Ryan stands up. Goes to his bookcase. Straightens something on the shelf.
“I’m sorry for dragging you back here. And for thinking it was a good idea to invite you to Taylor’s party. I’m going to leave it up to you whether you want me to tell you about it or not. I’ll understand if you don’t want me to. I don’t have to talk about him at all to you. Whatever it takes for us to get through this.”
It would help if he were acting like more of an asshole. It would help if he would say the absolute wrong thing. That way I could storm out. It’s too hard to just leave.
But he has a party to get to, and I have nothing left to say out loud. So I stand up. I find my breath. I force myself to meet his eye.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell him. And then, because I know I will hate myself for it, I add, “Have a good night.”
“You too,” he replies.
We’re just so helpless.
I open the door. I decide not to look back.
“And, Mark?”
I look back.
“I would fight for you, too,” he says. “I hope you know that.”
I can’t. I just can’t.
I run away before I lose myself completely.
TUESDAY
12
Kate
I wake suddenly—warm summer light through my window—and check my phone.
Nothing.
Which is so strange, because Mark said he would text no matter what. Whether it was good news or bad news, I love you or I love you not.
So?? I write now, and then I carry the phone with me down the hall, set it on the edge of the sink. As I shower, I keep waiting for it to buzz. Maybe the water is too loud, or maybe, while I’m standing under it and thinking of kissing Violet, I am too swept up in the memory to listen closely. But when I draw the curtain and check again, he still hasn’t answered.
I worry while drying my hair. I worry while applying mascara. I worry as I raise the tube of lipstick to my lips, but then I rethink the lipstick altogether. Violet and I are going to see each other again tonight, and I don’t want to have to think about red smearing on my face or getting on her perfect mouth.
I don’t want to think about anything.
When she kisses me, I will lose myself in it.
I keep my phone on my lap as I drive to school, a rare violation of the no-phones-in-the-front-seat rule that my parents set for themselves and for me. The three of us are prone to distraction and lost causes when it comes to patience. It’s better not to tempt us. But the drive is textless, and as I park I decide that the night must have gone well for Mark.
Because if he is anything like Lehna or June or Uma, he wouldn’t necessarily text me if he was deliriously happy, but he would absolutely text me if he was crushed. He would send me novels via text. Multivolume collections of sad poetry. I would be up all night typing Oh no! and So tragic! and Want me to come over?
The more I think about it I realize that not only did Mark’s night go well, it must have gone really well. Like, stayed-up-all-night-together well. Passionate, how-could-I-not-have-realized-before well. Maybe they forgot to set their alarms and Ryan’s parents discovered them this morning in a state of undressed togetherness and they are both being lectured to at this very moment. Or maybe that already happened late last night and now they are grounded and their phones have been confiscated, which explains why Mark hasn’t texted me.
On the way to my locker I take a detour through the C hall where Mark’s locker is, but there’s no sign of him. No sign of Ryan, either. I’m on my way to my hall when two junior girls stop me.
“We can’t wait for your show tonight,” one of them says.
“Yeah,” says the other. “I heard all your paintings already sold. That’s so impressive. Congratulations!”
“Wow,” I say. “Thanks.”
With everything happening with Violet and Lehna and Mark, I haven’t quite processed my new status in the spotlight. It is bewildering. And I can’t exactly revel in it now, because if these girls I barely know are already privy to the information that someone bought all my paintings, Lehna must know, too.
But Lehna is actually nice to me when I get to our lockers.
“Big night,” she says.
“And to think it all started as a lie,” I say. “I keep waiting for something to go wrong. I don’t think lies are meant to come true.”
“It wasn’t a lie. It was wishful thinking. Or magical thinking? Something like that.”
I shrug. I don’t know what it was to her, but to me it just felt like deception. Like trying to make myself into something greater than myself. And now I guess it’s all come true, but I still feel less than worthy of this.
“So, I’m driving June and Uma tonight. I’d be happy to drive you, too. Like, in case you might want to have champagne? I heard there’s usually champagne at these things.…”
“Oh,” I say. “I haven’t even thought about how I’ll get there yet.”