Another Day (20 page)

I wake up early, assuming A will wake up early, too, dying to explain to me what happened. I’ll learn what was wrong with yesterday’s body, why he couldn’t make it.

But there’s nothing in my inbox. No word.

The littler fears are giving up. The worse fears are coming closer.

I try to avoid Justin. Not because I’ve done something wrong (which I have), but because I’m afraid he’ll smell it on me.

Rebecca asks me how my grandmother is doing. I tell her my grandmother is fine.

I keep checking my email. I keep finding it empty.

I think about ditching lunch, but then I figure there have been so many questions about my behavior lately that it’s probably better to go along with the day as it usually is.

Luckily, Lindsay Craig threw a party on Saturday night, which is all anyone at our table can talk about. Stephanie thought she saw Steve kissing a girl from another high school, but Steve swears that was all in Stephanie’s drunk eye.

“I don’t know, Steve,” Justin says. “That girl was pretty smokin’.”

I can’t tell if he’s trying to wind up Steve, wind up Stephanie, or get a reaction from me.

“You went to the party?” I ask stupidly.

“That okay with you?” Justin scoffs.

“Of course,” I say quietly.

Rebecca notices this. I can sense her noticing. I also know that if she asks me if anything is wrong, I will start to scream. So I make sure to leave the table early.

I am lost in my own anger. I am angry at A. And I am angry at myself for getting into a position where A could mean enough to me to make me this angry.

I go to all my classes. We’re doing softball in gym. I change into my gym clothes, and don’t protest when I’m assigned to third base. I try to focus on the game, try to avoid embarrassing myself. I don’t notice at first that there’s someone waving. But then I realize he’s waving at me. I don’t recognize him, and that’s how I know. He sees me staring at him and nods once. I wait until the play is over, then tell the teacher I have to use the ladies’ room, because I’m not feeling well. She doesn’t argue, and puts someone else on third base.

This guy doesn’t look at all like Xavier from the cabin. He’s got on this Metallica T-shirt and his arms are so hairy that they’re almost as black as the shirt. When he sees me coming, he walks back inside, into the gym. Out of sight of the playing field.

I follow.

I know I should give him a chance to explain. I know that if he’s here, it means he hasn’t given up on me. But still, when he says “Hey” to me like nothing’s happened, I launch right into him.

“Where the hell were you?” I yell. I don’t even sound like myself. I sound much angrier than myself.

“I was locked in my room,” he says. “It was awful. There wasn’t even a computer.”

I know this makes sense. I know this is actually possible. I know he’s not lying. But the anger is still there.

“I waited for you,” I tell him. “I got up. Made the bed. Had some breakfast. And then I waited. The reception on my phone went on and off, so I figured that had to be it. I started reading old issues of
Field & Stream,
because that’s the only reading material up there. Then I heard footsteps. I was so excited. When I heard someone at the door, I ran to it.”

I tell him who it was. I tell him what happened. I let him imagine me there alone with all of these men. Waiting for him.

“I wanted to be there,” he says. “I swear, I wanted to be there. But I was trapped. This girl—there was just so much grief. She did this horrible thing and they wouldn’t leave her alone. Not for one minute. They were afraid of what she’d do. She was denying it. But I wasn’t. I figured it out. And it was painful, Rhiannon. You have to believe me—it was so painful. And even then, I would have left. I would have at least tried. But there was no way. She was in no state to leave.”

“And this morning?” I ask, gesturing to Mr. Metallica. “Why couldn’t he send me some word?”

“Because his family was leaving for Hawaii—and if I’d gone with them, I would have never made it back. So I ran. I took three different buses to get here, then had to walk from the station. I am sweaty and exhausted, and when I get back to this guy’s house, it’s either going to be empty or there’s going to be hell to pay. But I had to get to you. All I cared about was getting to you.”

The anger is going away, but it’s not happiness that’s taking its place—it’s despair. Like I’m finally recognizing, for real, how absurd this is.

“How are we supposed to do this?” I ask him. “How?”

I want there to be an answer. I really want there to be an answer. But I suspect there isn’t one.

“Come here,” he tells me, opening his arms. No answer, and an answer. I give in. I walk right into those arms. He’s sweaty and hairy and at that moment I don’t care. This isn’t about attraction. This is about underneath.

He holds me close, holds me for dear life. I close my eyes, tell myself we can do this. I can forgive him. We can adapt.

The door to the gym opens, and we both hear it. We pull away at the same time, not wanting to be seen. But we’ve been seen. I look over to the door, and there’s Justin. I startle. Justin. It’s like my mind can’t accept it. Justin. Here.

“What the hell?” he yells. “What. The. Hell?”

I’ll say he’s my cousin,
I think.
I’ll say some great aunt died, and he’s come to tell me.

“Justin—” I start. But he’s not going to let me finish.

“Lindsay texted me to say you weren’t feeling well. So I was going to see if you were okay. Well, I guess you’re real okay. Don’t let me interrupt.”

“Stop it,” I say.

“Stop what, you bitch?” he shoots back, coming close.

Like he smells it on me.

