mine. Nobody – nothing – is going to interfere with that. I call out his name, and it’s like I’m still singing along to a song.

He looks at me for a moment, and I think, oh no, this is the part where he tells me I look like an idiot. But then he’s running down to me, grabbing hold of me, swinging me around. He’s heard the song, and now we’re dancing. We’re laughing and racing each other to the water. When we get there, we splash-war, feeling the tide against our legs. I reach down for some shells and Justin joins me, looking for colors that won’t be the same when they’re dry, looking for sea glass and spirals. The water feels so good, and standing still feels so good, because there’s a whole ocean pulling at me and I have the strength to stay where I am.

Justin’s face is completely unguarded. His body is entirely relaxed. I never see him like this. We are playing, but it’s not the kind of playing that boyfriends and girlfriends do, where there’s strategy and scorekeeping and secret moves. No, we have scissored ourselves away from all that.

I ask him to build a sand castle with me. I tell him how Lisa always had to have her own, next to mine. She would build a huge mountain with a deep moat around it, while I would make a small, detailed house with a front door and a garage. Basically, I was building the dollhouse I was never able to have, while Liza was creating the fortress she felt she needed. She would never touch my castle – she wasn’t the kind of older sister who needed to destroy the competition. But she wouldn’t let me touch hers, either. We’d leave them when we were done, for the tide to take away. Sometimes our parents would come over. To me, they’d say, How pretty! To Liza, it would be, How tall!

I want Justin to work on a sand castle with me. I want us to experience what it’s like to build something together. We don’t have any shovels or buckets. Everything has to be done with our hands. He takes the phrase sand castle literally – starting with the square foundation, creating a drawbridge with his finger. I work on the turrets and the towers – balconies are precarious, but spires are possible. At random moments, he compliments me – little words like nice and neat and sweet – and I feel like the beach is somehow unlocking this vocabulary from the dungeon where he’s kept it all these months. I always felt – maybe hoped – that the words were in there somewhere. And now I know they are.

It isn’t very warm out, but I can feel the sun on my cheeks and my neck. We could gather more shells and begin to decorate, but I am starting to tire of the building, and putting our focus there. When the last tower is complete, I suggest we wander for a little while.

“Are you pleased with our creation?” he asks.

And I say, “Very.”

We head to the water to wash off our hands. Justin stares back at the beach, back at our castle, and seems lost for a moment. Lost, but in a good place.

“What is it?” I ask.

He looks at me, eyes so kind, and says, “Thank you.”

I am sure he has said these two words to me before, but never like this, never in a way that would make me want to remember them.

“For what?” I ask. What I mean is: Why now? Why finally?

“For this,” he says. “For all of it.”

I want so much to trust it. I want so much to think we’ve finally shifted to the place I always thought we could get to. But it’s too simple. It feels too simple.

“It’s okay,” he tells me. “It’s okay to be happy.”

I have wanted this for so long. This is not how I pictured it, but nothing ever is. I am overwhelmed by how much I love him. I don’t hate him at all. There’s not a single part of me that hates him. There is only love. And it isn’t terrifying. It is the opposite of terrifying.

I am crying because I’m happy and I’m crying because I don’t think I ever realized how much I was expecting to be unhappy. I am crying because for the first time in a long time, life makes sense.

He sees me crying and doesn’t make fun of it. He doesn’t get defensive, asking what he did this time. He doesn’t tell me he warned me. He doesn’t tell me to stop. No, he wraps his arms around me and holds me and takes these things that are only words and makes them into something more than words. Comfort. He gives me something I can actually feel – his presence, his hold.

“I’m happy,” I say, afraid he thinks I’m crying for a reason besides that. “Really, I am.”

The wind, the beach, the sun – everything else wraps around us, but our embrace is the one that matters. I am holding on to him now as much as he is holding on to me. We have reached that perfect balance, where each of us is strong and each of us is weak, each taking, each giving.

“What’s happening?” I ask.

“Shhh,” he says. “Don’t question it.”

I don’t feel any questions – only answers. No fear, only fullness. I kiss him and continue our perfect balance there, let our separate breaths become one breath. I close my eyes and feel the familiar press of his lips, the familiar taste of his mouth. But something is different now. We are not just kissing with our whole bodies, but with something that is bigger than our bodies, that is who we are and who we will be. We are kissing from a deeper part of our selves, and we are finding a deeper part of each other. It feels like electricity hitting water, fire reaching paper, the brightest light finding our eyes. I run my hands down his back, down his front, as if I need to know that he’s really here, that this is really happening. I linger on the back of his neck. He lingers on the side of my hip. I slip below his belt, but he leads me back up, kissing my neck. I kiss beneath his ear. I kiss his smile. He traces my laugh.

Enjoying this. We are enjoying this.

I have no idea what time it is, what day it is. I have nothing but now. Nothing but here. And it is more than enough.

Eventually my hand slides down his arm and holds his hand. We stand there for a few seconds, or maybe a few minutes, hand in hand, forehead on forehand, lips gently on lips, drained entirely of longing, because everything’s been found.

Then we pull away, keeping our hands together. We begin to walk down the beach, like couples do. Time comes back, but not in a scary way.

“This is amazing,” I say. And then I cringe despite myself, because this is what Justin would usually call an obvious statement. But of course, on this day, in this place, all he does is nod in agreement. He looks at the sun, which is coming closer to the horizon. I think I can see a boat offshore, but it could just be driftwood, or a mirage.

I want every day to be like this. I don’t understand why it can’t be.

“We should do this every Monday,” I say. “And Tuesday. And Wednesday. And Thursday. And Friday.”

I’m joking. But not really.

“We’d only get tired of it,” Justin says. “It’s best to have it just once.”

Once? I don’t know what he means. I don’t know how he could say that.

“Never again?” I ask. I don’t want to be wrong here. I really don’t want to be wrong.

He smiles. “Well, never say never.”

“I’d never say never,” I promise him.

Company. There are other couples on the beach now. Only a few, all of them older than us. Nobody asks us why we aren’t in school. Nobody asks us what we’re doing here. Instead, they seem happy to see us. It makes me feel like we belong here, that we are right to be doing what we’re doing.

This is how it’s going to be, I tell myself. And then I look at Justin and think, Tell me this is how it’s going to be.

I don’t want to ask him. I don’t want to have to ask. Too often, it’s my questions that push things off course.

I don’t want this to be fragile, but I still treat it like it is.

I’m starting to get a little cold. I have to remind myself that it isn’t summer. When I shiver, Justin puts his arm around me. I suggest we go back to the car and get the make-out blanket he keeps in his trunk. So we turn around, head back to where we started. Our castle is still there, still standing, even as the ocean comes closer.

Once we have the blanket, we bring it back to the beach. Instead of wrapping it around our shoulders, we put it on the sand and press ourselves beside each other. We are lying down, staring up at the sky. Clouds push by us. Every now and then a bird appears.

“This has to be one of the best days ever,” I say.

Without turning his head, he puts his hand in mine.

“Tell me about some of the other days like this,” he asks.

“I don’t know . . .” I say. I can’t imagine another day like this.

“Just one. The first one that comes to mind.”

I think about times when I was happy. Really happy. Balloon-floating happy. And the strangest memory comes into my mind. I have no idea why. I know I need to give him an answer, but I tell him it’s stupid. He insists I share it anyway.

I turn to him and he moves my hand to his chest, making circles there.

He is here. This is safe.

I tell him, “For some reason, the first thing that comes to mind is this mother-daughter fashion show.”

I make him promise not to laugh. He promises. And I believe him.

“It was in fourth grade or something,” I say. “Renwick’s was doing a fundraiser for hurricane victims, and they asked for volunteers from our class. I didn’t ask my mother or anything – I just signed up. And when I brought the information home – well, you know how my mom is. She was terrified. It’s enough to get her out to the supermarket. But a fashion show? In front of strangers? I might as well have asked her to pose for Playboy. God, now there’s a scary thought.”

Some girls have moms who partied all the time when they were young, who laughed and giggled and flirted and dressed in super tight clothes. I don’t have a mom like that. My mom was, I think, always the same as she is now. Except maybe this one time.

