“Good call,” Elise says. “Okay, I’m going to get some weird anarchist manifesto or something. What are you going to get?”
“The Secret Garden,” I say. I want to find another marked-up copy. I want to know if everyone who reads the book has the same thoughts as me and the Red Pen Note Taker, or if we really do have the bond through time and space that we seem to.
“I thought you were into A Little Princess,” Elise says. I love that she knows this about me. After only being friends since June, this seems like a huge accomplishment. She’s really listening. I get that about-to-cry feeling in my chest and I’m not entirely sure why. I want to hug her, but Elise is not a hugger. I guess I’ve been thinking I don’t have anyone, but maybe I sort of do have someone aside from LBC-ers.
“New fad,” I say. “I’m falling for Secret Garden now.”
“Haven’t read it,” Elise says. I take a step toward the children’s section and breathe in the smell of mustiness and pumpkin candles that always fills this store. It’s cozy and mine, and in a flash I don’t want to share this particular thing with my best friend.
“You’d hate it,” I say.
I end up with two more copies of The Secret Garden. Neither of them has very many notes. One looks like it was read by a chocolate-loving kid who was being forced to active read at Circle Community. The other is an old library book that some asshole wrote what looks like phone messages in. Not exactly inspiring reading material, but I can’t let the books go to someone else, and I can’t stop the flicker of curiosity at what this book does to people.
We head back to Tea Cozy but don’t say hi to Paul and Cate. I have two hours left to complete my Assignment, zero extra inspiration from my new books, and a friend watching my every move. Basically: I’m screwed.
“Hey, can I ask Heather to come by?” Elise says when she looks up from a self-help weight loss book with intense underlines and erratic exclamation points crowding the pages. I nod my head without really thinking.
“I’m gonna check my email,” I say, but Elise is already too into her text messaging to care.
“Heather’ll be here in ten,” Elise says.
“Wait, like, now?” I say. I have got to snap out of it, or I’m going to make this situation even worse.
“It’s stupid, I know, but I want you to know her a little. I mean even if it’s nothing . . . we can all hang out. She’s really into baking, like you.” I nod.
Elise is always doing this—finding random and mostly unconvincing ways for me to bond with her other friends or crushes. I mostly politely decline, but she’s trying extra hard with Heather and I can practically taste her nervousness, so I give my most enthusiastic nod while watching my phone try to load LBC.
I try to get my head around Elise and Heather both being here while I complete my Assignment. It’s like this whole situation is running away from me, and I can’t get it under control again. It reminds me of the one car accident I ever got into. I lost control of the car because of ice on the road. I couldn’t brake. I couldn’t turn the wheel. The car drifted toward the middle of the road, veering to the wrong side, threatening to drive me against traffic. I kept turning the wheel, begging it to respond to what I was asking it to do. It simply would not listen. I’ve never been more terrified.
Then, all of a sudden, the ice let up and the car started working normally again, but it was too late. I’d turned the wheel all the way to the right when it wasn’t responding, so I flew off the road.
I’m pretty sure that’s what’s happening right now. I’m moments away from flying off the road.
Zed: Document your Assignment if you can.
I’ve been waiting for this part. The photographs and audio files and grainy knee-down videos are cool and weird and random and I want to be part of that, too. I guess technically it’s to “prove” we completed our Assignments, and I guess we can’t totally be trusted to be honest, but I couldn’t fathom lying on Life by Committee. What would be the point? Everyone else would be changing and growing and making a beautiful life, and I’d be hanging out, lying about how awesome I am.
I have to be better than that. But I have a sick feeling in my stomach and I can’t make the pulsing, fearful headache go away. I try to get the image of my car crashing into an icy tree out of my head. I try to remember what Paul told me after that accident—that you have to ride with it, not fight against it. That the next time, I have to let the car drift, keep myself breathing, and ride it out.
I’ve stopped looking at my phone. I’m now looking around the café, all scared-animal-like, as if everyone in there knows what I’m about to do. Elise is looking at me like I’m losing it.