Another Day (22 page)

I email A.

I really want to see you today.

We need to talk.

A emails back to say that today he’s a girl named Lisa, and that he’ll meet me anytime I want. I say after school, and tell him to meet me at this park by my high school.

I spend the whole day wondering what to do. I want A in my life. I know he’s a good thing, and that he cares about me in a way few people have. What we have is love. I’m sure it’s love. But does that mean it can be a relationship? Does that mean we’re bound to be together? Can’t you love someone without being together?

After school, I find A on a bench in the park—he’s exactly where I asked him to be. The girl he is today looks like someone I could be friends with—similar style in clothes, similar hair. I still have to adjust, but it’s not as hard, because it’s more familiar.

She’s reading a book, and doesn’t even notice me until I sit down next to her. Then she looks up and smiles.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” I say back.

“How was your day?”

“Okay.” I don’t want to come right out and say all the things I’ve been thinking. So instead I tell A about class, and about the homecoming game that everyone’s excited about tomorrow, and how Rebecca is insisting that I go, even though I don’t really want to go. A asks me why, and I admit it’s partly because I don’t want to see Justin and partly because…well, it’s a football game.

“It’s supposed to be good weather, at least,” A says before launching into the forecast for the weekend.

I have to interrupt. If we start talking about whether or not it’s going to rain on Sunday, I am going to scream.

“A,” I say, even though A’s not finished. “There are things that I need to say to you.”

A stops. And it’s not like yesterday, when he felt so distant inside the body. Now he’s floating to the surface of this girl. So nervous. So scared.

I wish I could tell him it will all be okay. I wish I could ask him to the homecoming game. I wish I could have him meet all my friends. I wish I could say that I want to kiss this girl as much as I want to kiss everyone else. I wish I could say what he wants me to say.

But I refuse to lie. That’s the one thing we can have—honesty between us. Everything else—whatever it is—can be built from that.

“I don’t think I can do this,” I say.

He knows what I mean. He doesn’t say
What?
He doesn’t look confused. Instead, he asks, “You don’t think you can do it, or you don’t
want
to do it?”

“I want to. Really, I do. But how, A? I just don’t see how it’s possible.”

Now he asks, “What do you mean?”

I spell it out. It hurts to do it, because I know it’s not something he can control. But he has to see that I can’t control my own self, either.

“I mean, you’re a different person every day. And I just can’t love every single person you are equally. I know it’s you underneath. I know it’s just the package. But I can’t, A. I’ve tried. And I can’t. I want to—I want to be the person who can do that—but I can’t. And it’s not just that. I’ve just broken up with Justin—I need time to process that, to put that away. And there are just so many things you and I can’t do. We’ll never hang out with my friends. I can’t even talk about you to my friends, and that’s driving me crazy. You’ll never meet my parents. I will never be able to go to sleep with you at night and then wake up with you the next morning. Never. And I’ve been trying to argue myself into thinking these things don’t matter, A. Really, I have. But I’ve lost the argument. And I can’t keep having it, when I know what the real answer is.”

This is it. As honest as it gets. But he doesn’t give in when I force him to face it.

“It’s not impossible,” he tells me. “Do you think I haven’t been having the same arguments with myself, the same thoughts? I’ve been trying to imagine how we can have a future together. So what about this? I think one way for me to not travel so far would be if we lived in a city. I mean, there would be more bodies the right age nearby, and while I don’t know how I get passed from one body to the next, I do feel certain that the distance I travel is related to how many possibilities there are. So if we were in New York City, I’d probably never leave. There are so many people to choose from. So we could see each other all the time. Be with each other. I know it’s crazy. I know you can’t just leave home on a moment’s notice. But eventually we could do that. Eventually, that could be our life. I will never be able to wake up next to you, but I can be with you all the time. It won’t be a normal life—I know that. But it will be a life. A life together.”

I want to be the girl who can believe this. I want to be the girl who can run away from her life and do this. For one person. For the right person.

But right now, I don’t think I’m that girl.

I try to picture it. I can see living in New York City. Having an apartment. Living a life there.

The problem is, when the door opens and A comes home, it’s my mental image of A. He’s that guy. The guy he’ll never be.

I can’t picture it with a different person every day. That doesn’t feel like a life. That feels like a hotel.

I know he wants it so badly. And it kills me that I can’t give it to him.

“That will never happen,” I say, trying to make my voice as comforting as possible. “I wish I could believe it, but I can’t.”

“But, Rhiannon—”

I’m crying now. It’s too much. “I want you to know, if you were a guy I met—if you were the same guy every day, if the inside was the outside—there’s a good chance I could love you forever. This isn’t about the heart of you—I hope you know that. But the rest is too difficult. There might be girls out there who could deal with it. I hope there are. But I’m not one of them. I just can’t do it.”

