chapter seven

“Hey,” Jackie says.

“Hey. You look great.”

“Come on in.”

Jackie’s dorm room is an equally small but slightly tidier and infinitely more colorful version of Crosbie’s, and almost every item is some shade of pink or orange. It’s a little bit blinding.

“Do you like it?” she asks. “I’m from Florida so I wanted it to feel like summer all year long.”

“It’s very bright.”

She laughs like I’ve made a joke, then turns to finish applying her makeup in the mirror. Her hair is pulled up in a high ponytail and she’s wearing a short black dress with sparkly silver heels. I think of Andi. All of the doors have names on them, and I’d passed hers when I came looking for Jackie five minutes ago. It had taken far too much effort to resist the urge to knock, to see if she’d taken my advice for wooing Crick. Now my brain replaces Jackie’s curves with Andi’s leaner lines, and while last year I’d have sworn up and down that I preferred curves, this year I’m not so sure.

I blink and shake my head.

“Just one more minute,” Jackie says, catching the gesture and misreading it as impatience.

“No problem.” I’m not all that eager to go, actually. I spent the morning at Beans with Crosbie for our “dress rehearsal” and now I wear a too-small black leotard beneath my jeans and long-sleeve navy shirt. The original plan was to walk over in case we went to the bar after, but there’s no way I can walk twenty minutes in these tights. The only consolation is that I know Crosbie’s wearing the same thing.

“All set!” Jackie chirps a minute later. She turns and grins at me, her boundless energy making me feel like I’m a hundred. Or maybe it’s the stuffed cats on her bed or the rainbow-print curtains or the nine thousand inspirational quotes tacked to the pin board over her desk.

We take the elevator down so she doesn’t have to navigate the stairs in her heels, and when we step outside into the crisp, dry night, I take a deep breath. It might just be the bodysuit, but something about being in that residence made me feel claustrophobic.

I hold Jackie’s elbow as she totters down the front steps of the building, chattering about how excited she is to see her friend’s performance.

“Hey.”

We look over at the sound of Andi’s voice. Even though I was being a gentleman, I still feel like she caught me doing something wrong.

“Hey, Andi!” Jackie exclaims. “Oh my God, you look so gorgeous.”

And she does. She’s taken my advice and left her hair loose, and now it tumbles halfway down her back in a heavy golden mass. In the stark overhead light her brows look darker, sharper in her pale face, and she’s brought out the red lipstick again, looking like a pouty supermodel, the kind that resent their own beauty.

She wears a yellow pea coat that she clutches together in front to further ward off the cold, and dark tights showcase her endless legs.

“I lent Andi my coat,” Jackie says, answering my unasked question about what happened to Andi’s puffy Oakland A’s jacket. “Doesn’t she look beautiful?”

“Um, yeah,” I make myself say, sticking my hands in my pockets. I shouldn’t have given her that advice about the hair and hoodies. I don’t want Crick to see her. Hell, I don’t even want to see her. Not when I can’t figure out what the hell it is I’m feeling when we cross paths. Two years after she broke my heart, I assumed I was beyond that stupidity. Totally better. Sixty-something names past it. Sixty-something names that fade to nothing when I think about what should be the first name on that list.

“Thanks.” Andi tugs on the jacket some more.

“Is Julian running late?” Jackie peers around, oblivious to the weird tension simmering between us.

Andi waves at someone over my shoulder. “No. There he is.”

It’s just after seven o’clock and the October night is already dark, but when we turn it’s very easy to see the tall guy loping toward us with a bundle of flowers in his hand. I glance at Andi to see if she’s as off-put as I am by the cheesy gesture, but she’s not. She’s smiling. I see the chipped tooth.

“Hey,” Crick says, stopping when he reaches us. “Sorry I’m late. I stopped to get these.”

“These” is the most boring bouquet of flowers ever, tiny white ones with a couple sprigs of green and some purple thing in the middle. They might even be weeds.

“These are so nice,” Andi says, accepting the bouquet. “No one’s ever given me flowers before.”

The words stop me in my tracks and I rack my brain to think of an occasion on which I’d given Andi flowers. I’m sure there must be one. A birthday, maybe. Or when her grandmother died. But I can’t actually remember giving her flowers, or even considering it. I’ve given her gifts, of course. A new baseball glove; comic books; a lizard I caught in a homemade trap. Then the trap itself, so she could catch more lizards on her own. But flowers... I didn’t think she was a flowers kind of girl.

