“Not really any use for a car in Berkeley, so my parents made her drive it all the way here and voilà: I have a car the color of some douche bag’s polo shirt, which your brother keeps stuffing with flowers and insists on calling The Lightning Bug. TLB for short.”
“This is my favorite story. Like, ever. You realize that, right?”
“Just tell Owen I prefer wildflowers, okay?”
“I’ll write it in lipstick on our bathroom mirror.”
“Much appreciated.” Alex pushes off from TLB and nods his head toward the party. “So, do you wanna . . .”
His voice trails off as a peal of loud laughter drowns him out. My heart gallops into my throat at the familiar sound, my body alert and seeking the source.
And I find it.
Holding the hand of a girl I’ve never seen before. Granted, Frederick, which is only twenty minutes south of Nashville, isn’t so small a town that I know everyone. But I know everyone Charlie knows and I sure as hell don’t know this girl.
“Okay, this party probably sucks, so don’t say I didn’t warn you. Whenever you want to leave, just—”
Charlie cuts herself off as she and Girl edge around a couple of parked cars, and her gaze locks on to me. Literally snaps into place—?click. She’s in a fitted black T-shirt and black jeans, the skinny Gryffindor red-and-gold silk tie I gave her for Christmas loosely knotted around her neck. Her short dark hair is wild, sticking up everywhere and reaching for the stars.
She thrusts out her pointy chin, her expression almost defiant, but then my own face must look pathetically wounded and shocked, because the confidence wanes, pulling all of her features and shoulders down. But her hand doesn’t move. It stays twined with Girl’s. Girl with dark red hair. Girl with short denim skirt. Girl with soft curves and full lips.
She and Girl pause, but only for a second. Charlie flicks her eyes to Alex and then back to me again, her mouth still open, words poised. But then Girl says something about hearing her favorite song and pulls Charlie away until they’re swallowed by dancing bodies and the pulsing music.
Part of me wants to follow them. Part of me wants to grab Alex and kiss him. Part of me wants another drink, filled to the cup’s brim. Part of me wants to dive into the lake and float away. Part of me this, part of me that, so many splits and divisions.
Next to me, Alex clears his throat, but I barely react. I feel numb and on fire all at once.
“Do . . . do you want me to take you home?” Alex asks quietly.
“Could you?”
“Yeah. I’ll text Owen and let him know.” He pulls out his phone and presses the home button, a soft white glow lighting his face. “Damn, no signal in these woods. Let me go find him, okay? Can you wait here? You all right?”
“Yeah.” I shrug and swallow and smile and nod and too many things at once. “I’m fine.”
He tilts his head toward me, an infuriating amount of pity spilling out of his expression. Before he leaves, he unlocks TLB again and opens the door for me. I fall into the passenger seat, happy to sit in the dark for a while.
Alex’s form fades into the trees and that’s when it hits—?the deafening quiet. There’s the dull pound of the party’s music, but not enough to drown out the stillness. I press my head against the back of the seat, breathing in through my nose and trying to control how fast I release the exhalation, but it all comes out in a rush of panic. My fingertips tingle and my chest feels tighter and tighter, my mouth dry.
Calm down, Mara, I tell myself, digging my nails into my leggings.
Stupid little bitch.
The voice comes out of nowhere, a startling sneer in my head. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to control my breath and ignore the words knocking around in my head.
Stupid little bitch.
Stupid little bitch.
Breathe in, two, three, four . . .
Breathe out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight . . .
Slowly, the voice fades, and blood flows back into my fingers and chest. I glide both of my hands down my hair, feeling the curls, the silk, the locks that have frizzed in the Tennessee humidity, remembering that I’m at a party and sitting in a yellow car, that hand holding doesn’t have to mean anything. Charlie and I held hands for years before anything romantic burgeoned between us. Even if it does mean something, so what? Charlie and I are just friends. Best friends.
I’m not stupid.
I’m not a fool.