I tell Justin, “But here’s the thing: She didn’t say no. I guess it’s only now that I realize what I put her through. She didn’t make me go to the teacher and take it back. No, when the day came, we drove over to Renwick’s and went where they told us to go. I had thought they would put us in matching outfits, but it wasn’t like that. Instead, they basically told us we could wear whatever we wanted from the store. So there we were, trying all these things on. I went for the gowns, of course – I was so much more of a girl then. I ended up with this light blue dress – ruffles all over the place. I thought it was so sophisticated.”

“I’m sure it was classy,” Justin says.

I hit him playfully. “Shut up. Let me tell my story.”

He holds my hand on his chest. Before I can go on, he kisses me. I think the story might end there, but he pulls back and says, “Go ahead.”

I forget for a second where I was, because for a moment I fall out of the story and back into now. Then I remember: My mom. The fashion show.

“So I had my wannabe prom dress,” I say. “And then it was Mom’s turn. She surprised me, because she went for the dresses, too. I’d never really seen her all dressed up before. And I think that was the most amazing thing to me: It wasn’t me who was Cinderella. It was her.

“After we picked out our clothes, they put makeup on us and everything. I thought Mom was going to flip, but she was actually enjoying it. They didn’t really do much with her – just a little more color. And that was all it took. She was pretty. I know it’s hard to believe, knowing her now. But that day, she was like a movie star. All the other moms were complimenting her. And when it was time for the actual show, we paraded out there and people applauded. Mom and I were both smiling, and it was real, you know?”

Real like this is real – Justin listening next to me, the sky above, the sand underneath. It is real in such an intense way that it feels unreal, too. Like I had no idea it was possible to feel so much at once, and have it all be true.

“We didn’t get to keep the dresses or anything,” I go on. “But I remember on the ride home, Mom kept saying how great I was. When we got back to our house, Dad looked at us like we were aliens, but the cool thing is, he decided to play along. Instead of getting all weird, he kept calling us his supermodels, and asked us to do the show for him in our living room, which we did. We were laughing so much. And that was it. The day ended. I’m not sure Mom’s worn makeup since. And it’s not like I turned out to be a supermodel. But that day reminds me of this one. Because it was a break from everything, wasn’t it?”

“It sounds like it,” Justin says. And the way he looks at me – it’s like he’s finally realized how real I am, how here I am. What I’ve just said isn’t worth that. Which means I must be worth that.

“I can’t believe I just told you that,” I say. It’s like I’m giving him a chance to change his mind.

“Why?”

“Because. I don’t know. It just sounds so silly.”

“No,” he says, “it sounds like a good day.”

“How about you?” I ask. I know I’m pushing it. It’s one thing for him to listen. It’s another to have him actually tell me something.

“I was never in a mother-daughter fashion show,” he says.

Ha ha. So maybe he isn’t taking this seriously after all. I hit him on the shoulder and say, “No. Tell me about another day like this one.”

I can see him thinking about it. At first I think he’s debating whether or not to tell me anything. But then I realize that, no, he’s just trying to come up with a good answer.

“There was this one day when I was eleven,” he starts. He’s not staring out to the ocean or looking anywhere else, distracted. He’s looking right into my eyes, his way of saying this story is for me. “I was playing hide-and-seek with my friends. I mean, the brutal, tackle kind of hide-and-seek. We were in the woods, and for some reason I decided that what I had to do was climb a tree. I don’t think I’d ever climbed a tree before. But I found one with some low branches and just started moving. Up and up. It was as natural as walking. In my memory, that tree was hundreds of feet tall. Thousands. At some point I crossed the tree line. I was still climbing, but there weren’t any other trees around. I was all by myself, clinging to the trunk of this tree, a long way from the ground.

“It was magical. There’s no other word to describe it. I could hear my friends yelling as they were caught, as the game played out. But I was in a completely different place. I was seeing the world from above, which is an extraordinary thing when it happens for the first time. I’d never flown in a plane. I’m not even sure I’d been in a tall building. So there I was, hovering above everything I knew. I had made it somewhere special, and I’d gotten there all on my own. Nobody had given it to me. Nobody had told me to do it. I’d climbed and climbed and climbed, and this was my reward. To watch over the world, and to be alone with myself. That, I found, was what I needed.”

I’m almost crying, imagining him there. Every now and then he’ll tell me something about when he was little, but not like this. Usually he only tells me the bad things. The hard things. Mostly as an excuse.

I lean into him. “That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“And it was in Minnesota?”

I want to show him I remember what he tells me – his family’s moves, how cold it was there – so he’ll feel he can tell me more.

I want to tell him more, too. I always want to tell him more, but now that I know he’s listening – really listening – it means something different.

“You want to know another day like this one?” I ask, moving even closer, like I’m building a nest of our bodies in order to catch all the memories.

He pulls me in, settles the nest. “Sure.”

“Our second date,” I tell him.

“Really?” He seems surprised.

“Remember?”

He doesn’t. Which is fair, because it’s not like we labeled everything as a date. I mean, there were plenty of times before our first date where we were in the same place with other people, flirting. I’m talking about the second time we arrived together and left together and spent most of the time together.

“Dack’s party?” I say.

“Yeah . . .”

Still unclear. “I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe it doesn’t count as a date. But it was the second time we hooked up. And, I don’t know, you were just so . . . sweet about it. Don’t get mad, all right?”

I don’t want to ruin it. I am afraid I’m ruining it. Why don’t I just stop when things are good?

But then he says, “I promise, nothing could make me mad right now.” And he crosses his heart. Something I’ve never, ever seen him do before.

Smile. I’m not ruining it. I’m really not. “Okay,” I say. “Well, lately – it’s like you’re always in a rush. Like, we have sex but we’re not really . . . intimate. And I don’t mind. I mean, it’s fun. But every now and then, it’s good to have it be like this. And at Dack’s party – it was like this. Like you had all the time in the world, and you wanted us to have it together. I loved that. It was back when you were really looking at me. It was like – well, it was like you’d climbed up that tree and found me there at the top. And we had that together. Even though we were in someone’s backyard. At one point – do you remember? – you made me move over a little so I’d be in the moonlight. ‘It makes your skin glow,’ you said. And I felt like that. Glowing. Because you were watching me, along with the moon.”

I have never said this much to him. In all the time we’ve been together, I’m not sure I’ve ever let the words come out like this, without inspecting them first. I thought I knew what we were, and that was good enough for me.

What is this? I think. Because now he’s leaning over and kissing me, and it’s making everything romantic. Justin has been able to do romantic things before, sure. But he’s never made everything seem romantic before. The universe, at this moment, is romantic. And I want it. I want it so badly. I want the touch of his lips on mine. I want the way my heart is pounding. I want this nest, my body and his body. I want it because it’s that unreal kind of real.

There are so many other things we could say, but I don’t want to say any of them. Not because I’m afraid of ruining it. But because right now I have everything. I don’t need anything more.

We close our eyes. We rest in each other’s arms.

We’ve somehow made it to the better place you always want to be.

I don’t even realize I’m falling asleep. We’re just so comfortable that I guess we go there.

Then my phone is ringing, the ringtone so much shriller than the ocean. I know who it is, and even though I want to ignore it, I can’t. I open my eyes, shift away from Justin, and pick up the phone.

“Where are you?” Mom asks.

I check out the time. School’s been over for a while now.

“I just went somewhere with Justin,” I tell her.

“Well, your father’s coming home tonight, so I want us to all have dinner.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be home before that. In an hour or so.”

As soon as those words leave my mouth, the clock that had stopped begins to tick again. I hate my mother for causing this to happen, and I hate myself for letting it.

Justin’s sitting up now, looking at me like he knows what I’ve done.

“It’s getting late,” he says. He picks up the blanket and shakes it out. Then we fold it together, drawing nearer and farther and back nearer again, until the blanket is a square. Usually we just roll it up and throw it back in the trunk.

It feels different, driving home. It’s no longer an adventure; it’s just driving home. I find myself telling him all the things he never wants to hear about – other people’s relationship drama, the way Rebecca’s really trying hard to get into a good school and leave the rest of us behind (which I fully believe she should do), the pressure I feel to do well, too, or at least good enough.

