Page 63 of Another Day (Every Day 2)

When I hang out with Justin after school, he doesn’t mention Ashley or even Rebecca. We go back to his place and play some video games—I lose in an early round and have to watch until he’s done. Then he moves his hands on me and we start to make out, and without us talking about it, I know we’re going to go all the way this afternoon. I try to get into it, but I keep wondering if he’d like it better if I had a different body—if I had Ashley’s body. Then as we’re getting naked and more intense, I think about being in his body and having sex with Ashley. Would I like it? Do I want that? I can’t feel that way, and then I start thinking the opposite—what if A were in Justin’s body right now? What if it were A inside of me, A covered in sweat, A kissing me? I know it would be different. I know he’d be looking at me more. Feeling me more. Here more. I feel so fucked up for thinking these things. For imagining A here, A with me. I am cheating on Justin in my head, even if it’s still his body that I’m cheating with.

It finishes before I’ve really gotten anywhere. Justin asks me if I want him to keep going with me, but I tell him no, I’m fine. I’m good. I’m great.

Chapter Fifteen

I check my email before I go to sleep that night. No emails from Justin. No word from Rebecca. Just something from A.

I have to see you again.

A

I wonder what body A is in right now. I wonder if I would’ve wanted to sleep with it. I wonder if I’m wrong to wonder that. I wonder what the hell I’m doing.

I don’t answer. I want to see A—of course I do.

But I still don’t see the point.

—

Justin is in a dire mood when I catch him in the morning. Another long-distance lecture from his dad. Another test he’s not ready for. Another day he doesn’t want to be here.

I try to plant myself firmly at his side. I complain about my own history test coming up today. I tell him that hanging out with him yesterday was much more fun than studying, anyway. I don’t tell him that I studied when I got home.

“I fucking hate this place,” he tells me. I must remind myself I am not a part of the place. He is not talking about me.

It’s hard to be supportive when you have no idea what you’re supporting. It’s hard to be there for someone when he won’t let you know where he is.

I tell him I’ll see him at lunch. He doesn’t react. And why should he?—I’m only stating the obvious. We always know how our day will go.

I walk to my classes. I talk to the people I always talk to. I am barely paying attention to my own life.

I go to Spanish and I listen to people talk about the glories of Madrid. I go to art and I can barely lift a brush.

Then I’m walking into math and something inside me wakes up. Alert. Instead of going into the classroom, I glance back at the hall and see someone looking at me. In an instant I know A has come back. A is here.

It’s in the eyes. This boy with his swoopy hair and his polo shirt and his jeans could be any boy. But those eyes, that way of looking at me, could only belong to A.

I walk away from class, from the way the day was supposed to go. Everyone around me rushes to get to class as the second bell rings. But not him. Not me. Not us.

Us. I should not be thinking of us as us. But it feels like us. Here in this hallway, before we’ve said a word, we’re us.

I don’t know if I want it to be true, but it doesn’t seem to care what I want. It exists beyond me.

Classes start, and we’re alone together. I map out where Justin is a

t this moment, and know he’s nowhere near.

We’re safe. From what, I don’t know.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey,” he says.

“I thought you might come.”

“Are you mad?”

“No, I’m not mad,” I tell him. “Although Lord knows you’re not good for my attendance record.”