Tuesday, July 5

PRAGUE

At the beginning of June, on the night that Aubrey kissed Gabe, Rae could tell something was wrong.

She hadn’t known what exactly—Aubrey hadn’t told her yet—but she could still tell. She was practically psychic when it came to Aubrey.

They’d gone to a cast party at a pub, and after that, Aubrey and Clara had come over to stay at Rae’s house. Clara fell asleep on the couch, watching Lucy’s DVDs of Twin Peaks, but Aubrey and Rae were wide-awake. What’s wrong? Rae mouthed. Aubrey scratched Iorek behind the ears and nodded toward the back door.

It was raining, so they put on coats and Wellies before heading across the lawn toward the tiny guesthouse, where Rae’s mom had her art studio. Rae turned on the Edison bulbs that hung from the ceiling and the lamp on her mom’s drafting table. Aubrey just stood there, water from her coat and boots dripping onto the floor. After the room had been lit up, section by section, Aubrey said, “I kissed Gabe.”

“What?” Rae nearly fell over. “Wait, dude, what? Are you being serious?”

“When am I ever not serious?”

“Okay, okay. I officially need more information. You have to tell me everything.”

Aubrey sat on the ground. “It was right after the play. He kissed me—or maybe I kissed him. I think we both went for it at the same time.”

“Holy fuck!”

“Exactly.” Aubrey looked so depressed. Outside, rain drummed against the windows. The room was filled with art books and pots of brushes and sketches tacked to the walls. Some of them were of Aubrey and Rae when they were kids, sharing ice-cream bars and sleeping on the couch with Iorek. Rae’s favorite was of the two of them dressed as Sherlock and Watson on Halloween five years ago.

“I have to tell Jonah,” Aubrey said.

“Aubrey,” Rae said, “not to be dramatic or anything, but why the hell would you do that?”

“Because I have to. I cheated on him. I cheated on my boyfriend—I can’t lie about that.”

“It’s only lying if you say good news, Jonah, I never kissed Gabe. What I’m suggesting is you avoid the topic altogether.”

Aubrey pulled the hood of her raincoat over her head and crossed her arms. It was officially summer break, and the days were starting to get warm, but the rain had cooled down the air again. “I can’t believe I’m such a skank,” she said.

“Don’t say that,” Rae said. “I hate that word.”

“What else do you call someone who cheats on their boyfriend?”

“I call them a person. A person who got carried away, because graduation is coming up and Gabe is one of your best friends and the two of you have this whole weird history together.”

Aubrey’s eyes filled with alarm. “But I shouldn’t have weird history with my boyfriend’s best friend.”

“Of course you should! Women can have weird history with whoever they want.”

Aubrey shrank further into her coat. “You’re only being nice about this because you care about me. And because you’ve kissed so many people.”

Rae scoffed. “Guys can kiss as many people as they want. Why can’t we? Anyway, kissing is just—faces smashing against each other. It’s the same thing you do with an ice-cream cone. One kiss means nothing, Aubs. Unless… I mean, unless you want it to mean something?”

“No.” Aubrey frowned at the carpeted floor, at the dark spots of water that kept falling from her clothes. “I really don’t.”

Rae didn’t say anything else, although she wanted to; she could tell that Aubrey needed a while to think.

The rain grew louder, and Rae got up to dig through her mom’s stuff, looking for the bags of candy Lucy kept hidden there. They spread their raincoats out like picnic blankets and lay down on them, eating mini Mars bars and listening to the gusts of wind that creaked in the studio walls. Toward morning, the storm finally began to clear. And Aubrey and Rae went back inside, where Clara was still sleeping and Lucy had made them breakfast.

Just like that night in June, Rae could tell something was wrong.

But this time, Aubrey wouldn’t talk to her about it.

The whole train ride from Berlin to Prague, she just curled up by the window next to Rae, not saying a word, looking like she was about to start crying. Gabe wasn’t saying anything, either. He disappeared into his headphones, eyes blank as he stared at the back of the seat in front of him. Rae was floored. Why on earth had Jonah left? And what was Aubrey hiding from her?

