Infatuate (18 page)

“Hey, Sabine, you’ve got a great room down the hall. Let’s go, lady,” he said flatly, tapping his shoe against her bare foot. Her eyes fluttered open and set on me. She smiled as if there was nothing wrong.

“Hey, roomie.” Woozy, she yawned, struggling to get up. She grabbed her heels off the floor and stumbled out the door, taking my hand in hers. “So sleepy,” she said, her voice slurred.

“Night, Hav,” Dante said, in a troubled tone I seldom heard, as I got pulled away. I could feel my mouth setting into a frown, my brow furrowing, and my patience dwindling, though Sabine didn’t seem to notice.

“Fabulous night!” she said, bumbling toward our door. “How ’bout you?”

I didn’t answer. My mind raced in too many directions. She simply continued talking as we stepped inside and I flipped off the light. “Omigod, so much to tell you! Jimmy is a total dog. But gotta sleep now.” She pitched forward into her bed, still in her dress.

As I settled under the covers, I could feel my blood boiling. I wished to climb back down, creep into Lance’s room, and curl up beside him, make him tell me that nothing had happened, that everything was fine. He was mine, wasn’t he? And didn’t that entitle me—us—to move at whatever pace we chose without the threat of some sort of outside force wedging itself between us? In my heart, though, I knew that something hadn’t felt right since we arrived here. We were just a shade . . .
off.

I thought of that text message on my phone again. Yes, it was true. My trust was in short supply.

I rolled over onto my side, trying to push these thoughts away, hoping they might be colored by fatigue and anxious to correct that. I let my eyelids shut. But as I drifted off, I felt a strobe effect coming from the distance, a few flashes registering even behind my closed eyes, reaching out for me. I knew it was that light across the way, and I knew who was behind it. And for the first time since it had begun signaling to me, I was grateful for it, comforted by it. That was the last thing I remembered before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

14. Her Name Is Clio

It probably wasn’t the most mature thing, but I didn’t really feel like looking at or talking to Sabine the next day. So I pulled myself out of bed much earlier than usual, dressed, and made my way to the levitation room. I would simply lose myself in activity. This brand of productive avoidance was how I operated, and it had always done the trick. The house slept as I let myself into that cold, wholly intimidating white room with the padded walls.

I stared down at the boxing gloves first, then the basketball, then, just to feel entirely hopeless, the dumbbells. I shook my head, jumped up and down, shimmying my limbs. Starting small, I tossed my keys on the floor and watched them, dreaming of them soaring through the air. They began to jangle, then stopped. I tried again, focusing with all the concentration I had. Again, they clinked but this time they floated up, slowly, slowly. I watched them, so steady and strong, until they reached a good foot above my head before dropping. A rush washed over me, followed by a wave of peace from the exhaustion. I allowed myself a minute’s rest, then I tried again. I set my gaze and all my strength on those keys, once more tuning out all other thoughts until I heard the click of the door. Startled, I gasped. As I whipped my head around, the keys, gloves, ball, and dumbbell all went flying, knocking with force against the padded walls.

“Whoa!” Connor called out, arms shielding his face. “And that’s why this room is padded.” He shook his head, smiling.

I was still catching my breath, panting. “Sorry,” I said, shy. “Or, I mean, did I do that?”

“You sure did, and apology accepted. Keep it up,” he offered. “Your roommate and Lance were worried, didn’t know where you were. I’ll let ’em know we can call off the search.”

“Thanks,” I said, my voice drained of all life.

“Or, you know, I’ll let ’em wonder a little longer,” he said, and winked as he let himself out. I stayed there until it was time to leave for the food bank with Dante. On my way to his room, I ran into Sabine in her pink bathrobe, heading for the shower.

“Haven!” she called, sunny as can be, sashaying to catch up with me. She grabbed my sleeve and said, “I feel like you’re mad at me.” Her exaggerated pout made me feel bad.

“No, what do you mean?” I asked, barely believable, even to my ears.

“We need girl time. Can we go out tonight? Pretty please?”

I sighed internally. “I’ve got the hotline.”

“Tomorrow then,” she insisted. “It’s a date, okay?”

“Sure,” I said, not masking my lack of interest in the plans.

