“Exactly,” I say. “It’s like a social phenomenon or something.”
I spot Mark outside the shadow room.
“You got sick of it?” I ask him.
“No,” he says. “Just letting some other people’s shadows have turns in the spotlight.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Violet says, and her smile would be heartbreakingly pretty except that I have little reason to be heartbroken. So instead it’s gloriously pretty. Spectacularly pretty. I can’t stop looking at her—that’s how pretty it is.
“So apparently things went well,” Mark says to me.
“I’m working on it,” I say, looking at Violet. “I’m trying to make things up to her.”
“And is she doing a good job?”
“So far so good,” she says.
“I’m glad, because you are clearly the girl for my friend.”
“But what about you?” Violet says. “First it was ‘I’d fight for you,’ ‘I need you,’ and now, as of last night, there’s someone new on the horizon.”
“She was pretty persuasive, wasn’t she?” Mark says. “I mean, I was skeptical, but now I can’t get it out of my head. It just feels…”
“True,” Violet says.
Mark nods.
I say, “We’ve been on the lookout for all the scenic guys at school.”
Violet laughs.
“Scenic. I love that.”
“And tonight’s this poetry slam. Has Katie invited you yet?”
“Yes, and I have accepted.”
“Ryan will be there.”
“Uh-oh.”
“But other guys, too.”
“Scenic guys,” Violet says.
“Yes. The vast majority of the guys there will be scenic.”
“Excellent.”
“But before we go,” Mark says, “we need to get a shadow shot of all three of us.”
We head into the room and strike poses, waiting for the rest of the people in there to lose interest. One by one, they do, until it’s just the three of us. It’s dark and the clock is counting down from thirty seconds.
“Let’s make a chain,” Violet says. “Stretch out our arms and touch fingers.”
She walks to one side of me and Mark walks to the other. We hold our arms straight out like wings, our fingers touching at the tips.
“Thirty seconds,” Mark says.
This doesn’t feel like the card with the burning tower. I’ve taken a risk, asked Violet to trust me. But I haven’t jumped from a burning building or crashed on the rocks. I haven’t upended my life.
“Twenty-five!”
What could I do that would be so dramatic? That would change my trajectory, that would set me free?
“Ten!” Mark says.
“Hold steady, everyone!” says Violet.
My heart is so full.
This is what’s right. These two beautiful people. Our fingers touching, counting down together.
“Five seconds!” Mark says.
“My arms hurt!” says Violet.
My arms hurt, too, but I would keep them extended like this for so much longer if it meant we could stay here. If I could have them by my side, and graduation wasn’t in a few days, and the summer wasn’t fleeting.
“Three!” Mark says.
“Two!” Violet yelps.
“One!” we all shout.
A flash of light.
A dropping of our arms.
A stepping forward to see what the wall will hold.
A few seconds pass before our shadows appear, a perfect chain of three. And in those seconds, between darkness and light, I discover what I need to do.
17
MARK
Five nights ago, Katie and I were wandering around a crowded mansion and I felt more lost than I ever had in my life. I felt like a pretender, an intruder, a party crasher, with the party being what the rich and the famous knew as life. It didn’t matter that people were calling me beautiful, offering me drinks and propositions that went along with the drinks. It didn’t matter that pretending was the point. It didn’t matter that Katie was right beside me, just as out of place as I was. I felt everyone was humoring me. I felt they could see how terrified I was, and that as soon as I left the room, they would laugh and shake their heads.
Now we’re in a completely different place, and I still can’t find my footing. We’re in the rec room of a small community center, plastic bottles of cranberry juice and Sprite taking the place of champagne, vodka, and gin. The ceiling and walls are draped with pink and purple streamers, and a dozen tables have been set up in a semicircle around a makeshift stage—basically, a mic stand with an area of space cleared around it.
Ryan is sitting at one of the tables with Taylor and his friends. I don’t want to look at Taylor too closely, but I can’t look away. He has his footing, and he’s dancing all around—keeping one hand on Ryan’s arm the whole time. It’s strange to see them, especially to see their dynamic together. Ryan is clearly the younger one, clearly the less experienced one, clearly the newbie in this arrangement. Taylor is taking care of him.