Then You Were Gone Part 14

I smile. Back to faking it.

"Tonight," he says.

"Right, tonight." B-day dinner with Lee's folks. I'm dreading it. I adore them. They'll see straight through me.

"Pick you up at seven?"

I nod.

"Great." Then, "Get up," he instructs. I do. "Getting a c.o.ke. Anyone want anything?"

No one wants anything.

"What?" Kate says after Lee leaves-because I'm grimacing, maybe? Or glaring?

"Write any love sonnets lately?"

"Sorry?"

"Or send any s.e.xy letters?"

Her cheeks flush. She straightens up. "Sonnets? No."

"Katie."

"What?" She's embarra.s.sed. A rarity. The girl barely ever has a vulnerable moment. "I wrote him a note." She shrugs.

"Saying what?"

"'Hi. Stellar weather. Cute boots.'" She pauses. "How do you even know about that?"

"b.u.mped into him. This morning. Literally, we, like, collided. It fell out of his bag."

"Oh." She sits back. "Well, why hasn't he responded?"

"I don't know."

"Well, why doesn't he love me?"

"Katie." I open my arms and she curls against my chest.

"I'm not pretty enough."

"You're a knockout."

"I'm not s.l.u.tty enough."

"You're the s.l.u.ttiest."

I hug her harder. Lee's in the distance with a soda can. He looks so upbeat and moony. I let my gaze float left. There's Murphy. There's Murphy, c.r.a.p, clutching a lunch tray and staring me down.

"f.u.c.k." I let Kate go and sit up.

"What's wrong with you? Why'd the hugging stop?"

"Because. I haven't been to lit since last week and I'm in huge f.u.c.king trouble."

She twists around. Spots him. "Oh, right."

I'm not even sure what to do or where to look. For a moment, we just watch each other. Like lovers, only not. Then the head shaking starts. Back and forth and he's wearing this stupid, s.h.i.+tty smile that reads, Adrienne Knox, you are a WILD disappointment.

I armor up, preparing for the worst. Flunk me, suspend me, whatever it is, I'll eat it.

Then, "Where's he going?" Kate asks.

He's walking away. No confrontation. No lecture.

"I thought for sure you were about to get royally f.u.c.ked."

Lee's back. "By me? Yes, please."

Kate laughs, but I can't. Nothing from Murphy? Not a friendly slap on the wrist or a see-me-after-school?

"You okay?" Lee says, leaning into me.

This feels worse than getting reprimanded, but, "I'm fine," I say with a jovial shrug. "Guess I'm a lost cause."

New resolution: less Julian, more Lee.

Two fifty. On my own at the curb, waiting for Kate to pull the car around. I stare past the median strip to the freak section. There're piles and piles of kids wearing all shades of black, so it takes me a minute to locate him-pale, scruffy, skinny, pretty-squatting in the sun with his smoke. He lifts a hand, s.h.i.+elding his eyes. Then he tips an imaginary hat my way. I wave limply. I feel a tug in my gut. I'm panicking suddenly, desperate for Lee. I twist on my heel, scanning the side entrance to the gym, but all I see are frosh Dakota wannabes, dozens of them, with their purple lips and lace. They look like me. I want to flatten them all like potato pancakes. I look back, to Julian, but he's already gone. Kate's car materializes: windows down, heat blasting, Stevie Nicks blaring from the stereo. "Get in," she hollers.

I step off the curb.

Kate and I go to that nauseatingly hip little stretch of Sunset in Silver Lake, where we spend a good hour and a half not-buying Lee's birthday gift. By now we've seen inside every book/record/vintage shop on the block. Nothing feels very Lee.

"Dude, time to buy something."

"Right, no, I know."

We're standing inside a comic book store. "I mean, he likes this stuff, he does," I insist, fondling a skinny booklet with a b.o.o.balicious cartoon girl on the cover.

"I've never seen him with a comic."

"He has this, like, graphic novel he really likes . . . by this guy . . . s.h.i.+t, what's it called?"

"Why not buy him, like, a baseball bat. At that sports memorabilia place?"

"Because." I blink. "He plays soccer. Not baseball."

"So?" A beat. "Anyways," she rambles on, "it's just a dumb boy-gift. How hard can it be?"

"Hard. And you've known the guy pretty much your whole life, so why aren't you more helpful?" I tug her dress playfully, yanking her toward the cas.h.i.+er. Then, "Hi," to the sales dude at the register. Black gla.s.ses, tight tee. "You guys do gift cards?"

Musso and Frank.

White tablecloths, surly waiters, dry martinis, chicken potpie.

"Adrienne, honey, you want?" Leslie, Lee's mom, is pus.h.i.+ng a plate of french fries forward. She, me, Lee, and Lee's dad, Josh-are all squished into a back booth by the bar.

I take some. "Thanks."

"Sure."

Last year, Leslie had an affair with her Pilates instructor. "Oh, here, honey. Ketchup."

"Thank you."

Josh went ape-s.h.i.+t. Lee had a mini-meltdown. Everyone went to therapy. They're better now. Pretty much.

"The remodel looks great," I blather, feeling a fast pang of shame. "I got a quick peek last week when I was at the house." Newly redone bedroom and master bath.

"Great, right?" Josh now. "Terrific contractor."

I nod. And, "Here," I say to Lee, sliding his gift card sideways.

"Already? You're sure?"

"Yeah." I'm eager to get the gift giving over with.

"Thanks." We kiss quickly. Lee drops his fork and slides a finger under the envelope flap. "Oh." His chin wrinkles. "Oh, cool. Knox, thank you."

"You have that one graphic novel you like . . . ?"

"Blankets. Craig Thompson."

"Right. I thought I'd get you something similar, but then I couldn't remember the name of the book. Figured I'd let you choose something new." I smile insanely. Josh and Leslie smile back. Lee's smiling too. "Is it okay?" I say, feeling pathetically low.

"Hey, I love it." He puts his hand in my hair. Leans into me. Nudges me sweetly with the top of his head.

Tuesday. Six fourteen a.m. I'm in bed still, hitting snooze, trying to prolong a happy dream: Kate and me eating custardy flan on a San Francisco trolley. My cell bleeps. I bolt upright, eyes closed still, and feel around for it.

"h.e.l.lo?" My voice comes out raspy and broken.

"It's Julian."

I rub my face to wake up. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah."

"It's early."

"Couldn't sleep."

"Do you even have my number? How are you calling me?"

"Magic."

Happy rush. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. "So. Hi, I guess?"

"Hi." He sucks in some smoke. "I'm outside."

"Outside, where?"

"Like, outside, on your doorstep. Which one's your room?"

Instant sweat. I run to my window. There's Julian, on the lawn, looking left at my neighbor's apartment. "What're you doing here?"

"Proposition. Which one's yours? The one with the curtains?"

"Just-stay there, okay? And keep quiet, please? People are sleeping." I hope. I toss my phone to the floor, pull a pair of jeans off my desk chair, and throw a hoodie over my nightgown. Real quick, I scrub my teeth. Then I slip out the front door as quietly as I can. It's freezing out. I tuck my hands under my armpits.

"So?" I say, but all I can think about is my bare face and ratty hair. Julian looks like Julian. Beaten beauty. No fair.