The words speak to me in her voice. I keep seeing her panicked eyes when she matched the dates in the cafeteria. I want to call her. I want to reassure her. She’s the fiercest girl I’ve ever met, but I want to sit in the dark and hold her hand to show her she’s not alone.
TD: Mind? I could talk to you forever.
She doesn’t respond for the longest time, and I wonder if she fell asleep.
TD: Knock knock.
CG: You made me cry.
TD: Most people say, “Who’s there?”
CG: Now you made me laugh. Who’s there?
TD: I didn’t really have a joke prepared. Why did I make you cry?
CG: I was so worried you were him, and I was going to have to stop talking to you.
I freeze. I read that sentence over and over again.
I was so worried you were him.
I can’t breathe. I have no idea what to say. This is a thousand daggers striking me all at once.
CG: Sorry. I’m a mess right now. Brandon—my best friend’s boyfriend—thought maybe there was a chance Mom took a picture of the car getting away, so we looked at her memory cards. It’s been an emotional night.
Tell me about it. I’m sitting here, choking on my heart.
At least she’s turned the conversation. I can force my suddenly numb fingers to type.
TD: Find anything?
CG: Nothing on the memory cards. But I’m going to develop her film tomorrow at school.
TD: Do you think there’s a chance?
CG: I’m scared to think there’s a chance.
My brain can hardly process the words she’s typing. I want to tell her that I can barely stay awake, that we can talk tomorrow, but I literally just told her I’d talk to her all night.
Maybe I should look up some knock-knock jokes.
CG: Did you talk to your mom?
Oh, good, something else I don’t want to talk about.
TD: No.
CG: Why not?
TD: Because I got home from work late, and my stepfather was practically standing sentry outside her door.
CG: And you can’t tell him you want to talk to her?
Her question is innocuous enough, but knowing that she doesn’t want to talk to me—the real me—turns her words more critical than I’m used to. It’s like talking to Alan. I hear accusations of failure between every word. It makes me angry, like I’m only good enough for her to see one half of my life, but the other half—the real half—is too screwed up for a girl like her.
My thoughts are a mess of exaggerations and hyperbole, and I know it.
I did this. I did.
I ruined it. This is my fault.
It’s one more weight on top of so many. I want to brace my limbs and throw them all off—but they’re too heavy. I can’t.
My fingers stab at the screen.
TD: It’s complicated.
CG: It’s only as complicated as you make it.
TD: Well, I guess I’m good at making things as complicated as possible.
With that, I close the app.
And delete it.
Then I curl in on myself and do everything possible to keep from screaming.
I have to stop breathing. That does the trick. I sit there in complete, still silence until my muscles are crying for oxygen.
I need to get myself together. My room is stifling, and I want to get out of here, but there’s only one place I can go that won’t have Alan calling the cops.
I pull up my texts and send another one to Rev. He’s ignored the last twelve, but those were all variations of me telling him to stop being such a pain in the ass.
DM: Please, Rev. I need you.
He responds immediately.
RF: I’m here.
DM: Can I come over?
RF: Always.
Rev is eating a bowl of Lucky Charms when I come in through the back door and find him in his kitchen. It’s the kind of late-night snack usually reserved for potheads, but Rev has never smoked a joint in his life. When we were younger and our friendship was more evenly divided between our houses, Mom would keep a box on hand just for him.
He never eats sugared cereal for breakfast. He always treats them like a secret vice. Maybe it’s a throwback to a childhood with a father who wouldn’t let him eat Lucky Charms. Or maybe he likes the sugar. I’ve never asked him.
He pushes the box my way when I approach the table, but he doesn’t look at me. He’s still wearing the same hoodie he wore in school, which is unusual this late at night. I wonder if he hasn’t taken it off, or if he put it back on when he knew I was coming over.
Either way, I have something to do with that. I don’t like this feeling. I can’t decide if I’m angry or ashamed.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey.”
He still hasn’t looked at me.
I don’t sit down. “Still pissed?”
“Maybe. What’s going on?”
“Juliet said she’s glad I’m not me.”
He takes a spoonful of cereal but still doesn’t look up. “Maybe you could repeat that in English.”
“She said she’s glad I’m not Declan Murphy.”
“I think I need more information.” His eyes lift enough for him to nod at the cell phone in my hand. “Did she say this in an email? Read it.”
“I can’t. I deleted the app.”
He gives a little laugh, but not like I’m being funny, then drinks the colored milk from his bowl. “Reinstall it. Let me see what she said.”
“I just told you what she said.”
“No, you gave me the Declan-ized version. I want to see what she said.”
“What does that mean?”
Rev puts the bowl in the sink and finally looks at me fully. “Are you going to reinstall the app or not?”
His attitude is making me wish I hadn’t come over here at all. “Not.”
“Fine. Good night, then.” He walks out, hitting the switch by the doorway. Leaving me in the dark.
I go after him, whispering furiously because I know Geoff and Kristin will freak if we wake the baby. “What the hell is your problem, Rev? If you have something to say to me, say it.”
He doesn’t stop walking. “I did.”
“Would you stop and talk to me?”
He doesn’t.
“Rev!”
In a second, he’s going to be in his room, slamming the door in my face.
“Would you stop?” Without thinking, I go after him. I grab his arm.
Rev whirls and jerks free, shoving me away so forcefully that I hit the opposite wall. Picture frames rattle and swing.