Page 71

Taylor and Dave exchanged nods. Their parents greeted one another with hugs and high-pitched chatter. Dave’s mom gestured to Analise, “This is Dave’s new girlfriend, Ana.”

“Isa,” Taylor said.

Dave cocked an eye at him. “Ana.”

“Analise,” she mollified.

“Analise,” repeated Taylor’s mother slowly, her large eyes pooling with fascination. “What’s your last name?” she asked as if inspecting Analise.

“Berglund.”

“Berglund? Not Bergstrom?”

Why the preoccupation with her name? “No.” And why the weird stare? Analise bounced her eyes to Taylor’s dad. He, too, had laid a perplexed gaze on her.

The waitress broke the awkwardness, and Analise meekly followed the two families, praying more would join. Her nerves would not survive this gathering with Taylor’s odd parents.

She sat next to Dave. Taylor and his parents sat across. Taylor’s mother quietly chatted with Dave’s mom, her mouth pinched with short answers, as she repeatedly stole glimpses Analise’s way. Taylor’s dad seemed to have dropped his interest in Analise, busily messaging on his phone. He pushed his chair back and said he had to take a business call. Taylor’s eyes followed him with enough poison to annihilate a citywide block.

Analise felt ill. Her head was fuzzy. She asked Dave to order her a Coke and left the table. When she reached the bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face and remembered she hadn’t eaten anything today except a piece of toast before running five miles that morning. There’d been the Frappuccino from Starbucks when she was shopping for dresses. Maybe the caffeine-sugar infusion was making her sick.

She peed, exited the stall, and, while washing her hands, sipped water from the tap. In the mirror’s reflection, she pinched her cheeks until the color rebounded and did several slow breathing exercises that she’d employed on occasion to keep from fainting after a race.

Analise exited the bathroom, past Taylor’s dad in a quiet corner, giggling on the phone with a finger in his ear to block a Justin Timberlake song overhead. She would’ve kept walking, but heard him say, “What are you wearing? I’m serious. At least let a guy fantasize . . . I don’t want to be here either, but going to his game apparently wasn’t enough . . . he has nothing to bitch about.” He chuckled in a smarmy way. It curdled Analise’s gut. “I will,” he turned around, “I love you, too,” and locked eyes with Analise.

Analise feigned innocence, as if she were only passing and ducked away. When she joined the table, she couldn’t bear to look at Taylor. And when his dad returned a moment later, she sucked her Coke with her eyes down, every sip like gagging on cough syrup.

Another soccer player and his family settled, jolting the conversation up a notch. Dave rubbed her thigh and whispered in her ear, but all she heard was Taylor’s dad saying, What are you wearing . . . at least let a guy fantasize . . .

Taylor stood from the table. He spoke inaudibly to his mom. She looked up in concern and said, “Are you sure?”

He nodded and kissed her cheek, deliberately ignoring his dad who was attempting a goodbye. His teammates protested when he said he had to go study, with one calling out, “Hey, Barnes, Stanford only cares about your body, not your brains!”

Analise watched him retreat. Something mobilized her. She told Dave she’d drunk too much Coke and had to pee again but hurried after Taylor. He was halfway across the parking lot, having clipped at a good pace. She called his name, her breath vaporizing into a desperate fog. He either didn’t hear or pretended not to. She tried again, this time running.

He turned around finally, his face stony and wordless.

“Do you want to talk—I mean later. You can call me?”

His mouth quirked, but his eyes were sad, staring past her shoulder. “Don’t bother waiting up.”

“But I will,” she promised. “As long as the battery on the phone doesn’t die.”

Her reply sparked a genuine smile in him but it quickly died. He opened his mouth as if to respond and then seemed to change his mind. He inclined his head to the restaurant, as if shooing her away, cutting off her impulse to beg he take her with him.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Analise

In Analise’s dream that night she stood on a glass-bottom boat, looking down. Her reflection pounded back at her.

She was startled awake, the phone still clutched in her hand. Taylor never called?

She heard a sharp rapping.

Her heart lunged into her throat, stifling her scream. What she had thought was pounding from her dream came from her window. She froze. Analise started dialing 9-1-1, but the phone was dead!

Isa. Her name, muffled, traveled through the glass, spurring her to action. She yanked the curtain aside, revealing Taylor’s expansive smile.