You Don’t Know Me but I Know You

by Rebecca Barrow

  CONTENTS

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty-Five

  Forty-Six

  Forty-Seven

  Acknowledgments

  Back Ad

  About the Author

  Books by Rebecca Barrow

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  ONE

  Audrey sipped her third lukewarm beer and tossed her head back, shaking her hips to the bass-heavy music thrumming through the house. Barely two feet away, the band held their instruments like long-lost loves, enchanting a slick, sexy-infused rock from battered guitars and crackling mics.

  Audrey closed her eyes to feel it all. The sweat on the back of her neck tickled as it inched down into her shirt, but she barely noticed. How could she when she was having so much fun?

  (The three beers might have had something to do with that.)

  (Okay, and the vodka.)

  An achingly familiar voice made Audrey open her eyes again, and she focused on the lone boy grabbing the mic away from the girl with the orange guitar. “This is a new one,” he said in a hoarse voice, jerking dark hair out of his face. “You’ll get it. Izzy—”

  The girl ripped into a frenetic riff on that guitar. Audrey watched the boy—her boy—lift his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead before starting up a killer bass line, and then the girl in shiny, black knee-high boots began to sing.

  Audrey felt the beat in the pit of her stomach and smiled. Next to her, Rose whipped her long, messy hair back and forth and ignored the annoyed glances as she bumped into the surrounding people. The den of Cooper’s extravagant house hummed with energy, crowded with kids eager to see the band play, to spill their drinks on the cream carpet as they thrashed around. That was exactly the way Audrey liked it: surrounded by air thick with body heat, sweat, and perfume, wrapped up in the heartbeat of it all.

  They danced through another few songs until the girl with the orange guitar announced they were done. “I’m Izzy. This is Julian, Dasha, and Jasmin. We’re Hera,” she said to raucous cheers. “Thanks for having us, Coop.”

  The sudden buzzing quiet was quickly filled with electro coming from the ceiling-mounted speakers. Audrey caught Julian’s eye and held up her red cup, pointing to it. Drink? she mouthed.

  He nodded as he lifted his guitar strap over his head, then held up two fingers. Water, he mouthed back.

  Audrey slung an arm around Rose’s neck, pulling her best friend close to speak rushed words into her ear. “Kitchen! Coming?”

  They elbowed out of the crush and found their winding way to the kitchen. Audrey ignored the table groaning with illicitly acquired beer and opened the refrigerator, grabbing two bottles of water. Cooper’s mom wouldn’t mind—not that she’d ever know, since Coop was an expert in postparty cleanup. By tomorrow afternoon the house would be pristine, fridge restocked, china released from under the sink, and—party? What party?

  It was quieter in here, more talk than music. Audrey took Rose’s hand and pulled her over to the granite-topped island where María was perched, her skirt riding high as she lectured Jen, the fourth member of their quartet. “So what if it’s part of the canon?” she was saying, adjusting her pink-framed glasses. “If I have to read another book by an old white guy about a dead teenage girl, I will throw up.”

  Audrey laughed and poked María’s leg. “You know we’re at a party, right?” she teased. “You can leave the literature smackdown for later.”

  Jen nodded, her high ponytail swinging, the dyed bright red of it dramatic with her winter-morning-white skin. “Here, this will be more fun,” she said. “Let me read your palm.”

  “Since when do you know how to read palms?” Rose said.

  “Since we had an astrologist come to church,” Jen said. “Now, let me see your lifeline, Ree. I want to know if you’re going to die before me.”

  Audrey watched as Rose snagged two lime-green Jell-O shots from a passing plate. “Sometimes Jen truly astounds me,” Audrey said.

  Rose handed Audrey one of the shots. “You love it. Drink.”

  They clicked the tiny plastic cups together and threw back their heads in perfect sync, downing their shots. Audrey shimmied as the sour shock hit her. “More!”

  Rose laughed. “Okay, hold on a—” She cut off suddenly, and her face went from giddy glee to thunder in a split second. “Really? Is she fucking serious?”

  “What?” Audrey followed her friend’s knife-sharp gaze and twisted to see a beautiful, dark-skinned girl with braids to her ass walking through the doorway. “Oh, shit. Hey—” She put her hands on Rose’s shoulders and forcibly turned her away. “Ignore her.”

  “What, Saint Francis doesn’t have their own parties?” Rose pulled in a ragged breath, her eyes still fixed on a point past Audrey. “She has to come slum it all the way over here?”

  “Ignore her,” Audrey repeated. “Don’t let it get to you.”

  “I’m not!” Rose twitched out of Audrey’s grip, and her focus came back, flicking around to their friends’ curious faces. She stood up straight and shook her head, her face momentarily hidden behind the curtain of her hair. When it was visible again, her smile was back and the angry flash gone from her eyes. “I mean, come on,” Rose said, and she laughed now. “She knows this is my place. These are my friends. God—how desperate.”

  “Who’s desperate?” Jen leaned between them and saw the subject of their disdain. “Wait, is that Aisha? What is she doing here?”

