Moving in Reverse (28 page)

His blue eyes stared back at me, like
they used to from his albums.

Chapter
Forty-Five

“
Casey—”

I was walking across campus the next
day when I heard the voice behind me, a female voice I didn’t
recognize. The day was crisp and warm-ish for November, an Indian
summer day that probably wouldn’t come again until next spring. I
was in a sweater and jeans, wearing flip flops for probably the
last time this fall.

I turned at the sound of the voice,
and saw Jen, the Kappa president, jogging to catch up with
me.

I stiffened. The last thing I needed
was another sorority confrontation. I hadn’t heard anything from
them since I’d told Darby I was quitting, and I was pretty happy it
had gone so smoothly so far.

“
Wait up,” Jen said, a
little out of breath from running. She was wearing a blue fleece
jacket, unzipped to her waist, and her hair was in a low
braid.

“
Hey,” I said, trying to
gauge why she’d stopped me. “What’s up?”

Now that she’d caught up, it looked
like she’d almost lost her motivation. She walked a few steps with
me before answering.

“
I just—” she said
quietly, as if she didn’t know where to start. “I just wanted you
to know — well, I heard from Darby that you’re dropping
out.”

“
Yup,” I said, without
hesitation. If she needed to confirm it with me, I was happy to
oblige.

She put a hand on my arm, lightly but
enough to stop me from walking any further. “Listen, I just wanted
you to know – whatever you heard about Jeff, most of us didn’t
believe it.”

“
Sure,” I said, letting
sarcasm fill my voice. “Most didn’t, some did. Or everyone did.
Whatever.”

I couldn’t tell if she was hurt or
just frustrated, but she looked like I’d slapped her in the
face.

“
I’m trying to apologize,”
she insisted.

“
For what?” I asked,
annoyed. “You believed it, you didn’t. I couldn’t care less. I’m
just sorry I wasted a week on your dumb parties.”

Maybe Jen was trying to apologize, but
thanks to my little interlude with joining a sorority, I’d missed a
week of school fleeing to California. Maybe that wasn’t her fault,
but she wasn’t blameless either.

“
So maybe this wasn’t a
perfect fit,” she said, trying to continue whatever planned speech
she had in mind.

I snorted. “You think?”

“
Listen,
Casey—”

“
No,” I felt my voice
raising. “I don’t have to listen. I sat through a week of your
stupid parties, wore lame dresses and ate terrible cupcakes,
watched your dumb skits and sat around being friendly
because I thought I was making
friends
. And meanwhile half of you were
laughing at me behind my back, and the other half thought I was
cheating on my boyfriend. Even my fucking roommate, who was
my
only
friend
besides Blake on this stupid campus. You want to apologize? Fine.
Go find someone who wants to hear it.”

Jen stared at me, open mouthed, and I
shrugged off her hand and kept walking.

A tear slipped down my
cheek.

Darby and Blake
had
been my only friends
on campus. And now both of them were gone.

The thing about New York was, if you
didn’t have anywhere to go, you could just keep walking. Down one
street, up an avenue, along a sidewalk, through a park. There was
always some intersection to cross, some alley to explore. So if you
couldn’t stay put, you could just keep moving.

I didn’t want to go back to my dorm. I
didn’t want to go to Madison’s, and I didn’t have anywhere else. I
didn’t want to be anywhere that anyone would find me. If I could
have gotten on another plane, I would have.

Except that I didn’t have anywhere to
go.

I’d been a college freshman for three
months, and I was just about ready to write off the whole thing as
a complete and utter failure. Maybe it just wasn’t for me. I’d
spent so much time wondering if Blake had made the right choice in
coming here, I’d never bothered to question whether I
did.

I put down one foot, and then the
other. It was four o’clock, and the sun was already fading. This
winter was going to be long and cold and lonely, and there was no
end in sight.

There had to be something to look
forward to, I thought. If this was it, I couldn’t see myself
lasting another week.

I pulled out my cell phone, still
walking, and hit a preset number. It rang twice.

“
Snow,” Tanner’s voice was
like California sunshine. I closed my eyes for a second. “I was
worried your plane went down.”

My stomach spasmed — not quite a
laugh, but something close to it.

“
Sorry for not calling you
back,” I said, meaning it. “I just—”

He cut me off. “I know, I know.
College, so busy, I wouldn’t understand, right?”

I exhaled. “Something like that,” I
murmured.

“
So, plotted revenge on
the fratboy yet? The evil debutante roommate? Strung their
underwear up the flagpole or something?”

“
Still plotting,” I said,
feeling better for no reason I could pinpoint. “I’ll take any
suggestions under advisement though.”

“
I hear if you dunk her
hand in water, she might wet the bed.”

“
Tanner, you do realize
that college isn’t the same thing as sleepaway camp, right?” I
laughed for real this time.

“
You sure? Add some
laptops and I think it’s pretty close.”

“
I’ll tell that to the
school when I try to major in archery.”

“
Please, Snow. If you’re
going to pick a major, at least choose jet skiing.”

I laughed again, and then
paused.

“
How’s the Victoria Secret
model?”

“
Eh,” I could hear his
voice shift dangerously. “Didn’t speak much English, but we
managed.”

“
You’re
impossible.”

“
I do my best.”

“
How’s Sophie?”

“
Snow,” Tanner said,
sounding shocked. “Inappropriate.”

“
Pervert. Sophie has way
better taste than that.”