I watch as A tries to block him. “Justin,” he says.

Justin looks at him like he’s scum. “You’re not even allowed to speak, bro.”

I’m about to explain. But before I can do anything, Justin is punching A full force—a fist right in the face, knocking him down.

I scream and rush to help A. Justin tries to stop me, pulling my arm back.

“I always knew you were a slut,” he says.

I try to shake out of his grip, yelling, “Stop it!”

He lets go, but starts kicking A while he’s down. I scream some more. I don’t care who hears, if it will make Justin stop.

“This your new boyfriend?” Justin’s shouting. “You love him?”

“I don’t love him!” I shout back. “But I don’t love you, either.”

There.

Justin goes to kick A again, but this time A catches his leg and pulls him down. I try to reach A and get him back up, but I’m not quick enough, and Justin lands a kick right against his chin.

The door from outside opens, and the girls from softball start coming into the gym. They see me at A’s side. They see the blood on the floor. Both A and Justin are bleeding.

Immediately, there’s shock and gossip. Stephanie runs over and asks me if I’m okay. Justin stands up and tries to knock A down again. But he misses, and A gets up.

“What’s going on?” Stephanie’s asking. “Who is that?”

A stumbles over to me, and Stephanie tries to block him. I realize this makes sense. Justin is my boyfriend. A is an outsider. I could lie now. I could pretend I’m on Justin’s side. Only Justin would know the truth, and his pride might go along with the lie.

But I can’t. I can’t.

“I have to go,” A is telling me. “Meet me at the Starbucks where we first met. When you can.”

“A!” I call out. Because Justin is right behind him, is reaching for his shoulder. The hand lands, but instead of being pulled around, A frees himself and bolts.

There are tears in my eyes. I don’t know how I’m finding the strength to stand. Our gym teacher is coming over. Stephanie is steadying me.

“You fucking bitch!” Justin yells. Everyone hears him. “I am through with you. Do you understand? Totally through. So you can go fuck any guy you want. You won’t even have to do it behind my back. You think you’re so great, but you’re not. You’re
not.
”

I’m crying harder now.

“Justin, back off,” Stephanie says.

“Don’t try to defend her!” he yells at her. “She’s the one who did this!”

The teacher’s on us now, seeing my tears, seeing the blood. She has questions. Stephanie has questions. Lindsay, off to the side, gloats. A male teacher comes in and tries to take Justin to the nurse. Justin tells the teacher to fuck off, and pushes out of the gym. All eyes turn to me.

“It was nothing” is all I can manage to say.

Nobody believes me. And that makes sense, because nobody should.

I have to make some decisions, and fast. I have to figure out what my side of the story is so there can be a chance of people taking my side.

Even though I’m not hurt—at least, not physically—they take me to the nurse. She sees the state I’m in and makes me lie down. Stephanie asks permission to stay with me, but the nurse tells her to go to class. When the next class break comes, she returns with Rebecca and Preston, and I sit up in bed to see them.

“Rhiannon,” Rebecca says. “Tell us what’s going on.”

“I messed up,” I tell her, tell all of them. “It’s over with Justin. I met someone else.”

Rebecca tries to contain her surprise so I won’t see it. Preston, however, lets out a “Hooooooo-eeeee!” Stephanie slaps his shoulder, but it can’t be taken back.

“Who is it?” Preston asks. “Tell us tell us tell us.”

Rebecca and Stephanie may act like he’s out of bounds for asking so directly, but they’re both hanging on my answer, too.

“I can’t tell you,” I say. “It’s complicated.”

“Is he married?” Preston asks.

“No! It’s just…new.”

“New enough for him to break into school to see you?” Rebecca asks.

“Is that what people are saying?” I want to know and I don’t want to know.

“People are saying all kinds of things,” Stephanie reports. “Justin’s telling everyone he caught you going down on the guy. I’ve been telling everyone you were inside for maybe two minutes before we came in, and there was no evidence of him being, um, unzipped.”

“We hugged. That’s it.”

“Well, that’s enough,” Stephanie says. “I mean, for the gossip. As far as Justin is concerned, you are the biggest slut to ever hit this school. But he’s not exactly an unbiased witness.”

Now that the punching and the kicking are over, it’s really sinking in how much I’ve hurt him. What I did to him. What I did to us.

All that time. All those memories. I’ve burned it all down.

Rebecca leans in and hugs me tight.

“It’s going to be okay,” she tells me. “We’ll get through it.”

Preston and Stephanie echo this.

They might be all I have left.

The nurse lets me stay until the end of the day. When the final bell rings, I make a move to get out of the bed, but she gestures for me to hold off.

“Just let the halls clear,” she says. “Allow yourself that.”

She is so kind, I want to tell her everything. But I can only imagine what she’d think of me then.

I wait an extra hour. When I get to my locker, I find the photos of us that he kept in his locker and I kept in mine. He’s torn them all up, to the point that if I didn’t know what they’d once been, I’d never be able to guess.

That’s the only damage he’s done to my locker.

But it’s enough.

Rebecca wants me to go over to her house. Preston and Stephanie keep calling. Even Ben texts to say he hopes I’m okay.

