A Song to Take the World Apart (30 page)

“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.”

L
ORELEI 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 forget, 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.”