After a while, the sun has set and the headlights are on and the songs we’re choosing are quiet ones. I lean on his shoulder and close my eyes, falling asleep again. I don’t mean to do it, but I’m just so comfortable. Usually I’m leaning in to him to prove something, to claim something. But now – it’s just to have him there. To rebuild that nest.

When I wake up, I see we’re getting close to my house. I wish we weren’t.

The only way for me to avoid being depressed is to create a bridge between now and the next time we’ll be like this. I don’t need to plan exactly when we’ll get there. I just need to know it’s there for us to get to.

“How many days do you think we could skip school before we’d get in trouble?” I ask. “I mean, if we’re there in the morning, do you think they’d really notice if we’re gone in the afternoon?”

“I think they’d catch us,” he says.

“Maybe once a week? Once a month? Starting tomorrow?”

I figure he’ll laugh at that, but instead he looks bothered. Not by me, but by the fact that he can’t say yes. A lot of the time I take his sadness in a bad way. Now I almost take it in a good way, a sign that the day has meant as much to him as it has for me.

“Even if we can’t do this, I’ll see you at lunch?” I ask.

He nods.

“And maybe we can do something after school?”

“I think so,” he says. “I mean, I’m not sure what else is going on. My mind isn’t really there right now.”

Plans. Maybe he’s right – maybe I always try to tie him up instead of letting things happen. “Fair enough,” I say. “Tomorrow is tomorrow. Let’s end today on a nice note.”

One last song. One last turn. One last street. No matter how hard you try to keep hold of a day, it’s going to leave you.

“Here we are,” I say when we get to my house.

Let’s make it always like this, I want to say to him.

He pulls the car over. He unlocks the doors.

End it on a nice note, I think, as much to myself as to him. It’s so natural to drag a good thing down. It takes a lot of control to let it be what it is.

I kiss him goodbye. I kiss him with everything, and he responds with everything. The day surrounds us. It passes through us, between us.

“That’s the nice note,” I tell him when it’s through. And before we can say anything else, I leave.

Later that night, right before sleep, he calls me. I never get calls from him – he always texts. If he wants to let me know something, he lets me know, but he rarely wants to talk about it.

“Hey!” I answer, a little sleepy but mostly happy.

“Hey,” he says.

“Thank you again for today,” I tell him immediately.

“Yeah,” he says. Something’s a little bit off in his voice. Something has slipped. “But about today?”

Now I’m not happy or sleepy. I’m wide awake. I decide to make a joke.

I say, “Are you going to tell me that we can’t cut class every day? That’s not like you.”

“Yeah,” he replies, “but, you know, I don’t want you to think every day is going to be like today. Because they’re not going to be, all right? They can’t be.”

It’s almost like he’s talking to himself.

“I know that,” I tell him. “But maybe things can still be better. I know they can be.”

“I don’t know. That’s all I wanted to say. I don’t know. Today was something, but it’s not, like, everything.”

“I know that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He sighs. Again, I have to tell myself this sadness is not something directed at me. It has to be directed at the fact that he can’t be with me.

“That’s all,” he says.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. If he’s worried that I’m really going to expect this from him every day – he can’t think that, can he? I decide to leave it alone. I say, “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you will.”

“Thanks again for today. No matter what trouble we get into tomorrow for it, it was worth it.”

“Yeah.”

“I love you,” I say.

It’s not like Justin to say I love you back. Most of the time, he resents it when I say it, accuses me of saying it just to see if he’ll say it next.

Sometimes he’s right. But that’s not why I’m saying it tonight. And when he responds by saying, “Sleep well,” that’s more than enough for me.

I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, but for once I’m really looking forward to it.

2

Mom is up before me, as usual, in the same place at the kitchen table. It’s like she thinks Dad or I will steal her seat if she doesn’t beat us to it – and if she loses the seat, where will she spend the rest of the day?

“You look nice,” she tells me. Which would be a compliment, if she didn’t sound suspicious.

I don’t tell her that I made sure to look nice because it’s the one-day anniversary of everything getting better. She’d shoot that down real quick.

“I have to give a report,” I tell her. “In class.”

I know she’s not going to ask me what report, or what class.

Eager. I want to get to school as soon as possible, to see him. I hope he’s feeling the same way over at his house. I could text him and ask, but if things are going to change, then I can change, too. I don’t need to know everything all the time.

Mom and I say more to each other, but neither of us is really listening. I want to go, and she wants to stay. It’s the story of our lives.

I have to take the bus because my car is still at school. I could ask Rebecca or someone else to drive me, but then I would have to spend the whole ride talking about things instead of thinking about them.

His car isn’t there when my bus gets in. In fact, he doesn’t show up until almost everyone else has pulled in.

But this time he notices me waiting. Walks over. Says good morning.

I am trying hard not to barrage him with happiness. It’s still early in the morning. He’s barely awake.

“Sure you don’t want to run away?” I ask. Just to pull a little bit of yesterday into today.

He looks confused. “Are you serious?” he asks.

“No,” I tell him. “But a girl can dream, right?”

“Whatever.” He starts walking, assuming I’ll fall in step right beside him. Which I do.

I get it. Kind of. Since it’s not like we’re going to do it again today, it’s probably best not to think of it as an option. Otherwise, whatever we do today will feel pathetic in comparison.

I reach for his hand.

He doesn’t take it.

“What’s gotten into you?”

Yesterday, I want to tell him. But from the way he looks straight ahead, I figure now’s not the right time.

He doesn’t even wait to hear my answer to his question.

He just keeps moving.

I tell myself it’s not Angry Justin. It’s Lost Justin. It has to be.

When you picture someone lost, it’s usually in someplace like the woods. But with Justin, I imagine a classroom. It’s not that he has a learning disability or anything. That would be a good reason. But no. He’s just bored. So he doesn’t keep up with what’s going on. And it only gets worse, and he only gets more lost, which only makes him hate it more.

I am trying to stay on the beach. As the teachers talk and as Justin and I barely say hello between first and second period, I am reminding myself what it was like. I am turning my mind into a time machine, because I need to.

I know Rebecca’s going to pin me down third period, when we’re sitting next to each other in art. And that’s exactly what she does.

“Where were you?” she whispers. “What happened?”

Art is one of the only classes we have together, because my school likes to keep the smart kids away from the not-smart kids, as if being in class with me might hurt Rebecca’s test scores. In art, some of the not-smart kids get their revenge. I like that it gives me and Rebecca a chance to be together.

Mr K has put a car engine at the front of the room, and has asked us to draw it in charcoal. He always says we’re not supposed to talk while we’re working, but as long as we’re not too loud and we’re getting our work done, he doesn’t really mind.

Rebecca’s engine is turning out worse than mine, and I feel bad that this makes me feel better.

I tell her that Justin and I escaped to the beach. I tell her it was an in-the-moment thing, and that it was wonderful.

“You should have asked me and Ben to come along,” she says.

Ben is her boyfriend. He’s smart, too. Justin doesn’t like him at all.

“Next time,” I tell her. We both know it’ll never happen, but we’re okay with that. Our friendship doesn’t need her to skip school, and it doesn’t need Ben and Justin to get along. She and I have enough history that we don’t need to make a whole lot happen in the present to be close.

“Wasn’t it cold?” she asks.

“Too cold to swim,” I say. “But warm enough to be there.”

She nods. Whatever I say to her usually makes sense.

I’m just leaving out some of the details.

I wonder if I’m supposed to meet him at his locker like yesterday. But lunchtime habit takes me to the cafeteria first, and there he is, at our usual spot.

“Hey,” I say.

He nods. I sit down.

“Has anyone said anything to you about yesterday?” I ask. “I mean, you haven’t gotten into any trouble, have you?”

He dips a French fry into some ketchup. That’s all he’s having for lunch.

“It’s all good, I think,” he says. “You?”

“Rebecca was curious. But that’s it so far.”

“Rebecca? Curious? Now there’s a shocker.”

“She said next time she and Ben want to go driving with us.”

“I’m not sure Ben would let us inside his Mercedes. We’d have to take our shoes off first.”

This one time, we went over to Ben’s house and he asked all of us to take off our shoes before we came inside. Justin and I found that hysterical. “Doesn’t he know that our socks are much nastier than our shoes?” Justin asked. It became one of our jokes.