There’s a part of me that wants to acknowledge the disaster I’ve caused, and take shelter with my friends.

But A is waiting. I know he’s waiting.

I return to that Starbucks. He’s cleaned up a little, but he still looks like a guy who’s lost a fight.

I see him. I see him seeing me. I go to get some coffee, to give myself one more minute to think.

“I really need this,” I tell him as I sit.

“Thank you for coming,” he says. Like he wasn’t sure I would. Like I’m doing him a favor.

“I thought about not coming,” I admit. “But I didn’t
seriously
consider it.” Up close, he looks even worse. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says. He does not sound okay.

“Remind me—what’s your name today?”

“Michael.”

I look at him again. I remember that this boy is supposed to be in Hawaii right now.

“Poor Michael,” I say.

“This is not how I imagine he thought the day would go.”

“That makes two of us.”

This morning seems like a million years ago. I was so mad at him. Now I’m just sad.

“Is it over now?” he asks. “With the two of you?”

How could it not be?
I want to ask him. In what universe could Justin understand what I’ve done?

“Yes,” I say. Then I add, unfairly, “So I guess you got what you wanted.”

He does not appreciate this. “That’s an awful way to put it. Don’t you want it, too?”

“Yes. But not like that. Not in front of everybody like that.”

He reaches up to touch my face, but it doesn’t feel right. I flinch. He lowers his hand.

This makes me even sadder. What I’m doing to him.

“You’re free of him,” he says.

I would love for it to be that easy. It is not that easy.

“I forget how little you know about these things,” I tell him. “I forget how inexperienced you are. I’m not free of him, A. Just because you break up with someone, it doesn’t mean you’re free of him. I’m still attached to Justin in a hundred different ways. We’re just not dating anymore. It’s going to take me years to be free of him.”

I don’t know why I’m saying this to him. Why I want us to hurt. Maybe I just feel less guilt if I feel more pain.

“Should I have gone to Hawaii?” he asks me.

I almost lost him. I have to realize I almost lost him. The thing I feared the most yesterday almost happened today. He did everything he could to stay, and now I’m punishing him for it.

I have to stop.

“No,” I say, “you shouldn’t have. I want you here.”

His eyes light up with the chance I’m giving, with the possibility that even though everything’s gone wrong, it might ultimately be right.

“With you?” he asks.

I nod. “With me. When you can be.”

It’s the best we can do. He knows it. I know it. And we also know we could settle for much less. We could give up.

He asks me more about what happened after he left, and I tell him. He wants me to understand why he had to run—he couldn’t get Michael into even more trouble—and I tell him I understand.

We need to know there’s no way Michael can be taken to Hawaii, so we use my phone to make sure all the last flights have left. Rather than have Michael take all the buses back, I offer to drive him—it’s not like I’m in any rush to get home. I’m going to have to tell my parents I’ve broken up with Justin, before they hear it from someone else.

As we drive, I ask A to tell me more about who he’s been. The damaged girl yesterday, and other people before that.

He lets the stories range all over the place—some sad, but most happy. As he’s telling them, I realize that for each event, he has to remember two things, while the rest of us only have to remember one. Not only who he was with, but who he was. Like with his first kiss. I remember my first kiss with Bobby Madigan—it was a dare in fourth grade that both of us had secretly wanted to take. When Mrs. Shedlowe wasn’t looking, we sneaked at recess into the woods. I remember how soft his lips were. I remember how his eyes were closed. It hadn’t occurred to me to close my eyes; if this was going to happen, I wanted to see it.

A tells me his first kiss was in fifth grade. He was in a basement and they were playing spin the bottle. He’d never played spin the bottle before, but the other kids seemed to know what to do. He spun and the bottle landed on a blond girl. He remembers her name was Sarah and that, before they kissed, she said, “Keep your mouth closed!” I ask him who he was at the time. He shakes his head.

“I’m not sure,” he tells me. “All I remember is her. I can tell you she was wearing a dress—like a Sunday school dress—so maybe we were at a party for something. But I can’t remember who I was.”

“Not even if you were a boy or a girl?”

“A boy, I imagine—but, honestly, I wasn’t paying attention either way.”

It’s strange to think about: All this time we’re spending together, all of these days. I am trying to remember who he was each day. But A?

A will only remember me.

Eventually, the map on my phone tells us we’re getting close to Michael’s house.

“I want to see you tomorrow,” A says.

“I want to see you, too. But I think we both know it’s not just a matter of want.”

“I’ll hope it, then.”

I like that.

“And I’ll hope it, too,” I say.

I float on that for a while, driving home. Then I remember everything else that’s happened, and I start to sink. When I get home, I can’t bear the thought of telling my parents about Justin, so I avoid them. My mom yells something about missing dinner, but I can’t even begin to care.

I call Rebecca for a status report. She tells me, again, that everything’s going to be fine. It will all blow over.

After I hang up, I stare at my phone. I click on the photo folder and it’s like my whole history with Justin is there. He couldn’t rip that up.

I know what I told A is true: It’s not over.

Justin and I are in the bad part now.