The only conclusion that made any sense at all was that Aubrey and Jonah had broken up.

And that maybe Gabe had something to do with it?

“Broken up?” Clara asked when they were finally in Prague. She and Rae sat on the front steps of their hostel, sharing a bottle of soda they’d bought at the station. It was evening, and the sky above the buildings was stained lavender and red. Broken bottles and cigarette butts littered the cobblestone ground, and across the street, Rae could see a few cheap souvenir shops, the space between them tagged with graffiti. But when she tilted her head back, all of that went away. The world transformed into buildings painted pistachio green and rose pink. It became clock faces set in gold, and pigeons landing on elaborate, curling cornices. The city was so ornate and old-fashioned, it reminded Rae of a music box.

“I guess so,” she said, still staring at the buildings. “Why else would Jonah run away like that?”

“But they’re Jonah and Aubrey,” Clara said. “They never even fight.”

“It’s the summer before college. Tons of people break up now.”

“But where did he even go?” Clara asked.

“No clue.” Rae looked down, rubbing the bottle of soda between her hands. “He could be anywhere, I guess?” But she had to admit, it was weird. She’d never imagined Jonah and Aubrey breaking up like this—dramatically, in the middle of a foreign country. As a couple, they’d always been pretty low-key, so how could they just end everything? Had Jonah found out Aubrey had kissed Gabe after the musical? And if so, why wouldn’t Aubrey just tell her about it?

The door to the hostel opened, and a group of college-age kids tromped down the steps to the sidewalk. Some of them were already drinking cans of beer, and they were all arguing about what bar they should go to. Clara stood up, and Rae’s heart sank. Obviously, Clara wanted to talk to them. Maybe she wanted to tag along to the bar, which sucked, because Rae had liked hanging out alone. Clara dusted off the back of her dress and slung her vintage purse over her shoulder. “Let’s do something,” she said.

“Like what?” Rae asked.

“I don’t know.” Clara threw up her hands. “Let’s get food. Or see Prague. I can’t sit around like this anymore. It’s making me antsy.”

Rae played with the cap of the soda bottle. “What if Aubrey tries to find us? What if she wants to tell us what happened?”

“No problem. We’ll go for a quick walk and we’ll come right back. Besides, when will you get another first night in Prague?”

Rae looked back at the blue-painted door of the hostel. But she knew Clara was right—they wouldn’t be gone for long. She got up, and the two of them wound through a maze of narrow cobblestone streets. The buildings they passed were lit up like parts of a theater set: gold letters stenciled onto their façades, carved angels perched on their window ledges. None of it seemed real. It was an image taken straight from a fairy tale.

Clara tugged at one of her long, silvery leaf-shaped earrings. “If Aubrey and Jonah are really broken up, do you think we’ll have to choose sides?”

“It’s not really a choice, is it?” Rae said. “We’d obviously take Aubrey’s.”

“But we don’t even know what happened.”

“They broke up. What else is there to know?”

Clara chewed her lip. They walked under a streetlamp, which cast a spotlight over both of them. “But it’s complicated,” Clara said. “I mean, Jonah’s our friend, too. And I’ve known him since middle school. He was so small and cute then. He used to embarrass himself in PE all the time.”

“Aubrey embarrasses herself in PE, too,” Rae said. “You can’t make this decision based on athletic ability.”

Clara tugged at her earring again. “But if you automatically take Aubrey’s side, and Gabe automatically takes Jonah’s, my vote is extra important. It tips the scales.”

Rae had never thought of their friendship dynamics as particularly complicated before, but maybe they were. “It probably doesn’t matter,” she said. “We’re all leaving soon anyway. Technically, everyone is breaking up with everyone, right?”

Clara’s face fell.

Rae cringed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make it sound so depressing.”

“No, no,” Clara said. “It’s fine.”

