Read Online Where You End by Anna Pellicioli - Free Book Online Page A

good, and what’s your plan?”
    I cross my arms, hiding the address. “My plan? I don’t know, Adam. What’s yours?”
    â€œThe same it’s always been. To look at stuff around me, to let it in, to stay awake, ask questions, see the beauty and the pain and all that shit we used to talk about. Everything that makes us different.”
    â€œWell, watch out,” I say.
    â€œFor what? Watch out for what?”
    â€œAll of that.”
    â€œI’m not scared of life, Meem, and you shouldn’t let one sorry dude make you scared of it either.”
    I think of what Paloma said about me figuring it all out, how she picked me for a reason and she was sure I could help her. I pushed a Picasso, met with a runaway at the National Cathedral, and am now going to Columbia Heights to spy on her family. I’m not scared of life either.
    â€œYou haven’t been the same, and I get it,” he says. “I get that it’s hard, but I miss you. Everybody misses you.”
    â€œI’m sorry. Tell everybody I’m sorry.”
    â€œThat came out wrong.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
    â€œIt’s all right,” I say. “You were just trying to make the words say what you want to say and make me hear them as you want me to hear them.”
    â€œWhat?” Adam looks confused.
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œNo. Not nothing. What did you say?”
    â€œIt’s nothing, Adam. It’s from a poem.”
    â€œOh,” he whispers, examining my face for clues.
    I find my sweater and put it back on.
    â€œYou’re not going to explain anything, are you?” he asks.
    â€œI’ll see you tomorrow.”
    â€œYeah.”
    I wait for him to leave.
    â€œCan I ask you something?” he blurts.
    He’s still standing next to me.
    â€œSure.”
    â€œDid you tell your parents you went to the Winogrand?”
    I hate lying to this guy. “Yes.”
    â€œWhy did you do that?” he asks.
    â€œI just didn’t want to explain.”
    â€œBut you didn’t go, right? Because I didn’t … ”
    â€œI didn’t.”
    â€œDid you tell them about the sculpture?” he asks.
    I swallow hard and feel my face warming up. He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows.
    He looks worried. “Are you all right?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œBecause your mom didn’t know about it, and she was really messed up when I told her.”
    â€œWhat’d you tell her?”
    â€œThat someone knocked it over, and they tried to blame the school, but nobody knows who it was.”
    â€œOh,” I say, relieved but terrified. This adds a whole new layer to the lie.
    â€œShe kept saying she didn’t know why somebody would do that. You know how your mom is with her art. It’s like someone stabbed her dog or something.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œYou don’t have a dog.”
    â€œNope.”
    He shrugs and turns toward the door. I’m not quite done.
    â€œHey Adam,” I say before he can leave, “do you think it’s a big deal to knock over a sculpture?”
    â€œWell, it’s a Picasso, but nobody stole it, and maybe it was falling apart in the first place.”
    â€œBut you said that couldn’t be.”
    â€œI did?”
    â€œYes? You said those things don’t just fall over. You said it’s impossible.”
    â€œYeah, well, I could be wrong.”
    In theory, but he isn’t. Someone saw me push it.
    â€œAre you sure you’re all right?” Adam asks.
    I really do hate lying to this guy, so I walk past him without answering, toward my bathroom, and my hand brushes his leg on the way out. I turn on the shower and let the steam swallow me up. I run over our conversation many times before my neck relaxes under the hot water, then I draw a square on the glass and wipe it clear with my hands. I see tweezers, toothpaste, a cotton puff.