Chapter Nine
3 Years, 50 Weeks, 0 Days
I go to parties in college for the same reason I did in high school—to forget.
In the two weeks after my and Jack’s meeting at the fountain, I realize just how important parties are. I’m not one of those people who like big crowds, but I don’t hate them, either. They’re useful—when there are so many people around you, talking and laughing and living their lives, you start to forget your own. You can get lost in them, in their energy, in the crowd itself. For all of the seven hours the party is going on, I don’t have to think about Jack, about his voice saying, I apologize for leading you into thinking we were something more than friends. For a brief moment between shots of vodka, I forget he ever said that, and the seed of hope in my chest that he still likes me can glow warmly. It’s an illusion, a fake, but it’s so pleasant and soft I do everything I can to live in it. And that means lots of parties.
If you asked high school me if I was thinking about becoming a college party girl, she would’ve laughed in your face. High school me was smarter than that. She was smarter than I am now. But pain does funny things to people, and denial is the only sweet release, no matter how temporary.
So yeah—I dance. I drink until I puke. I sleep on someone else’s bed, or floor, in someone else’s locked room to keep the wolves out. And when I wake up, I do it all again. For as long as I can, until classes start or a worried Yvette calls.
After two weeks, I’m starting to feel okay. Numb, but okay.
But God must’ve heard my prayers for something good to happen. And Buddha. And frankly every god ever worshipped on this green earth, because Kayla texts me with incredibly great news on Thursday.
Wren and I are back in Northplains for fall break! Let’s meet up!
With all the controlled grace of a choking mule, I make excited noises and text her back. We agree to meet up at a coffee shop nearby, and I’ll give them the grand tour of my campus. Wren—always the quiet, calming presence—asks me if Jack will be there. Kayla’s told him he goes here, of course, so I don’t bother denying it. But affirming it makes my insides roil. Yeah, he’s here, and Wren knows it. He has to know Nameless goes here, too. I hope he isn’t planning to hang out with him. It’d ruin my life forever. Or maybe just my appetite.
The next few days pass like molasses on an igloo in December, until Friday finally arrives in all its weekend-ish glory. I throw on a pair of comfortable jeans and a very fluffy sweater so I can pick at it while I wait. The coffee shop is practically empty, and I try and fail to sit still. The double shot of espresso doesn’t exactly help, but I thought it would, and I’m so very wrong, and what if Kayla and Wren are way more mature than me now? What if they’re studious and serious and full of Worldly Information I’ll Never Understand™, like how to balance a checkbook or how to order takeout without getting an anxiety attack, and what if Kayla’s made new girlfriends, better girlfriends who don’t say “butt crack” and think out loud—
“There you are!”
A Kayla-shaped blur launches into my chest, hugging me fiercely. I hug her back tentatively, and she pulls away, her sheet of silky brown hair longer than I remember. Her smile is the same, though, so infectious and golden I can’t help but smile my biggest right back.
“Holy shit, you look great!” I state the obvious in an excited voice. She laughs and looks me over from head to toe.
“And you look way better! I love that sweater! Did you get taller?”
“I think so? It’s hard to tell when everyone around here is the rough height of a frost troll.”
“Frost trolls don’t live near cities.” Wren’s patient voice comes from behind Kayla. “They hate technology.”
“Wren!” I throw my arms around his neck. He adjusts his glasses and smiles when we part. His pale hair is slicked back smartly, just like I remember it, and his sensible khaki pants and button-up shirt never cease to amaze me with the sheer amount of absolute boredom contained in one outfit. But it suits him. It always has.
“It’s good to see you, Isis,” he says.
“You, too!”
“Seriously, though, you’d be more likely to see a forest troll—”
“All right, Mr. Dungeons & Dragons, give it a rest.”
“He joined MIT’s campus club for it.” Kayla winks at me, and Wren goes pink.
“I did not!”
“And the math club, and the chess club, and the Helpful Hand charity club, and a bunch of others, but he kept looking longingly at the D&D application.” Kayla laughs. “So I filled it out for him and turned it in.”
Wren rubs the bridge of his nose. “I just didn’t think an impractical club like that would look good on résumés.”