“Don’t say anything to Rebecca,” I make Justin promise. He pretends to be zipping his lips. I relax.

I go and get my lunch, and when I come back, Rebecca and some other friends are at the table, so Justin and I are part of the big conversation instead of having our own. When the bell rings, I ask him if he can do something after school, and he says no, he has to work. He says it like I should have his work schedule memorized. But Target sends the email to him, not me.

I do not point this out. Instead, I remind myself that I am lucky I don’t have to work yet. I remind myself that Justin hates his job. I remind myself that yesterday was all about a choice, but not every day allows us to make our own choices.

The important thing is that when he had a chance, he chose me. And I have to hope that next time, he’ll choose me again.

He texts me when he gets home from work. Two words.

Long day.

I text him back one word.

Yeah.

Patterns. The next day, I think about patterns. Or, really, I think about ups and downs. I am used to ups and downs. Monday, when we were at the beach, was an up. I can see that.

But now – it’s neither an up nor a down. It’s like we’ve disappeared from the chart.

He’s not mad at me. I can feel that. But his love has gone passive.

I don’t understand. And there’s no one to talk to about it. Not Justin. Every time I mention the beach, it’s like it never happened. Not Rebecca. If I told her more, it might sound crazier than it really is. Not my mom. She and I don’t talk about ups or downs, as a way of not having them.

I know what he and I had on Monday is worth fighting for. But I have no one to fight, so I turn on myself instead.

I know I wasn’t imagining things.

But I seem to have been sent back to my imagination now.

3

Thursday I get to school first and wait for him. I don’t think that much about it. It’s just what I do.

“Jesus, Rhiannon,” he says when he gets out of the car. I step aside as he pulls out his bag and slams the door.

“What?” I ask.

“‘What?’ ” he mimics in a high, girly voice. It’s a voice his bad moods like to use.

“Crappy morning?”

He shakes his head. “Look. Rhiannon. Just let me have two minutes, okay? All I ask is for two minutes each day where nobody wants anything from me. Including you. That’s all.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” I protest.

He looks at me, tired, and says, “Of course you do.” He’s right, I know.

He’s right, and that hurts a little.

Space. I want a boyfriend and he wants space.

Since I have plenty of space – empty space – I guess it’s hard for me to understand.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“It’s all right. It’s just – you should see how you look there. Nobody else is just standing in the parking lot. I’m fine with seeing you. But when you stand like that, it’s like you’re waiting to pounce.”

“I get it,” I assure him. “I know.”

We’re at the doors now.

He sighs. “I’ll see you later.”

I guess I’m not going to his locker. I guess that’s okay.

“Sure you don’t want to run away?” I ask. I can feel the beach, the ocean talking through me.

“You have to stop saying that,” he says. “Keep giving me the idea, and one day I just might do it.”

He’s not asking me to come along.

I get my books out of my locker, get ready for the day. My heart isn’t in it, because my heart doesn’t feel like it’s anywhere near me.

I hear a voice say “hey” and don’t realize at first that it’s talking to me. I turn to my left and see this small Asian girl looking at me.

“Hey,” I say back. I have no idea who she is.

“Don’t worry – you don’t know me,” she says. “It’s just – it’s my first day here. I’m checking the school out. And I really like your skirt and your bag. So I thought, you know, I’d say hello. Because, to be honest, I am completely alone right now.”

Join the club, I want to say. But the last thing this girl needs is a view of what’s going through my mind. She already looks overwhelmed.

“I’m Rhiannon,” I tell her, putting my books down and shaking her hand. “Shouldn’t there be someone showing you around? Like, a welcoming committee?”

I feel this is totally Tiffany Chase’s job. She seems to take pride in showing people around. I’ve never understood her.

“I don’t know,” the girl says. She still hasn’t told me her name.

I tell her I’ll be happy to take her to the office. I think she’s supposed to sign in there, anyway.

This does not go over well.

“No!” the girl says, like I’ve just threatened to call the police. “It’s just . . . I’m not here officially. Actually, my parents don’t even know I’m doing this. They just told me we’re moving here, and I . . . I wanted to see it and decide whether I should be freaking out or not.”

Oh, you’re definitely freaking out, I think. But I don’t say that, because it will only freak her out more. Instead, I say, “That makes sense. So you’re cutting school in order to check school out?”

“Exactly.”

“What year are you?”

“A junior.”

That’s funny – she seems like a freshman. But if she’s a junior, I figure there’s nothing wrong with her tagging along with me today. I can pretend I’m Tiffany Chase for a few hours. It’ll give me something to think about besides Justin.

“So am I,” I tell her. “Let’s see if we can pull this off. Do you want to come around with me today?”

“I’d love that.” She seems genuinely excited. It’s a good reminder that sometimes it’s easy to make someone happy.

Maybe it’s easier with strangers. I’m not sure.

Maybe it’s easier with someone who isn’t asking you for something.

The girl’s name is Amy, and it’s almost funny how easily she fits in with my friends. I’d be awful at meeting so many new people at once. But she gets it.

Tiffany Chase sees me showing her around and looks pissed.

“What’s her problem?” Amy asks.

“She usually gets first dibs on being tour guide,” I say.

“I like this version better.”

I know I shouldn’t really take satisfaction from that, but I do. Like I’m so desperate to be good at something that I’ll take whatever I can get.

I do not share this thought with Amy.

I don’t see Justin at our usual time and place between first and second period, but he’s there unexpectedly between second and third. I wonder if he went out of his way to make up for it. We don’t have a chance to talk or anything, but at least I get to see him, and I get to see that he doesn’t look too angry.

In math class, Amy starts passing me notes.

At first, I figure she just has a question. Or maybe she’s telling me she’s had enough, and she’s going to leave next period. But instead it’s . . . chatty. Telling me that class here is just as boring as class back at her real school. Asking me where I got my skirt and whether there are any boys I like and if I think there are any boys she would like.

We go back and forth like this a few times. She picks up almost immediately on some of Ms Frasier’s mannerisms, and is pretty good at making fun of them. (She talks like a nun, but instead of God, she’s talking about trigonometry. I wonder what her habit looks like. A rhombus?)

I’m having fun, but it’s also making me a little sad, because it’s making me realize that I haven’t really made a new friend since I started dating Justin. It’s like since he and I have been together, I’ve only seen the same people, and less of them. I need this new girl to come out of nowhere in order to have someone to pass notes with.

She comes with me to lunch – we put our stuff down at the table, and Preston goes crazy about all the buttons on her bag, asking her all these questions about Japanese comics. Amy seems flustered, and I’m hoping that Preston is showing his big gay self enough that she doesn’t think he’s flirting.

When Justin gets to the table, I notice he’s got something on his mind. I introduce him to Amy and he gives her the Justin nod. Then he tells me he left his wallet at home. I say it’s not a problem and ask him what he wants. He says French fries, but I get him a cheeseburger, too. When I hand them over, he thanks me, and I know he means it.

Even with Amy there, it feels like we’re all falling into our usual lunchtime routine. Preston asks her about another comic thing, but instead of answering, she turns to me and asks me how far it takes to get to the ocean from here.

The word ocean makes me look at Justin, but it’s like he hasn’t heard, like his mind is stuck on cheeseburger.

“It’s so funny you should say that,” I tell Amy. “We were just there the other day. It took about an hour or so.”

Justin is next to Amy, across from me. She turns her head and asks him, “Did you have a good time?”

He doesn’t seem to have heard, so I say, “It was amazing.”

“Did you drive?” she asks Justin.

This time he hears her.

“Yes, I drove,” he says.

“We had such a great time,” I chime in. And by saying that, I get to hold on to it a little longer. It’s like Justin and I have this secret, and it’s sitting there in front of everyone else, but nobody else can see it. Neither of us is going to point it out. It remains ours. Only ours.

I don’t mind that.

I can tell Amy wants to ask more. I remind myself that she’s not a new friend; she’s just a visitor. She’s only here for today.

Justin, meanwhile, has gone back to eating. He has nothing more to say about the thing that means so much to me.

