A shadow crosses his face, and then it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. His expression lightens, and he pulls me down onto the bed with him.
“It was just your run-of-the-mill immature drama, nothing even worth talking about.” His hands move up my back. “I’m much more interested in you right now.”
My thoughts disappear as our lips meet. Everything drops away; nothing matters but the boy in my arms. Who would have thought it was possible to feel this way?
“I like you a lot, Chace Porter,” I whisper between kisses.
He smiles back at me, his gaze genuine.
“I like you for real, Lana Rivera.”
I make it back to my dorm at close to two in the morning, after Ryan’s return forced me and Chace to say a reluctant good night. I tiptoe across the corridor to the girls’ side, mentally rehearsing my excuse in case the dorm warden catches me (“I lost my favorite bracelet and was just retracing my steps!”), but luckily I make it to our room unseen. I’m expecting to find it dark and silent, but Nicole is awake, sitting up in bed staring at a piece of paper. She perks up when she sees me.
“Hi! How did it go? You’re home late, so that must be a good sign.”
I drop my purse and jump onto my bed with a happy sigh.
“It was magical. I mean, being alone with Chace after dinner was. His parents were…okay.”
“Just okay?” Nicole asks.
I shrug.
“A little weird and cagey. I couldn’t tell if they liked me, to be honest.”
“Well, it’s impossible that they didn’t,” Nicole says confidently, and I feel a rush of affection for my unlikely new friend.
“What’s that?” I nod at the paper in her hand.
“Oh.” Nicole’s face floods with emotion. “It’s from the New York Philharmonic. They chose me as violinist for their Contemporary Orchestra Youth Showcase this spring.” She shakes her head in amazement. “They chose me.”
“Oh my God!” I lean across the bed to give her a hug. “Congratulations. You so deserve it.”
For the briefest second I wonder what it might be like to be her, to be the very best at something and have your future all mapped out. But then, of course, I wouldn’t get to be me. And I wouldn’t be the girl Chace likes.
“We should celebrate,” I tell Nicole. “Before we leave for winter break tomorrow, let’s go to that dessert-only place. You, me, and Chace.”
Nicole’s cheeks redden.
“Oh, you guys probably don’t want me tagging along on your date.”
“No, you dork, we’re going to be celebrating you!”
“Well, if you’re sure. That’s nice of you.” She smiles, but I notice a cloud behind her eyes.
“What is it? Why aren’t you freaking out with excitement right now?” I ask.
She smiles sheepishly.
“I am freaking out, I just…” She sighs. “Brianne and I practiced so hard for the audition together. I guess I always pictured it happening for the two of us.”
“Ah. So she didn’t get in.”
Nicole nods, biting her lip.
“She left me a voice mail in tears. Apparently her cello spot went to some guy from LaGuardia. I haven’t called her back….I don’t know how to tell her I got in.”
“You just have to rip off the Band-Aid and do it,” I advise her. “It’s like when the guy Kara was into asked me out last year. It sucked having to tell her, but she got over it.”
“Yeah, it’s just that Brianne is really intense about things. Everyone in the Virtuoso Program kind of is,” Nicole says. “And she’s having such a rough year so far, what with the breakup with JJ and all.”
“Okay, Nicole. You know I love you, but enough about Brianne.” I flop dramatically on the bed, and she laughs. “We have way more exciting things to talk about.”
“You’re right,” she says. “I’m just being overly sensitive about it. Tell me more about your date.”
I smile into my pillow and begin recapping the entire electrifying night.
It’s all your fault.
I can’t sleep, my mind ticking a million miles a minute as I stare at the text message from Lana. She sent it hours ago, right after Officer Ladge and Detective Kimble left my room carting a bag full of my personal belongings with them. My iPhone confirms what I already know—that this is the first real contact I’ve had from Lana in five months. I thought she deleted my number, erased every trace of me from her life. I guess I was wrong.
The message just above this one, all the way back to May 26, bears three telling words. Go. To. Hell. But the previous texts from Lana Rivera might have been written by a different person altogether.
Hey girl, everyone’s coming to our room for The Bachelor tonight, XOXO!
This is a text from May 10, while the messages farther up in the chat window are sprinkled with emojis, inside jokes, and plans to meet here or go there. Scrolling through the texts is like picking at a bloody scab, feeling the pain all over again of a friendship lost. It seems impossible that these two girls no longer speak, that “XOXO” so quickly devolved into “Go to hell.” But maybe she is right—that it is all my fault.
I type, delete, and re-type my reply, unable to find the right words. Finally I settle on the most banal possible response.
What do you mean?