“Weird,” I echo.
“I think he’s hanging around for a while. At least until after our finals. Probably through the month. Then he’s off to some internship in Los Angeles.” Jared slams another forkful of food into his mouth. “At least that’s what Bryce said.”
Finals. They’re all next week. And before then, Nikki had scheduled initiation. Their last test.
—
I sit with what I know for the rest of the week, bottling it up inside and keeping it close. I decline Nikki’s invitation to rejoin the Players’ Table for a few last meals, using the awkwardness between me and Henry as an excuse.
“Come on,” Nikki pleads. “There’s only one week left. Plus, Robert is totally shook from the whole DUI thing. His NYU acceptance was revoked and he has to start court-ordered mandatory rehab after graduation.”
“Serves him right,” I say.
Nikki’s mouth forms a pout, but then she nods once. “Yeah, it does.”
Even Robert being put in his place won’t make me come back. I shake my head and hug her hard as we part ways in the hall. “I just need a little more time.” She knows what’s coming—about the plan Rachel and I made—and so she relents. It feels good to share secrets with her again.
I retreat to the library where I read all ofWuthering Heightsin prep for the AP English final, then go over my flashcards for the physics exam even though I know them all by heart now. I try not to check my email for news about the scholarship. Instead, I run errands for Mom after school, popping in and out of the drugstore and the farmers’ market and the art supply shop. I even clean out the boxes in the basement, the ones with all my old quizzes and research projects from elementary school. Anything to avoid reality. To avoid what I know is coming. And, mostly, to avoid Adam’s texts.
I need you.
Please.
I can’t talk to anyone else here.
Mom’s driving me insane.
Why are you ghosting me?
I’m sorry about the other day!
Each one is like a sledgehammer to my heart, a reminder of what I thought we were. Everything I thought I knew was a lie.
Finally I relent.
Caught an awful stomach bug. Super contagious!!!
He responds with one emoji:?
When I get to school on Monday, the last Monday before finals, I try to be invisible. I want to soak everything in—how the lockers sound when they’re slammed shut, how the desks are always slick with Windex, how the library smells new even though the books are ancient. I want to remember how the morning buzz shifts from sleepy to frenzied in record time. How Weingarten’s beady eyes roam the audience during morning assembly, how they linger on mine, waiting to see if I’ll break.
I even want to remember how the Players look from afar,how sometimes the table can feel like a raft in the middle of the ocean, and other times like a shark hunting for prey. How Quentin’s easy kindness radiates when he makes his way through the sandwich line, letting sophomores cut him while he decides between focaccia and ciabatta. I want to remember how Nikki’s confidence seeps into every interaction, and how that took years to build. I want to remember how Marla drags her field hockey stick behind her like it’s a security blanket or an extra appendage. How Henry’s lip quivers just a little when he reads the morning broadcast. I even want to remember how Robert’s eyes scan the caf, drinking this world in, like he knows this might be as good as it gets for him.
I want to hold this place still in my heart before it changes again for good.
TWENTY-FOUR
EVERYTHING HAPPENSQUICKLYonce the positions are in place. The days fly by and suddenly it’s Friday, the last real day of school. The halls are maddening, fizzing with anticipation. I am, too, but for such different reasons.
By the time the final bell rings, it’s as if someone set the school on fire. Everyone pushes and shoves, sprinting towardalmostfreedom.
I head out to our designated meeting place—Nikki’s house—and find Rachel there, already waiting. We share a quick hug and wait for the sun to set.
I sit on the deck, sprawling on the chaise lounge and find as many constellations as I can. It’s a perfect night. They’re all out, dancing and galloping through the sky. I should be terrified but my breathing is steady and a calm sets in. Maybe it’s because we finally have a plan.
“Ready?” Rachel asks. She stands over me in jeans and a ratty black hoodie. Her eyes are tired and her skin sags just a bit around the edges, like she’s aged a decade during this fucked-up year. I want to hug her close and saythank youa million times over. I want to bottle her smile and carry it with me as I dothis next part alone. Without her bravery, none of this would have been possible. I would be floating along like a ship with no course, crashing ashore someday, maybe.
But instead I just whisper, “Yes,” and send the text. It only takes a minute for him to respond. “He’s coming,” I say. “Fifteen minutes.” We sit in silence, a nervous current running between us, until I see the headlights of his beloved vintage Mercedes. Bad punk music blares from the speaker and I try to remember what about those notes made me swoon.