Amy shadows me for the rest of the day, and keeps as quiet as a shadow. I imagine what it must be like, to look into the future and see yourself living in a new place. I’ve never done that. I’ve always been here, anchored by parents who never search out change, accompanied by all the other people who fear they’ll never leave. For so many years, the idea of living somewhere else was about the same to me as the idea of living in a fairy-tale kingdom. There were places that existed as stories and places that existed as life, and I was taught to never confuse the two. It wasn’t until Justin and I became a real couple and my sister left town that I started to wonder not only about what came next, but where. I don’t want to picture us doing the same things, in the same place ten years – or even two years – from now. But when I try to picture us anywhere else, it’s hard to do. We both like to pull at the anchor, but the anchor is pretty strong.

As I do my work in English class, I imagine switching places with Amy. I don’t even know where her school is, but I wonder what it would be like if I had a completely new start. Would I still remain me? Or would I become someone else? I would have to become someone else, because I can’t imagine me without Justin. It hurts to think about it. I imagine myself walking those halls – and the alone I feel there is so much worse than the alone I feel here.

I remember the ocean, and know that, no matter where I go, I want him to come with me.

I feel silly, but I’m a little sad to see Amy go. As we head to the parking lot at the end of the day, I write down my email address and give it to her. While I’m doing this, Justin finds me. He seems so much better now that the day is over. And from the way he lingers, I know he wants to hang out, not just say goodbye.

“Walk me to my car?” Amy asks.

I look at Justin, wanting to make sure he’ll wait.

“I’ll get my car,” he says.

It’s a good thing he seems to be in a patient mood, because Amy has parked about as far from the school as you can get. As we walk over, I wonder what Justin is going to do now. I’m trying to figure it out when Amy breaks into my thoughts and says, “Tell me something nobody else knows about you.”

“What?” I ask. It’s such a slumber party question.

“It’s something I always ask people – tell me something about you that nobody else knows. It doesn’t have to be major. Just something.”

I decide to go with whatever comes first to my mind. “Okay. When I was ten, I tried to pierce my own ear with a sewing needle. I got it halfway through, and then I passed out. Nobody was home, so nobody found me. I just woke up with this needle halfway in my ear, drops of blood all over my shirt. I pulled the needle out, cleaned up, and never tried it again. It wasn’t until I was fourteen that I went to the mall with my mom and got my ears pierced for real. She had no idea. How about you?”

There’s a beat as she thinks about it – which is a little off. If this is a question she always asks, doesn’t she always have an answer ready? After a few seconds she says, “I stole Judy Blume’s Forever from my sister when I was eight. I figured if it was by the author of Superfudge, it had to be good. Well, I soon realized why she kept it under her bed. I’m not sure I understood it all, but I thought it was unfair that the boy would name his, um, organ, and the girl wouldn’t name hers. So I decided to give mine a name.”

I can’t help but laugh, and also can’t help but ask, “What was its name?”

“Helena. I introduced everyone to her at dinner that night. It went over really well.”

Helena. I can’t figure if Justin would find this funny, too, or if he’d just find it weird.

We’re at Amy’s car now. “It was great to meet you,” I tell her. “Hopefully I’ll see you around next year.”

“Yeah,” she says, “it was great to meet you, too.”

She thanks me for taking her around, for introducing me to my friends, and for putting up with her questions. I tell her it wasn’t any problem at all. Justin drives over and honks.

I almost tell him I want to go back to the ocean.

But instead I decide to see if I can bring the ocean here.

We go to his house like we always do, because my mom is always home at my house. We don’t have a chance to talk on the way over, because I’m in my car, following his. But even when we get there, we don’t say much. He asks me if I want something to drink, and I tell him water. He steals some Scotch, but not that much. I never mind if he has a little. I like the taste of it on his tongue.

He sits down on the couch and turns on the TV. But I know what’s going on. It’s like he can’t come out and say, “Let’s make out.” A few times he’s started kissing me the minute we’ve got in the door – but usually he has to make sure no one’s home, get used to the gravity of being home before we can resist it a little.

So most of the time, it starts like this. Both of us watching the show but not really watching. Him leaning into me or me leaning into him. Putting our drinks down. A hand on a leg, an arm over a shoulder. Bodies starting to confuse. He won’t say that he wants something from me. But it’s there in the air. It’s there and understood between us as his hands go under my shirt and my hands touch his cheek, his ear, his hair.

I return to him. He returns to me. But then it’s not enough for us to balance like that. He pushes it. He’s saying things, but they’re not really directed at me. They’re directed at what we’re doing. They’re part of what we’re doing. The heat feels good. The touch feels good. But it doesn’t feel like enough. Not for him, since he wants more, and more, and more. Not for me, because if it was enough, I wouldn’t be thinking about whether or not it’s enough. We aren’t going all the way – not on the couch, only in the bedroom where there’s a door to close and protection to wear and blankets to pull up when it’s over and we lie there, pleased. But we’re still doing something – he does what he does when we’re on the couch, and I do what I do when we’re on the couch, and none of our clothes are totally on and none of them are totally off. He starts to murmur, starts to moan, and yes there’s something he wants from me, there’s something he really wants from me, and I am giving it to him and he’s giving it back to me. I want him to get that peak, because what I want more is the sweetness of breathing together afterward.

He groans. His back shudders under my hand. He kisses me. Once. Twice. Three times. We lie back. I find his heartbeat and lay my head there. He says more things.

The TV is still on, and what he does next is what makes me grateful, what makes me think that maybe all of this is worth it. Because instead of turning back to the TV, he turns it off. He stands up and gets me more water. He does not get himself more Scotch. He comes back and returns to his place on the couch, then returns me to my place on his chest. We stay like that for a while. No longer in a rush. No longer wanting anything more than a quiet spot of nothing to share.

4

I’m good. I wait until after school on Friday to ask about Steve’s party.

“Will you just stop ?” is his reply.

“Excuse me?” I say. “I don’t think I deserve that.”

He shakes his head. “Sorry.”

We’re at my locker. I know he has to get to work. That’s why I’m trying to figure this out now.

“I’m just going to hate at least half the people there,” he says. “As long as you can deal with that, we can go. If Steve and Stephanie start attacking each other, do not expect me to calm him down or take him outside or shield her bitchiness from his bullshit. Just let me sit in the corner and drink and watch like everyone else.”

“They only fought that once!” I argue. These are our friends. Most of the time they behave. Tequila just makes them mean.

He snorts. “Jesus, Rhiannon – open your eyes.”

“You can do whatever you want at the party,” I say. “I’ll drive. Okay?”

“I’m telling you right now, if I go there, I’m going to get wasted.”

“I’ve been warned,” I tell him. “I know I’ve been warned.”

It’s only when I’m driving over to pick him up on Saturday night that I wonder why I want to go to this party.

Rebecca won’t be there. She and Ben have a “date night.” Preston and his best friend Allie tend to avoid parties they find “obnoxious.” And while I’m friends with Stephanie, I have to agree with Justin that being the party’s center of attention might not bring out her best behavior.

Mostly, I guess, I feel that something new might happen if we go to the party. If we stay home, there’s no chance that something new will happen.

We get pizza before heading over – apparently Justin’s father told him he couldn’t go out unless his room was clean, and Justin left the house anyway. When I first asked Justin what his dad was like, all he’d say was “military” – I couldn’t tell whether this meant his career or his attitude or both. Now he’s always saying, “Please God, don’t let me turn into that man.”

I think pretty much the same thing about my mom, so I guess we relate.

On our way to Steve’s, I ask Justin if he knows who else is going to be there.

“Does it really matter?” he asks. “It’s the same whoever’s there.”

I don’t think he’s in the mood for me to argue, so I stay quiet. A song I like comes on the radio, and I start to sing along. He shoots me a look like I’m a crazywoman and I stop.

When we get there, he goes, “You know where to find me” – meaning: Wherever the alcohol is. He takes off as soon as I lock the car doors, acting like the party might run out of beer before he’s made it inside. Which, considering Steve’s last party, isn’t totally off base.

Crowded. Already it feels like there are people everywhere. I don’t recognize some of them. I see Stephanie for a brief moment – she gives me a squeal and a hug, then moves on to the next squeal and hug.

I know I should go to the kitchen, get a drink (only one), and stay by my boyfriend’s side. But I find myself wandering away from it instead. Steve stumbles past me – he must’ve started drinking early. I say hi. He tells me to make myself at home.

