Will bounces her head against the pillows to the rhythm of the hospital monitor. Beep. Thud. Beep. Thud. Beep. ‘I’m sorry for getting so heavy on you,’ she says. ‘I just hate it when things drag on without a resolution.’
She is gazing at me again and there is heat in her voice. ‘I know it’s crazy.’ Her words have thickened. ‘I don’t even know why I feel this way. You annoy the shit out of me most of the time.’
A thudding starts beneath my ribcage. Everything I’ve been concertedly trying not to think about presses obstinately against my skull. ‘Will. Don’t,’ I whisper.
‘It makes less sense than pretty much anything.’ She laughs before a shadow of gloom sweeps across her face. ‘Oh, what’s the point? I wish you and Edie a very comfortable life.’
My heartbeat quickens. Why have I put myself in this situation again? I should never have come to the hospital. Why did I rush over before thinking it through? ‘I should get going. My mother is expecting me home for dinner.’ I pick up my school bag.
‘You never talk about her, you know,’ Will says.
I place the bag over one shoulder. ‘My mother?’
‘That’s not who I meant.’
‘If you mean Edie,’ I say, not meeting her eye, ‘I talk about her all the time.’
Will shakes her head. ‘I didn’t even know you had a girlfriend until I specifically asked you. And when you do talk about her, it’s all – logistical – like you’re in a business partnership or something. “I have to meet Edie at five.” “Edie and I have training this afternoon.” “I promised Edie I’d pick up muffins for her fundraiser.” That stuff doesn’t count.’ ‘I don’t see why not.’ My mouth feels dry.
‘If you told me you’d devised a cartoon so she wouldn’t be marked down in English – that would count. Or if you told me you cornered her at lunchtime every day outside a place you knew she hung out – that would count. Or if you told me you planned an entire ruse involving an American photorealist and domestic air travel to help cure her of a weird-ass phobia –’
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘What do you think I’m trying to say?’ Will’s words are fierce.
‘I – I do stuff for Edie as well.’
Will pounds the starch from the sheets with her functioning fist. ‘Okay. You’re nice to everyone. I get it. But when Edie does this, how does it make you feel?’ She grabs my hand and tugs me towards her, bringing her face so close to mine that our noses are practically touching. I feel her breath on my lips and she looks at me with such strange softness that my heart crashes against its cage. And the most peculiar thought occurs to me.
If I could only remain in this moment, if everything else could be cordoned off somehow, if all the other portions of my life could just drop away …
But it is impossible. Will Everhart is impossible.
My phone buzzes again. I pull back.
Chapter 29
WILL
My fingers will be fine. The doctors say there’s no serious or long-term damage. But while the breaks are healing I can’t grip a paintbrush without wanting to injure someone. My major work will have to wait.
My hand is not the main problem, though. It’s Harriet.
I know there’s no point hoping for anything between us. If I didn’t already know it, Harriet made it clear at the hospital the moment she pulled her face away from mine; the moment she took her hands back from where they’d fallen on my hips.
And still, like the dumb mutt in a zombie flick who waits for food beside the newly rotting corpse of its owner, I hope.
If only I had a distraction. Some kind of hobby. I wonder how long it takes to learn how to hotwire a car.
Of course, there are things I can do towards my major work other than paint. I spend three nights in a row watching plane crash videos in the expectation it will inspire me to new artistic heights. All it does is make my nightmares worse. I soon ditch the videos and find myself back on Harriet’s Instagram account, scrolling through pictures of her having fun with other people.
Urgh.
When I’m not thinking about Harriet, I’m thinking about our botched plan. This time, we sailed too close to a particular wind called Croon. She’s probably got me on twenty-four-hour surveillance already.
It takes a while for the reality of Amelia Westlake’s demise to truly strike, and I’m brushing my teeth when it does. I stare at myself in the mirror, and a mournful loser with a toothpaste goatee stares back. With the end of Amelia Westlake, I feel like I’ve lost two important people at once.
My next thought is to wonder how a Rosemead princess and an imaginary person became the most important people in my life. There is something seriously wrong with me.
This is confirmed when trial exam time rolls around and I’m stoked about it. A week of study leave and two weeks of writing papers is just what I need to take my mind off everything else. For the first time all year, I make schoolwork a priority. I learn more about the content of my subjects through self-directed study than I have all year in class. I manage to keep my mind off Harriet for hours at a stretch.
Then something unexpected happens – the kind of ‘unexpected’ you get in zombie flicks. Dawn of the Deadstyle, Amelia Westlake shows up.
The first time I spy her is in my Legal Studies trial exam. I’m nutting out the difference between a criminal and civil penalty when I notice something scrawled on the exam desk.
Amelia Westlake wishes you good luck!
I can’t help but grin. I wonder who’s written it. Not Harriet – graffitiing desks is against the school rules. And it’s a thousand times too
