by Zan Romanoff
Lorelei embraces the corrosiveness inside herself, and for the first time she understands all the bone-thin girls at school with sallow skin and peeling cuticles, the ones with long sleeves pulled down to hide their wrists and arms. Those girls looked their own darkness in the face and then descended into it. They ate themselves up instead of letting the world do it for them.
Lorelei wants to go on and on, through the night and across the city, into her own black depths.
“Lorelei,” someone says. She has to look at Carina for a minute before her brain puts a name to the face.
“Leave me alone.” She’s too surprised to say it convincingly.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Carina says. “What are you doing here?”
Lorelei should just sing her into submission and keep going, but Carina looks too much like Zoe, and Lorelei’s not quite that ruthless. “I’m serious,” she says instead. “I’m fine, okay. Just let me go.”
“Where are you going?”
The lie doesn’t come quickly enough. Carina reaches down and clamps her hand onto Lorelei’s arm. “I know trouble when I see it,” she says. “C’mon, sweetheart. I’m getting you the hell out of here.”
Carina drives her home in silence, and parks a block away so she can crack the window and smoke a clove. She doesn’t ask about the party, which is a relief. If Carina has recovered, she might not be the only one.
She does have some questions, though. “All right,” she starts. “I’m gonna need at least a partial explanation for what you were doing in a bar at five-thirty on a weekday.”
“What about you?” Lorelei asks.
“I’m in college.” Carina waves her hand dismissively. “Different story. Out with it. Is this about that asshole, still?”
“Yeah.”
“Breakups suck,” Carina says.
Lorelei cracks a smile. “That’s what Nik said,” she agrees. “That’s what everyone says.”
“So what makes you think this one is special?” Carina asks. “Why is he worth…There’s a lot of trouble you can find if you go looking, Lorelei.”
“I guess you know from experience.”
Carina refuses to take the bait. “That doesn’t give you a license to make my mistakes.”
“I wasn’t in any trouble.”
Carina raises a skeptical eyebrow and smokes in silence. Lorelei doesn’t know what to say, so she doesn’t say anything. The inside of her head is too loud. She misses how quiet it got when she was singing.
“Anyway, he’s the asshole,” Carina says. She grinds her cigarette butt into the grimy mug jammed into one of the car’s cupholders. “I know he’s cute and he’s older, but if he broke your heart, he’s the asshole.”
Lorelei shakes her head grimly. She does know this answer. “No,” she says. “It was my fault.”
“Did he ask you to—”
“No,” Lorelei says. “No. Nothing like that.” Chris never asked her for anything. That was part of the problem.
“How could it possibly be your fault?”
“I tricked him,” Lorelei says. “It’s hard to explain, okay, but I did.”
Carina laughs. “Oh, honey,” she says. “It always feels like that.”
“It’s not the—”
“Sure, yeah, okay.” Carina lights another clove and settles herself into her seat again. “I know you think you’ve reinvented heartbreak, but trust me, it’s always— You have this thing, and it’s so beautiful and great and fun. And then it’s over, and you’ve never had anything end like this before, right?”
“Not really, no.”
“The trick is to remember that however it ended—whatever you did and whatever he said—it doesn’t erase the stuff that came before it, you know? You don’t get to write off the relationship because of a bad breakup. Every relationship ends in a breakup, except maybe one, if you’re lucky. But that’s your life, Lorelei. You can’t just, you know, every time some dude ends a thing, you can’t be like, well, that was a waste, and I was wrong, and I’m the worst.”
“But the stuff that came before is the problem,” Lorelei says. “I lied to him. He never knew me at all. So he can’t have loved me. Not really.”
Carina considers this. “So next time don’t lie,” she says. “I mean, trust me, there will be a next time.”
Lorelei shakes her head helplessly. Not lying will never really be possible for her. She’ll always be hiding a part of herself and her family’s history.