“We’re driving to the coffee shop,” Jackie is saying when I tune back into the conversation. “Do you guys want a ride? It’s pretty dark.”

I see Andi open her mouth to say no, but Crick speaks up first. “Do you mind?” he asks me. “I twisted my knee at practice and a ride would be awesome.”

“Of course,” I have to say. “I’m right over there.” I point at the car and we walk toward it, the flowers’ cellophane wrapper crinkling obnoxiously with every step. Because Crick is so tall he has to sit in the front seat while the girls climb in the back. I start the car and let it warm for a second to melt the thin sheen of frost on the windshield.

“I’m so excited,” Jackie announces. “My friend Becca is doing an acoustic version of ‘Take My Breath Away’ and I heard her practice and she sounds fantastic.”

Everyone murmurs polite interest as I ease away from the curb and start the short drive to Beans.

“So how’d you two meet?” Crick asks when I stop for a red light.

“We met at the Welcome Party,” Jackie volunteers, leaning in between the front seats. “There was this stupid game and we—”

“Oh, right,” Crick interrupts. “Seven Minutes In Heaven. That must be how your name wound up on the wall.”

Jackie blinks, her fake lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. “What wall?”

“In the Student Union bathroom? All of McVey’s conquests are posted up there.”

“But I’m not—”

“It’s a tradition,” I tell Jackie while glaring at Crick. He’s an athlete. If he’s got any game—or reputation—at all, his name is on there, too. And then I stumble in my thinking, because if he’s got a list...Andi might wind up on it. “A distasteful tradition,” I add for good measure. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But we haven’t even—”

“It’s a lot of names,” Crick says. “What number are you up to now?”

I grit my teeth. “I’m not counting.”

“Have you seen the list, Andi? How long have we been at school? A month? Five weeks? It must be close to a hundred.”

Jackie gasps.

“It’s not a hundred,” I say hastily. “It’s not even...eighty.” Okay, that’s really not helpful. “And a lot of it’s not even real.”

“Did you see it?” Crick presses, twisting in the seat to look at Andi and gauge her reaction. I take a peek in the mirror but her expression is carefully bland.

“I saw it on the freshman tour.”

“What’d you think?”

“I couldn’t care less.”

Crick resumes facing forward, looking like a befuddled giant now that his plan to make me look bad hasn’t panned out. We’re on Main Street by then and still early enough that I snag street parking just two blocks from Beans. We climb out, Andi on my side, Jackie at the curb near Crick.

“What a fucking asshole,” I mutter. “Really? Him?”

“Really?” Andi mutters back. “Just eighty?”

She rounds the car to walk with Crick before I can reply.

“It’s freezing!” Jackie exclaims, her mood apparently restored by the cold.

I make myself smile. Two years ago I would have been fine with this. With her. She’s sweet, she’s pretty, she’s here. That should be enough. But as I watch Andi walk away with Crick, I know that it’s not.

* * *

A hundred plus folding chairs have been arranged in rows of semi-circles in front of a small platform stage set up along one wall of the dimly lit shop. About half are already occupied, but on Crosbie’s instruction Nora has saved seats for me and Jackie on the end of the first row.

“Sorry,” she says when she sees us enter with Andi and Crick. “I didn’t realize there would be four. I only saved spots for two.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say quickly. “They can find their own seats.” They’re already wandering away, Crick leading Andi over to a group of guys in Burnham letter jackets.

“Where’s Cros?” I ask Nora. “Having a panic attack in the alley?”

“The proper term is ‘meditating.’” Like a good girlfriend, she dutifully recites the party line. “But yes, most likely a panic attack. How’re the tights?”

“Cutting off circulation to every body part all at once.”

“You’re going to be great.” She worked all afternoon as we rehearsed and saw the illusion at least half a dozen times, applauding boisterously at each reveal until Crosbie told her she could stop acting surprised.

“Hello, darling.” Marcela swoops into the seat behind me and slings an arm around my neck. “How I’ve missed you.”

“We missed you too,” Dane and Choo echo as they slide into seats next to Marcela.

“I have a date,” I whisper. “All of you go away.”

