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Again Again

Page 15

by E. Lockhart


  * * *

  It was futile. Adelaide couldn’t please Kaspian-Lee. She couldn’t please anyone, actually. Not

  her mother (who was so needy),

  her brother (who was so often blank),

  Mikey Double L (who wanted someone happy),

  Jack Cavallero (who wasn’t interested),

  the dean’s office (which put her on academic probation), nor

  the college admissions officers potentially looking at her crappy transcript.

  Rage flooded her veins. She picked up her model and

  threw it to the floor of the studio. She

  stomped on it and

  hit it with a

  metal three-hole punch. She

  ripped it and

  kicked it until the

  stupid ugly thing was in shreds.

  Adelaide left the

  wreckage

  on the floor of the classroom as Kaspian-Lee stared at her, openmouthed.

  * * *

  “Wait,” said Adelaide.

  Kaspian-Lee turned.

  “You don’t get to treat people like that. I don’t care who you are or what you’re going through, you don’t get to trash people’s projects like they mean nothing.”

  “You’re trying to prevent something that’s already happened,” said Kaspian-Lee calmly.

  “I know you’re not interested in hearing me talk,” Adelaide said. “I know you’re not interested in why I did the design like I did, but you should seriously evaluate your personal skills, because they’re terrible.”

  A long moment passed.

  Finally, Kaspian-Lee said, “You make a point, actually. You know, I’m very recently through with Martin Schlegel and his pornographic imagination.”

  “What?”

  “I have left Mr. Schlegel. B-Cake and I won’t be going to the seashore after all. I’m having something of a personal crisis.”

  “Oh.”

  “I haven’t been sleeping. Or eating, for that matter,” said Kaspian-Lee. “It’s like there’s…” She trailed off.

  “An ugly, slimy, viscous membrane between the rest of the world and you?” said Adelaide. “And the membrane is the breakup? An egg yolk of misery?”

  “Precisely,” said Kaspian-Lee.

  * * *

  —

  Adelaide brought the model home. She set it on the dining table.

  She called Toby. She hadn’t heard his voice all summer.

  “Hi, Adelaide.”

  “Toby.”

  “What’s up? I’m on lunch break.”

  “My lunatic teacher decided she

  hated my Set Design project, and I don’t even know what she

  hated so much except that it had

  too many details or was

  too shiny or I

  showed off too much or something, even though it was super neat and all the measurements were perfect, and then

  I scolded her and told her she had terrible social skills.

  I think she flunked me, which means I’ve

  failed academic probation, which means I’m

  very likely coming back to Baltimore, but I don’t even know for sure because I was too busy scolding her to even find out. And

  Mikey said he loved me and

  wanted me back, but then he

  changed his mind. This guy

  Jack I was seeing

  wants nothing to do with me.

  And I feel like I can see a

  future with Jack, and I can see a

  past with him,

  versions of the past that didn’t happen. I can see them, like memories.

  It feels important somehow. Like it matters more than any other relationship ever could. But then, maybe it’s just my feelings for Mikey blurring and smooshing together with my feelings for Jack, so that when

  I think I love Jack, really it’s that

  I love Mikey, and the truth is

  I have some

  romantic obsessional tendencies. Like, I just told you it matters more than any other relationship ever could, but I’m not even seeing him. There’s nothing between us anymore.

  Maybe I even have, like, an

  addiction to love, or to relationships or something.

  It’s like being in love makes me feel better, much better, than I do the rest of the time. Except when

  it makes me miserable.

  Maybe it’s an

  endorphin rush? Or a

  validation?

  Romantic obsessional tendency—that is not a good quality in a person.

  I made this beautiful model, Toby, and it took me the whole summer, but then Kaspian-Lee told me it wasn’t beautiful after all.

  She almost

  changed

  how

  I

  feel

  about the thing that I made, and that just feels wrong, do you know?

  Shouldn’t

  I

  decide

  how

  I

  feel

  about the thing I made?”

  “Adelaide,” Toby interrupted, his voice sweet. “Are you high?”

  “No. No. I’m not high. I’m not high.”

  “You’re sounding scary. And weird.”

  Adelaide took a shaky breath. “I’m not okay. I’m not okay right now. But I’m not high.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you want to start from the beginning?” Toby asked. “I have half an hour before I have to go back to work.”

  So she did.

  It was the third day of Adelaide Buchwald’s summer job, the summer after her junior year at boarding school. Her job was to walk five dogs, morning and night. They all belonged to teachers who were on summer vacation.

  The morning she met Jack, Adelaide took them all to the dog run on the Alabaster Preparatory Academy campus. The run was a sandy space, fenced in and surrounded by trees. She unleashed the dogs and then sat on a bench while they frolicked.

  She texted her mom about the breakup with Mikey.

  Lord Voldemort and Pretzel played chase. Rabbit growled at something on the other side of the fence.

  And suddenly, a boy appeared. He was already in the run when Adelaide saw him, standing under a tree. He had a fluffy white dog on a leash.