He chuckled. “You’d be surprised. I
tend to grow on people.”

I rolled my eyes, even though he
couldn’t see it. “I should go,” I said, not quite meaning
it.

“
Right,” Tanner said, and
I could hear him take a breath. “Don’t be a stranger, okay? I’m
back and forth to New York all the time.”

“
Of course you are,” I
said, smiling.

“
Just saying.”

“
Bye Tanner.”

I hung up the phone, a hint of a smile
on my lips for the first time in days.

Chapter
Forty-Six

I didn’t know where I was heading, but
it was like my feet had a plan of their own. Walking south down
Columbia’s campus, I found myself at the bodega where, three months
before, Blake had appeared in line behind me and told me that he’d
enrolled as a freshman. I saw the spot where he’d picked me up off
the ground, remembered feeling like he couldn’t really be there,
like he was a mirage that was going to disappear before my
eyes.

I turned right, towards the
administrative building where I’d picked up my ID card three months
before. In front of the building was a courtyard full of students
sitting outside, talking or reading on benches or on the lawn,
enjoying the mild weather for what might be the last time this
fall.

I looked around, wanting to sit, not
knowing anyone.

And suddenly, I felt eyes on
me.

Not one set of eyes. Lots of sets. I’d
been recognized on Columbia’s campus before, especially when Blake
and I were together, but since getting back from fall break, it had
become almost constant. Now I knew how Blake must have felt all the
time.

I’d mostly been too caught up in my
own misery to even notice it. But this time felt
different.

I looked up and down the path,
squinting towards the setting sun.

And saw Blake.

He was sitting by himself, on a bench
midway between me and the building, his guitar case resting on the
ground in front of him, almost like a street performer.

The guitar itself was in his lap, and
as I walked towards him, I could hear the music, bright and clear
and familiar, like it was coming straight from my own
thoughts.

It was the song he’d played for me,
before everything fell apart. His new song.

I walked toward him. He didn’t look
up, which somehow made it easier, focusing on his fingers picking
out the notes. It sounded different on an acoustic guitar, but the
melody was burned into my brain, like the last thing you see before
a car accident. Like how your life flashes before you, right before
you die.

There was nothing in my head but
Blake. There never had been. If he was done with me, if there was
nothing I could do to fix it, then I was going to hold onto burning
coals for as long as I could. Until my fingers blistered and
burned.

I sat down on the bench beside him,
ignoring the prying eyes of the other students. He didn’t
acknowledge me, but he didn’t move away either. I pulled my knees
up to my chest.

With one hand, he clamped his palm
down over the guitar strings, silencing the music. My whole body
tensed, thinking he was about to get up and walk away, put the
guitar back in the case and walk out of my life for good, yet
again.

I closed my eyes, not
wanting to watch him walk away. Not sure if I could stand it one
more time. I held my breath, and wished to myself,
don’t go, don’t go, don’t go
.

And with twisting, deft fingers, he
started the song again.

It felt like I was playing too. I
thought of the moment, up on stage, last summer, where I’d taken
April’s place at Moving Neutral’s last show. Of the moment where
the crowd had gone my way, decided to give me a chance.

A chance I hadn’t earned, that I
didn’t deserve. But a chance, nonetheless.

Blake’s fingers danced over the
strings of the guitar, finishing the intro.

I took a deep breath.

And started to sing.

Blake’s shoulders flexed when he heard
my voice, as if he wasn’t sure until then where it was coming from.
But his fingers kept playing.

It was an apology. It was a peace
offering. It was everything I had, everything I could give him. It
was a love song. It was a song about him breaking my
heart.

Love’s not enough when you can’t stop
hurting

Love’s not enough when you both shut
down

Love’s not enough when no one’s an
angel

Love’s not enough when it feels like a
curse

Love makes you feel like you’re
pushing forward

So you’re blind that you’re moving in
reverse.

My voice caught on the last word,
almost unable to finish. Blake’s fingers strummed the last notes
and rested, the echoes of the music hovering in the air around us,
almost palpable. I took a deep, jagged breath.

“
I love you,” I whispered,
so softly I wasn’t even sure he could hear it.

For a second, Blake didn’t move. And
then he lifted his eyes from the guitar and turned to me. He didn’t
smile, but I could see the warmth in his eyes, bright in the
sunset.

“
Hey,” he said, his voice
soft and low.

“
Hey,” I replied, holding
back all the other words I wanted to say to him.

For a second, he raised his hand, like
he was going to put an arm around me or lean in for a kiss. I felt
my heart soar, and I looked at him, open and willing.

But he lifted up his guitar and set it
in the case, latching it smoothly and hoisting it over his
shoulder.

He smiled at me, a little bit
wistful.

“
They’re good,” he said,
about my lyrics.

“
I had a good teacher,” I
smiled, looking down at my knees.

I looked up at his face, in silhouette
against the setting sun. Just for a second, I felt his eyes flicker
over me, like there was something else to say.

Then he stood up and walked
away.

But in that hesitation, just for a
second, I saw it.

A hint of a smile, across Blake’s
face. Gone in an instant, but enough.

Enough for now.

TO BE CONTINUED…

About the
Author

KATY ATLAS graduated from Princeton
University, where she majored in English and took courses in
contemporary fiction, creative writing and playwriting. At
Princeton, she wrote for the Daily Princetonian and published short
fiction pieces in the Nassau Weekly.