“We’re just pretending,” she whispers back, winking at Jackie.

“So are we,” Dane and Choo whisper.

I remove Marcela’s arm. “Now I can’t get anything to eat or drink without worrying about Nate poisoning it.”

“Don’t worry, I brought you a snack. That’s why you love me.” She passes me a plastic-wrapped brownie.

“I barely even like you. But thanks.”

“What’s going on over there?” She asks the question a little too deliberately, turning to look over her shoulder.

Though I know better, I still take the bait and follow her gaze to Andi and Crick’s little huddle. In fact, we all do. Andi has removed the pea coat to reveal some sort of gauzy white tank top that floats away from her body and dips low in the back. I make myself look away. “What are you talking about?”

“Your ‘childhood friend’ cleans up nice.”

“Why are you using air quotes? She actually is my childhood friend. And she looks fine, I guess.” I can’t stop my eyes from straying over there again. Andi’s fidgeting with the strap of her top, like a woman raised by wolves being forced to wear civilized clothing for the first time. 

Crick dips his head to speak into her ear and she turns to answer him, their faces too close together before he leaves to get in line at the counter. I can feel Dane and Choo watching me with great interest, so I keep my face carefully neutral.

“She looks super hot,” Dane offers, waiting to gauge my reaction.

“One of the hottest girls here,” Choo adds, winking at Jackie and Marcela in turn.

Marcela narrows her eyes. “You’re wasting your time.”

“Okay, but can I have a free brownie?”

Which reminds me. “Do you want a drink?” I ask Jackie. “Or anything to eat? Maybe this brownie?”

“Don’t be cheap,” Marcela scolds before turning to Jackie. “Come on. I’ll get you anything you want.”

“Ooh. Thanks!” Jackie says, letting herself be led away.

“What’s up?” Crosbie asks, sliding into Marcela’s vacated seat. I can feel the cold radiating from him; he was definitely outside hyperventilating.

“Just waiting for the show to begin.”

“You ready for this?”

“As I’ll ever be.” I like being the center of attention as much as the next guy, but not when I’m wearing spandex.

“Kellan has a crush,” Dane announces now that my date’s gone. “And it’s not his date.”

“Fuck off!” I snap. “I do not.”

“Do too.”

“Grow up,” Crosbie tells us. “But who is this dream girl?”

“It’s no one.”

“It’s Andrea Walsh,” Choo answers. “Crick’s date.”

“It’s pronounced An-dray-ah,” I point out.

“Whaaat?” The look Crosbie gives me is one of betrayal and it has nothing to do with pronouncing Andi’s name correctly. He can’t believe he’s not the first to hear about my crush. I want to assure him it’s the first I’m hearing of it too, but he’s already craning his neck to look at her. “Totally not what I would have expected,” he muses, “but still a great choice. And an utter betrayal. You should have told me!”

“No one has been betrayed. I haven’t chosen anything. They’re wrong.”

“Sometimes we don’t get to choose,” he replies sagely. “It just happens.”

“Nothing has happened.” Except for a summer of hot sex followed by heartbreak and two years of nothing and then five weeks of confusion and heartburn. 

“This is why she was at your place that day!” he exclaims. To Dane and Choo he adds, “I went over there one time and he was helping her ‘bake cookies.’”

“Why does no one know how to use air quotes?” I demand. “We were baking cookies!”

“And you grew up together?” Dane says thoughtfully. “You’ve known her all your life?”

“What does that—”

Choo snaps his fingers. “She’s your first love and you’ve never gotten over her. This is so romantic.”

“She’s not my first anything—Well, okay, she’s not my first love—”

They gasp on cue and cover their mouths joyfully.

“Walsh is number one on the sex list?” Dane exclaims. “Oh man. Everything makes so much sense and yet no sense at all.”

I scowl at them. “I was never in love with Andi. We were young.”

“He’s been looking over there all night,” Dane tattles.

“And hating on Crick, though he’s a pretty good dude.”

“Face it,” Crosbie says. “You’re jealous, man.”

“I’m not—”

“I know it’s probably your first time ever dealing with the emotion, but that’s the only explanation.”

I open my mouth to argue, but I know when I’m beat. Plus, I honestly can’t remember a time when I was jealous. That might make me sound like a jerk, but I think it shows an appreciation and gratitude for the good things in my life. I mean, I’ve been envious before, sure. But jealous? No. And of Andi? Firm no.