“It’s okay to have fun once in a million-year cycle,” I chime. He shoots me a small grin.
“All right already. I’m in it, I’m a half-elf paladin, and none of you can make fun of me for it, period.”
“Ugh, seriously Wren? A half elf? Everyone and their mother and their mother’s grandmother wants to be a half elf! If you’re going to indulge in a little fantasy role-playing, the least you could do was be less obvious.” I roll my eyes. Kayla laughs again and goes to the counter to order her tea.
“What would you be then, Madam Rebel?” He smirks.
“A dwarf warrior. With a giant hammer. If I’m the most awesome person alive in real life, I’m sure as hell gonna be the most awesome in the realm of Dragonsville, too.”
We fritter away hours in the coffee shop, eating cake and catching up on one another’s lives. Kayla’s slogging through her calculus class, but acing everything else. Wren tutors her off and on, when he isn’t volunteering for a hundred club activities and doing every piece of extra credit he can get his hands on. For once, he doesn’t have the highest grade in every single class, and he says it’s more freeing than anything, like the pressure to be the best all the time and keep that number-one spot is gone from his chest. Of course, he struggled to let that “be the best” urge go, and it was painful, but he managed.
I tell them the abridged version of life at Ohio State—I’m keeping up in most of my classes, nearly failing two, and my roommate is fantastic.
“I’m so jealous.” Kayla sighs. “Mine is awful. She leaves her dirty underwear everywhere—even on my bed!”
“You live with a goblin.” I make a face. “And not the gold-hoarding D&D kind.”
“We’re planning to get an apartment together after the school year is over,” Wren says, and he and Kayla share a tender look.
“Seriously? That’s fantastic! Can I come visit you and eat all your food?”
“Only some,” Kayla insists.
“Most,” I barter.
The bells over the coffee shop door ring, though I’m so lost in bargaining with Kayla about how much of her bubble bath I’ll get to use when I visit them, I don’t notice who comes in. Wren gets up, making some excuse about the bathroom. Only when Kayla looks over my shoulder does she gasp.
“Oh crap, is that who I think it is?”
I look behind me. In black jeans and a jacket stands Jack Hunter, perusing the pastries. But he isn’t here alone.
“Can I get that one, puh-lease?” a girl begs at his arm. I recognize the voice—how could I not? It’s Hemorrhoid, the chick from the pool party. I try not to look at where they’re touching, something about it making me feel sick to my stomach. Thankfully they can’t see our table; the mottled glass partition is right in front of us, and I shrink behind it more.
“Fine, Brittany.” Jack sighs. “But just that one, and then we get out of here.”
Kayla looks to me, then her, then to Jack, and then back to me, and her eyes narrow.
“Is Jack…dating that girl?” The way Kayla says it, it might as well be poisonous, with how much hate it’s steeped in.
“I guess?” I shrug and try my hardest to play it off cool, leaning heavily on all the numbness I’ve built up over the weeks. “Who cares?”
“You don’t?” She frowns. “Isis, what the hell happened? Last time we talked, you were pissed at him but still willing to insult him. You can’t just ‘who cares’ this!”
Kayla’s voice draws Hemorrhoid’s attention, and I pull at her arm.
“Hey, please, let’s not do this here.”
“You can’t just—”
“Jack,” Wren says, coming out of the bathroom. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Kayla and I freeze, watching Jack and Wren. Jack can’t see our table. All he can see is Wren, his icy eyes suddenly hard.
“Wren,” he says. “When did you get back into the state?”
“Just today. Here for the weekend, for fall break. It’s weird how Ohio and Massachusetts schools have completely different schedules.” Wren smiles, and Kayla and I look at one another warily. Since when is Wren able to talk to Jack face-to-face?
“I wouldn’t call it weird so much as typical,” Jack says. Hemorrhoid is too busy with her croissant to butt in. There’s an awkward pause. I spot Wren’s hands behind his back, balled up and slightly shaking. He’s nervous, but he’s trying.
“Who’s your friend?” Wren asks innocently. Jack narrows his eyes.
“It’s really none of your business.”
