Since You've Been Gone (29 page)

MAY

Two months earlier

“Okay!” Sloane said as she got into my car, slamming the door behind her and turning to smile at me. “Are you ready?”

“I guess,” I said with a laugh. “I’m just not sure what I’m supposed to be ready
for.
”

Sloane had arranged for us to hang out on this Friday night a whole week in advance, which was unusual, but I was grateful for it. She was always with Sam, and while usually one night a weekend it would be me and Sloane and Sam and Gideon, it wasn’t enough, especially since her attention was focused on her boyfriend when we were all together. There was also the fact that she was different around him. It was nothing I’d been able to put my finger on for the first few times we’d hung out together. But I’d come to realize I didn’t like the way Sam treated her, and I hated the way Sloane acted around him.

I had really tried for the first month. Sloane obviously liked him, and saw something really special in him, so I’d done my best to do the same. But the more time I spent with him, the harder it got. To start with, he didn’t like me. He was alternately possessive and dismissive of Sloane—something I really didn’t like to see—but from the beginning, he had seen me as some sort of threat. He always seemed to be trying to stir up trouble in subtle, hard-to-define ways. He would look at me a little too long when I came into a room,
or stand a little too close to me and just smile blandly as he did it, as though daring me to call him on it, or say something about it. He corrected me whenever he got the chance. And on the occasions when Sloane—or Gideon—would say something about it, he would just shoot me a big smile and say, “I’m just messing around. Emily can take a joke, right?”

“It’s just his sense of humor,” Sloane would say the few times I’d tried to broach the subject with her. “He’s actually really shy, and that’s how he compensates.”

And even though I didn’t see this, I figured that my best friend knew him better than I, and so I’d let it drop, not wanting things to be strained between us, any more than they already were. So the possibility of a night that was just the two of us was something I’d been looking forward to all week.

She had told me to “dress to impress” and then we’d spent a full hour on the phone as she went through my outfit options with me. We didn’t even need to video chat, since Sloane knew my wardrobe as well as her own. When we’d selected an outfit that worked, I’d put it on and wondered just what was going to happen tonight. I was wearing the shortest skirt I owned—it was actually a skirt of Sloane’s that she’d given to me, and you could tell, since I had several inches on her. She’d paired this with a gauzy white one-shouldered top, and told me she would bring a red lipstick for me to wear that would make the whole thing pop.
Sloane was dressed much the same, in a tight-fitting dress, her hair long and a little wilder than usual, her eyes done smoky in a way that I could somehow never pull off without looking like I’d been injured.

“I’ll give you directions,” she promised, clapping her hands together. I pulled to the end of her driveway and looked at her expectantly. “Left,” she said with great authority, as she cranked the music—her mix—and I headed away from Stanwich, and toward Hartfield.

I hadn’t spent much time at all in downtown Hartfield, and was glad that Sloane was providing directions. Considering it was also a weekend night, the main strip of bars and restaurants was packed, crowds of people walking along the sidewalks and spilling into the street, the slow-moving parade of cars trying to edge past them.

“We should try and find parking,” she said, as I passed a lot where the prices had been raised to ten dollars for the night, and guys with glowsticks and flags were trying to direct people in.

“So we’re doing something around here, then,” I said, glad to have some indication of what was going to be happening tonight.

“Maybe,” Sloane said, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe not. Just—there!” she pointed ahead, where the car in front of me was, miracle of miracles, pulling out of its parking spot.

I put on my blinker and turned quickly into the spot, and
it was a good thing, because three other cars had zoomed forward toward it, one from the opposite side of the street, and were currently blocking traffic. “You know what?” Sloane said, as I killed the engine and handed her my iPod to lock in the glove compartment. “I think that’s a good sign. I think it means tonight’s going to be the best ever.”

“So?” I asked as I unbuckled my seat belt and turned to face her. “Do I finally get details?”

Sloane pointed across the street. “McKenzie’s,” she said with a grin.