The guys laugh at my bewildered expression. “Look,” I say in a hushed tone that comes out more than a little desperate. “I’m not jealous and I’m not into Andi. And she doesn’t want anyone to know about...before. So I know it’ll be hard for you gossips to keep this quiet, but shut the fuck up about it.”

They crow gleefully, but before they can continue to torment me, Jackie returns with her free latte and Nate takes the stage. I never thought I’d be glad to see him and his stupid beanie, but right now I could hug him. Well, I can look at him without wanting to retch.

“Good evening, everybody, and welcome to Fall Open Mic Night!”

The room slowly quiets. There are two chairs set up with a microphone between them and small speakers on either side of the stage. It’s a basic arrangement that suits the night’s line up of entertainers as Nate tells us what to expect. Crosbie’s up second from the end so I have approximately ninety minutes to sit here and stew in spandex until my secret moment in the spotlight.

Jackie’s friend is the first performer, with a surprisingly cool take on Berlin’s eighties hit. She plays the harmonica and strums a ukulele as she sings in a feathery voice that sets the tone for the night.

I try my best to listen, mostly because Jackie’s gripping my forearm and leaning forward avidly. Still, I can’t stop my gaze from sliding to the far side of the front row where Andi and Crick sit, a mirror image of us. Andi’s watching the performance, Crick’s arm slung around the back of her seat, and almost like she feels my stare, she looks over and catches me.

I turn away quickly, concentrating on the performance and clapping a little too enthusiastically when it’s over. No one notices, however, since Jackie’s standing and practically bawling with pride as her friend takes a bow and gathers her gear before demurely shuffling off stage.

Two spoken word poets, one great, one depressing, followed by an even more depressing ballet performance set to Alanis Morissette’s cover of The Black Eyed Peas’ “My Humps,” and we’re all ready for some mediocre stand-up comedy debating everything from the current state of politics to reality television and the campus meal plan. The more we see the more excited I am for Crosbie. As usual, he’s the only magician on the roster and the room will go nuts for his newest illusion.

We’re seated close enough to the door that every time someone comes or goes an icy burst of wind washes through. I don’t mind the cool air since I’m wearing an extra layer of clothes, but by the time intermission rolls around, Jackie’s shivering. She’s got her jacket covering her legs like a blanket and I offer her my coat too.

“Aw,” Marcela croons, leaning in to pass Jackie a cup of tea she hadn’t ordered. I get nothing. “I told Nate Jackie was allergic to chamomile so he thinks I’m trying to poison your date and sabotage your happiness,” she explains.

“Why is this your plan to make him love you?”

“That’s not the purpose of the plan,” she replies. “It’s to make him jealous.”

“He’s probably just feeling relieved at this point.”

She glares at me then reconsiders the tea. “Huh.”

Jackie quickly takes a sip so Marcela can’t rescind the offer.

“We’re going to get some air,” Crosbie announces, abruptly standing and tugging Nora behind him to the front door. They’re either going to bang in his car or she’s going to rub his back while he hurls.

Marcela takes Nora’s seat and I promptly stand. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

I don’t need to go—and peeling off this suit and then squeezing back into it holds no appeal—but I get up and weave through the crowd toward the back hallway, trying not to stare at Andi as she laughs and talks with Crick and some other players. She catches my eye for a second and hesitates, mid-laugh, looking soft and pretty and happy.

I’m distracted when someone stops me to talk about the upcoming invite-only Alpha Sigma Phi Halloween party. Invitations haven’t even gone out yet, but I promise to see what I can do about getting them one. When I look back at Andi’s group she’s blocked from view by Crick’s body, probably on purpose.

I’ve visited Beans enough times to know this narrow hallway leads to a fire door that exits into an alley, so I head for it, dragging in a lungful of cold air when I step outside.

The door clicks shut behind me, blocking out the hum of noise coming from the shop, and I stand alone, the flickering exterior lights reflecting off a row of garbage cans and recycle bins. I pace the length of the alley a few times, feeling better when I pull open the door to return to the show, and immediately feeling less better when I see Andi emerging from the women’s bathroom.