“Where did you go?” Wren says quickly, never missing a beat. “After Sophia’s funeral?”
Jack’s eyes flash with the briefest spark of anger. “Away. Obviously.”
“Right.” Wren exhales. “Well, any time you want to stop being a prickly bastard and start talking to me like a normal human being who loved the same girl you did, albeit in a different way, you let me know. You still have my number.”
Wren walks over to our table, Jack’s eyes following him. I duck farther behind the partition, desperately hoping he doesn’t recognize the sweater arm he can see as mine. He doesn’t, leaving with Hemorrhoid after she’s gotten her croissant. Wren watches them go, and Kayla stands up, her chair squeaking with the sudden effort.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“To punch him.” Kayla smiles, but Wren puts his hand on hers.
“Kayla, let it go.”
“Let me go! He can’t just date someone other than Isis!” Kayla stamps her foot.
“He can,” Wren says quietly. “And he is.”
“But—” Kayla looks to me. “Isis, are you okay with it?”
I start to say no, the word half formed on my lips. But that would be wrong. I’m just fine with it. I have to be. I have to be, or all the effort, all the parties, all the other boys, all the drinking—all the work I did to put distance between Jack and me will crumble and leave me right where I started: alone, and sad, and tired of being alone and sad.
“It’s fine,” I say. “It’s his life—he can do whatever he wants.”
“Not when it hurts my best friend!” Kayla snaps, and starts to move, but Wren grips harder.
“Kayla, please.”
“Look at her, Wren!” Kayla gestures to me. “I’ve never seen her this quiet and amiable in my life! She’s like…she’s like almost normal! Something’s seriously wrong!”
“I’m still here, you know,” I say.
Kayla deflates. “Look, Isis, I’m sorry, but I’m also not sorry because this is seriously a fucked-up situation.”
“I’m okay,” I raise my voice a notch. “I’m okay. Right now, with you guys here, I’m just fine. And you’re only here for two days. Let’s not ruin our time together with shit like this, okay? Please. For me.”
Wren and Kayla share a look. Finally, Kayla sinks into her seat and breathes deep.
“Okay. I’ll try to not punch Jack through the stratosphere while I’m here. All bets are off for when I come by during winter break, though.”
For once in my life, I don’t say what I’m thinking. I wait, and I listen as Wren tries to cover the awkward silence with chitchat while my heart sinks heavy in my chest. Is this what it feels like to be normal? So disappointed with yourself and everyone else you can’t talk at all? I should’ve said something. I should’ve gotten up and walked over to Jack and Hemorrhoid and said exactly what was on my mind, that I’m sad he’s with her and not me. But I didn’t. Who even am I? Is the real Isis with the body-snatching Zabadoobians? How can I get her to come back and replace this lifeless clone I’ve become?
No—I’m not lifeless. I’m doing everything I should be doing; I go to parties and smile and drink and do my assignments and essays. I kiss. I don’t tell. I do everything a girl in college should be doing.
So why does it feel so wrong when I catch the barest glimpse of Jack?
He knew me before college. He knew me during one of the most chaotic years of my life. He knows me. Maybe that’s why it feels so wrong. No one else has known me like he has—seen through me, to the person inside me, so truly and quickly. Maybe that’s why it feels wrong when I see him with someone else, when I see him, period. We should be together. Every time I see him, that’s just drilled into my head harder. But then the thought of Nameless pops up, black and oozing bad memories and telling me I’m the worst, and I recoil into my instinctual shell.
Sometimes looking at Jack feels like reaching out to the horizon—I’ll never touch it, never hold it, but it’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.
After Wren and Kayla and I have fueled up, I show them around campus and my dorm. Yvette is inside, studying for once.
“Yvette!” I slap my hands on both her shoulders. “These are my fantastic friends, Kayla and Wren. Fantastic friends, this is Yvette, my other fantastic friend.”
Yvette smiles half awkwardly and shakes equally awkward Wren’s hand. She blushes when Kayla hugs her.
“It’s great to meet you guys. Isis won’t shut up about you.”
“She won’t shut up about you, either!” Kayla laughs. “I’m gonna be totally honest with you—it made me kind of jealous.”
