While You're Away (15 page)

Nodding toward people I couldn’t see, I said, “I will. But the girls. I thought I heard a couple girls in there.”

Brows knit, Will peered at me, baffled. “I don’t follow.”

“Isn’t there a curfew?” I asked. It was awfully late. “When they have to get off your floor?”

Will shook his head. “No, uh-uh. I mean, I can’t have guests longer than four days in my room, but that’s about it. We can all visit anyone at any time.”

“Oh,” I said.

My surprise didn’t show, because Will pressed on. “In fact, I think you’d love my next-door neighbor. Her name’s Hailey. She plays the guitar, too.”

Wait, wait, wait. He was in a co-ed dorm? Somehow, I felt like I should have known that. He should have mentioned it; it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. All those girls living in the same building with him, just doors down, mere steps away . . . I couldn’t help but remember what Tricia had said. One wasn’t enough. Two wasn’t either. Now he had a whole dorm full, right down the hall. Right next door. Doing their laundry in short-shorts and worn-out T-shirts. Panic closed my throat.

It would be so easy for him to pick and choose. And even if he didn’t go looking, would he say no if they came to him? It wasn’t like I was the first girl to throw myself in his path. Would I be the last?

I tried to keep my voice light when I said, “That’s cool. Acoustic?”

“Yeah. But she’s not as good as you are,” he reassured me. “You kick ass.”

How completely fantastically amazing, a girl with a guitar right next door. Two steps away. From my Will, who already knew her well enough to know her name, and her guitar, and how well she played it. So, so awesome.

I plastered on a smile. I wanted my tour, and I wanted my time with Will, and I wasn’t going to let a sudden case of envy ruin that.

“Where are we now?”

“Common room, ta-da,” he said.

He turned the phone away from his face. Slowly scanning the room, he pointed out the TV area and something that looked like a book corner. Pool table, foosball, and so many people in thin shorts and T-shirts, draped everywhere. In short order, he showed me the café, the mail-nook, and before I knew it, we were outside.

It was sunset there. The brilliant colors streaking the sky actually reflected on his face. He turned, and he was painted in gold and scarlet, and in that moment, I forgot. I forgot to be jealous, or to be worried. I forgot the distance from East River to St. P-Windsor. I forgot everything, because I remembered all over again—I was in love with Will Spencer.

He caught the expression on my face, even from so far away. Bringing the camera closer, he looked right into it, as if he could find my eyes through the screen. Nothing had changed except our proximity. I had all the proof I needed because he smiled at me, so softly, and said, “Hey, I love you, too.”

It was so easy to believe him. I had no idea how hard it was about to get.

“I
love the senior parking lot,” Jane practically sang at the top of her lungs.

I loved it, too. We got to park closest to the doors, with our own numbered spots. I’d won number twelve in the lottery, so basically, I pulled directly into homeroom on the first day of school.

The usual first-day excitement was different this year. We’d finally made it to the top. We didn’t have to worry about being the new kids anymore. No more were we the looked-down-upon. We were the pinnacle, the people who got to define the tone for the year.

And for us, it was the start of a long party. Though we had classes, most of us were down to electives. As long as a nothing catastrophic happened, we were graduating.

Plus, we already had a good idea where our GPAs put us in the class ranking. The AP-taking-half-credit-marching-band people still had a year to duke it out over who’d get the 4.55 valedictory prize and who’d bomb into salutatorian with 4.54444. For the rest of us, we’d banged out most of our required credits and turned senior year into pre–college frosh by taking classes that interested us.

My schedule was packed with contemporary teen fiction, music, music theory, and music education—just out of curiosity. I wasn’t super-great with little kids, but it was a satellite class. That meant five days a week, I’d leave early to go play my guitar for fourth graders.

Senior year was set to be the perfect, no-stress, all-glory year. Especially because my early-action package was already in the loving hands of Michigan’s admissions office. I planned on putting in regular-decision applications to NYU, University of Chicago, Berklee College of Music, and St. P-Windsor—but if I had Michigan, I’d know soon.

I had a good feeling. I didn’t know why.

Slinging her arm around my shoulders, Jane hauled me into the school with a deep, ecstatic sigh.

“Ahh, nothing like the smell of fresh floor wax and breakfast burritos in the morning.”

“You’re so damaged,” I said, laughing.

We headed for the senior cafeteria. Our school had a big central kitchen, with two cafeterias on either side. In theory, it was supposed to speed up the lines. What it had effectively done was create a class schism.

Underclassmen were banished to the
bad
side, defined by the fact that the gym doors opened onto it. When they were propped open, the underclassman side took on the odor of eau de jock strap
and
mystery meat.