But clearly it wasn’t. “I think I’m just hungry,” Rae said. “Should we get food?”

They walked into a square where all the stores were closed except for a small donut stand in the center. “See!” Rae said. “It’s a sign.”

“A sign of what?” Clara asked.

“A sign of donuts! A sign of sugar! The greatest signs of all time, if you ask me.”

Rae ordered two donuts, which came wrapped in thick, greasy paper and warmed their fingers. They made the summer air smell like cinnamon. “Amazing,” Clara said, her voice muffled by a bite.

“It’s like funnel cake,” Rae said, “but with jam. Don’t you think everything is better with jam?”

Clara laughed through a mouthful of dough, putting Rae at ease. They were standing on the edge of the quiet square now. “Is it just me,” Rae said, “or does this place feel kind of fake to you?”

“Fake?” Clara swallowed.

“Not in a bad way. It’s like a set. Actually, it made me remember something: When my mom and I moved to London, one of the first things she did was take me to a ballet. And obviously, I thought it was terrible—so unbelievably boring—but I did like the sets. They were—otherworldly. They felt like this.”

Clara smiled softly. “And you pretend you’re not a theater nerd.”

“Yeah, well. It’s my deepest, darkest secret.” They’d both finished eating, but they were still standing there, still watching each other. Rae thought back to this morning on the train and last night in the hostel. She felt like something was changing. She cleared her throat. “I guess we should head back now?”

But as she stepped away, Clara blurted, “Let’s not?”

Rae stopped, giving her a curious look, and Clara fixed her hair around her ears. “I mean, we’ve barely seen anything yet. We should keep walking. Just for a few more minutes.”

“Sure,” Rae said. “A few more minutes sounds good.”

The streetlights burned orange against the stone; they brought out its texture as Rae and Clara approached an archway leading into another square. They stepped through, and Rae’s breath caught.

The cobblestones stretched to the corners of her vision, silhouettes of churches and bell towers cresting the square’s edges. In the center, a band played—a boy hunched over a keyboard and a girl in a long, drapey dress played the violin, occasionally stopping to sing into a microphone.

Rae and Clara stepped closer.

“I love the way her dress moves,” Clara said, her voice a whisper.

Rae had forgotten her camera, but she didn’t need it. When she drew this later, she knew she would remember every detail: the heavy lines of the churches; the fluid lines of the singer and her dress; the small crowd huddled by the band; and the kids that broke off, chasing pigeons through pools of golden light.

And she would remember Clara: her bright-pink lipstick and her dress printed with bluebirds; the way her hair was pulled back by that single bobby pin; the way her lips were parted in awe.

Maybe this was why Prague felt like make-believe to Rae. So impossible and unreal. Because she was alone with Clara. Because this whole city could have been set up for them, each place waiting for them to find it.

“Come on.” Clara nodded toward an alleyway between two buildings. “That church looks pretty. We can probably still hear the music, too.” They walked until they couldn’t see the square anymore, but Clara was right: They could still hear the music. Rae perched on a stone shelf that jutted from the side of the church, and Clara stood in front of her, twisting a strand of hair around her index finger.

“This is better, isn’t it?” she said. “Less crowded?”

“Way less crowded,” Rae agreed. She kicked her feet against the stone while Clara kept twisting her hair and looking up at the church that Rae was leaning against. Rae wanted to say something—something funny and charming, something that would calm the nervous fluttering in her stomach. The music echoed off the walls as if it were playing just for them.

Clara let go of her hair. “Could I ask you something?”

“Go for it.” Rae tried to sound light, like she hadn’t noticed how private this place was. Like that didn’t matter to her at all.

“You never really explained this, but—why Australia? I mean, I know you wanted to go somewhere different. But of all the places in the world, why there?”

“I told you,” Rae said. “It’s just where I imagined myself.”

Clara ran her hands down the front of her dress. “But you didn’t tell me why you imagined yourself there. And you also said you were scared to go.”