A is crying, too. I mean, the girl sitting with me on this bench is crying, too.

“So…what?” she asks. “This is it? We stop?”

I shake my head. “I want us to be in each other’s lives. But your life can’t keep derailing mine. I need to be with my friends, A. I need to go to school and go to prom and do all the things I’m supposed to do. I am grateful—truly grateful—not to be with Justin anymore. But I can’t let go of the other things.”

“You can’t do that for me the way I can do that for you?”

“I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

And I don’t want him to do it for me, either. I don’t. We are not worth that.

“Rhiannon…,” A says. But then it stops there. As if he’s finally realizing what the truth is. And what it means for us.

We could argue about it for hours. For days. We could keep coming to this bench, A in a different body each time. It wouldn’t matter. I know this. And I think that A is starting to know it, too.

I lean over and kiss him (her) on the cheek.

“I should go,” I say. “Not forever. But for now. Let’s talk again in a few days. If you really think about it, you’ll come to the same conclusion. And then it won’t be as bad. Then we’ll be able to work through it together, and figure out what comes next. I want there to be something next. It just can’t be…”

“Love?”

No. “A relationship. Dating. What you want.”

I stand up. I have to go now. Not because I’m going to change my mind if I stay. I know I’m not going to change my mind. But I also know it will hurt A more to keep trying and failing.

“We’ll talk,” I promise.

“We’ll talk,” he says. It’s a statement, not a promise.

I hover there. I don’t want to leave it like this.

“Rhiannon, I love you,” he says, her voice breaking.

“And I love you,” I say.

I know it’s something. It’s not enough, but it’s something.

I give a little wave, then head to my car. I don’t look back. I keep myself together. It isn’t until I’m in the car, until I’ve put on my seat belt, that it all comes out. My body needs to release this. So I let it go. I let myself be the mess my life has become. And when I’m done, I blow my nose, wipe my eyes, turn the key in the ignition, and find my way home.

As soon as I get to my room, I want to email A, to take it back.

But I have to be stronger than that. Because I know that would be a lie, and I need to live with the truth.

I have no intention of going to the homecoming game, and Rebecca and Preston have no intention of letting me get out of it. I might be able to resist one of them, but their combined force is too much for me.

They call me on speakerphone from Rebecca’s house.

“You have to come,” Preston insists.

“I don’t care if Mystery Man is planning on taking you on a tour of Europe this weekend,” Rebecca says. “This comes first.”

“Because we want you there.”

“We
need
you there.”

“But Justin will be there!” I point out.

“So what?” Preston says. “We can take down that skinnyass whiner if we have to.”

Rebecca sighs. “What Preston means is, you can’t avoid Justin forever. Our school just isn’t that big. So the sooner you get the first time over with, the better. And we’ll be with you the whole time.”

“Plus,” Preston adds, “you’ll go crazy if you stay home all weekend.”

True. All of this is true.

Also, I miss them.

“Fine,” I say. “But you’re talking to me the whole time. You are not going to expect me to watch high school football for two hours.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Rebecca says, and Preston cheers.

I become hyper-preoccupied with what to wear. Which was never an issue when I was going to see A—I guess I figured if he was going to show up in whatever body, I could show up wearing whatever. Or maybe I didn’t feel like I was auditioning for him all the time, like I did with Justin.

Rebecca, Preston, and Ben pick me up and we head to the high school. It feels like the whole town is here—even though our football team sucks, homecoming is a sort-of big deal. Stephanie and Steve are with Justin and a few more friends, and Stephanie has promised to text updates about their location. I tell Rebecca that’s not necessary—I don’t need to be treated like there are restraining orders involved. I’m not worried Justin will attack me. I’m just worried about how sad it will feel to see him.

Luckily, the stands are packed, and Justin’s group is nowhere near us. As promised, we talk through the game—mostly Preston giving running commentary on the fashion choices of various people in the bleachers, with even Ben throwing in a remark every now and then. At one point, Preston says he’s going on a pretzel run and Rebecca volunteers to join him, leaving me and Ben alone together for the first time in a while.

At first, I think we’re just going to watch the game until Preston and Rebecca get back. But then Ben says, “I’m glad you did it.” He’s not even looking at me—he’s watching the field as he says it. But I know he’s talking to me.

“Thanks,” I say.

Now he looks at me. “No thanks necessary. It’s just nice to see you out from his shadow. Because things don’t grow in shadows, you know? So it was frustrating to see you standing there…and really cool to see you step out of it. I don’t know who this new guy is, but make sure when you’re with him, you’re not standing in his shadow. Stand where everyone can see you.”

