I laughed. “Come on.”
“I was,” you said. “I actually have somewhere to be, though. So if it’s not a good time, I’ll just be on my way.” Your tone was defensive, and I was grateful. All of a sudden I was looking for a fight.
“Why are you here?” I asked. “Did you just want to see me?”
“Maybe I did,” you said, crossing the room and grabbing behind me for your coat. Our bodies actually pressed together for a second, sending a dull ache of longing through my limbs. “Not anymore, though.”
“Why?” I asked. “Because I didn’t text you back within some allotted amount of time?”
“No,” you said, struggling with your zipper. “Because you’re being a jerk for no reason.”
“If you wanted to find out more about Ethan, you could just ask him,” I said, before I could stop myself. “Or better yet, go to his house. You’re his girlfriend, right?”
You glared at me. You weren’t wearing the FUCK OFF necklace, but I got the message loud and clear. “That’s really none of your business.”
“I think it is,” I said. “Because instead of showing up at his house, you’re at mine. And you didn’t come to run lines, right?” You stared at me wide-eyed but said nothing. Neither of us made a move for the door.
“You don’t understand anything,” you finally said. “I can’t just . . .” You shook your head, narrowed your eyes. “It’s complicated.”
“Why, because of his stupid play?” I asked.
“It’s not stupid to me!” you cried. “I need that play. I don’t have an agent or a résumé or a fucking Golden Globe nomination. I’m not some diamond in the rough like Joy, and I can’t write my own ticket like Ethan. I’m an aspiring actress in New York City. I might as well say I’m an ant in an ant farm.”
You are special, I should have said. Instead, I laughed dismissively, like a dick.
“You can’t even see what you have, can you?” you asked. “Everyone at school would kill themselves to be you. And you don’t even care.”
“I didn’t think you cared,” I said. “I thought you were better.”
You nodded slowly, your eyes glistening somewhere between anger and tears. “I thought you were nicer,” you said. I swallowed, hard.
“You should go to Staten Island,” I said. “I’m not his understudy.”
I felt guilty when the door slammed behind you, but not as guilty as I feel now. If I had known what you were going through, and how bad it was getting, I never would have said any of it. I never would have said anything at all. I would have opened that door and held you in my arms and never let you go.
Act Three
Liv
Chapter Fourteen
February 25
77 days left
I SHOULDN’T HAVE JUST SHOWN UP at your house, I knew that—don’t you think I knew that? I hadn’t even planned to, but then the train screeched to a stop at 86th and I was already on the platform before I even realized I’d stood up. This time it wasn’t an accident, though—“D, Sun, 2pm.” God, how high had I been when I’d written that down? High enough to forget who the “D” stood for—and as I climbed the stairs up to Broadway, I just kept thinking, maybe. Maybe you’d be home. Maybe you’d let me in. Maybe sitting in your room, listening to you talk while your grandma clinked around in the kitchen would work again, and I could leave feeling happy and hopeful and not like I needed to get back on the train to go meet the other D, the one who gave me that feeling in a bottle for twenty bucks.
But that had been a mistake, clearly, and so I was panicking as I walked as fast as I could to the subway, my boots slip-sliding on the black ice, my skin sweaty under my clothes, my heart racing so fast it was hard to believe I hadn’t already taken something. The night before I’d gotten drunk and stoned, which took the edge off the Ritalin, and drifted off into an easy sleep, but I’d woken up in the morning with a monster headache and I was all out of pills so I knew what I had to do if I wanted to feel normal again.