“Yesss,” I hiss. “Now fight over my love in an arena death match!”
“Not happening,” Yvette says. “Unless there’s a battle-ax. In which case, yes.”
“Two-handed or one-handed?” Wren asks.
“Two-handed, obviously, for maximum badassery.”
“Perfect,” Wren agrees. “Although if it’s one-handed, then you can have two. Twice the chopping.”
She smiles. “I like the way you think.”
“Oh my God.” Kayla darts over to Yvette’s impressive collection of lipsticks on the windowsill. “Those are such nice colors!”
“You like ’em?” Yvette walks over to her.
“Definitely! Where did you find this shade? I’ve been looking everywhere for it.”
While they discuss the finer points of colored wax, Wren and I linger outside the doorway. I put my head on his shoulder tiredly, and he pats it.
“How are you doing?” he asks.
“Fine. Dandy. Dine and fandy.”
“Even with Wi—my cousin here?”
I blow my bangs out of my eyes. “You can say his name. I’ve been trying to. Weee-illl. Weeeeeel. I’ve seen him more times around campus than I ever wanted to. And it’s helped. Sort of. If you see something enough it becomes normal, you know? So I figure if I say his name enough, it won’t hurt as much anymore.”
Wren’s hand is gentle on my head, but his other hand tightens into a fist.
“I’m sorry, Isis. I’m sorry he’s here. If I’d known, I could’ve warned you—”
“So I could’ve what—not gone here?” I stand up straight. “No. I’m not gonna let him have any more control over my life than he already does.”
“But—”
“No buts. Okay, maybe some buts. But only the kind in jeans, and only nice ones.”
“Isis, seriously…”
I take his hand off my head and hold it with the best smile I can muster. “I’ve spent almost two years running away. And I’ve started to hate it.”
Wren squeezes my hand wordlessly, and I squeeze back.
“I just wanna walk forward, like everybody else is, instead of running away.”
“I’m just…worried.” Wren sighs. “Just take it at your own pace, okay? Everyone’s different. And if you try too hard, too fast, you could end up hurting yourself.”
“It’s sweet you’re worried. But I can take care of myself, Wren. We aren’t kids anymore.”
Wren’s quiet. Suddenly my phone buzzes with a text from Heather, a girl in my sociology class I’d made kind-of-sort-of friends with after we realized we both loved mobster movies. Since then, she’s been my party hookup, inviting me to as many as she can. And that’s what she’s doing now, too.
I don’t want to go. I want to stay in with Kayla and Wren, watching stupid cat videos and catching up on all we’ve missed. But after Wren’s run-in with Jack, I feel like I have to show them I’m okay. I have to move forward. I have to show them I’m moving forward so they don’t worry about me.
“Hey, do you happen to feel like drinking copious amounts of cheap booze?” I ask Wren. He sigh-chuckles.
“I suppose. Any excuse to stay out of my parents’ house for a bit longer is more than welcome.”
“Is that where you’re staying?”
“Yeah.”
“In that case, let’s tear ass-phalt. Kayla! We’re going to a party. You wanna come, Yvette?”
“Is it one of Heather’s?”
I nod, and she shakes her head.
“No thanks. Those are a little wilder than I’m used to.”
“If you’re sure!” I singsong. “Don’t wait up for me—I’ll be late.”
We take my car, the backseat cramped with textbooks and changes of clothes I forgot to take in. I’m so excited to be going to a party with Kayla again like old times that Wren has to remind me to keep my eyes on the road.
“—and you’ve got to meet Kieran,” I insist. “Heather’s fine, she’s just not that funny, and Tyler’s a jerk, but Kieran’s a pretty nice guy. We’ve been hanging out a lot lately at Heather’s parties, and he’s super chill.”
“‘Hanging out’?” Kayla air-quotes. “Back in my day, that meant making out.”
“Por que no los dos?” I ask. Kayla rolls her eyes, and Wren laughs.
“Since when did you start taking Spanish?”
“Since I realized it’s the second-most-spoken language in the world. Also, Spanish dudes are beautiful.”
Kayla tosses her hair. “I’ve seen better.”