The crowd starts to cheer, and Ben turns back to the game in time to see one of our players heading to the end zone. “Come on!” he yells, along with the rest of the crowd. The guy is tackled a few yards short. “Oh man!” Ben sighs. “Can you believe it?”

“So close,” I say.

“Yeah,” Ben says with a nod. “So close.”

I should have known there’d be an after-party.

“It’ll be fun,” Rebecca promises, taking my arm and leading me to her car. “We won’t leave your side.”

The truth is, I don’t need much convincing. I’m having a good time. An uncomplicated, good time with my friends. For a long time, I couldn’t have had this—there would have always been the counterweight of Justin, the obligation of being in a couple instead of hanging with a couple of friends. This is part of freedom—not looking for anything, not missing anything, just happy with the friends who are here.

“Sure,” I tell Rebecca. “Let’s go.”

It’s not that late, and barely dark out. There’s an official after-party at some restaurant owned by a former high school quarterback, but the less-than-football crowd is gathering at Will Tyler’s house, which is very conveniently located across the street from a water supply area that’s never patrolled for trespassing.

Will Tyler’s this guy from the grade above us who sold a fantasy novel to a big publisher when he was fourteen. He has a banner over his door that says FOOTBALL IS FOR WUSSES; QUIDDITCH IS FOR GODS. Preston whoops when he sees that.

If the geekiness of the sign isn’t enough to ward off Justin, I’m sure the complete lack of alcohol will be. Instead of beer and vodka, Will and his parents have stocked up on every single soda that’s ever been created—or at least it seems that way. The bottles are lined up in identical pairs in the kitchen, like this is some kind of carbonated Noah’s ark. Some people are grumbling or pulling out flasks to spike their Fanta. But I’m into it. It’s been too long since I’ve had a Cherry Coke.

A would love this. I have no doubt A would love this. I wish he were here—not for us to be together, but so he could sample any of the sodas he never got as he bounced around his childhood.

“Will Tyler’s no fool,” Preston says, cheersing me with a red cup of purple pop. “This is a party we’ll all remember.”

“Why, thank you,” a boy behind him says. His voice has a slightly Southern twang. “Glad you could be here, Preston.”

Preston turns to the boy and blurts, “You know my name?”

Will laughs. “Of course I know your name! It’s a very nice name.”

Preston smiles.

Will smiles.

And I’m like,
Wow. Yes. Go.

“I need to find Rebecca,” I say, even though Rebecca is all of ten feet away from me, pouring herself a Barqs.

“Don’t look now,” I whisper when I get to her, “but I think Preston’s found someone on his team.”

Of course Rebecca looks over. When she turns back to me, her eyes are wide.

“Why didn’t we think of this sooner?” she asks me.

“All in due time,” I tell her.

“And I’d say that time is due!”

Ben shuffles over. “Do any of you have any idea what Vernors is? I’m trying it, and it’s not bad. But I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be.”

“Out,” Rebecca says. “Out out out.”

We shuffle away from Preston and Will, into the den, where Ellie Goulding’s “Lights” is playing on high, and the lights themselves are playing on low. Looking around, I see we’re mostly surrounded by smart kids—Rebecca and Ben’s crowd. But I don’t feel unwelcome.

I think this would be A’s crowd, too. I mean, he could have turned into anyone—a jerk, a druggie, a social climber, a sociopath. But after all he went through, he’s basically a smart kid.

I scan the crowd, looking for that recognition even though I haven’t asked him to be here. If he’s here, it will have to be coincidence. Fate.

Someone suggests charades. The music is turned off, the lights are turned up, and Preston and Will come out of the kitchen. They’re on the same charades team, of course. And when either of them is giving clues, it’s the other he’s looking at.

More people show up—more smart kids who stopped off for dinner before coming over. It isn’t until nine that the official after-party breaks up, and a whole different wave comes. Some are drunk, and some want to be drunk. Rebecca checks her phone and there’s a text from Stephanie, saying they’ll be here soon.

“Do you want to leave?” Rebecca asks me.

And I say no. I’m happy here. I don’t want to leave.

But still, it’s awkward when Stephanie comes into the den, and I know that means Justin’s somewhere in the house. It’s awkward when I hear him yelling in the kitchen, asking someone where the booze is being hidden.

“Steve will keep him in there,” Stephanie promises me.

But Steve can’t keep him in there, not when there isn’t any booze. Justin comes jumping out into the den, and there it is: me and him, in the same room.