Juniors were allowed to eat in the senior caf, but only on the outskirts. The squeaky tables that framed the carpeted holy land, but didn’t impinge on it.

Now that we were seniors, Jane and I headed for the inner-circle tables. All of the tables were made of the same cheap faux-panel and plastic, regardless of location. And the blue carpeting was, frankly, disgusting. None of that mattered. This was our twelfth-grade-given right, and we were claiming it.

As we strode in, Simon hopped up and waved his hands over his head. The art people were already congregating on one side. It was weird how much one summer could change people. Round faces had taken on angles, our clothes were more together, and a couple of the guys suddenly had broad, broad shoulders.

Jane stepped onto one of the chairs and sat on the table in the middle of it all. “One hundred eighty days till freedom, my people!”

We all cheered and didn’t care who heard it. Sitting on top of Jane’s feet, I sprawled back against her knees. Though all our usual cliques had coalesced, the edges were looser than usual. As different as the pops were from the jocks from the arts, we had senior year in common.

Drifting into our orbit, Emmalee pretended she didn’t see Simon. Instead, she crouched next to me. “Hey, can I bug you?”

“Absolutely,” I said.

“We’re doing a senior blast to raise funds for all the girls’ athletics,” she said. “We were thinking about hiring your band, are you still doing that?”

With a smile, I nodded. “Absolutely, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Shrugging, Emmalee said, “You know, just with the whole Will thing, I mean . . . everybody knows . . .”

“That you should lock up your boyfriends around Sarah?”

We both jerked our heads up at the same time. Kara Coleman stood a few feet away. She was one of the beautiful people—and Nedda’s little sister. Apparently, she was carrying Nedda’s grudge into the next generation at ERHS.

The weird part, though, was how she said it so matter-of-factly. She didn’t sound malicious. It was like she thought she was joking. Like it was an accepted facet of my personality: Sarah Westlake, boyfriend poacher.

Emmalee shooed Kara along. “Move along, lady. If you wanted Dasa for the ritual Key Club initiation, you should have gotten here first.”

“Or I could just wait until your back is turned and make a better offer.”

It happened so fast, I didn’t have time to say anything. I didn’t even have time to blush. I was mortified, but the moment passed before I had to confront it. Who was Kara to incidentally slut-shame me with a smile?

Squirming in my own skin, I smiled uncomfortably. Rationally, I knew that everybody was too excited about the first day of senior year to notice my mini-drama. It still felt like all eyes were on me. Worse, I had the impression that the flow of gossip all summer had diverted around me . . . because it was
about
me.

Jane leaned over, smooshing my cheeks between her hands. “S’up, buttercup?”

“I was just telling Emmalee how she owns me now. I’m going to be her guitar-monkey.”

“Oh, excellent choice,” Jane told Emmalee. “This is a high-quality, hand-crafted, Etsy-grade guitar-monkey. She’s guaranteed to bring you many hours of pleasure and delight.”

With a laugh, Emmalee stood up. “You guys are so weird.”

“Thank you!” Jane tossed her head back, basking.

To me, Emmalee said, “I’ll e-mail you later with the details, okay?”

“Sounds great,” I told her.

And though I smiled, and laughed, and fell into conversation with my friends, Kara’s words lingered.

~

Dany Kilpatrick was an incredibly adorable sophomore art geek.

With fire-engine-red hair and way oversize black glasses, she seemed like she was still in the process of growing into herself.

Some days, she wore Birkenstocks, and some days, combat boots. She had the potential to be a smoking hot pottery goddess at East River—for the time being, she was still constrained by cute.

Literally bouncing down the hall, she caught me before I veered into the senior cafeteria. A thick stack of metal bangles jingled on her arms. A gentle cloud of patchouli wafted from her skin, somehow sweeter on her than it was on the stoners and burnies.

“Hey,” she said, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “Hi, hi. I’m Dany, you don’t know me . . .”

With a smile, I said, “I do, actually. You did the red lacquered head at the art show last year. That thing was awesome; it gave me nightmares.”

Suffused with color, Dany clasped her hands together. “You are so sweet, thank you!”

“Yeah, no, it was great. I really liked it.” It was stupid, but I felt so magnanimous. Like I was doing the supportive senior thing right. Or something.

“Okay, then, well,” she said, rocking back on her heels. “This is kind of a weird question, so . . . you know, slap me if I’m completely out of line.”

“Go ahead,” I said indulgently.

Squinting one eye at me, Dany seemed to shake herself apart. Then she came back together in an instant, her focus laser-like and intense. “You and Dave Echols broke up, right?”