“It’s true, you are the fairest in the land,” Wren chimes, and she smiles brilliantly and all but flounces in her seat.
“Thank you, sweetie.”
“Hold on, I need to pull over and vomit,” I say.
“Why?” Kayla asks.
“Because you two are too cute.”
Kayla immediately punches my shoulder.
We pull up to Heather’s boyfriend’s frat house after everyone’s arrived. I used to think parties in high school were huge, but I realized how small they are the second I saw my first frat house. An entire house, bigger than most families’, filled to the brim with people? It’s insanity. But it’s become my insanity, my own personal brand of alcohol-induced forgetting. The music alone makes the windows in the other houses on the street shake in their frames. I lead Kayla and Wren inside, awkwardly shuffling through the boozed-up crowd.
“Do you know any of these people?” Kayla calls.
“Uh, not really?” I try to laugh it off. “I know Heather and Kieran, he’s on the wrestling team, but that’s about it. Oh hey! There’s Tyler. He tried to make out with me once, and shortly thereafter learned the meaning of absolute pain.”
I point at a boy with a buzz cut and skinny jeans. He gives the once-over to Kayla as we approach, and whistles.
“Well hello, hello. Who’s the friend, Isis?”
“She’s taken,” Wren says instantly and with a hardness that surprises me. Where’s meek Wren? Not here, that’s for sure. Then again, I’m sure he’s had to beat off the other guys with a stick since he and Kayla went official.
“Whatever, man,” Tyler scoffs.
“Listen, Tyler,” I say. “I’d really appreciate it if you could stop being such a primordial ooze for one minute and tell me where Kieran is.”
Tyler shrugs. “Somewhere upstairs, I think.”
We push past him—well, I do. Kayla and Wren sort of lag behind, Kayla looking bewildered and Wren looking slightly more off-put than when he came in. I feel like an absolute dog turd knowing they aren’t having a good time.
“Drinks!” I announce as we pass a hastily set-up table upstairs. Drinks solve everything. I’ve learned that well since Jack started dating Hemorrhoid. I grab two Jell-O shots and shove them in Kayla’s and Wren’s hands, pouring myself a shot of vodka and yelling “Cheers!” as I down it. I spot a dark head of hair over the crowd and dash toward it. I slap my hands over the person’s eyes.
“Guess who?” I chirp. Kayla and Wren catch up to me, watching us.
“There’s only one person with that annoying of a voice,” Kieran deadpans. “Isis.”
“He got it right!” I take my hands off and pinch his cheek as he turns. “He’s growing up into such a smart boy. Eats his veggies and everything. Kieran, these are my friends Kayla and Wren. Kayla, Wren, this is my barely friend Kieran.”
“Gee, thanks,” he drawls, then flashes a smile at Wren and Kayla. “I’ve only known her for two weeks, but sometimes it feels like twenty years of unending torture.”
“Welcome to the club!” Kayla laughs. “Isn’t it great in here?”
“Practically palatial,” Wren agrees with a small grin. “You’re luckier than most, Kieran. Jack got punched within the first hour of—”
Kayla jabs her elbow in Wren’s side, and he falters, shooting me a look. My stomach churns a little, thinking about Jack right now.
Kieran looks confused. “Um, did I miss something? Who’s Jack?”
“More shots!” I crow, forcing a smile at the three of them. “I’ll go get some. You guys stay here and mingle.”
I take the stairs two at a time.
“Isis! There you are!” I turn to see Heather, a black-haired girl with the biggest lips ever. She throws her arms around me the second I walk in the kitchen. She smells like tequila and reminds me of Kayla; when the real Kayla isn’t here I can sometimes squint and pretend she’s her. Tonight, at least, I don’t need to pretend at all.
“Hey, Heather. What are you up to?” I ask as I pour shots.
“Playing beer pong, obviously.” She holds up her red cup and winks. “I’m glad you came, though; this party was just getting boring.” She grabs my hand and pulls me toward the dance floor.
“Heather, wait, I’ve gotta—”
“Just one dance, please?” she begs. “That’ll get tons of people dancing, and then you can go do whatever! But this party is super dead! We need you—no way I’m dancing on my own!”
