“What?
“Wow, I can’t believe it! You’re . . . talking . . . to me?” Audrey shook her head, blinking rapidly. “I must be dreaming!”
Rose looked confused for a moment, but then her face cleared and she started to laugh. “Okay, okay, I deserved that. I’ve been crappy lately, I know.”
This could not be happening. Rose could not be for real right now.
“And I’m sorry,” Rose was saying. “And I wanted to ask you if you wanted to do something after school. The two of us. We can do coffee, or grab food at—”
“No.” Audrey spat out the word like the bile still lingering acidic on her tongue. How dare she stroll over and ask to hang out, like nothing at all was wrong? Like she hadn’t been pulling away right when Audrey really needed her, like she hadn’t kept her little secret and not mentioned a single thing about sleeping with Cooper? Which, sorry, was a big fucking deal, because Rose had pledged that she would never have sex with him for fear of—that old classic—ruining their friendship. Well, she and Cooper seemed pretty fine and dandy. It was a shame the same couldn’t be said about her and Audrey.
Rose took a step back, her forehead furrowing. “No?”
Audrey felt her face set in stone, grim and determined. “You heard me.”
“But I—” Rose cut herself off, and Audrey heard it—the second Rose realized that Audrey wasn’t playing around.
Good.
Audrey slammed her locker shut, the metal clanging loudly. “Were you ever going to tell me that you had sex with Cooper?”
Rose took three halting steps backward, her mouth dropping open. “I don’t— Who told you that?”
Audrey smothered the triumphant smile she could feel coming—not that she was pleased to find out it was true, more that she had finally managed to throw something with enough spike at Rose that it hurt. Audrey already knew it was true; Cooper might be a skeeze, but he didn’t lie about things like that. He didn’t have any need to.
“Is that what you’re mad about?”
“You think that’s why I’m mad?” Audrey twisted to face Rose, holding her math textbook in front of her body like a shield. “Because you slept with Cooper?”
The second bell rang shrilly and the hall began to empty out, but Audrey held her ground. No way was she going to let Rose off the hook that easily, not now that they’d started this fight that Audrey knew had been waiting, waiting for the right moment to erupt.
Rose flinched and said, “It kind of seems like you are.”
“Well, you’re right,” Audrey said, and the strain of keeping her voice even actually made her shake, turned her knuckles white. “I’m mad because you hooked up with Cooper, and it wasn’t important enough for you to tell me. I’m mad because this whole fight is so like you, to make everything about yourself, to shut down and shut everyone out because you know you were out of line.” The urge to reach out and . . . do something—push her, yank on her hair like they were kindergarten brawlers—almost overcame her. Her body moved as if with a life of its own, but before her fingers uncurled from her textbook she realized what a ridiculous thing she was about to do and shook herself.
Audrey tossed her hair back and spoke through gritted teeth. “I have no idea why you’ve been so monumentally shitty lately, but I’m done, all right? I’m so over all of it.”
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” Rose said, and the lightness of her voice, the way she glanced at her nails like this whole thing was boring her—how infuriating.
“You’re my best friend! We don’t keep secrets.” Like this was even about that anyway—Audrey couldn’t give a shit about the dirty fact of Rose and Cooper’s tryst. It was nothing, really, exactly like Rose was saying: a (maybe stupid) hookup between friends that, if things were normal, would have been revealed by Rose over morning-after breakfast for the teasing and amusement of Audrey. But she hadn’t told, and now it had become so much more than that. A nail in the heart of Audrey’s suspicions, that Rose was so far away, and this distance she’d been feeling was not all in her head.
“Oh, yeah? We don’t keep secrets. Right.” Rose’s hand stretched out and pulled on Audrey’s sleeve, the kind of gentle gesture of days past.
But looking at Rose’s face, Audrey could tell this was about to be anything but gentle.
“So.” Rose’s tongue flicked across her lips, and for a split second Audrey imagined that the snakelike move was more, that Rose carried poison in the depths of her, until Rose’s mouth moved again and suddenly she was saying, “Were you ever going to tell me you’re pregnant?”