The crowd has dissipated and we’re alone in the hall. For a second I imagine it’s just us in the building, the town, the state, but that’s stupid. We both have dates and they’re in the other room.

“Hey,” she says, pulling on the hem of her shirt. There’s some sort of shiny beaded trim at the neckline, dipping into a deep vee that shouldn’t make me wonder what I’d find if I kept looking.

“Enjoying the show?”

Her mouth quirks. “Yes?”

“Don’t worry. The best is yet to come.”

“I hope so.”

My role in Crosbie’s show is a secret, so she doesn’t know that I’m mostly referring to myself with that statement. If she did, she’d roll her eyes so hard she fell down.

“It’s nice to see you took my advice and left the hoodie at home.”

“Who better to listen to?” she asks. “Oh, wait. Everyone.”

“He’s not worth it anyway.”

“What?”

“Crick. That little show in the car? Trying to make me look like an asshole? That was desperate. You can do better.”

“He wasn’t—”

“You know he was.”

She sighs. “Well, maybe he felt intimidated and was just trying to...level the playing field. Not everyone likes living in your shadow.”

“He’s like a million feet tall. Why would he be in my shadow?”

“I don’t know, Kellan. Why don’t you ask him yourself since you seem so fixated on the subject?”

I hold up my hands in surrender. “It’s your call. You said you wanted to live life, so here you are. Living. Every girl should fuck at least one asshole, right?”

Her expression darkens and she shoves past me. “Then I guess I’ve met my quota.”

I let her go, scrubbing a hand over the back of my neck. I don’t know why the hell I said that. I don’t know why everything these last two years—gonnorhea included—seemed so much easier than the past five weeks.

I return to my seat, faking a smile for Jackie when she welcomes me back. She takes a selfie of the two of us and I hope my grin doesn’t look as phony as it feels. I dart a glance at Andi but she’s sitting stiffly in her seat looking resolutely toward the stage, Crick’s arm still far too cozy around her shoulders.

The lights dim and a dance act takes the stage, then an improv group, then a sketch comedy act. With just one performance left before Crosbie’s due up, I tell Jackie I don’t feel great and need some air.

As planned, I exit through the front door and jog back around through the alley to wait at the fire door for my cue. Moments later Choo emerges and peers around for me. “Aren’t you cold?” he asks, ushering me back inside.

“Hardly. I’ve been wearing a bodysuit all night.”

“Oh yeah.” He snickers to himself. Crosbie brought in him and Dane as hired muscle to bring some of his props to the stage and participate in the show. The primary props for this performance are a long black box that looks eerily like a coffin and a large black curtain.

We meet Dane and Crosbie in the storage closet and I strip down to the bodysuit. There’s a piece of fabric to cover my face, but I leave it bunched at my forehead for now, then climb into the box and lie flat on my back as they replace the lid. There are tiny air holes cut in the wood near my face and covered with black mesh so I can breathe, and I squeeze my eyes shut as the box is hefted into the air to be transported to the stage.

“Dude,” Crosbie grunts. “I told you to stay away from carbs.”

“Fuck off,” I reply, though I don’t think he can hear over Choo’s pained gasps. Dane’s a pitcher, so to spare his arm he got the easy task of carrying out the curtain, and he whistles smugly as we trudge up front where I hear Nate introduce Crosbie as my coffin is lowered to ground on the back side of the stage.

Assuming Choo and Dane are in position, they’re standing behind the coffin, each holding one end of the curtain to provide a black backdrop as Crosbie explains the illusion at the front of the small stage. The premise of the act is making things invisible. He’ll begin by making a few small items vanish, then I’m part of the grand finale.

I try to peer out the air holes to watch Crosbie’s show, but all I can see are his feet and calves. What I have a direct view of, however, is Andi and Crick, sitting where I left them. Crick still has his arm around her but looks pretty entranced by the performance, while Andi scratches at something on her knee and looks miserable.

I feel bad. She trusted me enough to ask for help flirting with Crick, and even though I gave her pretty good advice, I know I’m responsible for her frown. I’ve been responsible for a lot of her worst moments.

Crick casually reaches up to touch his ear, then drops his hand right onto Andi’s knee.

My mouth falls open, I forget my guilt and squish closer to the air hole, pressing my eye against the mesh.