  “The more important question is, who cares?” Rose turned away, her bravado fully reengaged. “Hmm. Do you think she follows all her exes around, or am I special?” She batted her eyelashes at María, who laughed loudly. “I mean, we only went out for, like, a couple months. She needs to get a life.”

  Audrey watched Aisha, now moving through the party with the grace of a gazelle, trailed by her private-school friends. Rose made it sound like no big deal. But it had been a big enough deal when it was happening—enough for Rose to whisper to Audrey that she was falling for this girl. Enough to leave Rose a sobbing, sad mess when Aisha unceremoniously dumped her soon after.

  Rose rubbed her gloss-wet lips together and sighed. “Whatever. Let’s talk about something actually interesting,” she said. “Like how Pete Krakoz is totally checking you out right now, Ree.”

  María rolled her eyes. “No thanks.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s creepy! He still snaps people’s bra straps. Like, we’re not twelve years old.”

  Audrey remembered the water sweating on the countertop and grabbed the bottles. She hip-bumped
Rose. “I’m going to find Julian,” she said. “I’ll be back.”

  After a circuit of the entire house with no sign of her boyfriend, Audrey ventured outside. The French doors clicked shut behind her, and Audrey paused on the patio, inhaling the crisp suburban New York night air. The sky above glittered with stars—well, the few that were visible with the neon glow of streetlights. There were things Audrey liked about living in Kennedy (river walks, the excellent independent music scene, early-morning sunrises) and things she didn’t, like how she couldn’t pick out the constellations in the sky. Like how Kennedy was somehow big enough that not everybody knew everybody else, but still small enough for secrets and rumors to travel venom-slick. The kind of town where if you weren’t driving the right kind of car or bringing in your trash cans fast enough or turning out for the neighborhood association meetings—well, no one would say anything. No one would do anything. But you’d be marked in some invisible way as Wrong. Not One of Us.

  She didn’t want to be One of Them anyway: judgmental and uptight, wasting energy caring about this nowhere place? No thanks. The other side was so much better.

  Audrey’s hands twitched at her sides, longing for the camera that she’d left at home. She lifted her hands so they framed the cluster of pinpoint lights and squeezed an imaginary shutter—click.

  Imaginary was better anyway, because her real version would most likely have been grainy and impossible to make out. She didn’t have a problem finding things she wanted to capture, but making the image reflect what she’d seen? That was where the trouble started. Sometimes she wished she could forget about composition and aperture speeds, light versus dark, and all the other technical shit that tripped her up. If only it was that easy, she thought.

  She was still staring up when she felt long fingers creep around her waist and squeeze hard, shocking her enough that she jumped and her heart kicked into double time. “What—”

  “Wait, it’s me!” Julian grinned at her, his dark eyes gleaming. “Aud, it’s only me. Relax.”

  Audrey punched his shoulder semiplayfully. “You know I hate when you do that.”

  Julian put two fingers under her chin and tilted her face up. “Let me make it up to you,” he said, and kissed her. Audrey pressed her hands against his chest and rose up on her toes to return the kiss, sighing as his hands skimmed over her hips. Kissing Julian was like plugging herself into an electric circuit, lighting up her veins and sending shocks to the tips of her toes.

  She pulled away, sinking back down until she was fully grounded again. That was more like it.

  Although . . . “Did you smoke?” she asked, leaning away from him. She saw the way his eyes widened and lifted a finger in warning. “Don’t lie.”

  “One,” Julian admitted. “Half of one, really. What?”

  “You know what,” Audrey said. “You quit, remember?”

  “I’m not smoking,” he said, and in his voice Audrey could hear the annoyance of having this argument—discussion—again. “It was one.”

  Audrey knew her nagging pissed him off, but she’d stopped caring. Before they’d started dating, Julian had always had a cigarette in his hand; Audrey would see him underneath the bleachers or hiding from the rain at the bus stop, and God, she’d thought he was so hot, with his guitar strapped to his back and hair curling into his eyes and his mouth blowing smoke rings.

  But then they’d started dating, and Audrey had discovered that as sexy as it looked, in reality the whole thing was gross. She’d come home with her clothes smelling of smoke, and shivering outside while she waited for him to finish his cigarette was beyond boring. Plus, she couldn’t stop picturing his lungs turning black, and it had freaked her out enough that she’d made him promise to quit. Which he had, except for times like now when he cheated.

  Julian frowned, pulling her back close to him. “Don’t give me the lecture,” he said. “I’ll be good from now on. I promise.”

  The buzzed part of her wanted to believe that, and the sensible part of her said that he meant it, too. So she let her body press into his and smiled. “You were good tonight,” she said. “You need to start bringing stuff for people to buy again. More EPs and whatever else.”

  “We’re trying,” Julian said. “Dasha’s brother’s helping us with shirts.”

  “I can help, too,” Audrey said. “Pictures, posters, whatever. Tell Izzy.”

  “I will,” Julian said. “What are you doing out here anyway? You were miles away.”

  “I was looking for you,” Audrey said, tipping her head back and inhaling deeply. “What’s your excuse?”

  Julian gestured to somewhere behind him. “I was talking to Cooper and Davis.”