It’s really loud, some bitch-bashing rap competing with all the talking, making everyone louder. I head into the den and see a laptop there, hooked to the speakers. I look at the playlist and find that the song that’s playing is called “My Dick’s Got Rights!” The next song is called “Naked Like U Want Me.” I think about turning it down. I think about putting on Adele. I don’t do anything.

I look around and see Tiffany Chase talking to Demeka Miller. I walk over and say hi.

“Hi!” Tiffany shouts back over the music.

“Yeah, hi!” Demeka says.

I realize the flaw in my plan is that I don’t have anything to say to either of these girls. I almost tell Tiffany that I get now why she likes to take people around the school, but I don’t think that’s the right party thing to say. It’ll sound like I want to be her, when that’s not it at all.

“I love your hair!” I tell Demeka. She recently added a red streak.

“Thanks!” Demeka says back.

Tiffany and Demeka look at each other. I’ve clearly interrupted their conversation. I know I should uninterrupt it.

“See you around!” I say. I drift off, but not that far. Again, I know I should head to the kitchen. But I don’t.

Next to the laptop, there are CDs. Probably belonging to Steve’s parents. (I have no idea where they are right now.) Adele is near the top. Having nothing better to do, I start to flip through.

There’s Kelly Clarkson, which makes me think of the drive to the ocean. And there’s Fun., who we also heard.

“I really like them,” someone says to me, pointing to the CD. “Do you?”

I’m surprised to have been noticed. The boy talking to me looks totally out of place – he’s worn a jacket and a tie to the party, like he’s going straight from here to church in the morning. He looks really desperate to have someone to talk to, and at the same time, I feel this weird sense that he specifically wants to talk to me. Usually this would make my guard go up. But for some reason, I decide not to brush him off.

“Yeah,” I say, holding up the CD. “I like them, too.”

Quietly, he starts to sing “Carry On” – the same song Justin and I sang along to in the car. I decide to take this as a sign. Of what, I’m not sure.

“I like that one in particular,” the boy says.

Strange. There is something so familiar about him. It’s in his eyes, or in the way he’s looking at me.

Harmless. I remind myself that talking to him is harmless.

“Do I know you?” I ask.

“I’m Nathan,” he says.

I tell him I’m Rhiannon.

“That’s a beautiful name,” he replies. And it’s not just something to say, like, “I love your hair.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I used to hate it, but I don’t so much anymore.”

“Why?”

“It’s just a pain to spell,” I tell him. And because it’s different. I don’t tell him all the grief I got as a kid for it being so different, how badly I wished my parents had given me something easier.

The fact that he seems so familiar is still nagging at me. “Do you go to Octavian?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “No. I’m just here for the weekend. Visiting my cousin.”

“Who’s your cousin?”

“Steve.”

“Oh, that explains it,” I tell him. And then, just like with Tiffany and Demeka, I find I’ve completely run out of things to say. I mean, I could ask Nathan where he’s from, how long he’s here for, why he’s wearing a tie. But I’d only be filling the time until I leave, and that doesn’t seem fair.

I’m ready to pull the plug and let the conversation die. But then he surprises me.

“I hate my cousin,” he says.

Scandal. But not really. Still, I’m curious why.

He goes on. “I hate the way he treats girls. I hate the way he thinks he can buy all his friends by throwing parties like this. I hate the way that he only talks to you when he needs something. I hate the way he doesn’t seem capable of love.”

Wow. I can barely remember my own cousins’ names. Nathan seems so intense about Steve.

“Then why are you here?” I ask.

“Because I want to see it fall apart. Because when this party gets busted – and if it stays this loud, it will get busted – I want to be a witness. From a safe distance away, of course.”

The boy’s on fire. It’s amusing. I decide to add more fuel.

“And you’re saying he’s incapable of loving Stephanie?” I ask. “They’ve been going out for over a year.”

“That doesn’t mean anything, does it? I mean, being with someone for over a year can mean that you love them . . . but it can also mean you’re trapped.”

Trapped. How stupid, because my first thought is, Stephanie is not nearly as trapped as I am. Which is ridiculous. Neither of us is trapped.

I wonder what would make Nathan say such a thing. He talks like he knows.

“Speaking from experience?” I ask.

“There are many things that can keep you in a relationship,” he says. His eyes are begging me to listen. “Fear of being alone. Fear of disrupting the arrangement of your life. A decision to settle for something that’s okay, because you don’t know if you can get any better. Or maybe there’s the irrational belief that it will get better, even if you know he won’t change.”

He. I guess Nathan is on the Preston side of things.

“‘He’?” I say, to make sure.

“Yeah.”

“I see.” Maybe this explains why I’m finding him so harmless, why I’m feeling so open to him. Girls don’t need to be threatened by boys who are after boys.

After a moment, he asks, “That cool?”

“Completely,” I assure him. I wonder if Steve knows.

“How about you? Seeing anyone?”

“Yeah,” I say. Then, seeing where this is going, I add, “For over a year.”

“And why are you still together? Fear of being alone? A decision to settle? An irrational belief that he’ll change?”

Ha. I’m not about to tell him it’s much more complicated than that. So instead I say, “Yes. Yes. And yes.”

“So . . .”

“But he can also be incredibly sweet,” I add. “And I know that, deep down, I mean the world to him.”

Those eyes don’t let me out of it. “Deep down? That sounds like settling to me. You shouldn’t have to venture deep down in order to get to love.”

Enough. I don’t know you. Stop.

It sounds like Justin talking in my head, even though it’s my voice.

“Let’s switch the topic, okay?” I say. “This isn’t a good party topic. I liked it more when you were singing to me.”

Justin pops into the doorway now, Corona in hand. He scans the room, sees me, looks a little happy, then sees that I’m talking to a guy and looks a little less happy.

“So who’s this?” he asks, coming over.

“Don’t worry, Justin,” I say. “He’s gay.”

“Yeah, I can tell from the way he’s dressed. What are you doing here?”

“Nathan, this is Justin, my boyfriend. Justin, this is Nathan.”

“Hi,” Nathan says.

Justin lets it hang for a second, then asks, “You seen Stephanie? Steve’s looking for her. I think they’re at it again.”

There’s an I told you so embedded in his voice. And he did tell me so.

I give him back an I told you so what.

“Maybe she went to the basement,” I say.

“Nah. They’re dancing in the basement.”

Dancing. The last time the two of us danced was probably a very tipsy night at Preston’s house a few months ago.

I miss it.

“Want to go down there and dance?” I ask.

“Hell no! I didn’t come here to dance. I came here to drink. ”

“Charming,” I say. What was I even thinking, asking him? Then I figure I have another opportunity. “Do you mind if I go dance with Nathan?”

He takes another look at Nathan’s tie, jacket. “You sure he’s gay?”

“I’ll sing you show tunes if you want me to prove it,” Nathan volunteers.

Justin slaps him on the back. “No, dude, don’t do that, okay? Go dance.”

Then, with a Corona salute, he heads back to the kitchen.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” I tell Nathan. I know I wouldn’t be crazy about the idea of dancing with someone I didn’t know, so I can’t really expect him to be into it.

But he says, “I want to. I really want to.”

I don’t know why this makes sense, but it does. So I lead the way to the basement. There’s a different kind of noise down there – dance noise. In a total Stephanie touch, all the regular lights have been replaced with red bulbs. It feels like we’re at the center of a beating heart.

It’s hard to see who’s here, but I spot Steve making his own pre-hangover moves in the corner.

I call out to him, “Hey, Steve! I like your cousin!”

He nods, so I guess the feelings Nathan expressed aren’t entirely mutual.

“Have you seen Stephanie?” he yells.

“No!” I yell back, figuring it’s probably best if they stay separate until they come to their more sober senses.

Maybe because he’s gay, I think Nathan will leap into the dancing. But instead he looks vaguely terrified. I remind myself that he’s surrounded by strangers. Then I also remind myself that I am one of those strangers, even if it doesn’t feel that way. I pulled him down here, so it’s on me to make him feel at home. I find myself thinking that dancing is just another form of singing along, and all I have to do is get him to sing along, the same way he was singing along to the song that wasn’t playing upstairs.

