Goodbye Stranger (19 page)

“Well, now he knows what it feels like,” Tab said.

“He doesn’t know yet,” Bridge said. “But he will soon.”

Bridge’s cell phone rang. “Em,” she said, picking up. “I’m at Tab’s. Yeah, we just saw it.” There was a pause. “I know,” Bridge said. “I know. But don’t worry.”

“What’s she saying?” Tab hissed.

Bridge tilted the phone away from her mouth and said, “Em’s worried it’ll look like she did it. You know, to get him back.”

“What?” Tab said. “That’s stupid.”

“It’s not
that
stupid,” Celeste said quietly. “The thought did cross my mind.”

—

An hour later, Bridge was almost home when she saw Alex crossing the street ahead of her.

“Hey!” she shouted. “Alex! Wait up.”

Alex smiled when she caught up to him. “Hey, Bridge. Still with the ears, huh?”

She touched them reflexively. “Yeah, still with the ears.”

“I guess you gotta be you.”

They started walking toward home. “Listen,” Bridge said. “What did Jamie bet you? He won’t tell me.”

His smile changed, widened. “I’m not surprised.”

“Come on.”

“Well,” Alex drawled, “I probably don’t have to tell you that your brother owns very little of value.”

“That’s my point,” Bridge said. “Our parents won’t let you take the laptop, you know.”

Alex shook his head. “I don’t want his laptop. What I ask is more of an—
entertainment.
”

“Spit it out,” Bridge said. “What is it?”

“Fine. If he loses, he has to sing a song.”

“That’s it?”

“To Adrienne.”

“Adrienne?”

“Adrienne,”
he repeated, doing that obnoxious thing with his hands that meant a girl had a good body. “He has to sing to her. A whole song. In the middle of the Bean Bar. In his underwear.”

“No way.”

“Way.” He leveled a look at her. “I put up a very valuable vintage T-shirt. He had to put something real on the line.”

“Why are you trying to destroy Jamie? I thought you were his friend. Kind of.” They walked into the building and crossed the lobby to wait for the elevator.

“I
am
his friend! We’re having fun.”

“Yeah, you’re having fun crushing his soul.”

The elevator door opened, and they got in.

“This is all purely voluntary, you know, Bridge. It’s not my fault your brother loses every— Hey!”

Holding the elevator door open with one foot, Bridge had pushed the buttons for every floor in the building, except for sixteen, where Alex lived.

She pointed at the unlit button. “You can get that last one,” she told him. Then she stepped back into the lobby and waved as the door closed between them. “Have fun!”

VALENTINE’S DAY

Maybe the human brain is slow to accept what it knows. Because you found yourself missing Vinny. You were in the habit of reaching for her—for her sharp edges, for her approval—the way you’ve been reaching for your phantom phone all day. Yes, she tried to humiliate Gina more than once. Yes, she tagged that mostly-naked selfie of Patrick McCormack so that every kid at the high school was sure to see it, even though it was pretty obvious he hadn’t posted it on purpose. And Vinny and Patrick were actually friends last year in middle school. His whole account disappeared the next day. Poof.

In movies it always looks easy to turn away from the mean girl. That’s what the audience wants you to do. But you couldn’t stop thinking about everything you knew about Vinny, everything she knew about you. It hurt when she walked right past you every day, like a real, physical hurt. It felt like you were being erased. And time didn’t make it any better.

—

For a solid month before Valentine’s Day, everyone was all worked up about the carnations—a dollar a flower, to benefit the school library. The order forms were spilled all over a table just inside the school doors, index cards in three colors, white, pink, and red—along with paper clips to attach the dollar bills and a locked metal box with a slot in the top to drop them in.

White carnations for friendship. Pink for like. Red for love.

“Friendship, likeship, loveship!” Gina had joked.

—

Yesterday. Yesterday you walked into school and there Vinny was, bent over the table, filling out a card with her hair falling all over the table. Vinny, concentrating. Writing on a white card. For Zoe the Loyal?

At that moment you remembered Vinny’s old wallpaper, the one she used to have when she was little, with carousels and clowns. You remembered the time you slept over and Vinny wanted to stay up “all night” even though you were only nine. You remembered how she dropped a glass on the kitchen floor at one a.m., how her dad came out and yelled, how her face went dead until it was over, how she walked straight back to her bed, turned to the wall, and pretended to be asleep. How was it possible that the two of you hadn’t spoken in months?