Andi doesn’t take his hand away. She looks surprised, but doesn’t rebuff him. She doesn’t stand up and reprimand him and storm off. She just...keeps it there.

I’m seething right now. And not with jealousy, but with indignation. I mean, Crick is supposed to be watching the show, not feeling up my friend. This is very offensive to Crosbie.

He leans in to whisper something to Andi, his lips closer to her ear than necessary. But instead of leaping away, Andi leans in as though to hear him better, a chunk of shiny hair falling over her shoulder into his face. Crick laughs and brushes it away, fingertips stroking her neck, and for a long moment they lock eyes. My heart stops beating. No more heartburn, just no more beats at all.

Just as Crick prepares to go in for the kiss, the room erupts in rapturous applause and Andi jolts in her seat. I jerk in the coffin, banging my eye against the side and nearly blinding myself. 

“So we’ve made coins vanish,” Crosbie is saying. “We’ve disappeared a book. We’ve even lost a chair. But that’s not enough, is it?”

“No!” the room shouts.

“We need to disappear something awesome. Something amazing. Something...incredible.”

I roll my eyes.

“We need to disappear me!” he cries.

The room explodes in laughter and agreement.

“Okay,” Crosbie says. “I’ve got my lovely assistants here holding up the curtain...” I hear his voice grow louder and can picture Choo and Dane stepping forward to move the curtain in front of the coffin to give Crosbie room to hide behind it.

“I’m just going to do a few things...”

Safely out of sight, he reaches down to open the box and free me, while at the same time jostling the curtain as though changing. “Who needs a shirt when they’re invisible?” he calls. There’s a soft thud as he tosses his shirt over the curtain. Catcalls sound from the audience. “Who needs pants?”

As carefully as I can, I rise from the box and take Crosbie’s place, shaking the curtain and throwing over socks and shoes. In the floor behind the stage is a tiny trap door that leads down to the building’s scary cellar, and as I keep up the charade, Crosbie slips through the door and disappears.

“Dude,” Choo says loudly, peering behind the curtain at me. “How long is this strip tease going to—Crosbie?” He makes a big show of looking around. “Dane, do you see him?”

Dane peeks at me behind the curtain as I roll down the front of the mask so I’m completely covered in black fabric.

“He’s gone!” Dane exclaims.

“Prove it!” someone in the audience yells.

“Oh yeah,” Choo says, as though they’d forgotten that part. “Right.”

He and Dane count down from three, then whoosh up the curtain so it falls behind me, ineffectively camouflaging my black bodysuit against the black fabric. I stand completely still, knowing they can see me but acting like I think they can’t.

“Where is he?” Dane shouts. “Where did he go?”

The audience laughs and boos good-naturedly.

“What?” Choo asks. “Do you see something?”

They both turn to look at me and I self-consciously lower myself back into the box until I’m lying completely flat.

“I don’t see anything,” Dane says, swiping his hand through the space I just occupied. “And I don’t feel anything.”

They turn in a circle with the curtain, swiftly shifting it in front of the box and buying me a few seconds to drop into the cellar and pull the door closed. Just as quickly, the curtain is dropped to reveal the brightly painted wall of the shop.

I hear Choo mutter, “Where did he go?”

“You suck!” someone hollers from the back of the room. “He’s in the box!”

If things go as we’d rehearsed, right now everyone is turning to look at the heckler, then gasping in astonishment when they see it’s Crosbie sitting on the counter, casually drinking a bottle of water. I hear the room explode with laughter and applause, and I pray Crick takes his hand off Andi’s leg long enough to join in.

It’s dank and dingy down in the cellar, and everything smells like mold. For exactly this reason the space is unused, and I quickly dart over to the far side and scale the short ladder that leads to the supply closet.

Once inside, I strip out of the body suit, put on my original clothes, and grab the bottle of water I left behind. I slip down the hall and join the distracted crowd that watches as Crosbie, back on stage, shows them the empty box.

“How does he do this shit?” someone mutters.

“I wish I knew,” I reply, trying to appear as perplexed as they are.

“You really don’t know, Kell?” someone else demands. “He doesn’t tell you?”

“I’ve asked him,” I answer. “He won’t even give me a clue.”

Andi must hear my voice because she turns to look, locking eyes with me for two seconds before immediately turning back around. The expression on her face is so forbidding I’m glad it was only two seconds, even if I deserve worse.