“I see this is a problem that a quick chat won’t begin to solve,” Carina says. “C’mon, come over for dinner. Zoe will be happy to see you.”
Lorelei shakes her head harder. She isn’t ready to face Zoe yet, or the Soroushes’ house, where she’s always been happy, and welcome.
“You sure?” Carina’s phone lights up with a text. “Think about it while I answer this,” she says. She drops her cigarette into the coffee cup while she texts. The lit end smolders but doesn’t go out.
There’s a drag, probably two, left on it. Lorelei picks it up gingerly. The filter is honey-sweet and the smoke burns, unexpectedly, in her lungs. She wonders whether she could smoke it out of herself, scratching up her voice until its power vanishes entirely. Then there would be nothing left to tempt her. And nothing left to lose.
“I should go home,” Lorelei says.
Carina looks up. “Oh, give that back,” she says. She plucks the clove from between Lorelei’s fingers. “C’mon, Lorelei, buck up. You’ll survive it, but you have to want to, you know.”
LORELEI TRIES TO TAKE Carina’s advice. She eats dinner and does her homework. She behaves like everything is normal, like she wants it to be. It’s helpful. It doesn’t solve anything, but it helps her get through the night, and most of school the next day. She wears the idea of normalcy like armor, something that will protect her from her messed-up world.
The fantasy she’s cocooned herself in falls apart when she sees Jackson sitting slumped against her locker at the end of the day. He looks underslept and miserable, dark circles blooming like bruises below each eye. Lorelei has never been into Jackson but she’s always understood why other girls were—why Nik was, or is. Now his handsomeness is sanded down by sleeplessness and worry. The bones in his face stand out sharply. He doesn’t look well.
“Fuck,” she says.
“You have to help me,” Jackson says. “Please. Lorelei. You have to.”
Guilt keeps her from responding for a moment. She’s been so wrapped up in herself that she forgot all about Jackson.
“I can,” she says. “I’m sorry. I will.”
“Chris told me about you.” Jackson won’t look her in the eye, but he keeps darting glances at her. “I don’t— You did something to me. Those times when you were singing. Right?” Lorelei nods. “So. He says you can undo it too.”
“I can,” she says. “But we should probably go somewhere. Somewhere else.”
“No one’s in the practice space this afternoon.” He gets up and starts to walk without waiting to see if she’s coming. “You’ll understand if I don’t want to go back to your house. Or take you home to meet my mom.”
They pass Zoe on their way to the car. She looks at Lorelei like she doesn’t recognize her for a second, and when she does, she looks down, and away.
Lorelei keeps waiting for Jackson to ask her how it can be true, or to prove herself, or something. But he’s long past wanting an explanation of his symptoms. All he’s interested in is a cure.
“How’s Chris doing?” she asks.
“None of your business.” Jackson sounds almost cheerful. “I always knew you were bad news.”
“You were just jealous.”
It’s mean, and a lie. Jackson doesn’t deserve it but she can’t take it back.
“Ha. Tell yourself that, though.”
He doesn’t say anything else until he’s letting them into the practice space building. In the hallway between the front door and their studio, he speaks again. “You f
orget, I met your brother first,” he says. “So I always knew your family was a catastrophe.”
“Nik’s stuff is—”
“It’s all the same stuff. You want people all to yourselves, on your own terms. He didn’t want to come out, fine. I got a girlfriend. I moved on.”
“But you didn’t.”
“What?”
“You didn’t, though. Move on.”
“Don’t tell me—”
“Listen. I’ve done everything wrong,” Lorelei says. “I mean, just. Everything. You know that. But I’m not wrong about this. You still wanted him. You asked him. He messed up but you messed up too.” It feels so good to accuse someone else. “You were in that one together.”
“So get me out of it, please. I asked for that, maybe, but I never asked for this.”
Lorelei can’t imagine what it’s been like: while she’s been picking apart the idea of a cursed family, Jackson has had questions with no answers, and her name in his head, and no relief. She acted like part of him belonged to her. She’s sick with herself for having done it.