I want to say no, to go back to Wren and Kayla, but then I remember Jack’s name coming from Wren’s lips. I love him, but he managed with a single word to crumble the wall I worked so hard to build. Kieran’s going to ask questions about who Jack is, and everything will be ruined. He was such a nice distraction, his emerald eyes and easy laugh and our similar sense of humor a great way to bury my memories. But now the doubt of who Jack is will filter in between us, and I’ll be forced to tell him, forced to confront it all.
It’s ruined.
So I go with Heather, and I dance my heart out with her on the carpet. I will the bass to blast my thoughts clean from my head. People start dancing with us, around us, and Heather gets happier and happier with each person. And I get sadder and sadder. None of these people know me, and they never will. None of them care about me. The ones who do are upstairs. That’s where I belong. But it’s so much easier to dance down here than it is to go up and face them. So I keep dancing.
Because I’m a coward.
Because I’ve done enough hard stuff to last a lifetime.
Someone, Heather maybe, passes me a shot. And another. The music is so loud my ears are starting to ring, but I like it. I need it. Eventually, just as I’m getting out of breath, I feel a tug on my arm. I look over to see Heather pointing at a distant figure.
“Hey, isn’t that the girl you were talking about? The one you hate?”
She’s right—in the kitchen stands Hemorrhoid, red hair practically luminescent and her black dress classy.
“I don’t hate her,” I shout back. “She’s just—she’s just a girl, okay?”
“No, I remember! You told me when you were throwing up at the Rho Delta Kappa house! You said you hate her because she’s dating someone you like!”
“People say a lot of things when they’re drunk, Heather. The Greeks even made a saying for it: in vino veritas!”
“Harass who?”
“Ugh, never mind!” I yell.
“I’m gonna go talk to her!” Heather shouts, her eyes glassy. She’s clearly had too much. “Someone’s gotta tell her to back off!”
“Heather, no!” I snatch her arm. “Just leave it, okay?”
With a surprising amount of force for someone so drunk, Heather tears away from me and stomps toward Hemorrhoid. I dash after her, but the dancing crowd is so thick I have to push people aside.
“Sorry, excuse me, minor social apocalypse incoming, sorry!”
Heather gains distance, and my queasy stomach goes into full-blown panic mode. If Heather confronts her about me and Hemorrhoid says something about it to Jack—what will he think of me? As much as I dislike Hemorrhoid, I don’t want her involved in anything negative because of me. Heather’s already talking to her, if I run out of the house now maybe everything will stop forever and I—
“She said what?” Hemorrhoid scoffs, eyes pointed like daggers directly at me. “If you’ve got a problem with me, say it now.”
I put on my best smile, Heather looking satisfied with her misguided work.
“God, I’m really sorry about my friend,” I say. “She’s drunk, she has no idea what she’s talking about. I don’t have a single problem with you, Hemorrhoid—”
“What did you just call me?”
I freeze. I’d said that name for her so many times in my head and to other people that my booze-loose idiot mouth just blurted it out. Her pretty face twists with anger.
“Repeat what you just said, bitch.”
“I’m sorry! That was a mistake! We all make those sometimes, right?” I falter. “I didn’t mean to—”
Hemorrhoid advances on me, all painted nails and anger, and Heather pumps her fist in the air.
“Get her, Isis!”
People look and start to wander over. I back up to the wall, my eyes darting around for someone, anyone to save me. I need an escape, and I needed it yesterday.
“I don’t want to fight.” I hold up my hands. “This is a misunderstanding, okay?”
“You called me something!” she snaps.
“Yeah, I did! And I’m sorry!”
“You still said it, bitch!”
She lunges for me, and I duck past her. She stumbles into the arm of a couch, and people make an “oooh” noise. She rights herself and pivots, now looking even more pissed.
“Hey, relax.” I use my calmest voice, even though it shakes. “Let’s not—”
Stars burst in my eyes, my cheek screaming in pain. Her knuckles are so bony, like daggers into my flesh. The punch is so hard it knocks the wind from me, and as I crumple to the floor, some tiny part in the back of my brain laughs at me, at the irony of it all; she’s punched me at a party, just like I punched Jack so long ago.
