TRENTON
Trenton still felt woozy, even after puking twice. He splashed cold water on his face, getting his shirt collar all wet in the process. He didn’t care. In the medicine cabinets he found a few miscellaneous toiletry items that Minna had skipped over or missed, among them a half-used tube of toothpaste and a travel-size bottle of mouthwash. He scrubbed his teeth and tongue with his finger, nearly puking again. Then he rinsed four times with mouthwash. The whole time, he was expecting the ghost to start badgering him—hurry up, please Trenton, you promised me—but she was, uncharacteristically, quiet.
By then, Katie had texted again. You didn’t tell me you were having a party.
Before he could write back and correct her—not a party, a memorial service—she had texted again. Where are you?
The room was still revolving a bit. Trenton eased the bathroom door open and peeked into the hall, which was crowded with people—all of them were shuffling slowly out of the living room in unison, like zombies gearing up for attack. Minna had booted up the speakers, and soft music intermingled with the sound of murmured voices and repressed laughter. Someone had farted.
Trenton had missed the whole service.
Mrs. Anderson, his first-grade English teacher, spotted him and waved. Trenton ducked quickly back into the bathroom and closed the door.
Go toward the music, Trenton texted. I’ll watch 4 u.
This is the worst party I’ve ever been 2, she texted back.
The song was an acoustic version of “Born to Run,” by Bruce Springsteen. Trenton had to admit: Minna was a genius for picking it. Trenton’s dad was a Bruce fanatic, partly, Minna said, because Richard Walker identified with his story: the everyday, working-class guy who makes it big on his own steam. Trenton remembered being five or six years old and sitting in the passenger seat of his dad’s new Mercedes, summertime, windows down, sunlight streaming so brightly through the windshield it was practically blinding, the bass reverberating so hard through the dashboard Trenton could feel it in his teeth. And Richard was singing along, and drumming with one hand on the wheel, and Trenton had felt very old, then: like his father’s best friend.
Trenton checked the hall again and saw her: red hoodie cinched tight, sunglasses on, a bright spot of color in a sea of blacks and grays, startling, like a spot of blood on a clean floor. He started to move out into the hall to greet her, but she put a hand on his chest and piloted him backward into the bathroom again and closed the door behind her.
“Look,” she said, taking off her sunglasses and wrenching off her hood. “I don’t have much time.”
She had changed her hair color again. It was dark brown now, like his.
He was filled with sudden joy. The world shrank down to the size of a single room: Katie was here, with him. “I thought you ran away,” he said.
“That’s funny,” she said.
“Or your parents shipped you off.”
“My parents don’t know where I am,” she said. A brief look of pain, or maybe worry, passed across her face. “Listen, Trenton. I need you to listen to me. I have to explain a few things to you, okay?”
“I’ve been up shit’s creek since the fire,” he said. He was still dizzy, but now he thought it might be because they were standing so close. He could see individual freckles under her makeup, like tiny stars. “But I made sure Amy didn’t tell.”
“Listen.” She grabbed both of his arms. Surprised, he sat backward, onto the toilet. Thankfully, the lid was closed. “Just shut up for two seconds, okay? I have four things to tell you.” She released him and straightened up. He said nothing. She began pacing. The bathroom was so small she could only take two steps in either direction before having to pivot and return. “One. I have to go away soon.” She was ticking off items on her fingers.
“Where are you going?”
“Just listen, for Christ’s sake. Two. I’m a liar. I’ve lied to you about a lot of things. But I’m not a bad person.”
“Okay.” Trenton wondered if he should stand up again. He didn’t like how she was pacing. It was making him nervous. But he didn’t want her to yell at him, either.
“Three.” She stopped in front of him. Her eyes were like an animal’s—big and pleading. “I like you. You’re kind of an idiot, but I do.”
Trenton was going to protest, but then the weight of her words hit him—I like you—and he felt like something had just knocked into his chest. He couldn’t even breathe. He was afraid that if he so much as moved, he would send the words scattering back into nonexistence, into untruth, like cockroaches startled by a sudden light.
But Katie was watching him, expectant, clearly anticipating a reply.
“What’s the fourth thing?” Trenton asked, in a voice that barely sounded like his.
For the first time, Katie smiled. “This,” she said, and dropped onto her knees on the rug in front of the toilet, and put her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him.
For a half second, he was seized with terror; then, just as quickly, his anxiety passed, and when she slipped her tongue into his mouth, he found he wasn’t worried about what to do, or whether he was using too much pressure or too little. He just let go. It was like falling into a warm bed after an exhausting day. It was dark and sweet and soft. Now even the room disappeared. Now there was only her mouth and her breathing, her warm hands on his shoulders.
The kiss lasted for minutes, hours. He was dimly aware of a growing crescendo, as if applause were swelling from an unseen audience. At a certain moment, the crescendo crested, and a sudden flood of awareness passed over him, and he realized he was hearing not applause but footsteps and shouting.
The bathroom door swung open, smacking hard against the tub.
Katie accidentally bit his lip.
Trenton drew back, wincing.
Minna was standing in the doorway, gripping Amy’s hand. Crowded next to her were two cops. Trenton recognized one of them as the guy Minna used to date.
Danny was breathing hard, as if they’d come from a long distance. “Vivian Wright?” he said.
Katie looked at Trenton and sighed. “Busted,” she said.
Amy touched a finger to her lips and said, “Shhh.”