“Hey,” you said, taking a chance.

She turned. “Hey, you.” She smiled and stood up, still holding her white card.

Relief flooded you like pure oxygen, and you inhaled it gratefully. You forgot about Vinny’s smiles, how meaningless they are. The bell rang. You were already late for English.

“I miss you,” Vinny said.

—

You cut first period together, just talking in the stairwell. You didn’t talk about Gina or Zoe or anyone but the two of you. You talked about your third-grade teacher, and sleepovers at your house, and the time she cut your hair when you were eleven and it actually looked kind of amazing. Your mom told her she had a gift. When the five-minute bell rang, Vinny grabbed one of your hands, squeezed it, and said, “You know what? I think you’re the only person in the world who really knows me.” And it was as if a curtain went up and she was standing there—the old Vinny. Your Vinny. It felt like magic, like someone back from the dead.

That was when you told her Gina’s secret. Vinny didn’t even ask—you’d
wanted
to do it. That secret had been something that part of you had been waiting to give Vinny from the moment you heard it in Gina’s bedroom. From the moment she whispered it into her own hands.

I can trust you, right?

The truthful answer would have been: not all of me.

When the words were coming out of your mouth—not just Marco’s name, but the whole story—you felt like you were two different people. One of you was electrified by the power you wielded for the ninety seconds it took to say the words, the power to make Vinny truly happy. The other you watched, horrified, knowing that you’d just crossed a line that could never be uncrossed.

We’re the kind who would never hurt each other.

You weren’t that kind of friend anymore.

—

Of course, you had no idea about Vinny’s plan. As you crossed the lobby together on the way to world history, Vinny stopped at the carnation table, picked up one of the blank cards—a red one—and began writing.

“To Marco,” she said aloud as she wrote. “I couldn’t think of another way to tell you how I really feel. I’m in love with you. Love, Gina.” She had the dollar ready in her hand.

You tell yourself that if you had known what Vinny was planning, you would never have told her Gina’s secret. Not in a million years.

But a million years is a long time.

GRAVITY

“Patrick’s mom made him erase his account, and then she made him watch a documentary with her about cyber-bullying,” Em said, her breath billowing white in the cold air and then disappearing. “But she didn’t take his phone. We still talk almost every night.”

“So he knows you didn’t do it, right?” Tab asked.

“He says he believes me. And I do have a pretty good alibi.”

“You have witnesses!” Bridge said. Emily had been in the gym with the girls’ JV soccer team when Patrick’s photo was posted at 3:27 p.m.

“Yeah, twenty-five witnesses.” Em smiled. “Including Patrick.” The boys’ team had been practicing too. “But you know, theoretically? I could have gone to the bathroom or something. That’s probably what Mr. Ramos is thinking. Our backpacks were all piled up in the hall. Patrick’s phone was right there.”

Emily had a four o’clock meeting with Mr. Ramos. Her parents had been asked to attend. Even though it was freezing, Tab had talked them into going to the playground after school until Em had to leave. “Swings!” Tab had said. “Swings are the answer!”

Bridge didn’t like swings. Everyone said swinging felt like flying, but Bridge felt the opposite. She would dutifully pump her legs, leaning forward and back, but mostly what she felt was the Earth’s pull on her body. As if something were trying to drag her down.

“I’m surprised it took Mr. Ramos this long,” Em said. “
Obviously
they think it’s me. If I didn’t know it wasn’t me, I’d think it was me!”

“Em, anyone could have gone into his bag,” Tab said. “Everyone knows what days you guys practice in the gym. Everyone knows where the bags will be.”

“Good point,” Em said. “Hey, if there’s a trial, maybe you can be my lawyer, Tab. Right before they burn me at the stake or whatever.”

“That’s witches,” Tab said.

“Close enough,” Em said. “The boys on soccer are all giving me these poison looks, like they
know
I did it and think it’s just the worst thing ever.”

“It’s exactly what happened to you!” Tab said, pumping her swing. “Now they know how it feels.”

