BRENDA: It’s gonna feel good. Seems mean, but there will be some look on her face at some point that will make it all worth it.
STAR: It’s real, you know? The things you’re asking us to do, Zed. They’re real. They have effects.
ZED: Did you propose yet, Star? By my calculations you are way, way behind on your Assignment.
STAR: Getting married is, like, real. Big. A decision. Not an impulse.
ZED: I assume that’s a no?
STAR: I’m taking life seriously. That’s it. Bitty should too. We all should.
ZED: What do you think we’re doing here?
STAR: I sort of don’t know anymore. Did you hear Bitty’s post? Her parents? We, like, destroyed a family.
I wait for Zed to reply, and explain how destroying something ultimately fixes it. Creation from destruction, or something. I think that’s from the Bible. Or science. Zed doesn’t reply. I have about a million questions for Star, mostly: Why are you hating on LBC when it got you everything you want?
BITTY: I thought we had to take risks to move forward. I thought that’s how you ended up in L.A. with pretty shoes and long kisses and a guy who wears Converses and loves the craziest parts of you.
STAR: I’m homesick.
BITTY: Homesick seems small compared to everything else.
STAR: Not every decision can be bigger than the one before. And not every decision is better because a dozen other lost people are telling you what to do.
Still no Zed. No one writes anything more. I turn Star’s words around in my head, and I can’t quite decide if they’re true or not. I think I hate her, for saying it. I want to see her on bended knee. I want to see the bottom of her lacy, linen-y, beachy wedding dress. I want the world’s strangest, quirkiest fairy tale. I want something I can believe in.
A half hour later, Star says one more thing:
STAR: Where does it end?
I’m dizzy from the question. From all my questions, too.
I’ll complete my Assignment. I have to. I want to. I need to see this through. I click around LBC for another few minutes and the rules follow me onto every page, and that third rule, the one I’m the most scared of, seems to be getting larger and larger. “An active membership is the only way to protect your secrets.” I don’t see how Zed could ever follow through on that threat, but Star is right that I should at least be careful with identifying details. Especially since I’m pretty sure what I’m about to do to Jemma breaks the law.
I sign out of LBC. It doesn’t feel like enough. I turn off the computer. My heart won’t stop racing. I unplug the computer and leave the room, and a really illogical part of me feels safer, less overwhelmed.
If Cate were here, I’d ask her to go on another late-night walk, but without her around I have to go by myself, which I’ve never done.
I bring a flashlight and pay attention to where I’m walking this time. Without Cate I don’t want to get turned around, especially if it means finding myself in front of Sasha Cotton’s house again. When I reach a fork in the road, I take a step toward town, but then backtrack and go left instead. It’s not some huge diversion. Turning left isn’t exactly bringing me to the next dimension or anything. But it’s not leading me to Tea Cozy or Elise’s house or any of the places I usually go.
It’s cold. It’s always cold, but tonight it feels like it’s about to snow again. I forgot a scarf, so the chill hits my neck. There’s not a single car on the road, and animals and birds rustle in the treetops. I didn’t even bring my phone, so I’m especially alone.
I take another turn, one I haven’t taken for a while. I’m warming up, walking at a clipped pace like I have somewhere to go, which I guess I do. Because I find myself in front of Jemma’s house. Which is Devon’s house. It’s too late to knock on the front door. Her parents may miss me, but they won’t be pleased to have me waking them up. I’m not sure which window is Devon’s. I’m not even sure I want to see him. But there’s a light on in their third-floor TV room, where I used to hang out all the time. I imagine that Devon’s in there. That he’s as awake as me. I imagine he’s even worried about me. That he’s the kind of guy who would have held me and rubbed my back if he heard something in my life had been dismantled.
It’s not like I can’t comfort myself. It’s not like I need some guy to hold me and tell me I’m pretty or whatever it is I think Devon might do. It’s not like what they think about me is right. I’m not boy crazy. Except that maybe I am, because now that Joe has turned out to be a total Sasha Cotton–loving asshole instead of my kind, caring soul mate, I find my mind occupied by what it would feel like for Devon to look right in my eyes and tuck my hair behind my ears and kiss the place where my earlobe meets my neck. It’s been, like, a few hours, and I’m looking for another guy to fix everything.