“Perfect. We’ll have fun,” she promised as she floated away back down the hall. I waited until she was tucked away in the bathroom before knocking to collect Dante.

“Ready to go?” Dante opened up. In the space behind him, Lance pulled on his favorite Cubs T-shirt, getting ready for another day of building homes.

“Morning!” he said, twisting the sleeves in place over his biceps. He felt far away from me somehow. I just kept thinking of him there last night, Sabine on the floor. “You heading out already?”

I nodded, trying to smile like all was fine.

“I’ll see you tonight for counseling though, right?” he asked. We would be manning the phone lines back at the library. Though I felt a bit like I was the one who needed counseling. I nodded again. His eyes darkened. Dante watched this exchange silently.

“Totally.” I struggled to sound upbeat. “See you later.”

“Well, those meals ain’t gonna wheel themselves,” Dante said, ushering us out and swinging the door shut. As soon as we had walked a few paces away, he turned to look at me. “I hate when Mom and Dad fight.”

I just rolled my eyes. “I’m allowed to be, I don’t know, confused, right?”

“You are, seriously. But I still think you have nothing to worry about,” he said as he linked his arm in mine and led me out into the cool morning air.

I had been dreading our peer counseling session all day, which I knew wasn’t a good sign. Lance breezed in just after five, kissing the top of my head as he took the seat beside me.

“We’ve built five houses in the past week. It’s insane and amazing,” he said, excited.

The phones were almost completely quiet, save for a nameless female caller in search of confirmation. “Is middle school supposed to be hell on earth?” she asked, just enough edge to her voice to not sound too desperate.

I sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid it is.”

“So it’s not just me?” She sounded comforted.

“Definitely not.”

“Is high school better?”

“Um . . . it depends, but again, no one is alone in having lousy days. Take it from me.”

Lance waited until Drew, who was stationed at the phone on the other side of me, excused herself on a vending machine raid downstairs, before giving me the look I’d been waiting for since the morning.

“What?” I asked.

He shook his head, looking like he wanted to say something. “Okay, are we . . . good?”

“Yeah, of course.” I drummed my pen against my pad of paper, thinking, thinking, fighting it and then crumbling. I just didn’t appreciate being put in a position like this—one in which I was possibly being made to look foolish so I had to ask these awful questions and look like some sort of jealous stereotype instead. “Well, I mean, it was just kind of, you know,
weird
to see Sabine in your room last night.”

He slouched in his chair and looked at me. “That? I was asleep, I heard a knock—I thought it was you, if you really want to know.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. ‘Oh.’ She passed out on the floor, end of story. I don’t know why she came by.” He paused a moment, as though deciding what path to continue down, but then Drew returned, snacks in hand, and we both seemed to resolve to forget it, at least for now.

We made no reference to it until we said good night at my door that evening. In the empty hallway, the two of us completely alone—a rarity these days, it seemed—Lance wrapped his arms around me, so tight, and spoke softly into my hair.

“I hope you’re not
really
upset,” he said. “You know me better than anyone and you know that you’re what matters to me, don’t you?”

“I’m just . . .” I started. Not sure how to go on, I decided to be honest: “I think being here, with everyone like us, all of this, it’s making me, I don’t know—”

“Crazy?”

“Thanks, you flatter me.”

“No, because it’s making
me
a little crazy,” he clarified.

“Really?” I asked, feeling better. He nodded and I did too. “Well, then, let’s get uncrazy,” I said, like it was decided that this was all we had to do. “That’s the new battle cry.”

“Not the most rousing call to action.” He smiled with the slightest laugh, pushing up his glasses. “But it’ll do.”

Sabine had proposed we meet after work the next day outside a tattoo parlor just off Bourbon Street. I hoped it was simply a landmark and not actually part of our evening plans. “Hey, roomie!” she greeted me as she descended the steps from the sliver of a shop with grimy, barred windows.

“Oh, Sabine, what did you do?” I asked, with a laugh.

“Have you met Kip?” She gestured to the top of the steps, where a stocky, bearded man with chin-length dark hair leaned against the doorframe. His fingers brushed at his scruffy chin. I waved. “He’s a true artist. Anyway, he did this . . .” She tugged at the sleeve of her top to expose a tiny pair of wings, no larger than a paper clip, on her left shoulder.