  Adelaide recognized the dog. It was B-Cake. B-Cake belonged to Sunny Kaspian-Lee.

  A beat later, Adelaide recognized the boy as well, though she was sure she’d never seen him at Alabaster. When he turned, he had a sweet V-shaped face and full lips. He was broad in the shoulders, with a narrow nose, smooth-shaven face, delicate ears. His light brown hair was wavy and a little wild. He was the sort of person you’d see immortalized in Roman statuary, his skin a warm Mediterranean olive, his chin and neck strong.

  She knew him. She was certain of it.

  She remembered his walk.

  The boy released the clip on the leash. B-Cake zoomed over to Rabbit and Rabbit exploded into the air with an anxious yip.

  The boy laughed, covering his mouth with his fist. “Poor puppy,” he said.

  The dog Rabbit jumped the fence.

  B-Cake followed.

  Adelaide and Jack gave chase, though Jack wasn’t much use, holding the leash and calling “Birthday! Come here, Birthday!”

  B-Cake and Rabbit were tumbling on the lawn next to Hobbs Hall, running in manic circles. Adelaide tackled Rabbit, a pit bull of no delicate build, grabbing her around the chest with one hand.

  Rabbit barked aggressively and B-Cake circled, yapping.

  Adelaide struggled to keep hold of Rabbit, and before she knew it, the dog’s teeth had clamped onto her wrist. Hard.


  “Let go, Rabbit!” she yelled. “Drop it!” (Not that Rabbit ever dropped anything when told.)

  The bite was no joke. Rabbit latched on and began shaking her head back and forth, her teeth puncturing Adelaide’s skin. Tearing it. Blood spattered as the dog shook her arm. Adelaide pulled on Rabbit’s ear with her other hand. “Let me go!”

  But Rabbit held on.

  Jack appeared, standing over them. He bent over and punched Rabbit in the face, hitting her right in the nose.

  Rabbit staggered but kept her teeth where they were, so Jack punched her again.

  Rabbit released Adelaide’s arm and dropped her body low to the ground, slinking off in shame. Tail between her legs. Whimpering.

  Adelaide clutched her arm to her chest. “Thank you.”

  “Are you okay?” Jack asked.

  She was not. She couldn’t feel any pain, but she was bleeding enormously. She knew she should look at it, but she couldn’t bear to take her hand off the wound she had instinctively covered.

  Jack took off his shirt.

  God, he was good-looking.

  Adelaide felt dizzy, like there wasn’t enough blood in her head. It was all gushing out of her wrist. Why was his shirt off? Could she be hallucinating?

  She could see he had B-Cake on the leash again.

  Had he actually bothered to catch B-Cake before punching Rabbit? So Kaspian-Lee would be sure to get her dog back? Or had he done it afterward?

  What kind of person leashes a dog when someone’s wrist is being mauled?

  Oh, his shirt was still off. Wow.

  He handed her the shirt.

  She wrapped it around her wrist to slow the bleeding.

  Now she could feel the wound. A sharp, burning sensation that radiated up her arm.

  Rabbit was huddled by the fence, chin on the ground. I’m sorry, she said. I’m such a bad dog. I know not to do that. I know better. I’m such a bad dog.

  “You have to go to the hospital,” said Jack.

  You have always been nice to me, said Rabbit. I got overexcited. That boy makes me nervous. Please don’t hate me.

  “I have to get the dogs home. I can’t leave them here,” Adelaide said. The thought of trying to give Jack her keys, explaining to him all the addresses—she didn’t even know the addresses, just where the houses were—it seemed impossible.

  Jack still didn’t have his shirt on. Well, of course he didn’t. He had a scar on one side of his abdomen, a large, raised one. Light-headed, Adelaide wondered what had happened to him.

  Her blood started to seep through the cotton.

  “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” she told him. “I’m going to get all the dogs on leash. Rabbit will be okay. She’s really sorry. She doesn’t like you, though. I’m going to bring the dogs back to their houses. And you’re going to come with me just in case I faint or something. When we get the last dog in, we’re calling my dad. But not before, or he’ll try to take me to the hospital before the dogs are brought home.”

  The boy nodded.

  “Okay,” said Adelaide. “Let’s do it.”

  * * *

  —

  At the hospital, Levi called Adelaide’s mother and put her on speaker. “Oh, my pudding, are you okay?”

  “I’m superlative,” said Adelaide. “Considering.”

  “That’s what you always say,” said Rebecca. “But I think you put on a brave face sometimes.”

  It was true. But Adelaide didn’t want to risk her mother spiraling into anxiety. “I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.”

  “I’m coming up,” said Rebecca. “Toby and I are going to drive. I’m literally packing right now. We’ll be there in…well, six and a half hours sounds reasonable. We may hit traffic.”

  “I don’t think you have to come,” said Adelaide. “I got stitches already. And antibiotics. I get to go home soon.”

  “It’s just paperwork now, at the hospital,” said Levi. “The dog has had all her shots. We talked to the owner.”