The look on his face when he sees me is awful. Like he’s been tricked. Like I’m the trap.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” he says. He must be three or four beers closer to drunk already. I can tell. He turns to Stephanie. “You knew she’d be here, didn’t you? Why the fuck didn’t you warn me?”

Now Steve’s on the scene, telling Justin to calm down.

“Shit!” Justin says, knocking the nearest cup to the floor. It doesn’t really have the effect he wants. It’s plastic. And full of Sprite.

I’m standing there, and it’s as if I’ve stepped away from myself for a second. I am watching this from a distance. Calmly, I am wondering what he’s going to do next. Yell at me? Spit at me? Throw another cup? Burst into tears?

Instead, he looks at Steve and says, with more feeling than he’d want me to hear, “This
sucks
.” Then he bolts from the room, out the front door.

Steve moves to follow, but I surprise everyone in the room—including myself—by saying, “No. I’ve got this.”

Steve looks at me curiously. “Are you sure? I have his keys.”

“I’ll be right back,” I tell him. Then, seeing the look on Rebecca’s face, I say it to her, too. “Really. I’ll be right back.”

It’s not hard to find him. I can actually see the glow of his cigarette across the street in the water supply area. It figures he’d head straight to the NO TRESPASSING signs.

I let him take a few drags before I get there.

“I’m coming in,” I warn. Then I skirt around a tree, and end up right in front of him.

I can’t help it. The first thing out of my mouth is, “You look like shit.”

Which means the first thing out of his mouth is, “Well, you made me feel like shit, so that kinda makes sense.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Fuck you.”

“Go ahead. Get it out of your system.”

“Why, Rhiannon?
Why?
”

This is worse than the
Fuck you.
Much worse.

Because now his body is transparent. I see right inside, right to who he is. And he is so upset. So wronged. So surprised.

All along, I’ve wanted to see how much he cared. And now I get to see it. Now, when it’s over.

“How long, Rhiannon? How long were you screwing some other guy? How long were you lying to me?”

“I never screwed him.”

“Oh, that makes me feel
so much better.
The best kind of slut is one who won’t put out!”

I’ve humiliated him. I’ve been so busy being humiliated that I haven’t realized how badly I’ve humiliated him.

“I am so, so sorry,” I say.

I should be crying. But what I feel is different from sorrow. It’s horror.

“It’s okay if you hate me,” I say.

He laughs. “I don’t need your
permission
to hate you. Jesus! Listen to yourself!”

I wish I could blame A. I wish I could say it’s A’s fault. But all A did was show me who Justin wasn’t. And instead of dealing with that, I ran away. I pretended. And then I was caught.

“I don’t just hate you, Rhiannon,” Justin says. “I hate you more than I ever thought it was possible to hate anyone. Do you know what’s worse than being destroyed? It’s being destroyed by someone who was never worth it. If you want me to let you off the hook—if you want me to tell you that I’m okay with everything—well, all I have to say to that is that I hope you stay on this hook for as long as you fucking live. I hope you feel it every time you kiss that guy. I hope you feel it every time you think about kissing anyone. I hope it keeps you awake at night. I hope you never sleep again. I hate you that much. So go back to that lame-ass party and drink soda and get out of my face.”

“No,” I say, faltering. “No—we need to talk. I need to tell you—”

“Fine. New plan. I am going to go back there, get Steve and my keys, and drive the hell away. You can stay here. I hereby give you custody of this shitty reservation. Do not follow me, and please do not talk to me ever again.”

He flicks his cigarette to the ground and walks away. I jump forward—not to follow him, but to make sure the cigarette doesn’t set everything on fire.

What have I done what have I done what have I done?

Even as I’m thinking this on repeat, I’m also thinking it’s a little too late to be asking this question.

I want to wake up tomorrow in another body, another life. But I don’t really want that. What I’m realizing is that for all the time I’ve spent with A, for all the time I’ve thought about A and A’s life, I missed the most important part:
Do no damage.
Somehow A can manage it in the course of a day, but I couldn’t manage that in the course of a real, continuous life.

I can’t go back to the house, but I also can’t just stand here, waiting to see Justin and Steve leave. So I walk deeper into the woods, trespass more definitively. Once I’m out of the streetlamp range and the neighborhood glow, it’s completely dark. As I walk among the trees, I realize this is as close to bodiless as I’m going to get. Just a mind walking through the night. Unseen. Unfelt. Unreal.

Justin was careless with me. That’s undeniable. But it doesn’t excuse me from being so careless with him. It explains it, but it doesn’t excuse it.

I lose all sense of time until I hear my name being called. More frantic with each repetition. Rebecca’s voice. Preston’s. Ben’s. Stephanie’s. Will’s.

“I’m here!” I shout, then keep shouting it until they find me.