Rae frowned. The music had stopped for a moment, and the instruments were tuning. “I wanted a blank slate. And anyway, isn’t that the whole point of graduating and leaving home? Isn’t this when we’re supposed to do things that are different and scary?”

“I guess,” Clara said, “but you don’t have to go to Australia for that. There are a thousand good schools in a thousand places you’ve never lived. And you’re really talented, Rae. You could have gone anywhere you wanted.”

Rae crossed her arms. Why was Clara lecturing her on making good life choices? “Maybe,” she said, “but you’re talented, too, Clara. Why did you only apply to schools in California? What about ones in England? Or New York?”

“All my aunts and uncles live on the West Coast. And my sister goes to Stanford. I know I joke about having an overprotective family, but I still want to be close to them.”

“Yeah,” Rae said bitterly, “but if you went to New York, you could be close to Leah.”

Clara’s expression was stunned. “Why would I want that?”

“Maybe you don’t remember”—Rae hopped down from the stone—“but you told me that you and Leah were, like, an item or whatever.”

“Rae. Leah and I were never an item.”

Rae shoved her hands in her pockets. “Look. We don’t have to get into it. And if you’re worried I’m going to tell everyone that you’re queer, you don’t have to be. I wouldn’t do that.”

“I’m not worried.” Clara looked so upset that it made Rae feel nauseous. But she couldn’t take this anymore. She couldn’t take the constant push and pull, the constant hope of thinking that maybe Clara liked her, the constant disappointment of realizing, yet again, that she didn’t. Rae just wanted to go back to the hostel—to focus on Aubrey’s issues instead.

She started to leave, but Clara reached for her arm. “You never answered my question last night,” she said.

Rae was thrown. “What question?”

Clara flushed. The music started again and cascaded down the walls. “You know which question. I asked you, who would you kiss if you could kiss anyone?”

The humidity in the air was suddenly unbearable—Rae’s skin had turned hot, her breathing constricted. “Okay,” she said. “I think maybe you’re trying to make me feel better. But you don’t have to do that. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m being pretty surly right now.”

“No,” Clara said. “I’m not trying to do that.”

And then she kissed Rae.

Rae froze in place.

The music rushed into her ears, and, slowly, her lips began to soften. Her hands touched Clara’s arms, and Clara’s touched hers. But Rae’s mind was still racing—it was reminding her of all the girls she’d kissed before. Girls at school dances and in front of tube stations and in the quiet art room after school. It brought up a memory of the first girl she’d ever kissed. Dana Silverstein had invited her over for a Grey’s Anatomy marathon when—halfway through the second episode, while some doctor was yelling at some other doctor—they’d leaned together, their lips meeting for a few brief seconds. Ever since then, Rae had kissed girls and they’d kissed her, and it had always been fun and sweet and perfectly right.

But not as right as this.

Not as right as Clara’s lips tasting like cinnamon sugar, or her hands fluttering to Rae’s waist, or the way her hair moved across Rae’s shoulders.

They backed against the stone, the building keeping Rae steady as she fell deeper into this—into this dark corner, this night, this kiss. The fabric of Clara’s dress pressed up against her bare legs; her hand now rested against the side of Clara’s neck. The night felt heavy, like it was draped over them, protecting them. And the world was spinning so fast, it was shaking beneath their feet.

“Rae,” Clara murmured against her mouth. “I think that’s your phone. Your phone is vibrating.”

Rae blinked drowsily. “My phone?”

It had to be her mom. Oh God, Rae was going to be so mad if it was her mom. Clara stepped back a little, but her hand lingered on Rae’s hip. She was still right there, lipstick smudged, eyes shining. Rae yanked the phone out of her pocket, and Aubrey’s name jumped out at her. She fumbled to answer it.

“Aubs?” she said. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Rae?” Aubrey asked, but there was too much background noise. Her voice was garbled with sobs, and Rae could barely make out what she was saying. “I—I’m at this—this bar. I don’t know where it is. Please. Wherever you are, please come find me.”