Then You Were Gone Part 22

"Kate?"

"The one that dropped you off?"

I nod.

"It's nice, the way you are together. We were never like that, were we?"

Something hard and sharp solidifies in my heart. "No," I say. "We weren't." She's lonely. Of course. Years of pus.h.i.+ng people sideways, of manipulation and seduction and worthless, s.e.xy gestures-a wink, a lick-then what? Who's left now? "Why'd we stop talking?" I ask.

Her face falls. She crosses her ankles and clasps her hands like someone so virtuous and good. "I stopped liking you."

I swallow my shock. My belly-instantly rigid.

"You just-you let me do things to you," she continues. "Everything was always so easy. You were like a boy-super agreeable and pa.s.sive and doting."

She's right. I let her lead, always. She told me who to like and what to wear and how to play.

"I stopped respecting you." Her voice trembles a bit. Her mouth settles into a straight, unreadable line. "I wanted something, I dunno, mutual, I guess? And what we had? Nothing was ever even."

"So . . ." I see it now-all her faulty, f.u.c.ked-up logic. "That was a test, that kiss? You were testing me?"

She rolls her bottom lip between her pointer finger and thumb. "I don't know."

"Sure you do." It's her party trick. Seduce anyone! Your teacher, your bandmate, your best friend. "Anyone's f.u.c.kable, right?"

She glares back. "Right."

I stand up, hot with fury. "You're insane."

"No, I'm right."

"About what?"

"All anyone wants? Is to have their pretty, precious ego stroked." She's standing now. "No one wants anything real."

"That's stupid."

"It's true."

"You? You're not real."

"Right. No, I know. I'm the fantasy."

"You set traps."

"Yes! I do! And you all always fail."

I sit down, hands on head. Take three slow breaths. Pat my hair. "I wanted you to like me." My voice breaks. "You never seemed like you liked me."

"I did."

"Oh yeah? What'd you like about me?"

She laughs. "Can't remember."

I turn away, toward the wall. "I remember what I liked about you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well?"

"You were fun. For a while." I cluck my tongue. "You were really, really fun."

She's quiet for a bit. "You think I don't see anyone but myself."

I shrug.

Then, softly, as if whispering to a puppy or a child, "Hey, turn around." She touches my shoulder. "Hey, come on. I won't bite."

I don't believe her. I twist forward.

"People like me for the wrong reasons."

"Meaning?" I say, my patience waning.

She sighs heavily. "They want to screw me. Or know me. They like my music. They like the way I look." Her voice is flat. "My songs, my clothes-none of that's me."

I consider this. Recognize it. Me in Dakota's dresses, smoking her cigarettes, wearing her eyeliner. Lee wanting me. Me hating him for it. "I get it," I say, because suddenly, unexpectedly, I do.

Dakota slouches, relaxing slightly.

"But you make it that way, you know that, right? You invite it," I say. "You don't get to-" I stop, searching for the right a.n.a.logy. "-put up a sign selling fruit"-lame-"then get p.i.s.sed when people want to buy apples off you."

She blinks. Picks up the remote. Puts it back down. "I guess," she says softly, and the mood lifts a little. "How'd you meet Kate?"

"Ceramics. Soph.o.m.ore year. She and Lee-they were kind of, like, a package deal."

She looks at me. "Where's Lee now?"

"We broke up."

"Right, Julian."

"Nothing's happening with Julian-"

She makes a face.

"Well, I don't know," I say quickly, defensively. I look at the wall clock: 4:12. I look outside: nearly dark.

"I used to see you guys by the pool sometimes between periods. You and Lee."

"Yeah. We liked it there."

"You seemed happy."

"We were," I say, blotting my runny nose with my sweater sleeve. "I f.u.c.ked it up."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I say, nodding.

"Well." Dakota shrugs. "I relate. I f.u.c.k s.h.i.+t up all the time."

Right. At least I don't fake suicides and f.u.c.k a billion people and break hearts and set traps. I suppress a giggle.

"Go ahead, laugh," she says, pulling a Red Vine loose from an open package on the coffee table. "It's funny. I'm funny," she says, laughing now too. Chewing and sucking and rolling her eyes.

Elysian Park, two thirty, Sat.u.r.day.

Green trees. Brown gra.s.s. Men in white vans.

I'm waiting for Julian.

It's breezy and crisp. There're a gazillion dogs off leash. I used to come here all the time with Sam on hikes. We stopped a few years ago when we discovered the reservoir: flatter, less sketchy, just as many dogs but more babies in strollers.

I missed this. Eastside wilderness. Overgrown and a little grimy.

"Hi."

Two thirty-two. Here he is. "Hey."

"You ready?"

I nod and climb over the rusty guardrail.

"Haven't been here in forever," he says.

"Me neither."

"Nice, right?"

"Totally."

We stand at the base of the hill together, staring up.

"Steep."

"Yep."

"You have an okay week?" I ask. "You were out sick."

"I wasn't, really. I was just-home." Of course. Dakota fallout. She's back. He's reeling. He sticks a hand out. "Tired already. Help me up?"

I take his fingers, yanking hard. They're dry and hot, and touching him gives me the nuttiest little thrill. We run together, huffing, for a hard fifteen seconds. Then we rest, hunched over, inhaling and exhaling like old, fat men.

"What?" he says. A crooked look.

It's different, being with him. Things feel bright now, less dirty and sad. He looks the same, only shades pinker. No Dakota lens skewing my view.

"We don't really know each other," I hear myself say.

"No," he says, righting himself. "I guess we don't."

We're walking again.

"I went a little crazy this month."

"Oh yeah?"

"I don't really smoke, you know."

"Yeah, you make s.h.i.+tty smoke rings."

I smile, hands on hips, leaning into the incline. "I was an a.s.shole to Lee," I say. Lee. Who's on his third official day of doing Alice Reed. "Super s.h.i.+tty," I mumble. They get four full weeks of supper club-free of me-we agreed. Seems only fair. "Have you seen Dakota?" I ask. Julian's watching the ground, not me.

"Wednesday. I had some stuff of hers I wanted to get rid of."

Rid of. I relax, slightly. Still: "Happy to have her back?"

He frowns. "Happy she's safe." After a beat: "We're done, Dakota and me. You know that, right?" His brow scrunches up. "I mean, the whole s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g-my-lit-teacher thing . . . ?"

I laugh. Can't help it. Psychotic relief.

"Hey, look." He points.

We've plateaued. Beneath us, a deep, empty ravine. A runner and two dogs jog past, collars and keys jingling.

"It's all downhill," he says. There's a wonky, unhinged feeling in my chest. I look at my sneakers, powdered with gritty, gray dust. "Hey."