Was this giving him ideas? Was there some drama unfolding here that I was about to get sucked into?
Before I understood why, before I could overthink it, I leaned into him and said, “I have to run inside for a minute.” He nodded and I pushed my way out of the crowd.
Back in the kitchen, I was drinking a glass of the long-named iced tea when Kendall appeared.
“Ari?”
I slammed the iced tea down on the counter. “Yes. That’s me. The person who was just dancing with Camden Armstrong to the Plastic Masks. At least, I think it was.”
“I saw you run inside. You okay?”
“Me? I’m having the time of my life.”
“And . . . ?”
I paused, thinking of how it felt to stand with Camden in that open window. Like he was telling me he understood about the Possible, although we had never discussed it.
“And it’s scaring the crap out of me. You know, Camden asked me to stay over.”
“What?”
“I mean, along with a whole bunch of other people. I guess it’s something they do. For safety? So people don’t drive home drunk?”
“Oh. Well. Still. That’s a little much.” She looked at me more thoroughly. “Are you feeling weird that he asked?”
“I’m feeling weird about everything,” I said. “A good weird. A great weird. But . . .”
“A scary weird. I get it.” Kendall paused, glancing out to the patio. “Do you want to leave?”
“No,” I answered quickly. “Actually, yes. Well . . . no . . .”
Kendall gave me a look. “If you’re going to make me leave this party, you’d better be sure.”
“Okay. I want to leave.”
She nodded grimly. “Then let’s go.”
“What about James?”
Kendall smiled at the sound of his name. “We already exchanged email addresses.”
“Kendall!”
“He’s into photography and he’s traveled all over England and Ireland.” She turned to stare wistfully outside again.
“You met a guy and now I’m ruining—”
“I came for you, Ari,” interrupted Kendall. “I’ll leave for you, too.”
I hugged her. My friend. My best friend. Maybe not forever, but here and now.
After a moment, she pulled away and said, “I’ll wait in the car. Why don’t you go say good-bye to your boy, and for God’s sake, give him your number.”
Back on the patio, the band was still loud and people were still moving frenetically, but I didn’t see Camden. I climbed onto a wooden chair so I could get a better look at the crowd, but that head, that hair, was nowhere. I circled the outside of the barn once, scanning the darkness for shapes and voices, and found nothing.
I looped back inside. Maeve Armstrong was sitting on some older guy’s lap in the living room, deep in conversation, and didn’t notice me. I went halfway up the spiral stairs but the landing was empty.
When I came down, I spotted a notepad and pen stuck to the fridge. It was not how I wanted the night to end, but it was better than nothing.
Camden,
Wanted to stay, but something came up. I wouldn’t mind more travels with Atticus Marr. Call when you can.
Ari
I left the note on the pad, my number scrawled at the bottom. Every step I took toward the door, part of me wanted to turn back. What good is no regrets when there’s an equal chance of regretting it either way?
“Am I an idiot for leaving?” I asked as I slid into the passenger seat of Kendall’s car.
“I guess you’ll find out,” said Kendall with a shrug. She paused, examining my face. “This was about that night at Lukas’s, wasn’t it?”
Couldn’t speak. Could only nod.
“I knew it,” said Kendall. “I remember how that threw you.”
Threw you was a new and interesting way to describe how much I hated myself for letting things go so far, and for realizing I didn’t love Lukas. Kendall didn’t know about the other parts because I didn’t tell her. The pristine white skin of my right arm, daring me to let out some of this fresh pain. The shoe box with the razors and the cotton balls, hidden at the back of my closet. The urge to see it. Open it. The strength it took to resist.
Instead, I’d told my therapist about these feelings (but not about the box, because that was one secret I needed to hold on to). My therapist told my doctor, and my doctor tinkered with my dosage.
“Yes,” I finally said. “It threw me good.”
We drove home with all four windows down, the breeze deep in my lungs.
I looked at my hand and wondered where the creases on Camden’s palm had lined up with the ones on mine.
I’d left my number. It would have felt worse if I hadn’t, but I was sort of at his mercy now.
Wait, who was I kidding? I’d been at his mercy all along.
8