up.
“Sorry.” Reid was standing back, his hands held out innocently. “Didn’t know if you
were awake.”
“I’m awake,” I said, waiting until I couldn’t hear my heartbeat pounding in my head
anymore. I pushed the hair out of my face and scanned the empty room. Just me and
Reid. I stared at my arm, where he had touched me, and wondered how long he’d been
standing there. Wondered why, if he wanted to see if I was awake, he didn’t just say
my name.
“You’re waiting for someone?”
“No,” I said, checking out the room again. Then I looked at Reid again and said, “No,
no one.”
“Oh, I just figured since you were sitting out here, and, you know, you weren’t there . . .” Reid was still standing on the other end of the couch. He was dressed up,
I assumed. Hard to tell at a prep school.
“I wasn’t where?”
“Fall Preview.”
I sat back down and pulled my legs underneath me. “Wasn’t really in the mood to preview.
Or to be previewed. What, did you think I got lost in the woods or something?”
“What? No . . .” Reid’s eyes jumped from bare wall to bare wall. “I said I’d see you
later. You said ‘later.’ But you weren’t there.”
I started to smile. I couldn’t help myself. I stood up and pointed my finger at his
chest. “You did. When I wasn’t there, you thought I got lost.”
“I did not — ”
I tilted my head back and laughed. “You thought you were gonna get in trouble.”
Reid threw his hands up. “Okay, fine. Fine. I wanted to make sure you got back okay. Happy?” But he was laughing too.
I cleared my throat. “Well, look,” I said. “I’m here and I’m alive. Your reputation
as a responsible tour guide remains intact.”
I walked past Reid, pushed open the hall door, and heard the buzzing of the fluorescent
lights in the ceiling. And I paused because it reminded me of that feeling that was
following me, waiting for me. Reid took a quick look toward the stairs on the other
side of the lounge and then scanned the empty room. “Can I come in?”
“Does that line usually work for you?” I asked over my shoulder.
“That’s not what I . . .” I couldn’t see his face, but I imagined it turning red during
the pause that followed. “Do you remember my dad’s funeral?” he asked a moment later.
I kept myself turned away from him because I did remember. I remembered everything
about it. It was the first funeral I’d ever been to, and I’d felt oddly detached from
reality. Like time was moving slower, or faster — like what happened there didn’t have any effect on the outside world. I had the feeling
that if I’d wanted to run, I wouldn’t have been able to. Like a dream where your legs
never really touch the ground.
“Do you remember?” Reid asked. “You knocked on my door and said, ‘Can I come in?’
I said no. But you came in anyway.”
And now I was too embarrassed by the whole thing to look him in the eye. “So you’re
going to come in even if I say no?”
“No,” he said. “That would be creepy.”
I felt him coming closer, in the way the air got thicker, warmer. “You know, you were
the only one who came in my room that day.” It felt like we were back there, two years
earlier, exactly where we’d left off.
I turned around. He was coming closer. Like the moment was unfinished, and he needed
to finish it. “Because your uncle told everyone you wanted to be left alone.” I put
my hands up, and he stopped walking. The whole thing was mortifying.
“And you’re the only one who didn’t listen. God, you were so bold . . .” Reid stared
past me, down the hall, like he was remembering this other version of me and not the
me who was standing in front of him.
I stepped into the hall, the door balancing against my hip. “Is that a yes?” he asked.
I thought about my room, and the emptiness, and the thing , and Brian’s mom somewhere nearby. I thought about all
“Sorry.” Reid was standing back, his hands held out innocently. “Didn’t know if you
were awake.”
“I’m awake,” I said, waiting until I couldn’t hear my heartbeat pounding in my head
anymore. I pushed the hair out of my face and scanned the empty room. Just me and
Reid. I stared at my arm, where he had touched me, and wondered how long he’d been
standing there. Wondered why, if he wanted to see if I was awake, he didn’t just say
my name.
“You’re waiting for someone?”
“No,” I said, checking out the room again. Then I looked at Reid again and said, “No,
no one.”
“Oh, I just figured since you were sitting out here, and, you know, you weren’t there . . .” Reid was still standing on the other end of the couch. He was dressed up,
I assumed. Hard to tell at a prep school.
“I wasn’t where?”
“Fall Preview.”
I sat back down and pulled my legs underneath me. “Wasn’t really in the mood to preview.
Or to be previewed. What, did you think I got lost in the woods or something?”
“What? No . . .” Reid’s eyes jumped from bare wall to bare wall. “I said I’d see you
later. You said ‘later.’ But you weren’t there.”
I started to smile. I couldn’t help myself. I stood up and pointed my finger at his
chest. “You did. When I wasn’t there, you thought I got lost.”
“I did not — ”
I tilted my head back and laughed. “You thought you were gonna get in trouble.”
Reid threw his hands up. “Okay, fine. Fine. I wanted to make sure you got back okay. Happy?” But he was laughing too.
I cleared my throat. “Well, look,” I said. “I’m here and I’m alive. Your reputation
as a responsible tour guide remains intact.”
I walked past Reid, pushed open the hall door, and heard the buzzing of the fluorescent
lights in the ceiling. And I paused because it reminded me of that feeling that was
following me, waiting for me. Reid took a quick look toward the stairs on the other
side of the lounge and then scanned the empty room. “Can I come in?”
“Does that line usually work for you?” I asked over my shoulder.
“That’s not what I . . .” I couldn’t see his face, but I imagined it turning red during
the pause that followed. “Do you remember my dad’s funeral?” he asked a moment later.
I kept myself turned away from him because I did remember. I remembered everything
about it. It was the first funeral I’d ever been to, and I’d felt oddly detached from
reality. Like time was moving slower, or faster — like what happened there didn’t have any effect on the outside world. I had the feeling
that if I’d wanted to run, I wouldn’t have been able to. Like a dream where your legs
never really touch the ground.
“Do you remember?” Reid asked. “You knocked on my door and said, ‘Can I come in?’
I said no. But you came in anyway.”
And now I was too embarrassed by the whole thing to look him in the eye. “So you’re
going to come in even if I say no?”
“No,” he said. “That would be creepy.”
I felt him coming closer, in the way the air got thicker, warmer. “You know, you were
the only one who came in my room that day.” It felt like we were back there, two years
earlier, exactly where we’d left off.
I turned around. He was coming closer. Like the moment was unfinished, and he needed
to finish it. “Because your uncle told everyone you wanted to be left alone.” I put
my hands up, and he stopped walking. The whole thing was mortifying.
“And you’re the only one who didn’t listen. God, you were so bold . . .” Reid stared
past me, down the hall, like he was remembering this other version of me and not the
me who was standing in front of him.
I stepped into the hall, the door balancing against my hip. “Is that a yes?” he asked.
I thought about my room, and the emptiness, and the thing , and Brian’s mom somewhere nearby. I thought about all
Similar Books