He’s swaying now, blocked in by all the people around us and the space they’re taking up. I try to ignore that, and focus only on him and the music. I create a space to draw him into. And it works. I can feel it working. His eyes matching my eyes. His smile matching my smile. The song. The song is taking the lead. The song is telling us how to move. The song is guiding his hands to my back, to my waist. The song is generating the heat and giving it to our bodies. The song is pulling me closer. The song, and his eyes.

Then a new song. He starts to sing along, and that makes me happy. It’s all making me happy, to be so loose in a place that’s so crowded. To not feel Justin tugging me in any direction. To give up on everything.

“You’re not bad!” I yell to Nathan.

“You’re amazing!” he yells back.

More songs swimming through the red. Bodies coming and going. Nobody shouting my name. Nobody needing me, or asking for anything.

I lose track. Of time. Of what I’m thinking. Of where I am and who I am. I even lose track of the song. I lose track of everything but the boy in the tie across from me, who is releasing himself as well. I can tell, as one who knows.

Then it all ends. A song is cut short. I feel like a cartoon character, holding for a minute in the air, then looking down and falling to earth. The regular lights go on – they’ve been there all along, beside the red. I hear Stephanie’s voice yelling that the party’s over, that the neighbors have called the cops.

Even though it’s not my fault, I want to apologize to Nathan. Because it’s over. It has to be over.

“I have to find Justin,” I tell him. “Are you going to be okay?”

He nods. “Look,” he says. His hand is still on my wrist. “Would it be weird for me to ask you for your email?”

I wouldn’t have thought it was weird, except for him asking if it was weird.

“Don’t worry,” he adds. “I am still one hundred percent homosexual.”

“That’s too bad,” I say. Then, before my inner flirt can make more of a fool of herself, I give him my email address, take his pen, and write his email address down on a receipt.

The basement is nearly empty, and there’s the sound of sirens in the distance. Stephanie isn’t making it up – we really need to leave.

“Time to go,” I say. We’re both staying in the space we created, not wanting to leave it even though the lights are on.

“You’re not going to let your boyfriend drive, are you?” Nathan asks.

“That’s sweet,” I say. “No. I control the keys.”

There’s chaos at the top of the stairs, and we’re separated before we can say goodbye. Justin isn’t in the kitchen, so I figure he’s already at the car.

Sure enough, he’s pacing there, waiting for me.

“Where were you?” he accuses as I unlock the door.

“The basement,” I tell him when we’re in the car. “You knew that.”

He curses a little, but I know he’s cursing at the cops, not me. I pull out, relieved that we didn’t park in the driveway, where things are all backed up.

“We’re going to make it,” I assure him.

“You’re beautiful,” he slurs.

“You’re drunk,” I say.

“You’re beautiful anyway,” he tells me. Then he puts back the seat and closes his eyes.

I wait a few minutes. Then I discover a song I like on the radio and sing along.

As Justin snores, I find myself hoping Nathan made it out okay.

5

I know Justin’s not working on Sunday, so I’m hoping we’ll hang out at least a little. But he doesn’t wake up until one, and from what I can tell from the texts he sends, he’s not in good shape. I offer to come over and make him whatever hangover cure he wants. He texts me back two hours later to say that all he can do today is sleep. He can even sleep through his parents yelling about all his sleeping.

Get shitfaced, then face the shit – I know the routine. It’s not like I’ve never been there. I just don’t go there as often as he does.

I asked him about it before. Not confrontational. Just curious.

“I drink to feel better,” he told me. “And if I feel worse the next day, it’s still worth it, because I still got to feel better for a little bit, which is more than I would’ve done sober.”

There are times I can make him feel like that, too. There are times when I know he’s drunk on me. Not just when we’re making out – there are other times I can make him forget about everything else. Which is a power nobody else has with him. I know this.

Because my day is empty of him, it’s empty. My mother asks if I want to go to the grocery store with her, but I know if I do, I’ll only want to buy things I shouldn’t eat. My dad is on the computer, doing work, avoiding us to provide for us. I think of emailing Nathan from last night, but that thought passes. I doubt I’ll ever see him again. Whatever we shared is gone, because it was destined to be gone from the minute it started.

Distraction. I turn on the TV. Housewives and nature shows. An episode of Friends I’ve seen a hundred times. Nothing I want to watch followed by nothing I want to watch followed by nothing I want to watch. I imagine doing this forever. An infinity of nothing I want to watch.

It’s a day like that.

I call Justin. I can’t help myself. I want to talk to him so bad. I know I won’t convince him to stop being hung over. I won’t convince him to get out of bed and do something with me – or even stay in bed and do something with me. I would be happy to lie there next to him.

“I’ve decided that whiskey is not my friend,” he says.

“Still bad?” I ask.

“Better. But still bad. The day has completely crapped out.”

“It’s all right. I’ve been catching up on my TV watching.”

“Fuck, I wish I were there with you. Being sick is so fucking boring. ”

“I wish you were here, too. I could come over if you want.”

“Nah. I just have to ride this one out. It wouldn’t be fair to ask you to be around me when I’m so sick of being around me.”

“I’m willing.”

“I know. And I appreciate it. But it’s not going to happen today.”

The fact that he sounds disappointed makes my own disappointment a little easier to live with. Even if it still leaves me alone for the rest of the day.

Alone. The only thing that prevents me from feeling completely alone is knowing that I have someone, that if I really need him, he will be there.

“I’m going to go now,” he says to me. I don’t point out he’s not actually going to go anywhere. Neither of us is going to go anywhere.

“See you tomorrow,” I say, because I know we’re not going to talk again tonight.

“Yeah. See ya.”

My mother comes home and I help her put away the groceries. We make dinner. We don’t talk about anything. She talks, for sure. She talks and talks and talks. But we don’t talk at all.

When I get back to my room, I check my email on my phone. I am surprised to find a message from Nathan.

Hi Rhiannon,

I just wanted to say that it was lovely meeting you and dancing with you last night. I’m sorry the police came and separated us. Even though you’re not my type, gender-wise, you’re certainly my type, person-wise. Please keep in touch.

N

I smile. It’s so . . . nice. I wonder if he’s single, even though I can’t really imagine Preston going for him. Preston likes guys who are trendier. Or at least don’t wear ties to parties.

I also wonder about being his type, person-wise. What does that mean, really? Where does that get us?

Shut up, I tell myself. A nice guy tries to be friendly with me and I immediately think, Why bother? There is something seriously wrong with me. The reason to bother is because he’s a nice guy.

I hit reply, but I don’t know what to write. I feel I need to make an excuse for not writing to him first; I’m sure the piece of paper with his email address on it is still in my pocket. I also want to sound like someone who gets this kind of email all the time.

It’s weird, because the Rhiannon who comes out in what I write doesn’t sound like I normally sound.

She sounds like she’s really enjoying herself.

Nathan!

I’m so glad you emailed, because I lost the slip of paper that I wrote your email on. It was wonderful talking and dancing with you, too. How dare the police break us up! You’re my type, person-wise, too. Even if you don’t believe in relationships that last longer than a year. (I’m not saying you’re wrong, btw. Jury’s still out.)

I never thought I’d say this, but I hope Steve has another party soon. If only so you can bear witness to its evil.

Love,

Rhiannon

I don’t know why I write “Love” like that. It’s just what I always write. Everything else seems cold.

But now I’m worried I sound too eager. Not eager in the same way I’m eager with Justin. Just eager for . . . whatever’s next.

As soon as I hit send, the emptiness returns. I’m back into the day I was having. Maybe this is what alone really is – finding out how tiny your world is, and not knowing how to get anywhere else.

I go on Facebook. I read Gawker. I watch some music on YouTube, including the Fun. song from the day with Justin, the one Nathan sang back to me. I feel stupid doing that. I know Nathan wouldn’t find it stupid. Somehow I know that. And I know Justin would find it stupid. I asked him once if he thought we had a song. I mean, most couples have a song. But he said he had no idea, and that he didn’t even understand why we’d want one, anyway.

I’d told myself he was right. We didn’t need one. Every song could be ours.

But now I want one. It’s not enough that every song can make me think of him.