“Well,
they
don’t know how it feels,” Bridge said. “But Patrick does.”

Em dragged her feet and stopped her swing. “And I actually feel even worse now than I did before. Which I didn’t think was possible.”

Still swinging, Tab looked at Em. “Well, if I were you, I’d feel great.”

“Tab, Patrick is my actual friend now. Remember?”

“Just friends?” Bridge said.

“Yeah,” Em said. “Friends.” Then her phone rang, and she grinned. “Speak of the devil!”

She hopped off her swing and walked a few steps away. “Patrick?”

Tab shook her head. “Devil is right. Am I crazy, or is she completely deluded?”

“Remember when I got hit by the car?” Bridge said.

Tab’s face changed. “Of course I remember.” She slowed her swing.

“I don’t,” Bridge said. “Not really.”

Tab started winding up her swing the way they did when they were little, turning herself with her feet so that the chain sides twisted together above her head, pulling her up inch by inch.

“I looked back to talk to you,” Bridge said. “You were behind me.”

“I know,” Tab said, still turning. “I was there.”

“I was going to yell ‘Bug-buggy, zoo-buggy.’ ”

“You did yell it.”

“I did?”

“Yes, right before you—went into the street.”

“That’s where I go blank.”

“You’re lucky,” Tab said. After a few seconds she added, “Lucky in a way, I mean.” She had wound her swing so high that her toes barely touched the ground.

Bridge looked at Tab. “What did it—look like?”

Tab closed her eyes. “Horrible. It looked horrible.”

“Okay, but like—how, exactly?”

“The car hit you. You went up. You came down.”

“Up? Like up in the air?”

Tab stared at Bridge. “You truly don’t know this?”

Bridge shook her head.

“You flew. Up, up, up. And then you started coming down. But I didn’t see—after that. I closed my eyes.”

“You didn’t see me land, you mean.”

Tab shook her head.

“I wish I could have seen it,” Bridge said.

“Bridge, it’s not funny. It was really awful. It was the scariest day of my life.”

Em came back. “I have to go. My parents are almost at school.”

“Want us to walk you?” Tab asked.

“Nah, I’m good.” Emily grabbed her bag from the sand at their feet. “Don’t have fun without me.” She walked toward the gate.

“Text us right after!” Bridge yelled.

When Em had gone, Tab said, “They talk every night?”

“Apparently,” Bridge said.

Tab shook her head.

“Do you remember what color the car was?” Bridge asked. “That day?”

“The one that hit you?”

“No, the other one. The Bug.”

“Yeah. It was yellow.” Tab picked her feet up, and her swing unwound itself, spinning her hard. Bridge tried to watch but had to look away.

“Wait a minute,” Bridge said. “So I definitely said ‘Bug-buggy, zoo-buggy,’ right? You heard me?”

Tab stopped spinning and planted her feet. “Yeah. Why?”

Bridge stood up. “That means…”

“What?”

“That means…”

Tab stared at her.

“That means I still owe you two punches!”

Tab leapt off her swing, laughing. “No! Get away!” She started running for the jungle gym, but she was dizzy, and Bridge got her before she reached it.

THE TRUTH ABOUT MOONLIGHT

Bridge’s mom had always been there when she emerged from the mummy dream, throwing off her covers. Her mom had always been next to her while Bridge pictured the open sky and persuaded herself that she could move her arms and legs whenever she wanted to. She had always stayed close until Bridge was asleep again.

Not this time. This time, her mom was away, playing her cello at another wedding. This time, when Bridge had kicked her sheet and covers to the floor and taken her third deep breath, it was Jamie in the room with her, standing uncertainly near the door.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“You had the dream?”

“How did you know?” And for the first time Bridge wondered how her mother was able to always be there as she woke. She had never questioned it—her mother was her mother.

“There’s a noise you make.”

“Ew. A noise? Did it wake you up?”

“I was reading.” Jamie rolled her desk chair toward the bed, but not too close, giving her lots of space. He sat. They could hear voices through the window, coming from the sidewalk below—talking, and a high peal of laughter.

“What time is it?” Bridge asked. The mummy dream usually came very late, when the whole world felt dead. She looked at the glowing numbers on her clock: it was only 11:48.