Faintly, through the crowd jeering, I hear someone call my name.
“—sis? Isis? What happened to you? Oh my God, you’re bleeding!” Kayla’s voice.
“Stay away from her!” Kieran barks.
“We have to get her out of here,” Wren commands.
I rub my eyes to clear them of their watering and feel someone with strong arms help me up. It’s Kieran, and he leads me out of the house, Wren and Kayla hot on our heels. I can hear Hemorrhoid’s shouting faintly.
“Come back here! You’re such a fucking bitch!”
I’m still too dazed to pull away when Kieran puts me in the backseat of my own car. Wren kneels and inspects the damage.
“Jesus, she got you good.”
“Do you have a first-aid kit in your car?” Kayla shouts, already rummaging in my trunk, with my keys in her hand. When she swiped them from my purse, I’ll never know.
“No,” I moan. “I’m fine, seriously.”
“Seriously? You’re bleeding, Isis,” Kieran insists. “We were wondering where you went. Turns out you ditched us for a half hour to get in a fight.”
“That was toward the end of the dance.” I wince as Wren dabs away the blood on my cheek.
“Who even started it?” Kieran asks.
“I didn’t,” I say. The three of them share a moment of silent suspicion aimed at me. “What? I’m telling the truth! I definitely didn’t punch first. But I did call her names first.”
“Isis!” Kayla sighs.
“On accident!” I insist. “My mouth just does that go-fast thing, you know? I didn’t think about it and bam! A second later I called her Hemorrhoid out loud. Thanks, me.”
“That’s a fairly bad name,” Wren says. “But it’s still no excuse to punch someone this hard. She must have something against you.”
“Ugh, that girl is awful!” Kayla stomps her foot. “I knew it the second she walked into the coffee shop! I’m telling Jack about this so he can dump her ass—”
“Don’t!” I stand. Wren eases me back down.
“Relax,” he says. “We won’t.”
“We won’t?” Kayla scoffs incredulously. He turns to her.
“This is between them, Kayla. Not us.”
“But—”
“Who is this Jack guy, anyway?” Kieran asks. Kayla inhales, ready to spill everything.
“He’s Isis’s—”
“He’s no one,” I say quickly. “Kayla, please, just give me my keys, and let’s go back to the dorms.”
“But what about—”
Wren puts an arm gently around her shoulders. “It might be better to get Isis somewhere quieter, don’t you think?”
Kayla very plainly fights the urge to say more, practically wiggling under his arm. Finally she exhales and hands the keys to him. Wren flashes me a smile.
“We’ll wait over there. It was nice meeting you, Kieran.”
“Same to you.” Kieran nods, a grumpy Kayla saying nothing as Wren leads her away. I turn to Kieran.
“Sorry you had to see all that,” I say. “You should go back in and try to have some fun.”
“Can’t.” He smirks. “Not while you’re not there.”
“Try anyway, smooth.”
“Take care of that cheek, will you?”
“The next time you see me, I’ll be growing a third arm from it.”
“Fantastic.” He laughs as he walks back toward the party. I wave.
The ride home is silent, Wren doing his best to get Kayla to stop pouting. He’s the only person I know to stick that mission out for more than ten minutes. Once Kayla’s in pout mode, she’s there until she’s fallen asleep. Wren and I both know she’ll wake up much happier, but for now we suffer her beautiful mug glaring at us with nary a complaint. When we get back to my dorm, Kayla makes an excuse about the bathroom, and Wren and I wait outside by her car.
“She’ll get over it,” Wren says as we watch Kayla walk away.
“I know she will. But I won’t.”
Wren chuckles. “First time being on the receiving end, huh?”
I cup my cheek gingerly. “The core of all disputes can be resolved without violence.”
Wren quirks a brow at me.
“Fighting is wrong?” I try. “Hate can’t drive out love. Um. Hold on, I learned like seven different famous quotes last week and they’re all mashed up right now, like some awful deep house DJ who also happens to be into protest literature lost total control of his life in my brain.”
