Hello, Goodbye, and Everything in Between

“I’ve got two left feet,” he’d shouted to her over the music, his face flushed in the heat of the gym, “but I know how to use them.”


There was just something about him. He made the room feel brighter and the hours move faster. All that night, they were flying, and it was like magic, giddy and joyful and dizzying.

But even so, there was a part of her that wished he might slow down. Just for a little while, just long enough for her to walk into his arms and fit herself against him, to stand there while the minutes ticked by, just holding him in place, this one bright spot in the midst of so much gray.

And now, two years later, they’re finally here: folded together like this, with the night thrumming all around them and the sound of his heartbeat loud in her ears.

And yet, he’s no longer hers.

All this, and the only thing it means is goodbye.

They stand there like that for a long time, so long she starts to think she can feel each minute slipping away as the night hurtles unrelentingly toward morning. But then Aidan goes abruptly tense, and he loosens his grip, letting her go and taking a step back.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and she can see the change in his eyes, the abrupt recollection of what they are to each other now—or rather, what they’re not. “I guess I just don’t know how to do this yet.”

Clare feels a little unsteady. “Do what?”

“Not be together.”

“Oh,” she says. “Yeah. I know.” Her phone makes a whirring noise from her bag, and she glances down at it, then back up at Aidan. “It’ll probably be a lot easier when we’re apart.”

There’s a wounded expression on his bruised face.

“Sorry,” she says as her phone goes off again. She fumbles through her bag until she finds it. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just think it’ll get better when we’re not together.” She groans, then shakes her head. “Sorry. That didn’t come out right, either.”

His face softens. “It’s okay. We’re still new at this.”

“Yeah,” she says, holding up the blue-lit screen of her phone as proof. The electronic numbers across the front read 12:24 AM. “It’s only been a couple hours.”

“Then we’ve still got time to practice,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “What should we do now? I guess it’s too late to cover the stuff we missed, but we could still try to hit whatever’s next on the list.…” He trails off when he sees that she’s not listening. She’s too busy staring at the long chain of missed calls and texts on her phone. “Clare?”

She looks up at him, her eyes wide. “Uh, the next stop isn’t on the list, actually,” she says. “Unless you have some sort of record I don’t know about.”

He stares at her, confused. “Record?”

“Come on,” she says, already turning in the direction of the car. “We’ve got to go to the police station.”

“What?” Aidan asks, jogging after her. “Why?”

“Because,” she tells him. “Scotty’s in jail.”





The Police Station


12:44 AM


When she comes flying through the front doors of the police station, the first thing Clare sees is Stella. She’s sitting hunched in one of three blue plastic chairs opposite the main desk, staring vacantly at the dirty floor and gnawing at one of her fingernails. And though it’s after midnight and Clare has somehow found herself in the town’s police station for the very first time in her life, it’s this detail that shocks her the most.

Stella doesn’t bite her nails. She isn’t a person with nervous habits, because nothing makes her nervous. She’s fearless and unwavering and bold. And her nails, like the rest of her, always look perfect, with dark polish to match the rest of her outfits. So seeing her like this now is a little bit alarming.

“Hey,” Clare says gently, sliding into the chair beside her. “You okay? What’s happening? Where is he?”