The word slipped from between her lips. Audrey felt the way it slithered across the inches between them, wrapped itself around her leg and bored inside her bones. “I . . .”
Yes, that was a secret.
A secret she was keeping from Rose.
That, Audrey couldn’t deny. Didn’t have the nerve to try to—Rose deserved better than that; the girl wasn’t that oblivious.
But that’s not the same, Audrey thought, even as she felt her mouth opening in shock. This is my life, not some high school bullshit game. How can she even think this is in the same realm?
“How could you?” Audrey hadn’t planned on that being what came out of her mouth, but there it was, and now that she’d said it, she realized how angry she was. Because if Rose knew, then that meant that every time she’d been cold and cruel lately, every harsh thing she’d said, everything she’d done, had been done knowing the truth. And still she’d made it all about herself? How could Rose possibly think that she being pregnant was anything like Rose’s bullshit? “God, how could you just throw that in my face? That’s different.”
“Of course it’s different,” Rose said, her voice suddenly charged with fury. “Because it’s you. Oh, how could I be mad that you didn’t even tell me that you’re having a baby? How dare I be upset that there’s about to be a whole other thing—a whole other person—for you to leave me behind for? Right. I’m so goddamn sick and tired of you treating me like I’m the one who does everything wrong. You don’t even know what’s going on with me right now.”
Audrey jabbed a finger in Rose’s direction. “You mean what’s going on with you and Olivia? Oh, I know all about that, no thanks to you.”
“No, you don’t. Not at all.” Rose shook her head so violently that her hair shifted and swung in front of her face, almost completely obscuring her from view. “I like her, Audrey,” she said. “I like her. She’s good, she’s smart, she doesn’t make me feel like complete shit when I mess up—see, you would know all that; I would have told you all that if you had ever been around for me to do it!”
“Me?” Audrey said, incensed. “Get real, Rose. You’re the one who’s been MIA.” Oh—so sorry I wasn’t there for you to whine about whatever dumb shit you did to make Olivia pissed at you. I was too busy being PREGNANT. “And what, you like her so much that you had sex with Cooper? Right.” She laughed, knowing how low she was aiming and ignoring the shame of it. “With Cooper, Rose? Come on!”
Audrey saw Rose’s hands twitch, and how she kept glancing at the people hurrying past them to homeroom, the ones who were watching them with undisguised curiosity. Let them look, Audrey thought, suddenly exhausted. I don’t care.
“What happened with Cooper had nothing to do with Olivia,” Rose said, her nostrils flaring. “And yeah, it was a mistake, but I’m not ashamed of it. I own my shit.”
“Don’t you even—”
“And I wasn’t even talking about Olivia to start with! See?” Rose crowed. “See how little you know about anything that’s happening in my life right now? Why don’t you ask me something? Ask me how my sister is. Ask me when she’s coming home. No, no—ask me how long it’s been since I actually saw my parents for longer than five minutes, since I’ve had to spend all night alone, waiting for—” She stopped abruptly before breaking into jagged, bitter laughter. “Yeah. Why don’t you ask me about any of that?”
Audrey
shook her head. She didn’t need to ask about that; she knew it all already. And it made her sad and pissed off that Rose’s family was so beyond belief fucked up that Rose didn’t know any other way to be. Of course she never wanted to talk, of course she was fighting like this—it was the only way she knew how, and Audrey more than understood that. But that didn’t make it right. That didn’t make it okay. How long had Audrey been there for Rose, the one person she could and did talk to, and how many times had Rose ignored that, thrown it back in her face? How many more times was she going to do it? Audrey had had enough.
I will not let her make me feel guilty about this. She doesn’t get to do that.
“I’m sorry,” she started again, looking around the almost-empty hall now. “I’m sorry I wasn’t always there when you wanted me to be, but I don’t exist solely to serve you, Rose. Finding out I’m pregnant, it was weird and I don’t know what to do so it’s . . . shit. I’m sorry, but I have my own things going on, all right?”
Rose took a step back and turned her palms to the sky. “You’re my best friend, God! Being there for each other when the shit going on in our lives is too much is what we’re supposed to do. You have to let me help you, too.”