I turned to look, not quite understanding how this was going to happen. McKenzie’s was a straight-up bar, with no all-ages dining area, which bugged Sloane to no end, since there was also a stage at the back and great bands were always performing there, and we could never get in to see them. “Did they change their policy or something?”

“Nope,” she said. She pulled something out of her bag with a flourish, then took my hand, opened my palm, and dropped something into it. I picked it up and held it up to the light from the streetlights to get a better look. It was a Nevada state ID card, with my picture, an address I didn’t recognize, and the name Penelope Entwhistle. “What is this?” I asked, looking closer at it and seeing a birthday that was five years earlier than mine.

“Your first fake ID,” she said, leaning over to look at it. “Want to see mine?” She dropped it into my palm, and I
could see that hers was from Utah and her name read
Alicia Paramount.

I smiled at that. “Nice name.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking it back. “Ready to go?”

It hit me, much later than it should have, that we were going to use these IDs to get into a bar. And we were going to do it now, before I’d had any time to wrap my head around the idea. “Wait,” I said, as Sloane’s hand was already on the door handle. “We’re going to use these for McKenzie’s?”

“That’s the best part,” she said with a smile. “Call Me Kevin is playing there tonight. Totally not advertised. We’re going to get to see them in a crowd of, like, fifty. Isn’t that amazing?” She grinned at me and got out of the car, leaving me to scramble out behind her, locking my door and then hurrying to join her as she crossed the street, darting across the traffic rather than waiting for the light to change.

“Sloane,” I said, as she got into the line that led to McKenzie’s entrance. I saw that the door was guarded by a hulking guy in a black leather jacket, who was shining a flashlight down on the IDs people were handing to him.

“Alicia,” she corrected.

“I don’t think we should do this.” I lowered my voice as I looked forward in the line. Everyone around us seemed much older than we were, and I was sure they—and the door guy—would all be able to tell that we were high schoolers attempting to get in somewhere we weren’t allowed.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Sloane said, lowering her voice as well. “I had the guy who made Sam’s do these for us. And he never has a problem with his.”

I could feel panic start to rise up, and I didn’t even know why, exactly. “I just . . . ,” I said as I looked down at the ID. In the glare of the streetlight, it looked incredibly fake, like it had been made at home on someone’s computer. “Why Penelope?”

Sloane laughed. “I don’t know, I just thought it sounded right. Oh,” she said, leaning closer to me as the line moved forward and my heart started beating double-time, “don’t forget to memorize your address and birthday. Just in case they ask.”

“Are they going to?” I asked, and I could hear my voice coming out high and stressed.

“I don’t know,” Sloane said, starting to sound exasperated. “It’s my first time.”

“I don’t think . . . ,” I said, even as I took a step forward. “I don’t think that this is a good idea.”

“Emily, come on,” Sloane said. We were just one person away from the door guy, who now seemed twice as big up close. “Just relax, okay? It’ll be fine.”

“No,” I said, not joining her as she took another step forward. “I don’t want to.”

She looked at me, and I could see the confusion on her face. “It’s okay,” she said with a smile, but glancing back
behind her at the door guy. The people behind me in line were starting to shift, and I knew that I was holding things up by not moving forward. “Come on.”

“I’m not going in,” I said, taking a step out of the line, and the couple behind me immediately filled my place.

“Why are you—” Sloane started, then let out a breath and shook her head. It felt like we were in uncharted territory, like we suddenly had to use a language neither of us was fluent in, because Sloane and I didn’t fight, not ever. She told the couple behind her to go ahead, and they took her place eagerly. “I want to go in,” Sloane said, and I could see that she didn’t understand why I wasn’t just agreeing with her.

“I don’t,” I said quietly. I didn’t know how else to explain it.

“Okay,” she said, glancing at the door guy, then back at me. She looked at me for a moment, and it was like I could feel her waiting for me to change my mind, go along with her like I always did. After a long moment she said, “I guess I’ll see you later.”

I drew in a breath; it honestly felt like someone had punched me. I’d just assumed that Sloane would leave with me, that we were in this together. The vagueness of her
later
was terrifying to me. “Sure,” I said, not telling her any of this, not telling her what I was feeling, just making myself give her a trembling smile. “See you.” I turned to head back to the car, my ankles wobbling in the heels she’d picked out for me,
the clothes she’d chosen for me feeling too tight and itchy.