I step aside as Choo, Dane and Crosbie clear the props from the stage. I congratulate them on a great performance before easing back through the crowd to join Jackie.

“Feeling better?” she asks, giving me a curious look.

“Yeah, thanks.”

She reaches over to squeeze my fingers, then arches a brow. “You’re awfully warm for someone who was outside for ten minutes.”

“I—”

She turns to watch the last performer cover Bob Dylan’s “Blowing In the Wind.” “Relax,” she says. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

* * *

Everybody’s going to Marvin’s after the show, but I make my excuses, grateful when Jackie makes the same ones and we drive back to campus together.

“That was fun,” she muses, rubbing a hole in the frosty window and peering outside.

“Yeah,” I reply, distracted. “Crosbie did a great job. So did your friend.” 

She smiles. “So did you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I navigate the quiet campus streets and stop at the curb in front of McKinley. Normally when I drive a girl home I don’t even need to wait for the invite up, we’re already going at it in the front seat, fumbling with seatbelts, moving things inside only so we don’t get arrested. And while Jackie checks every box anyone with a few brain cells and working hormones could appreciate, I’m far too preoccupied by the evening’s events to even try to get myself invited in.

“You all right to get upstairs in those heels?”

She’s hunting through her purse for keys. “Of course,” she replies, holding them up triumphantly. She leans over to brush a kiss across my cheek. “Thanks for taking me tonight.”

“My pleasure.”

She hesitates for a second, then pushes open the door. “Bye, Kellan.”

I watch until she disappears inside, then sigh and pull away from the curb. I didn’t see Andi and Crick before I left the coffee shop, but assume they joined everyone else at Marvin’s to finish out the night. I stop at the corner and twist in my seat to look at the building’s second floor windows, but they’re dark.

I drive home and hurry inside, swapping my clothes for shorts and a sweatshirt. I turn up my music and start a slow jog down the block. I intend to do the first mile at this pace, but three blocks later I’m running full out, heart pumping, blood pounding, concentration narrowed to the stretch of pavement in front of me.

The song switches to something even louder, even angrier, and I run harder, faster, feeling my skin heat and sweat pour and muscles burn. I run in the opposite direction of McKinley residence, circling the library and the gym and the Klein Building. I loop around two of the campus clubs, their pulsing music loud enough I can feel it vibrate through my feet, but I keep my hood up and don’t pause.

I run until my legs are weak and I’m gasping. I circle around the far side of campus and jog the long way back, avoiding McKinley, doing everything I can to empty my brain of the urge to find Andi. I don’t know what I could say to her right now. I don’t know what she wants me to say. And I really don’t want to hear what Crick has to say about it.

I stumble into my apartment, dump my sweaty clothes on the stairs, and walk naked into the bathroom. I turn on the water full blast and brace myself against the tiled wall, letting the spray beat against my back until I muster up enough strength to wash my hair. I lather, rinse, repeat, then grab the soap and do the same with every inch of skin. But none of it changes my mind.

I pull on sweats and a T-shirt and take out a beer, then swap it for water. It’s eleven o’clock on a Saturday and I’m alone and sober. Again.

Kellan 2.0 sucks.

I flip through the TV channels but nothing catches my interest. I cue up a video game, but can’t concentrate. I even lie down on the couch and try to fall asleep, but I’m  too wired for rest.

My well-used sneakers call to me from the top of the stairs. They’ve helped me cover a lot of ground, but right now they’re whispering that I haven’t gone far enough.

“She’s not even home,” I mumble to myself, because that’s better than admitting I’m talking to my sneakers.

“She’s got a date,” I add. “And I had a date with a girl who lives down the hall from her. I can’t just...go there.”

To make its case, my brain starts playing back some of the memories I’ve tried so hard to suppress, images of me and Andi that last summer in Avilla, stripping away our clothes, our doubts, our armor. And then Andi, on the drive home from that baseball game, putting her armor back on and leaving me alone and defenseless to wonder why.

I get off the couch and put on my sneakers, then grab my keys and my coat and slam the front door as hard as I can, like that will drown out the nagging inner voices telling me this is a terrible idea, a stupid idea, a fan-fucking-tastic idea.

I don’t know what it is.

I just know I’m doing it.