“Omigod!” I leaned in to check out the darkly sketched symbol. “Joan would kill me. But I gotta admit, it
is
really cute.”

“Kip, I think we’ve got a live one,” she said, nudging me up the stairs.

“No, no, no, maybe another time,” I said, playfully pushing her away.

“You got it.” He smiled and waved goodbye to us and we set off down the street.

Sabine informed me that we would be doing some shopping, and I could tell from her strong, quick stride, set to the jazz soundtrack of the street musicians, that she was on a mission. She cut a sharp path through Bourbon Street, as we dodged crowds of more sedate daytime patrons. Soon the raucous nighttime groups would move in, taking their place on barstools and dance floors along this strip. “So where are we going?”

“You’re so going to thank me—I heard about this amazing place from Clio.”

“Clio?”

“That blonde! You know the one from that bar the other night? The one dancing? Her name is Clio. Here, this way.” We turned down a quieter, narrower street.

My skin chilled, but the dusk air wasn’t entirely to blame. “What do you mean? You
talked
to her?”

“I did!” She lit up, so proud. “She’s amazing. So, anyway, she told me where she goes. It’s right down here. It’s supposedly kind of out of the way, like at the back of some courtyard. Never would’ve found it on my own. Wait, what are we on?” She looked around for a street sign.

“Dauphine?”

“Yeah, one more. I think it’s right there.” She pointed to the end of the block.

“So, where did you—”

“It’s this place that’s part vintage and thrifty and part new stuff, but, like, not new that’s everywhere, new
unique.
You’re gonna love it.”

“No, that’s great, but where did you meet her? Clio?” I didn’t like that she had a name. It brought her too close to us. I didn’t trust her.

“With Emma,” Sabine said. “The other night. We went back to that place.”

“How’d you get in?”

“Trust me, it’s not that hard.”

“Good to know. So you just started talking to her?”

“Yeah, I guess.” She shrugged. “Omigod, this is it!” We stopped before the narrowest of alleyways between two brick buildings. Both sides of the passage were lined with souvenirs for sale, all manner of T-shirts and magnets and shot glasses and framed photos and fleur-de-lis everything.

“Here?”

“C’mon!” She grabbed my hand and led me back through the long corridor. There was barely enough room for us to pass other shoppers without seriously violating their personal space. But eventually that claustrophobic strip opened out into a courtyard that forked into two tucked-away boutiques. Pausing for only a split second, Sabine yanked me in the direction of the one on the left. Outside its open doorway was a headless mannequin wearing a hot pink 1960s shift dress. “Love!” Sabine said to it as she entered.

Inside, there were many more racks of clothing than I would have guessed could’ve fit in the small space. Sabine let go of me and walked the aisles holding her hands out on either side of her to sweep the clothes as she passed. I followed close behind, slowing down from time to time to admire the many flouncy tops and skirts and perfectly tailored designer jeans. She worked her way to the back of the store and then halted before a rack of strapless dresses in an array of colors and patterns.

“Yes,” she said to them. She whipped through the frocks, flicking at the hangers and pulling a few out. She handed three to me.

“Okay, thanks. Cute.”

She took an armful herself and pointed to the far wall. “And we need those.” She drifted, as though being pulled by an unknown force, to the shoe section and planted herself before a display of cowboy boots. “Here.” She handed me a pair of buttery beige ones, then grabbed a black pair for herself. All of this was accomplished with absolutely no eye contact. I had to admit I was impressed with her focus. If I could zero in like that more often, I could probably conquer just about anything.

We retreated into adjacent fitting rooms and only then did I get to inspect what Sabine had selected for me: three strapless dresses, all hitting at the thigh, with a sort of cinched-in bustier- corset effect. There was a black dress, a blue one patterned with those paisleys you usually find on bandanas, and a red gingham that made me want to go on a picnic. “I want to see those!” Sabine’s voice ordered through our shared wall, followed by a knock, like some sort of secret code.

“We’ll see,” I said, not masking my uncertainty.

“Yes, we
will
see!” she called back.