That was the first touch of her needle against my ego bubble. Slowly, I nodded. “We did. Yeah. Why?”

“I think he’s so great,” she gushed.

I hesitated. “Okay?”

“So talented, I mean, most guys who play the guitar are kind of douchey about it. He’s just so authentic and intense and dedicated, you know? Of course you know! You know him so well, and, I mean, I heard that you broke up with him to date Will Spencer, holy crap. I mean, no judgment, you have to live your truth. Fearlessly pursuing and all that. But for me personally, Dave is just . . .”

Squeezing her hands into fists, she shook them. It was like there were words out there for what she meant, but she just couldn’t find them. This was weird. She was weird. The whole thing was weird.

Now trying to escape, I nodded and took a step away. “He really is great.”

“Wait,” Dany said. She lunged at me. For a split second, I thought she was going to hit me. Instead, she grabbed both my hands and squeezed them. “I’m doing this all wrong!”

“Doing what?” I was almost afraid to find out.

Dany dipped a little. For a brief, horrified flash, I was afraid she was going to kneel in front of me. I don’t know why—the theater people did stuff like that all the time. And she was just enough over the top that I didn’t put it past her. Thankfully, all she did was clutch my hands to her chest. Which was also weird.

“I just want you to know I honor your place in Dave’s life. And I respect you as a woman and as a sister artist. So I’d like your blessing.”

Stupidly, I said, “For what?”

“To ask Dave out,” Dany replied. Her eyes were so wide and green and earnest. She blinked at me like a little forest creature.

I said the first thing that came to mind, which was both stupid and utterly fitting. Something right out of Jane’s absurdly sprawling fantasy novel collection. Somehow, I even said it sincerely.

“Go with grace, my good kinswoman.”

Dany left two coral kiss prints on my cheek and insisted on putting her contact info into my phone, but, thank God, that got rid of her.

~

One period before the end of the day, I was so ready to head home. The morning’s exhilaration had worn off, and lunch had completely tweaked me out. All I wanted was to get through independent study, get Jane, and then get the hell out of Dodge.

I wheeled out of the orchestra room and crashed right into Dave. Rebounding off his chest, I was startled before I realized it was him, and flustered after. He looked strangely great in a new scarlet Polo. The color suited him; he looked smooth and regal, like he was walking through the masses, but somehow stood apart from them.

I finally managed to say, “Jeez, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.”

“What’s this about playing for the athletics banquet?” he demanded. There was no softness in his eyes. They were the same shade as a storm on the horizon. His jaw was squared and stiff, like he was grinding his teeth.

“I think it’s actually just a party,” I started.

“I don’t care what it is,” he said. “Gigs like that are a
band
decision. We both agree, or it doesn’t happen.”

The words struck me like a slap. Never once in three years had we ever worried about saying yes to anything for the band.

Too baffled to be defensive, I said, “I didn’t realize you’d have a problem with it. I can go tell her no right now if you want me to.”

He jerked, looking away from me. In his jaw, a muscle pulsed. It was the briefest flash of anger. I guess he managed to beat it down, because when he looked back at me, he shook his head no. “I want it. But things are different now. Remember? You wanted them to be different.”

Yet another pang of guilt flickered in my chest. “No, you’re right. From here on out, we make band decisions as a band.”

“What if I already had plans?”

Confused, I pulled my backpack onto my shoulder. “I don’t follow.”

“Maybe I had plans,” he said. “Maybe I had a date. I’m just saying.”

People streamed around us in the busy hall, laughing and talking as if we didn’t exist at all. It made it hard to find the Dave I knew in all the chaos.

I didn’t think we could be more awkward than we were in that moment. So, I decided to find out for sure. Putting on a way more casual face than I felt, I said, “Funny you should mention dating, though. Dany Kilpatrick cornered me at lunch today. Wanted to know if you were available.”

Instead of relaxing, Dave stiffened. “What did you tell her?”

It felt like a trick question. Shifting my backpack from one shoulder to the other, I shrugged. “I said you were great, and she should ask you out.”

Looking past me, Dave sighed. Then, with a forced smile, he said, “In any case, it’s not really your business. So . . .”

“Okay,” I said flatly.

I don’t know why it hurt my feelings when he said that. It was incontrovertibly true. Dave’s personal life was no longer my business.

“You still have access to the calendar,” he said. “Just update it whenever. Let me know when it’s on there.”

“You bet,” I said.

The bell finally rang, putting an end to this miserable non-conversation. Hurrying down the hall to my last class, I pulled my phone out. I fired off a quick text to Will—all it said was
1st day back missing you so much.
Then I ignored the uncomfortable, barbed ache in my chest.