We enjoy the silence for a moment. Well, for as long as one can enjoy something while suffering a broken face, anyway.
“Your face isn’t broken,” Wren insists without taking his eyes from the starry sky.
“Build me a castle and give me a rose—I’m a beast.”
“Build your own castle.”
“I’m trying!” I throw my hands up, then instantly get tired of doing that. “I’m trying.”
“We did miss you,” Wren says. “At the party. We thought you forgot about us.”
“I just—” I flinch. “I didn’t forget. I’d never forget. It was just more like I didn’t want to remember.”
“Remember what?”
I tilt my head this way and that and mouth words I can’t say. Wren makes an “oh” face.
“I brought up Jack. Right,” he muses. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think he was a sensitive topic.”
“He’s always been a sensitive topic,” I scoff, and Wren laughs, his eyes crinkly behind his glasses.
“That’s true. But in a different way from Nameless, right?”
“What do you mean?”
Wren shrugs. “It just seems like…he’s not on the same level, right? He hasn’t done anything too bad, other than date that Steroid.”
“Hemorrhoid,” I correct. “And I’m going to be using her real name from now on, which is”—I think hard—“Mildred.”
Wren and I share a look and bust out laughing.
“Of course.” I calm down mildly. “Of course he’s not as bad as Nameless. It’s just the only way I know how to put something behind me, you know? Not say it. Not think about it.”
“I used to do that, too,” Wren agrees softly. “If I worked hard enough at school, I thought I could put the loneliness behind me. The loneliness from losing Jack as a best friend, and Avery and Sophia. All of them were gone from my life after what happened in middle school that summer. My mom and dad were never home, either. And when they were, all they seemed to care about was my report card. And that would just make me try harder. My life was keeping busy so I didn’t have to think about things honestly and seriously.”
“What changed?” I ask.
Wren smiles. “I met you. Sophia gave me that math badge from when we were kids. Kayla kissed me for the first time. Slowly, I started to learn what it meant to slow down. To stop being busy and just enjoy the moment. Those are my most important memories now. They’re burned in my mind forever. Maybe they always will be. I hope so, at least.”
He’s so honest. He always has been. More honest than I’ll ever be. What are my most important memories? My brain flashes with images and scents and feelings just below the surface: eating at the Red Fern with Kayla before we left for college, laughing and trying to be so brave; Sophia hugging me and thanking me for bringing Tallie back to her, her hair soft; Jack’s smell, mint and honey and sleep, and his ice eyes opening groggily, beautifully, in the bed at that hotel and smiling when he saw me.
I can’t run away from them. They’ll always be here, with me, inside me, making me who I am.
This time, Wren puts his head on my shoulder.
“No matter what happens between you and Jack, or you and me, or me and you and Kayla,” he says, “we’re here, right now, together. We could be anywhere else, anytime else, on any other planet in the universe, but we’re right here. If anything at all had changed in our lives, we might not know one another. But we do. And sometimes I can’t help but think that’s a miracle. It’s a miracle I know you. It’s a miracle I’m alive at all.”
He smiles at me, brighter than the moon.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is…thank you, Isis.”
“For what?” I feel my throat tighten, my eyes watering.
“For being my friend. For being born. For being right here, right now.”
Wren isn’t Jack—he doesn’t let me cry quietly. He puts his arm around my shoulders, and he asks what’s wrong, over and over, until I manage words through the tears.
“T-Thank you, too, you big idiot.”
Kayla sees me crying and jogs over, her pout gone as she demands to know what’s wrong, if my cheek hurts, if she should drive back right now and punch that girl in the esophagus, if a piece of gum might help. We bandage my cheek together with a first-aid kit, Kayla reveling in telling the story to an outraged Yvette. Ever worried, Kayla insists she and Wren stay for the night, and Yvette pulls her mattress down, and I pull mine, and all four of us lay sideways under a pile of blankets, our toes dangling and our words hanging as we interrupt one another, make jokes over one another, finish one another’s sentences.
One by one, we fall asleep. I’m the last one awake. I watch the dawn light peek through the blinds, over the soft planes of our blankets and skins, and try to make a memory of it.