Audrey’s temper caught light again. “You can’t,” she said. “You don’t know how.”
“Fuck you,” Rose bit out.
“Hey!”
They both jumped at the yell, turning to the source of the sound. Audrey swore under her breath as the most misogynistic teacher in school—Allen, Andrews, something like that—strode toward them in a tweed blazer and a tie that almost choked his thick gym teacher neck. “Did you ladies hear the bell? Or do you think we have that for fun?”
Audrey stared at Rose, both of them staying silent. Psychic understanding.
“Well?” Andrews or whatever his name was cocked his head expectantly. “Homeroom, now. Move it!”
“We’re going,” Rose said, and she grabbed Audrey’s arm in a vise grip. “Come on.”
Audrey allowed Rose to steer her down the corridor in the opposite direction of the teacher, until they were out of his sight. Then she wrenched her arm out of Rose’s grip.
Rose made a noise of disgust. “This is such bullshit.”
“At last,” Audrey said faux sweetly. “Something we agree on.”
Rose stopped right outside her homeroom door and flicked her hand in Audrey’s direction. “Leave me alone, Audrey.”
“Gladly,” Audrey said, and then because she couldn’t bear to let Rose have the last word, added on, “Tell your girlfriend I said hello.”
She stomped off before Rose could do or say anything else, and her shoes made these pathetic shushing sounds as she walked through the corridors. She wished for the kind of boots Olivia sometimes wore: thick soled and steel tipped, the kind that let everybody know you were coming and exactly how much shit you could kick out of them.
But then she remembered that she was pissed off at Olivia, too, and as she slouched into her classroom to her teacher’s annoyed look, she pinched her thigh through her jeans.
Fuck them, she thought, sliding onto her seat. I don’t need Rose. I don’t need any of them. I am doing perfectly fine all on my own.
TWENTY-SIX
Julian cut the engine and gave Audrey that look she was coming to hate lately, his logical, rational, listen-to-me face. “She’ll get over it,” he said. “You’ll get over it. You always do.”
Audrey looked out the window at the crowded parking lot. I should have skipped today, she thought. “I don’t want to get over it,” she said to Julian. “You didn’t hear the things she said to me.” Things that Audrey had replayed in her head all through yesterday, at dinner when her mom was trying to talk to her about Decisions, when she should have been sleeping late last night. They’d fought before, but not like this.
Never like this.
“Yeah, and I’m sure you only said nice things to her, right?” Julian flipped his keys in the air, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Trust me, you’ll be fine.”
She buried her hands in her hair and exhaled slowly. “I can’t deal.”
“Hey.” Julian’s smile slipped into the slightest frown. “You all right?”
Audrey groaned, the noise filling the tight space of Julian’s car. “I wish people would stop asking me that! I’m fine.”
When she opened her eyes, he was looking at her very seriously, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip. “This is terrible timing,” he said. “But I—when are we going to talk? About . . . everything?”
Audrey looked at him. “You’re right,” she said, harsh. “That is terrible fucking timing.”
“Sorry,” he said. “But we have to do something,” he said. “Something. We can’t just wait around forever. Honestly, it’s keeping me up at night.”
He looked worried, his eyes cloudy, and then Audrey noticed the circles beneath those eyes. Her stomach twisted, and she suddenly felt horrible—more horrible. But she also didn’t want to talk about it. She just wanted comfort—to be close to him again.
Audrey leaned into him, brushing her fingers across the back of his neck, that spot that made him sigh. “I know,” she said. “We’re going to decide. But I really want a day when we don’t talk about this. Remember when we used to not talk about this at all?” She pressed her lips to his ear and felt the way his breathing quickened. “Remember when I used to be the thing keeping you up at night?”
Julian let out a quiet laugh. “Like I would forget.”
Audrey kissed right below his ear, and his shiver was undeniable. He was easy to distract, sometimes. “I miss you,” she said softly. “I miss hanging out, like we used to. The two of us in my room, talking about nothing. Remember that?”
