I get my books and head to class.
Already I’ve failed to complete an assignment on time, but I don’t let it rattle me. Morgan often turned in work late, but she had a knack for getting around the teachers. After class, I pause at the instructor’s desk. “I’m sorry. It’s been … rough. I’ll turn in the assignment tomorrow.”
Mrs. Flanagan gives me a soft smile. “I understand. To be honest, I’m a little surprised to find you back in school already, Morgan.”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” I murmur.
“Let me know if I can do anything. Any of us, really. I’m so sorry.” She doesn’t say “about Liv” but I can see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice.
“Thanks.”
I have barely enough time to make it to my next class, where the art kids surround me. There’s Oscar, and walking beside him, I spot Goth white girl Sarah Miller. Quickly I identify the other four. Tish Jones is a pretty, black artist who creates exquisite pen and ink sketches. Emma Lin is an aspiring musical actress of Filipina descent; she also threw the last party I attended as Liv. White farm boy Eric Mitchell, and Ben Patel, whose grandparents are from India, round out the group. Eric is in choir, and Ben kills it on the debate team, so it’s unfair to dub them strictly art kids.
Whatever their classification, they’re determined to annex me, it seems, so when lunch rolls around, I follow them into the cafeteria and eat at their table. Halfway through the period, I feel eyes on me and glance around. Nathan’s staring at me from the double doors, practically daring me to confront the situation. I’m sure he expects a haughty chin lift and a silent pretense that it never happened.
But I’m Liv, not Morgan. That’s the main reason I need to stay away from him, but we can’t settle this through avoidance. I can control myself, right?
I nod and pack up what’s left of my lunch. “Bathroom,” I mutter, pushing to my feet.
The others are talking about some Lithuanian artist and Morgan would probably know why his work is so exciting whereas I’d only get so enthusiastic over the potential for advancement in stem cell research. Nathan has disappeared but I know he’s waiting for me in the courtyard. That’s where we sat before the kiss.
Sure enough, he’s on a bench, leaning forward, hands between his knees. From the other side of the patio doors, I touch the glass between us, tracing the line of his slumped shoulders. What happened yesterday, that has to be the last time. Maybe I knew that on some level, and that’s why I got so carried away. Dead girls don’t usually get the chance to kiss their boyfriends good-bye.
I push through the door and join him in the warm, balmy air, perfumed with kitchen herbs and sweet-smelling flowers. He glances up as I sit down and smooth the white-and-red patterned cotton across my knees. Morgan’s legs are long and graceful; I can’t even fault him for staring when I cross them.
“I owe you an apology,” he says.
Of all directions I thought this conversation would go, I never predicted that one. I expected blame or possibly a demand that I break up with Clay immediately. Maybe that’s my own guilt talking. But Nathan’s a good guy at the core. Maybe I should’ve seen this coming.
“Me too.”
“No, it was my fault. You were just trying to be a decent human being. I wish I could blame the booze, but…” A long sigh shudders out of him. “Honest to God, I don’t know what came over me. I must be losing my mind.”
Why? I want to ask so bad, but I’m afraid he’ll tell me that it’s because I reminded him of Liv. Which is awful because that’s exactly what I was trying to do. But now that I can see the damage, the confusion and pain … I have to accept that this is a closed door. I have to.
Even if it feels like I’m dying.
“You were drunk,” I say. “And sometimes that’s enough to make you do stupid things.”
For the first time, Nathan meets my gaze, a half-smile curving his mouth. “Are you calling yourself a stupid thing?”
“Sometimes I am.” It’s impossible not to be honest.
“Me too,” he mutters. “So … are you planning to tell Clay?”
“Do you want me to? I can. I don’t want him to get hurt later.”
“You think I’ll get wasted again and brag about it?” Nathan stares at me, hard, like he isn’t sure what to make of me.
“More like you’ll be overcome with drunken remorse and want to make amends. But it’ll be worse if he finds out that way, not from me.”
“Then yeah. Tell him.” He pauses, his gaze dropping to his hands. I don’t make the mistake of touching him. Neither of us can handle it.
Nathan acts like a sandcastle while I’m the flamethrower threatening to melt him into a sheet of glass. But I don’t react to that either.
“I’ll make sure he understands the circumstances. You weren’t thinking of me.” It hurts to add this part. “You were missing her.”
“That’s the weird part,” he whispers. “When I’m with you, I don’t. And that’s why I need to stay away. If I start thinking of you as the only painkiller that works, it’ll hurt the one person left who gives a shit about me.”
He’s not the only one.
But there’s a limit to how much comfort I can or should offer as Morgan. If I keep hanging out with Nathan, it’ll only confuse him more. Me too, for that matter. The girl he loves is dead, even if I remember being her.
“I have a question.”
His brows go up. “Is this on topic?”
“Kind of. I’d like to check on Liv’s family but I don’t know…”
“If you’ll make it better or worse.” Nathan sighs. “I so know how you feel. It’s like my life’s been cut in two, you know? I used to spend half my time over there, eating dinner with her folks, and now I wonder if they’d even want to see me.”
“So you don’t know the answer either.”
“We should check in,” he decides eventually. “Have your fancy housekeeper bake something. If the vibe is weird, we can make a quick escape.”
The atmosphere is better between us now, more normal. And though it wasn’t my intention, I’ve gotten his mind off everything. It’s impossible to obsess over your own issues when you’re worried about someone else, and we both care about Mom, Dad, and Jason. I used to tease Nathan that half my appeal was my awesome family.
So much for my brief resolve to keep my distance. But this is different, right?
“Then … I get my stitches out next week. After that I’ll be clear to drive, so I can pick you up. Should we call first?”
“Probably.” He’s looking more cheerful.
My chest eases a bit.
“Okay. I’ll call Liv’s mom next Tuesday. By Wednesday I’ll be good to go.”
“Wednesday won’t work. I have swim practice and after that, I have a meeting.” He doesn’t tell me what kind, and Morgan probably wouldn’t be curious.
“Thursday?”
“Yeah. I’ll see you then.” Nathan stands and heads out of the courtyard first.
When I get up, I find a cluster of girls watching us. One of them is frowning, like I’m not allowed to talk to my dead best friend’s boyfriend. They glare as a unit.
“… so wrong.”
I’m supposed to hear that, but I pretend I don’t and keep walking. Is this what it was like for Morgan? On the surface she has everything, but each step in her shoes is painful. A while back, I read this horror story about a demon that doesn’t die. Instead it leaps from body to body, an ethereal parasite. The host is slowly strangled to silence while this thing takes over their life. It was fiction, but I wonder …
Do monsters always know what they are?