She thought, suddenly, of what Leda had said the other day in Dubai—that Rylin wasn’t the same girl who’d shown up at Berkeley, defensive and uncertain. Hiral might have changed, but she had changed too. They’d all changed. How could they not, after everything that had happened, after all they had lost?
Maybe this was what growing up felt like. It hurt more than Rylin had expected.
“I forgive you, Hiral.”
She hadn’t expected to say that, but once she did, she was glad that she had.
He looked up with an intake of breath. “Really?”
Rylin knew that she should say something else, but she felt overwhelmed by a sudden flurry of memories—of how it had been with Hiral before. The little notes Hiral used to leave for her in the silliest places, like on the peel of a banana. The anniversary when he’d served her a picnic dinner in the park, complete with flameless candles. That time she had to go on a long road trip to visit her grandparents, when Hiral had made a playlist for her that was sprinkled with little audio clips of himself telling jokes, saying again and again how much he loved her.
And when Rylin’s mom died, Hiral was the one who’d been there, steadying and certain, helping her make all the awful decisions that no daughter should ever have to make.
He stood up. “Thanks for letting me come by. I know you’re with Cord now, and I won’t bother you again. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am.”
“I’m not,” Rylin said. “With Cord, I mean.”
Hiral’s face broke into an incredulous smile. “You’re not?”
She shook her head.
“Rylin.” Hiral faltered, sounding hoarse. “Do you think that we could ever . . . try again?”
“I don’t know.” A week earlier Rylin would have said absolutely not. But she was starting to learn that things were always changing, that nothing was ever quite what you thought it was, and that perhaps that was a good thing.
“Maybe,” she clarified, and Hiral grinned.
“Maybe sounds good to me.”
Standing at the rec center now, watching Hiral run back and forth across the basketball court, Rylin was glad that she’d given him another chance.
They’d been together for months, and Hiral had remained true to his word. He was different. He was totally clean: He didn’t smoke or drink anymore, not even around their old friends. When he wasn’t at work or spending time with Rylin, he was here at the rec center, playing basketball with these kids.
“All right, team! Huddle up!” he cried out, and the boys all gathered in an eager cluster. They all put their arms toward the center and let out a yell.
When he’d high-fived the last few boys and sent them on their way, Hiral hopped to Rylin’s side of the fence. He threw an arm around her and leaned in to plant a kiss on her forehead.
“Hey, you’re all sweaty!” Rylin protested and pretended to duck from beneath his arm, though she didn’t really mind.
“The price you pay for dating a star athlete,” Hiral teased.
They turned along the path that edged the deck, lined with benches and sprays of foliage, a few burger and frozen fruit stands scattered along the way. Rylin saw a community yoga class clustered in one corner, tipping into salutations toward the sun. As always, the deck was crowded with people, all of them gossiping, arguing, bantering.
It was one of those glorious New York fall afternoons, with a rich clarity to the low light that cast a dreamlike significance over everything. Far below, particles of sun glittered on the traffic of 42nd Street, hovercars floating in and out of the Tower like swarms of jeweled flies.
“This is my favorite time of year,” Rylin declared. Autumn had always felt to her like the season of beginning, far more than spring. Children laughed on their way to school. The air was crisp and full of promise. The hours of daylight grew shorter, and therefore more precious.
Hiral lifted an eyebrow. “You do know that we live in a temperature-controlled building, right?”
“I know, but just look at this!” Rylin threw out an arm to indicate the deck, the hazy sunshine, then spun impulsively on her toes and kissed him.
When they pulled apart, Hiral was looking at her intently. “I’m going to miss you.”
Rylin knew what he meant. Even with her internship, they’d had a lot of time to spend together this summer. That was all about to change, now that Rylin would be commuting upTower for school again, focusing on homework. Applying for college scholarships.
“I know. I’m going to miss you too,” she said.
Neither of them mentioned the fact that Cord—the boy who had come between them last time—attended Rylin’s school too.
AVERY
“ANOTHER YEAR, ANOTHER costume party,” Avery joked, glancing to where Leda stood next to her. The other girl didn’t even crack a smile.
They were at the top of Cord’s staircase, the same place they always caught their breath at Cord’s annual back-to-school party, except it all felt wrong. Or rather, Leda felt wrong. Normally Leda was in her element at events like this, her energy seeming to increase in proportion to the number of people around her. But tonight she was subdued, even sullen, as if she resented Avery for dragging her here.
Ever since she got home, Avery had been asking when they could meet up, yet Leda kept putting her off with vague excuses. Finally Avery had decided to stop by on her way to Cord’s. She didn’t even pause to ring the doorbell, just blinked up at the Coles’ retina scanner; she’d been on the entry list for years. The door instantly swung open to admit her.