Jackson unlocks the studio with a flourish. Lorelei walks in and the familiarity of the space overwhelms her. She wishes she didn’t know this is the last time she’ll be here. Her life has felt too full of lasts, lately.
Jackson cracks a window and pulls a long, thin joint out of his backpack. He lights it up and inhales. “You gonna do this or not?” he asks.
“Do you have to do that while I do?”
“How do you think I’ve gotten through the last few weeks? When I wanted—and then after you—” Jackson takes another hit and holds it until he coughs. “You have no idea what it’s been like.”
“It’s about to be over.”
“Humor me.”
Lorelei sings. She isn’t sure it will work again until it does, and then it’s just like it always is: like the teeth of a key clicking against lock pins, and everything opening up all at once.
When she did it for Chris, it felt sad and awful and necessary. The thing between them was a complicated snarl of her feelings and his, what he had on his own and what she made in him. She swept everything up, all together, and then she let him let it go.
Singing for Jackson doesn’t feel like anything. She slices through the strings she knotted them together with, and takes back all of her influence. She washes him clean of her compulsion. When she’s done, all she can sense in him is faint, resonant relief.
In the quiet that follows, Jackson says, “Thank you.”
“Do you feel better?” Lorelei asks.
He says, “No.”
He doesn’t sound surprised.
Jackson fumbles the keys when he locks up the studio, and when he tries to unlock the car. He drops them twice getting them into the ignition.
“Yeah,” Lorelei says. “This isn’t happening.”
“I can drive,” Jackson says.
“No, you can’t.”
Lorelei pulls out her phone to call someone, and draws a blank. Nik has an away game, and Jens took the car to see him. Chris won’t come. She doesn’t have Carina’s number.
Her dad picks up on the first ring and says, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Dad. I just kind of need a ride.”
“Tell me where you are. I’ll come right away.”
Lorelei can guess what he’s imagining: something awful, something to do with Chris. She lets herself sound as tired as she feels when she says, “I promise, you do not have to hurry.”
The drive to Jackson’s happens in complete and total silence.
Lorelei feels so shitty about the situation that she turns to her dad as soon as they’re alone and says, “Just so you know, he was stoned. That’s all.”
Her dad blinks at her.
“I’m not stoned,” she says.
“Okay,” he says. “Well. Good.”
He puts the car in gear and turns them toward home. “I’m not worried about him,” he says. “Or Chris.” It’s strange to hear her dad say his name. “I’m worried about you.”
“Why? I’m the one who screwed up.”
“I know I haven’t been around much since Oma died. Or before that, even.”
Lorelei nods cautiously.
“I wish I hadn’t let myself disappear on you like that.”
Lorelei wants to say: That has nothing to do with what happened. Having a different kind of dad wouldn’t have saved her from herself.
“It’s just that you should know: if you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here for you. I don’t know what you know about…what happened. But your mother and I, we went through—”
Lorelei cuts him off. “I don’t want to talk about it, actually,” she tells him. “But thanks for the offer, I guess.”
At home, Lorelei tries to tally up what she broke and what she’s fixed. Chris is fine, but they’re over forever, this time, and there’s nothing she can do about it. Jackson is fine, but he’s probably never going near Nik again.
She owes Nik the truth of what she did to him.
She owes her mother and her father something much, much bigger.
Because if she can undo the effects of her song, it means her mother probably could too. She could let Henry go. Lorelei could give them what they need to dismantle her family for good.
She’s just not ready to do it, yet, is all.
After dinner there’s more homework. There’s always more homework. Lorelei wants to text Zoe a question about the math, but they haven’t spoken since the party, and after their non-encounter at school she’s pretty sure there’s no pretending it didn’t happen and just moving on. There’s a very real possibility that Carina told Zoe about seeing Lorelei at the bar, and their conversation after.
