was. She’s wearing a big pair of tortoiseshell glasses and picking at a fruit cup, peering down at the cards as Imogen flips them over.
Imogen looks up guiltily as I approach, offering a little wave.
I’m not really doing that anymore
, I think of her saying. What she meant was she wasn’t going to do it for me.
“Hi, guys.” I offer a watery, pulpy smile and glance at the major arcana cards laid out on the table—justice and judgment, temperance and strength—and wonder what question Tess wanted answered, if there’s anything she’s unsure of at all. I wonder what things are like between her and Patrick, if he tells her stupid jokes when she’s feeling worried. If he talks her back to sleep when she has bad dreams. I feel a fresh, familiar ache behind my rib cage, like re-tearing a muscle that never quite healed right.
He’s moved on
, I remind myself silently. Everyone has.
Except for me.
Patrick has a new girlfriend now. Imogen has a new best friend. Bristol was supposed to be this great fresh start, but the reality is I was a ghost there, too. I laid low. I did homework. I kept to myself. I thought of my time at boarding school like a jail sentence, and for the most part it suited me just fine.
More than two weeks at home now, though, and it occurs to me I’m still serving it out.
“I can do yours after this,” Imogen offers now, flipping over the Four of Cups and laying it down on the table—an olive branch, maybe, but I’m too exhausted and stung to reach out and take it. I shake my head and hold up my wallet. There’s no way I can tell her about Julia, I realize belatedly. I’ve got nobody to talk to here at all.
“I’ve gotta run,” I tell her, wanting to let the both of us off the hook—I lost her somehow, I was careless, same as I lost everything else I used to have. I don’t need the cards to shine a light on things for me. I already know I’m the fool.
Day 17
The next day Gabe comes by the Lodge with two cups of coffee and the hoodie I left at the party. “Here you go, Cinderella,” he announces. Fabian, who darted into Penn’s office with the giddy announcement that a
boy
was here to see me, peers at us openly from behind one of the fraying brocade sofas in the lobby.
“Cinderella left her shoe,” I inform Gabe, turning Fabian around by the shoulders and sending him off to find his sister with a pat between the skinny wings of his shoulder blades. “Not her grotty track sweatshirt from freshman year.”
Gabe grins. “I’m familiar with the fairy tale, thank you.”
“Thank
you
,” I correct. “For picking it up and everything.” I busy myself with the plastic lid on the coffee cup, taking way longer than I need to pull it back. I know in theory there’s no reason to feel embarrassed in front of Gabe—if I’m a slut, he’s a slut, right?—but all the piss and vinegar that had me agreeing to come to the party to begin with feels like it’s been bleached out by everything that’s happened in the last few days, like there’s no fight left inside me at all. Nobody’s putting condoms in Gabe’s locker, I don’t think.
“Hey, there.” As if he can read my thoughts, Gabe takes a step toward me, ducking his face to meet my gaze. “We’re on the same team, remember? You and me.” He scrubs at his neck, shakes his head a little. “Look, I know you caught the brunt of the bullshit when everything hit the fan, and I should have said something way before now. It’s messed up that I didn’t. But you and me, this summer and whenever else? We’re on the same team.”
That makes me smile in spite of myself, a warm, pleased flush. I try to remember the last time I had anybody else on my team, and can’t. Track, maybe. Maybe track. “We are, huh?” I tease, lips twisting. “Partners in shame and degradation?”
“Exactly.” Gabe laughs low and easy. I can’t tell if stuff genuinely rolls off his back like a duck in the lake, or if maybe he’s just a born
Imogen looks up guiltily as I approach, offering a little wave.
I’m not really doing that anymore
, I think of her saying. What she meant was she wasn’t going to do it for me.
“Hi, guys.” I offer a watery, pulpy smile and glance at the major arcana cards laid out on the table—justice and judgment, temperance and strength—and wonder what question Tess wanted answered, if there’s anything she’s unsure of at all. I wonder what things are like between her and Patrick, if he tells her stupid jokes when she’s feeling worried. If he talks her back to sleep when she has bad dreams. I feel a fresh, familiar ache behind my rib cage, like re-tearing a muscle that never quite healed right.
He’s moved on
, I remind myself silently. Everyone has.
Except for me.
Patrick has a new girlfriend now. Imogen has a new best friend. Bristol was supposed to be this great fresh start, but the reality is I was a ghost there, too. I laid low. I did homework. I kept to myself. I thought of my time at boarding school like a jail sentence, and for the most part it suited me just fine.
More than two weeks at home now, though, and it occurs to me I’m still serving it out.
“I can do yours after this,” Imogen offers now, flipping over the Four of Cups and laying it down on the table—an olive branch, maybe, but I’m too exhausted and stung to reach out and take it. I shake my head and hold up my wallet. There’s no way I can tell her about Julia, I realize belatedly. I’ve got nobody to talk to here at all.
“I’ve gotta run,” I tell her, wanting to let the both of us off the hook—I lost her somehow, I was careless, same as I lost everything else I used to have. I don’t need the cards to shine a light on things for me. I already know I’m the fool.
Day 17
The next day Gabe comes by the Lodge with two cups of coffee and the hoodie I left at the party. “Here you go, Cinderella,” he announces. Fabian, who darted into Penn’s office with the giddy announcement that a
boy
was here to see me, peers at us openly from behind one of the fraying brocade sofas in the lobby.
“Cinderella left her shoe,” I inform Gabe, turning Fabian around by the shoulders and sending him off to find his sister with a pat between the skinny wings of his shoulder blades. “Not her grotty track sweatshirt from freshman year.”
Gabe grins. “I’m familiar with the fairy tale, thank you.”
“Thank
you
,” I correct. “For picking it up and everything.” I busy myself with the plastic lid on the coffee cup, taking way longer than I need to pull it back. I know in theory there’s no reason to feel embarrassed in front of Gabe—if I’m a slut, he’s a slut, right?—but all the piss and vinegar that had me agreeing to come to the party to begin with feels like it’s been bleached out by everything that’s happened in the last few days, like there’s no fight left inside me at all. Nobody’s putting condoms in Gabe’s locker, I don’t think.
“Hey, there.” As if he can read my thoughts, Gabe takes a step toward me, ducking his face to meet my gaze. “We’re on the same team, remember? You and me.” He scrubs at his neck, shakes his head a little. “Look, I know you caught the brunt of the bullshit when everything hit the fan, and I should have said something way before now. It’s messed up that I didn’t. But you and me, this summer and whenever else? We’re on the same team.”
That makes me smile in spite of myself, a warm, pleased flush. I try to remember the last time I had anybody else on my team, and can’t. Track, maybe. Maybe track. “We are, huh?” I tease, lips twisting. “Partners in shame and degradation?”
“Exactly.” Gabe laughs low and easy. I can’t tell if stuff genuinely rolls off his back like a duck in the lake, or if maybe he’s just a born
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