  “I’m putting pajamas in the suitcase,” said Rebecca. “And bras. And socks. I’m getting Toby from group and we’re driving up. Oh, I have to pack his stuff too.”

  “You don’t need to come,” repeated Adelaide.

  “I want to see you, pudding. Just let me come be a mom.

  “Okay, fine.”

  “Good. Do you think Toby needs extra shoes, or will he be fine with the shoes he has on?”

  “Extra shoes.”

  “Okay. Ugh. His room is so messy.”

  “Hey, what does your whale emoji mean?”

  “Like I send in texts? My whale?”

  “Yeah.”

  Rebecca paused. “It’s just a jolly whale. I don’t like the smiley-face options. They look weird to me. But I like the animals. I guess the whale is like, Here’s a cute thing to make you smile. That’s all. I’m thinking of you and want to brighten up your day, or whatever. Isn’t that obvious?”

  “No one uses the whale, Mom. No one knows what you mean when you send it.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Rebecca. “It’s still adorable. I’ll see you in six and a half hours. ’Kay? I gotta finish packing. Hug hug.”

  “Whale.”

  “What? Oh yes. Whale to you too.”

  * * *

  —

  Adelaide spent the rest of the day dozing with her wrist elevated. Texting Stacey with her left hand.

  She dreaded seeing Toby, whom she hadn’t seen since his relapse, but she found that she did want to see her mother. There was something about being hurt that made her long for Rebecca’s comforting frizzy hair and wool smell, annoying as she was so much of the time.

  At four o’clock, the two of them arrived, frazzled and tired, having hit terrible traffic. “I’m making brownies,” said Rebecca, who was wearing a hat of fuzzy red yarn despite the heat. She’d lugged a grocery bag from the car. “I couldn’t think of anything I could do that would actually be of any use. But I know Adelaide is a sucker for brownies, so we stopped and bought ingredients.”

  “You could have texted me. I would have bought them,” said Levi.

  “I was driving,” she said. “I didn’t even think of it.” She shoved her bag of groceries into his arms and then leaned against him for a moment.

  Then she grabbed Adelaide and squeezed her in an enormous mommy hug. “I hate that freaking dog,” she said. “I can’t stand it that this happened to you.”

  “She’s a good dog,” said Adelaide. “I’m not mad at her.”

  The boy, Jack, had stayed with Adelaide until Levi pulled up in his car. She had felt incredibly grateful for his shirtless rescue. She had described it to Stacey in precise, objectifying detail.

  But she hadn’t forgotten that he’d taken the time to clip B-Cake to her leash. Or probably had. And with the pain she was in, and her anxiety about seeing Toby again, Jack hadn’t actually been the center of Adelaide’s thoughts.

  Toby was climbing out of the car, looking heavier and taller than last time she’d seen him. The wispy mustache was gone. He hugged her.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “Poop weiner thunder-butt,” he said, looking at her bandage. “That dog really nommed you.”

  She nodded.

  He hugged her again. She patted him gently with her good hand, not really hugging back.

  “I’m so sorry, Adelaide,” he said. “I’m so, so sorry. I have been just the worst version of myself. I hope we can start over.”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered, pulling back. Their parents had gone into the house.

  “I get it,” he said. “But I’m doing all my programs and I just wonder, could we hang out this weekend? I was thinking about it on the drive up. Could we, I don’t know, walk
around the campus? Or go see a movie? Something without Mom and Dad?”

  Adelaide didn’t want to. “I don’t have a lot of energy right now,” she told him. “I lost blood and I’m on antibiotics and all that.”

  “Just play Unstable Unicorns, even. I packed the cards. Just for twenty minutes, maybe?”

  She didn’t think her brother should ask anything of her. Not even twenty minutes of her time. “Maybe,” she told him. “I’ll see how I feel.”

  “Just one game. Or a walk,” Toby said. “Then if you don’t want to stay in touch with me after that, we can go back to just seeing each other at holidays, being at arm’s length or whatever. As long as it takes.”

  “Toby.”

  “I get it. You have a very good right to be mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad at all.”

  “You are mad, Adelaide.”

  “I’m not,” she told him. “You have a disease. There’s an epidemic. You have susceptible brain chemistry.”

  “I think you’re mad.”

  “Don’t tell me how I feel!” she shouted. “I’m not mad! I forgive you!”

  “Okay, but you don’t ever talk to me,” he said. “You don’t talk to me, but you text these shallow little nothing texts, and we used to—I don’t know. You used to be my sister, Adelaide.”

  “What the hell do you want?” she said, the force of her voice surprising her. “I reached out to you, over and over. After you went to the hospital. I did. I sent you

  letters and pictures and

  you never wrote back. I

  tried to talk to you. I

  gave you my cacti and

  all those damn Lego dioramas, and you

  didn’t even

  seem to

  notice. I gave you

  my bedroom. I don’t have anywhere to sleep at home anymore, and I

  saved your

  damn life,

  and all you did in response to any of it was turn

  cold and

  say nothing and

  think about yourself. And then you relapsed, which

 

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