In the beginning, when they’d lie on her bed swapping stories about their first crushes, playing stupid games like If I Won a Million Dollars and What I’d Do in a Zombie Apocalypse. And all the while playing a different, silent game, a game of touching. Audrey would slide her hand under Julian’s shirt; he’d hook a thumb into the waist of her jeans. She’d twine her leg around his and press the ball of her foot against his calf; he’d play with her bra strap, sliding it off her shoulder. It was testing each other’s boundaries, seeing who would break first.
Audrey pulled back, winding her fingers into his hair. Back then she was always the first to break, rolling on top of him and kissing him like she couldn’t breathe otherwise. “Come over later,” she said, quiet. “Adam’s out of town. My mom’s schedule’s crazy with rehearsals.” They hadn’t slept together since finding out, but she wanted to change that. She missed the heat of him in her bed, the careful way he touched her, made her feel good.
And this time he broke. “Okay,” Julian said. “You sure?”
Audrey leaned back in and pressed her mouth to his, soothed by the familiarity of the kiss, the taste and feel of him. Everything lately had been so drama filled, so much heavy talking and thinking things through and careful looks from her parents when they thought she wasn’t paying attention. She wanted to forget for a little while, pretend everything was like it had been not that many weeks ago, when she only worried about her photographs and how close she was to buying a new lens, or what dress to wear on Saturday. So yeah, she thought as she gripped Julian’s shoulders, she was sure.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Audrey spent every lunch period the rest of that week and the next hiding out in the art room. When she’d asked Ms. Fitzgerald if she could spend the time up there, the teacher had looked pleased.
“Of course,” she’d said. “You can come in here whenever you want, whether I’m here or not. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Last week she’d had her one-on-one, and although it hadn’t been the shitshow Audrey had feared, it hadn’t been stellar, either. They’d sat at a desk in the back of the room, the rest of the class working around them, and Ms. Fitz had looked at Audrey over steepled hands. “I’m going to cut to the chase,” she’d sa
id. “You seem off. And your standards are slipping. I know how much work you put in usually, but I’m just not seeing the results you should be achieving. As of right now, I’m not hugely concerned—we all have slow periods—but let this be a warning. Your work this year really matters in terms of building your portfolio. You’ve come a long way from where you were two years ago. I really want you to be able to keep moving up, not leveling out at a disappointing place.”
“I know,” Audrey had said, twisting her fingers into the hem of her sweater under the table. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Ms. Fitz said. “Make it better. I remember you talked about RISD before. That’s a very good school. I think it’s good that you want to try—it might be a reach, but you’ll never know if you don’t apply. Where else have you thought about?”
Audrey pulled in a deep breath. “Illinois Institute of Art,” she said. “Maryland, Massachusetts, Parsons, Syracuse . . .”
Ms. Fitz nodded, and from the measured look on her face Audrey couldn’t tell whether she was thinking This kid’s out of her mind or This kid’s going to go far. What the teacher actually said was “A good mix. Okay. What I want to see from you is a marked improvement in your class participation. And you haven’t finalized a project yet. The clock is ticking.”
Don’t I know it, Audrey thought. “Okay,” she said, faking as much confidence as she could. “I can do that.”
So now it was Thursday night and Audrey was shut in her room, trying to figure out where it was all going wrong. Laid out on her bed were the last few months’ worth of prints: black-and-white scenes from downtown, the vivid lights from Hera’s show, clipped pieces of her friends.
Audrey crossed her pajama-clad legs and began sifting through the images, unsure what she was actually looking for. A theme, like Ms. Fitz always said. The only theme my photos have is that they’re all taken by me, Audrey thought. She wished it all came naturally to her, that she didn’t have to spend so much energy and time reaching for what seemed so easy to everybody else. Like, her mom could reel off a monologue in the kitchen, and it’d feel like being alone in a dark theater, spotlight on her, nothing else mattering. And Julian could take half a lyric and a wisp of a melody from Izzy, and he’d turn it into an entire song by the end of fourth period. Sometimes it felt like because it didn’t come naturally to her, because she’d chosen art and slogged at it every day, it wasn’t real. She wasn’t an artist, only a fake. And usually when she thought that, she could shake herself out of it, remind herself that it wasn’t true.
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