Noah.
I vaguely remembered sitting in the nurse’s office. I vaguely remembered that Noah came with me, that he half carried me there. He’d brought a newspaper. The thought almost made me smile. It was a strange silver lining in all this chaos to think that I’d somehow managed to make a new friend, that the rest of the school year might be a little less lonely. But then I remembered the sound of my own voice begging, begging them even as I sat in a hard, wooden chair with my eyes closed, to spare my mother the phone call.
I’d not thought this through.
Please don’t call my mother was all I’d had, my sole functioning brain cell screaming out a single directive.
I’d not thought about who they might call instead.
My father was in the hospital. Shayda was not listed as one of my emergency contacts. But I still remember the form Zahra’s dad had to fill out the day he came to get me, just three months ago.
Zahra’s parents were in my file.
I stood stock-still in my ex–best friend’s bedroom and stared at myself in her mirror, the mirror above her dresser, the one she’d had for as long as I’d known her. I took in my strange, ghostly appearance, the blush-colored silk scarf tied loosely at my throat, half-fallen off my head. My dark hair was coming loose, my normally pale skin now pink with heat, with the flush of fresh sleep. My eyes were the bright, strange green of a person on drugs.
I looked slow, soft, newly cooked.
It was how I felt, too.
Zahra must’ve known I was here. Zahra—who’d accused me of being a calculating opportunist, who’d warned me to stay the hell away from her family—had to have known that I’d been asleep in her beautiful, soft bed, and she had to have hated it, hated me for it, for forcing her to play nice at what was no doubt her parents’ behest. The thought made me suddenly sick. I didn’t know whether it was even possible to escape the mortification of such a scene. I thought it might inhale me.
I glanced at the clock on the wall and was comforted, for a moment, by the knowledge that Zahra was in class at the community college right now. It was Wednesday night, the night I, too, was supposed to be in class at the community college. This was the third time I’d missed my multivariable calculus class, which meant that even with perfect scores, my best possible grade had now dropped to a C.
The realization struck me like a blow.
I’d never gotten a C in anything before. Worse, that C was contingent upon flawless work in all other areas. But I’d already missed three days; I’d already missed homework, would struggle to catch up for exams. I’d more than likely end up with a D, which was considered failing. I’d have to retake the class. I didn’t even know if they’d let me retake the class.
I stared at a single thing as my heart raced: a plush pink teddy bear perched in an armchair beside Zahra’s bed. I stared at its big glass eyes, at the tiny red heart stitched onto its white belly. I did not own any stuffed animals. My father had gotten rid of mine when I was twelve; he’d taken my childhood things to Goodwill while I was at school. When I’d cried, he’d told me it was time to grow up.
Zahra would have all that I only ever dreamed of: the necessary love and stability to survive this life with grace, and the parental support required to be the dutiful, promising student I’d tried and failed to be.
I took a ragged breath. Clasped my shaking hands.
I had another hour before Zahra’s class ended, and I thought I might escape before then, find somewhere to kill time until I could walk home at my normal hour, pretend everything was as it should be.
I stepped into the adjoining bathroom, apologizing to Zahra’s ghost as I borrowed her toothpaste, finger-brushed my teeth, rinsed my mouth. I splashed cold water on my face, but my cheeks would not cool. I looked overheated to the extreme, my lips brighter, redder than usual, everything hot to the touch.
I shivered, suddenly.
I readjusted my scarf, tried to contain my slippery straight hair, but I’d lost a couple of the bobby pins that held my longer bangs in place, and dark strands kept coming loose. I stared, longingly, at some of Zahra’s hair clips, and tried to decide whether it would be truly reprehensible to take them without her permission. I picked them up. Weighed them in my hands. We had such a long, storied history that I didn’t think she’d begrudge me something so small.
But then I remembered, with a sinking sensation, that she’d been unwilling to offer me even a ride in the pouring rain. We’d both been headed to the same destination—her, in a warm, dry car; me, caught in a deluge without an umbrella.
I dropped the pins back on her counter.
When I turned around, I collided with a wall of heat.
I knew, I knew, I’d known he might be here but I’d not allowed myself to think about it, could not bring myself to process the possibility of so much humiliation. This was not how I wanted to see Ali again. Not like this, not trapped inside his sister’s bedroom after a delirious collapse, not saved by his parents because I had no one of my own to call. I knew how I presented, could see how his family must see me, with pity, with pity and charity, an aching sadness in their eyes that tore me in half.
This was not what I wanted.
My heart pounded dangerously as I looked up at him. He wasn’t supposed to be here. It broke the rules of basic propriety for him to have entered his sister’s bedroom while I slept. I was a guest in