There’s also a possibility that Zoe is too freaked out to want to be friends anymore. Lorelei can’t even let herself consider that one, although she wouldn’t blame Zoe for bailing.
She emails one of the other girls in her class the question instead.
Of all of them, this is the smallest and stupidest betrayal. It stings her like a pinprick, sharp and insistent. The smallness somehow doesn’t make it hurt any less.
LORELEI EATS LUNCH ALONE on Wednesday, sitting in the bleachers like every high school movie cliché. It’s lonely, but it’s also quiet. She thinks she could learn to appreciate the austerity of her days without Chris, or the band, or her friends. At least everything gets done.
Carina texts her, are you not speaking to Zoe or something? Lorelei is tempted not to respond. It’s none of Carina’s business. It’s probably unfixable, anyway. But then there’s the little part of her that knows she’s being self-indulgent. She owes Zoe a last explanation and apology, at least.
Kind of? she sends back. Not sure she wants to talk to me.
Don’t be dumb, Carina says. I thought we talked about this.
Are you sure? Lorelei wishes she could take it back the minute she sends it. It’s too vulnerable. Carina knows how much she loves Zoe, but it feels like rolling over and exposing the thinnest skin, the softest part of her belly. What if Zoe sees it, and knows?
Lorelei. Seriously. Talk to her.
Mrs. Soroush comes to the door. “Hey, Lorelei,” she says. “It’s been a while.”
Lorelei is surprised that she hasn’t heard, somehow. She half expected that they wouldn’t even let her in.
“Yeah,” Lorelei says. “I’ve been, you know. Busy.”
“Is Zoe expecting you? She didn’t say…”
“She isn’t. I’m, um, I’m surprising her. You know. Since it’s been a while.”
“Aren’t you sweet! Zoe’s just in the den.” Mrs. Soroush stands back to let Lorelei pass. “I hope you two are planning on getting some work done,” she calls down the hallway after her.
Lorelei pauses at the mouth of the den. The sliding door has been pushed most of the way open, and the TV is on with the sound off, which means Zoe’s halfway between pretending to get work done and buckling down
to actually do it. Right now she’s gotten as far as opening a book she doesn’t seem to be reading. When she sees Lorelei, she sits up too straight. “Hey,” she says. “Uh.”
Lorelei stands in front of her, feeling like she’s going to faint. Her hands are empty and heavy at her sides.
“I—” Lorelei starts at the same time Zoe says, “I really—” and they both laugh a little, but it doesn’t break the tension.
“You first,” Lorelei says. At least she’ll know what she’s getting herself into.
“Sorry about being weird at Daniel’s party,” Zoe says.
“You weren’t that weird.” Lorelei’s reply is automatic. It takes her another few seconds to register that it wasn’t anything—that Zoe doesn’t seem mad at her. At all. Somehow.
“Yeah, I was.” Zoe closes the book without bothering to mark her page and scrubs a hand through her long hair. “God, I woke up in the morning and I was just like—what was that, you know? I never drink like that. Or I haven’t, before. And then we were all being weird. No wonder you wanted to leave.”
“Yeah. I mean, no. I get it! You were excited.”
“I just did not want that night to end,” Zoe says. “But then it did, and it was like—I don’t know, it was weird. Like the world snapped back into focus or something. In the morning. I still wanted you to sing again, but it wasn’t, like, urgent? Anyway, I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” Lorelei carefully sits down on the couch. “And I’m sorry about the last few days. I just needed to figure some stuff out. You know?”
“Yeah,” Zoe says. “Of course.”
She looks down at her hands. There’s a vulnerability in the movement that makes Lorelei just a little bit brave.
“I missed you,” she says.
Zoe says, “Me too.”
Then, finally, it feels normal in the room. It’s like the air Lorelei sucked out by coming in rushes back, and they can both breathe.
Zoe remembers something with a start. “Oh shit,” she says. “Come upstairs. I have a secret to tell you.”