  Audrey leaned past him, looking to the far side of the patio where Cooper and Davis, plus some others, were congregated, the glowing tips of their cigarettes the only things giving them away. “Talking. Oh, I see.”

  Julian rolled his eyes, lacing his fingers through her other hand. “All right, all right,” he said. “Come on, let’s go inside. You must be freezing.”

  Audrey glanced down at her bare legs, her bleached denim shorts and thin cotton T-shirt, and then at Julian in his jeans, shirt, sweater, and leather jacket. “No,” she said truthfully. Three beers and a beautiful boy would do that to a girl.

  She lifted their joined hands, wishing again for her camera. She loved the way their hands looked together: his long, piano-playing fingers pale against her brown skin and glitter-painted nails. Click. “My mom and Adam are out tonight,” she said, looking back up at him. “In the city.”

  “So they won’t be home till late,” Julian said, raising his eyebrows.

  “Yup. Which means I have the house all to myself.”

  “Hmm.” He nodded, a knowing smile appearing on his face. “Interesting.”

  “Very interesting,” Audrey said, and stroked her thumb against his palm. “I mean, we’d have to be quick, because Rose is supposed to stay—”

  But Julian was one step ahead of her, whipping his keys out of his back pocket and tripping toward the French doors as her laughter pealed into the night. “Let’s go.”

  TWO

  The blaring alarm rudely woke Audrey, and she would have ignored it if not for the pillow that landed on her head a second later. “Mmph,” Rose groaned. “Shut it off.”

  “All right,” Audrey said, her voice late-night raspy, and she tossed the pillow away. “Why are you always such an ass in the morning?”

  “Not always,” Rose mumbled. “Only when hungover.”

  She rolled over, taking Audrey’s half of the covers with her, and Audrey swung her legs to the floor. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said through a yawn. She stood up and gazed around her room, stretching her arms high above her head as she took in the dark-purple-painted walls, decorated with her own artwork: collages of her photos interspersed with paper printouts, tacked-up portraits of Old Hollywood starlets, posters of her mom’s movies. Hanging from the ceiling were spiraling sculptures she’d made out of Julian’s old guitar strings, pretty, wild things. Having her space to decorate however she liked was her favorite thing about their house. “I told Jen we’d be there at ten.” She poked the lump that was Rose underneath the covers. “Don’t go back to sleep. We need to get energized! Knitting! Let’s go!”

  When Audrey came back from the bathroom, Rose had made the bed and was rifling through the bottom drawer of Audrey’s closet, the one that held a small collection of Rose’s things. Rose did not have that stereotypical big, wildly loving Italian family—her parents were of the always-absent variety, too busy being a surgeon and a lawyer to check whether Rose was in by curfew or to do anything more than leave money for dinner. And ever since her sister, Gia, had left for college and then a job in Singapore, Rose had started staying over at Audrey’s more and more. She spent enough time there already that it barely made a difference—just that now a bottle of her expensive shampoo lived in the bathroom, and when the coffee machine broke in the mo
rning, there was someone in the house who actually knew how to fix it.

  Rose held up an olive-green sweater. “This or the black shirt?” Rose was a dancer, but not the willowy, elegant ballerina type. (“Trust me, the American Ballet Theatre is never going to want this much T and A,” Rose had once said.) She was more powerful—athletic muscle where Audrey was curves and softness—and Rose towered over her, but it didn’t stop them from switching and swapping clothes all the time. The perks of best friendship meant no repercussions for a shirt with the chest stretched out or hems permanently rolled up.

  “That,” Audrey said. “Can I borrow the lipstick you were wearing last night?” She stepped over Rose to get to her clothes and picked out one of her standard outfits: worn blue jeans, a plain white tank, and a slouchy gray sweater to go over the top. She stuck with the basics mostly, and let her hair and lipstick do the talking for her. The hair, in her natural kinky, coily curls, said, Yes, I’m aware of my skin color, and I don’t need you to point it out to me. The lipstick said, If you touch me I will hurt you. And plus, the purplish red looked excellent against her brown skin.

  Eventually they were ready to go—only fifteen minutes behind Audrey’s schedule. They blew through the kitchen, where her mom and Adam were eating breakfast, and Audrey grabbed two lemon poppy-seed muffins from the basket. “See you later,” Audrey said. “Julian’s coming for dinner.”

  “Okay,” her mom said, twisting her red hair into a knot on top of her head. “Where are you two going?”

  “Knit-a-thon,” Rose answered. “At Jen’s church.”

  “Raging,” Adam said, grinning. “Have fun.”

  Outside, the bright morning sun glared high in the sky. Audrey got into the passenger side and slipped on one of the many pairs of sunglasses Rose kept in her car’s glove box. “My head is killing me,” she said. “I can’t believe we did Jell-O shots. Not a good idea.”

  “I know. My mouth tastes like ass,” Rose said. “Remind me why we agreed to this again?”

  Audrey slumped down and tucked her hands inside her sweater sleeves. “Because Jen’s our friend, and we love her. Quit complaining.”

  “Okay.” Rose laughed as they cruised through a yellow light. “But only because I love her.”