“Emily,” Sloane called after me, half pleading, half annoyed. I didn’t let myself look back right away, just concentrated on walking away from my best friend, even though it was the last thing I wanted to be doing. After a moment, I turned back, and saw her smile as she pocketed her ID and stepped past the door guy into the darkness of the bar.

I sat in my car, and when the sedan outside my window slowed, I shook my head for what felt like the hundredth time that night. When people saw me in the driver’s seat, parked in an ideal spot, they all got really excited and turned on their blinkers, thinking I was leaving, any minute now. I would shake my head, and motion for them to go around me, but still they seemed wildly optimistic, sitting there with the lights flashing, waiting for me to give up the spot and go.

I had thought about it when I first got back to the car alone. I was just going to head home and let Sloane find her own way back, since she wanted to go to this bar so badly. I had even put the keys in the ignition, but hadn’t started the car, sat back against the seat and tried to sort through everything that had just happened, and so quickly. I realized there was a piece of me that had been waiting for this to happen ever since we’d become friends—the moment when Sloane would realize I wasn’t cool enough, or daring enough, to be her best friend. I knew at some point she would figure it out, and of course, tonight I’d given her ample proof.

I stayed in my car for two hours, occasionally playing games on my phone, then worrying about the battery, wanting to keep some juice in it in case she texted. Even though I’d put the keys in the ignition, I’d never really intended to leave. I didn’t at all trust Sam to come and get her, Milly and Anderson weren’t reliable enough, and I couldn’t even calculate how much a cab from Hartfield to Sloane’s house in backcountry would be. More than either of us had, that was for sure.

There was a knock on the passenger side window, and I shook my head without looking up from my phone. “I’m not leaving,” I called.

“Good to know,” Sloane said through the glass. I looked up and saw her standing by the passenger side door, and I reached over to unlock the car, and she got in. “Hey,” she said.

“Hi,” I said, sitting up straighter and setting my phone down. Things felt strange and tentative between us, in a way they never had, not even when we’d first met.

“Thanks for waiting,” Sloane said. She leaned forward, not meeting my eye, and pulled my iPod out of the glove compartment, hooking it up to the line in.

“Sure,” I said, hating how stiff and formal this seemed, wishing we could just go back to being us again. “Did you . . . have fun?”

“Yeah,” she said, glancing out the window. “It was okay. You know.”

I nodded and started the car, even though I
didn’t
know, and that was apparently the whole problem. We drove in silence, Sloane’s face lit up by my iPod screen as she flipped through the mixes she’d put on it, all her music. I swallowed hard as I turned the car onto I-95. I didn’t know how to fix this, what to say—I just wanted things to go back to how they’d been a few hours ago. “So what was it like?” I asked when I couldn’t stand the silence any longer. I could hear how high and forced my voice sounded, like my mother when she was trying to get Beckett to tell her about his day at school.

Sloane sighed and looked out the window. “Just don’t,” she finally said.

“Don’t?” I repeated, feeling my stomach sink.

“If you’d wanted to know what it was like, you should have come in with me,” she said, shaking her head as she spun the track wheel, going too fast now to even see any of the song names. “I mean, I put a lot of work into tonight. I bought our IDs, I planned the outfits, I arranged all this, because I wanted to see the band with
you
. Not by myself.”

I glanced away from the highway and at my best friend for just a moment. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t have come!” Sloane almost yelled this, and I think it surprised us both, as silence descended in the car for a moment. “And I was right, wasn’t I?” I tightened my hands on the steering wheel, gripping ten
and two as hard as I could, willing myself not to cry. “You’re so scared of things sometimes, and for no reason,” Sloane said, her voice quieter now. “And sometimes, I wish . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence, just let it hang in the car between us.

I wished it too—whatever it was that in that moment Sloane wanted me to be, that I was falling short of. I took a shaky breath and said, “I’m really sorry.”