“My dad got it at Recycled Books,” I say, matching the quietness of her words, the emotionless tone.
“These notes were only for me. I never would have brought it in there. These are my private—this is like reading my diary. I don’t understand. . . .” Her voice drifts away at the end of the sentence, and she seems to remember something. “The yard sale,” she says, shaking her head to herself. And though it’s not meant for me, I remember the yard sale too. I thought about it the night Sasha took the crazy pictures. All the strange and wonderful things the Cottons were getting rid of. Including, probably, some of their books.
Sasha Cotton starts to shake. It is a small tremble in her fingers at first, but it moves through her whole body, her thighs especially, which shake so hard they can’t hold her up anymore and she has to lean against her car.
Of course, she looks like an old-school, tragic movie star, leaning against her retro convertible and having a panic attack.
“You’re Bitty,” she says. She flips through The Secret Garden some more, and when she reaches the page with the website, she shakes her head some more and says, “Shit.” I didn’t know Sasha Cotton knew how to swear.
“Yeah.”
“So then who—”
Sasha Cotton is not stupid. She doesn’t ask the whole question. She swallows and throws the book on the ground with a forceful swing of her arm, and I wonder if Sasha Cotton’s father played catch with her on the front lawn like Paul did with me, because she kind of has an arm.
“No,” she says. And again, “No!”
“I didn’t know,” I say, “if that helps.”
“I’m calling Joe,” she says. It is the last thing I thought she’d say. I don’t know why I didn’t think about Joe. I thought about what I did with Joe. I thought about how much I loved Joe, or maybe didn’t love him but needed him to be someone I could love. I thought about Sasha being devastated over Joe. But I didn’t consider that Sasha would tell Joe anything. I didn’t picture Joe coming over here and getting involved.
“It’s over with me and Joe now. I mean, you know that. You can see it on the site. It’s been over for, like, a day. Which, I know, is nothing. But it’s over. He loves you. Please don’t . . . Let’s work this out between us.” I pick up the book and brush off the dirt and give it back to her, like the world’s worst peace offering.
“I told you to go for it,” Sasha Cotton whispers. Her voice breaks and she cries in that perfect Sasha Cotton way: all tears and no sobs and no snot and no hiccuping. “I told you to kiss my boyfriend. I can’t—” She turns away from me, and I think that’s what I would do in her situation, too.
She hugs herself and hugs the book to her chest, too.
I don’t feel bad for Sasha Cotton. Not exactly. It’s more like I realize, really realize, that she wrote those notes. The ones that changed my life. That of all the people in the world, she is maybe the one who gets me best. She’s the one who made me feel not alone.
Two weeks ago I would have said Sasha Cotton was my nemesis, more so than Jemma or Alison or Luke or anyone else at Circle Community who I sort of can’t stand. But today, right now, in her driveway with a mess of secrets and resentments between us, I think Sasha Cotton is maybe my best friend.
“What should we do?” I say. I guess I’m thinking she’ll feel the same way, when she has a chance to catch her breath. That she’ll see the connection, she’ll realize how much I loved her notes in the book and how we are the only two people in this little corner of the world who know about LBC and the strange possibilities life has.
“What do you mean? We ask Zed,” she says. She turns back to face me, and her face is red and wet but the tears have stopped pouring out and she looks sure.
AGNES: I want to tell Bitty’s secrets.
ZED: She didn’t follow the rules. She didn’t complete her Assignment.
AGNES: Is that a yes?
ZED: You need a secret to be given an Assignment.
Secret: I hate Bitty and I hate myself and I still somehow love Joe.
—Agnes
ASSIGNMENT: Tell everyone everything.
Twenty-Five.
Sasha Cotton doesn’t want me on her porch. She doesn’t want to watch me watching her as she watches Life by Committee decide our fate. But I’m not getting in my car and driving away. I can’t.