I want one, just one, that will make him think of me.

6

The hangover hangs over Monday as well.

It’s like his personality has spoiled from lack of use. He’s in school, but he still thinks he’s in bed. I can’t take it personally that he’s not happy to see me, because he’s not happy to see any of us. He won’t say more than two words in any sentence, and after a few minutes I decide to leave him alone.

A lot of our Mondays are like this.

Our Monday at the beach seems like much longer than a week ago.

What is wrong with me?

“How was your weekend?” Rebecca asks when I get to third period.

“How wasn’t my weekend?” I reply.

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. I just mean that not much happened.”

“How was the party?”

“It was fine. I danced with Steve’s gay cousin. Justin got shitfaced. The cops came.”

“Steve has a gay cousin? I didn’t know that.”

“I don’t think they’re close.”

“Well, if he’s still around, Ben and I were going to hang out with Steve and Stephanie during assembly period this afternoon. Just get coffee or something. Wanna come?”

I notice she hasn’t invited Justin. It’ll be a triple date, only I’m not being asked to bring my date.

“Can I get back to you?” I ask.

Rebecca’s not stupid. She knows why I’m not committing.

“Whenever,” she tells me. “We’ll be there either way. Although it would be great to have some time with you. I feel I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Now it’s clear that Justin’s being deliberately excluded. Because Rebecca sees me all the time. It’s just that he’s always by my side when she does.

I find him right before lunch.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he asks back.

It looks like he is switching his books in his locker. It looks like he’s about to head to lunch.

“What do you want to be doing?” I ask.

He slams the locker shut. “I want to be playing video games,” he says. “That work for you?”

“Wanna get out of here and do something? There’s that assembly seventh and eighth period. Nobody will notice we’re gone.”

I am looking for that spark. If it’s gone out, I am trying to relight it. Because I have a spark inside of me, too. And right now it wants to be bright.

“What the fuck has gotten into you?” he asks. “If we could just leave, don’t you think I would’ve done it by now? Jesus. It’s bad enough to be here. Why do you have to keep pointing it out?”

“That’s not what I meant,” I tell him. “I just thought it could be like last week.”

“Last week? I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“The beach? The ocean?”

He shakes his head, like I’m making things up. “Enough, okay? Just stop. ”

So I stop. I swallow the spark and feel it scratch as it goes down.

We eat with our friends. Preston asks about the party, and Justin tells him it sucked. In his version, skank girls kept crowding the kitchen. Stephanie yelled at him for putting his feet on a table. Then the police came, because the police clearly have nothing better to do.

Preston then asks me how my night was. I tell him that my night sucked, too. I don’t tell him about the basement, or about the dancing. No, my version transforms itself into Justin’s version. He doesn’t even notice, but I do it anyway.

I am disappearing. This is the thought that occurs to me: I am disappearing. Like nothing I say or do matters. My life has become so tiny that it’s completely unseen.

The only way I can think to fight this is to text Rebecca and tell her I’m free to hang out after school.

He doesn’t care. I tell him I made plans for during the assembly, and he genuinely doesn’t care. He doesn’t ask to be invited along. He doesn’t even ask me what the plans are. He’ll go home and play video games. He won’t text me unless I text him first. I know all this – but why do I still feel surprised, as if it isn’t meant to be this way?

Rebecca decides she’s in the mood for ice cream, and convinces the rest of us we’re in the mood for ice cream, too, even though it’s not summer and the nearest good ice-cream place is about twenty minutes away. It is, as we expected, surprisingly easy to get out of the assembly – we figure the visiting author won’t miss us too much, since none of us have ever heard of him. Rebecca, Ben, and I pile into her car, and Stephanie and Steve meet us there. Steve is wearing the effects of the weekend more obviously than Stephanie is; she looks like she spent the past two days at the gym.

We get our cones and head for a table. When we start talking, it’s not about the party, but everything that happened after – all the cleanup that had to be done, all of the bullshit with the police, who didn’t end up arresting anyone. They just wanted to break up the party and they did a good job of it.

Stephanie admits she was a little relieved. “There are some people,” she says, “who will never leave a party unless the police come.” From the sound of her voice, I know I’m supposed to know who she’s talking about. I have no idea.

“I really liked your cousin,” I tell Steve. “He kinda saved the night for me.”

Steve looks confused. “My cousin? When did you meet my cousin?”

“At the party. Nathan.” I almost add your gay cousin, but then I realize I have no idea if Steve knows.

Now Steve laughs. “At my party? I don’t think so. All my cousins are, like, eight. And none of them are named Nathan.”

I don’t understand what he’s saying.

“But I met him,” I say lamely.

“Oh dear,” Rebecca jumps in, patting my hand. “It sounds like you met someone who said he was Steve’s cousin.”

“But why would he say that?”

Stephanie shrugs. “Who knows? Guys are weird.”

What’s hurting me is how honest he seemed. How real. Now it’s like I’ve made him up.

“He was wearing a tie,” I say. “I think he was the only guy wearing a tie.”

“That dude!” Steve laughs. “I totally saw him. He’s not my cousin, but he was definitely there.”

I wonder if Nathan is really his name. I wonder if he’s really gay. I wonder why the universe is doing this to me.

“I can’t believe he lied,” I say.

“Again,” Stephanie chimes in. “Guys are weird.”

“And certainly you’re used to a little lying?” Rebecca adds. “This guy probably liked you and didn’t know how to deal with it. That happens. It’s not the worst kind of lie.”

I think she’s trying to make me feel better, but I’m stuck on that first part – certainly you’re used to a little lying.

“Justin never lies to me,” I say.

Rebecca plays dumb. “Who said anything about Justin?”

“I know what you meant. And I’m telling you – Justin can ignore me and say the wrong things and go into his moods, but he never, ever lies to me. I know you don’t think we have much, but we do have that.”

Rebecca and Stephanie shoot a look at each other, clearly not believing me. Ben is checking his phone. Steve still seems amused that some guy crashed his party pretending to be his cousin.

I hate this feeling – my so-called friends thinking they know my life better than I do. And I hate it even more this time because I thought I’d had the opposite with Nathan. Stupid, for sure, after one conversation and one email exchange. But still. Whether it was real or an illusion, it makes a rip when it goes.

Steve starts to argue with Stephanie about who was the most wasted guest at the party, and my questions about Nathan seem to have been quickly forgotten. We finish our ice cream and then don’t know what to do – we’ve only been hanging out for about fifteen minutes, but the reason we’re here no longer exists. Stephanie proposes a trip to the secondhand store down the street, and even though Ben and Steve protest, nobody can think of anything better to do.

I am disappearing again, this time into silence. As Stephanie and Rebecca try things on and Steve looks through old records, Ben and I hover on the sidelines. He keeps checking his phone, but then, as Stephanie and Rebecca argue over who looks better in a fifties sundress, he says to me, “I know it probably doesn’t matter, but I’d bet good money that the guy who said he was Steve’s cousin had a reason for doing it. Guys act weird, sure. But it’s usually for a reason. And it’s rarely to be mean. It’s much more likely that he liked you.” Then he goes back to his phone and writes another text.

I go onto my own phone, wanting there to be an email from Nathan explaining everything. But there isn’t. So I write to him instead.

Nathan,

Apparently, Steve doesn’t have a cousin Nathan, and none of his cousins were at his party. Care to explain?

Rhiannon

Almost immediately, I get a reply.

Rhiannon,

I can, indeed, explain. Can we meet up? It’s the kind of explanation that needs to be done in person.

Love,

Nathan

That “Love” hits me. I know it could be a taunt or a tease. And I also know it isn’t a taunt or a tease.

Rebecca is calling me over to decide who gets the dress. Ben is pulling himself farther into the background, not wanting to get involved. Steve is holding up a Led Zeppelin record and asking Stephanie if he already has it.

I don’t reply to the email. Not yet. I need to think.

Rebecca gets the dress. Steve gets the record. Stephanie finds another dress that she says she likes more than the one Rebecca has. Ben spots a dictionary and starts talking about whether or not dictionaries, physical dictionaries, will exist in twenty years.

When everyone’s done shopping, they make some noises about hanging out more and eventually getting dinner.

I tell them I have to go home.

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