I wished I were one of Tom’s samurai.
I wished I had a sword and honor and a code.
I wished I knew what the hell I should do.
Because I doubted Lily was going to call me back. And I had no idea how to talk to Nick about it, no idea what I wanted to ask him or accuse him of. All I knew was that he’d lied to me from the second he’d first talked to me in the hallway, telling me his sob sorry about Anna, the girl he’d always liked and never gotten up the nerve to talk to. And I’d believed him. I’d believed every word he’d said.
IT ONLY TOOK UNTIL WEDNESDAY evening before Sarah and my mom ganged up on me.
It wasn’t clear who instigated the attack, which they both pretended was uncoordinated, but at six o’clock on the dot that evening, Sarah appeared at the front door, claiming we’d had plans for me to go over to her house for dinner. I told her this was very much not the case, only to have my mom, who’d started removing all the sharp knives from the utensil drawer the day before, emerge behind me and proceed to all but push me through the front door.
“Go have fun, sweetheart,” she said. “It’ll be good for you to get out of the house for a while—get some fresh air, hang out with your friend.”
Her face was so hopeful, like she really believed this was what I needed. This isn’t something fresh air and friendship can fix, I wanted to tell her. If it was, I’d go over to Sarah’s house every night. Eat mung beans and celery and let her mom tell me all about Pilates and the best colors for my complexion. But what I need right now is to be by myself.
That was too much to try to get out, though; too much like peeling my skin off in front of them both. Instead, I kept it simple. “No, it won’t,” I said. “Really, I just want to stay home. Please.”
Mom hesitated, and I thought could see a crack in her resolve—a tiny hairline crack that I could leverage until it broke open.
“Please,” I repeated.
She looked at me and took a step to the left, as if to allow me to retreat into the house.
Sarah shook her head. “Nope,” she said. “Nice try. We’re doing this. My mom even made a side dish that contains carbs especially in your honor. This is happening.”
I looked at my mom beseechingly, but the rupture in her resolve had disappeared. “Sarah’s right,” she said. “You should go.”
—
AFTER WE LEFT THE DRIVEWAY, Sarah nodded toward a paper bag on the floor of the car between us.
“There’s a burger and fries in there for you if you want it,” she said. “Well, there’s two of each, actually—one for each of us. If you don’t want yours, though, then I’m happy to eat all of it myself.”
I stared at the bag, confused by this twist. “I thought we were eating at your house?”
“We are, but I figured you might be pissed about being hijacked from your self-imposed exile, so this is my peace offering. Plus, you know what my mom’s food is like—I don’t know if I have the strength to deal with you if you’re both angry and hungry.”
“I’m not angry,” I said, slumping against the window, watching the houses pass. They all looked the same to me; only the paint was different.
“No? What are you, then?”
What was I? It felt like the million-dollar question. I settled by giving a ten-cent answer, directed at the window. “I’m tired and I’m confused. All I want is to be left alone.”
“You’ve been alone for the last three days. You’ve had three days of not talking to anyone—of ignoring me, freaking out your family. So we’ve officially tried that and it hasn’t worked. Anyway, nobody gets to be left alone forever.” She paused, and her tone softened. “Look, tell me what’s wrong. If you talk to me, then we can skip dinner and do anything you like—go to a movie, get milk shakes, go to the basketball game—”
I flinched involuntarily. “I don’t want to go to the basketball game.”
In the reflection of the window, I could see her glance at me.
“Is this about Nick?” she asked. “Did something happen?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I closed my eyes. “Let’s just have dinner.”
“Fine,” she said.
We drove in silence after that. I breathed in the smell of the hot, salty fries, trying to remember when I’d last eaten. Eating seemed like an activity that went with another version of me, one from a long time ago. I wanted to be that version of me again. I wanted to want to eat the burger and fries she’d brought me. Instead, I handed the bag to Sarah at the next stop sign.
—
I DON’T KNOW WHAT SARAH told her parents, but when we got to her house, her mom eyed me with pity, as if I were a doomed baby bird that had fallen out of its nest, and she took my jacket and placed it on the coatrack with such care that it could’ve been made from spiderwebs. Sarah’s dad, on the other hand, practically had to be physically restrained from hugging me.
“She’s not a hugger, Dad,” Sarah told him. I nodded and looked away. I didn’t know how to meet his gaze, didn’t know how to fuse this man with the one who’d stood across from Mr. Matthews, brokenhearted but resolute.
The dinner, as advertised, did include a small bowl of pasta salad in addition to the other, more fiber- and protein-intensive dishes.
“You look nice,” her mom said to me after we all sat down and began loading up our plates.
After three days of not eating and only one shower, this seemed doubtful, but I thanked her anyway. It was, I knew, a well-intentioned remark.
“Did you do something new with your hair?”
