If he was trying to hurt me, to hurt me like I had hurt him, he was doing a damn good job of it. Because inside, I had this inkling, this tiny feeling that he was right. That that’s what had been holding me back, keeping me at a distance.
I looked at Dylan on the couch. He liked me and I liked him and, God, if he would just say the right thing, I’d change my mind right then. But he was making it so hard. He was being such an ass. And he wasn’t saying the right thing. Probably because he didn’t mean the right thing. And Brian was in the kitchen, larger than life—like Colleen—pulling me along in orbit. I could just let go, and I’d be swept along.
Neither was the right reason. “I kissed you,” I said.
“I know. It’s just that . . . we were together a long time. I was confused, you know?”
“It’s not that complicated,” I said. I held my breath and thought, Tell me you like me, tell me you liked me, tell me it was a mistake, that you should’ve picked me, that you want to take it all back.
“Today’s my birthday,” Dylan said. What did that mean? Like I owed him something? Like I shouldn’t be with his brother because it was his birthday? Definitely not the right thing to say. I felt pathetic, sick, and I realized there was a third option.
I backed down the hall, let myself out the front door, maneuvered around the partially conscious bodies on the front steps, and left.
I folded my arms across my chest and kept my head down as I walked back toward the dark alley. The air was thick with the possibility of a storm. The night, about to break open.
Colleen picked up half a ring before the answering machine would have. I’d cashed in all my singles to get change for the hall pay phone and called during the hour between Colleen getting home from school and her mom getting back from work. She didn’t sound out of breath, though. Not like she’d been racing to the phone. More like she’d been sitting there next to it the entire time. Debating.
“What’s up?”
I imagined her staring at her nails. Resting the phone against her shoulder. Slouching into the corner of her couch. “General boredom. What’s up with you, New Hampshire?”
“You didn’t write back.”
There was a pause, and I imagined her moving the phone from one shoulder to the other. “Is that the only reason you called? Geez, I only just got it. What, you think I sit around all day staring at the computer just in case you happen to send an e-mail?”
“No, I don’t think—”
“And besides, it didn’t even say anything. It said you were done with the day. That’s it. Wow. Excuse me for not being inspired to respond.”
“You’re mad at me.”
Silence. And then, “No, you asshole. I’m not mad at you.” She sighed into the phone, and I felt it, I swear. And I wanted to reach through the phone. Sit cross-legged on the couch beside her while she painted my nails dark gray or hot pink or midnight blue. I ran my fingers against the silver cord of the phone, searching for words.
“To continue this call . . .” An automated voice broke the silence, jarring me back to here.
“I’m out of money . . .”
“I’ve got an end date: two weeks. Can’t have your number showing up on the phone bill. Sorry.”
“Colleen?” I thought of words, but they weren’t the right ones. “I hate it here.”
“I—” And then there was a dial tone. What? I thought. I what? I miss you or I’m hungry or I want to drop a penny from the top of the Eiffel Tower? What?
Reid didn’t show up during study hall. And really, why would he? He’d already told me what he had to say, and I thanked him by simultaneously scaring the shit out of him and insulting him. I wanted to send him an e-mail, tell him how I got off the roof. That it was safe, that I would’ve told him, if he asked. But he didn’t ask. I also remembered that email wasn’t necessarily private here.
Ugh. I shoved my work—and his sweatshirt—into a backpack and walked down the hall.
“Where to, Ms. Murphy?” Ms. Perkins tore a slip of paper off her permission pad.
Krista stood behind me, tapping her foot. “Danvers West,” I said. And suddenly Jason’s words from the night before made sense. Danvers. You disappear, you get a dorm named after you.
Ms. Perkins was still waiting. I cleared my throat. “Reid Carlson.”
She tore the paper off the pad, but before handing it to me, she said, “Krista? Same?”
“Yep. Danvers West. Jason Dorchester.”
Ms. Perkins handed us our slips of paper together, and I didn’t really have any choice but to walk beside Krista.
Once we were outside, she spoke. “You shouldn’t have left, you know. It’s initiation. And you haven’t been properly initiated yet.”
“What, hosing me down with water doesn’t count?”
“Oh, not hardly,” she said. We walked across the rest of the quad in silence, and she entered the dorm in front of me.
Mr. Durham took our permission slips in the lounge. The dorm was the mirror image of mine, but the furniture was more worn, and the whole place smelled a little more like musk and sweat, like boys. Krista took off down the hall, but I stayed at Mr. Durham’s makeshift desk.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know the room number.”
He grinned at me. “You’re showing up uninvited?”
“No,” I said. “He’s expecting me.” At least I hoped he was. “I just forgot to write it down.”
“Right. Room 203.”
The door to his room was open, and there were other voices coming from inside. By the time I realized that, though, he had already seen me and it was too late to turn around. Reid cocked his head to the side as I stepped into his room.
He was sitting on the black rug on his floor, surrounded by three other students from his grade. “This is Amy,” he said, pointing to the redhead with freckles next to him. “Nick”—he pointed to the boy closest to me—“and Landon.”
“And this must be Mallory,” Landon said, standing. “Tell us how you did it.”
I locked eyes with Reid, who was still on the floor, not smiling, and he raised his eyebrows. I pulled his sweatshirt out of my bag and tossed it to him.
“Thanks,” he said.
I looked at the floor. “You too.”
Nick cleared his throat and stood up. “Ohhh-kay.” He motioned for Amy to follow him. “Relocating to my room when you’re ready, Reid.”
“Aw, man,” Landon said. “But it’s getting exciting.”
He left anyway, waving at me as he passed.
“I actually need to do that work,” Reid said.
I dropped my bag at the foot of his desk and sat in the chair beside it. I looked at his walls, with posters of bands I didn’t know. And at his black-and-gray-striped comforter, thrown haphazardly over his bed. With everyone gone, I noticed there was music playing softly as well.
“There’s a ladder,” I said. “On the roof.”
“No there isn’t.”
“Yes. There is. From when there were fire escapes, I guess. Really obvious, if you’re looking for it. I mean, if you want to leave, you can.”
“I’ve never seen a ladder.”
“Well, it doesn’t go all the way down. It’s just half a ladder. A third of a ladder.”
“A third of a ladder? And what about the missing two-thirds?”
“It ended right next to a window. A math room. And you know how those windows tilt to open? I tilted it. And that’s that.” Which sounded much more dangerous than it actually was.
He narrowed his eyes and spoke slowly. “You took a ladder and climbed through a window on the third floor? Of course you did. I can’t decide whether you’re brave or reckless.”
I wasn’t either of those things. I was anxious and unsettled and I wanted the hell off the roof. That’s all. “No, I’m not—”
“Yeah, you are. You always were.”
“Always? Reid, we saw each other three times a year, tops. You barely knew me.”
“Right.” He looked like he was trying not to smile. I was trying not to smile too.
“Hey, so, I’m gonna go back. I just wanted you to know . . . I mean, not like you asked or anything, but . . .”