Page 59 of Fade into You

“So, waffles?”

“I dunno, I really should get home and call Kayla. We pretty much abandoned her last night,” she says, and starts collecting her clothes from where they’re hanging in a neat pile over my bamboo screen. She starts to pull her shirt off, and I turn around right before she reveals her breasts, much as I want to see them, much as I want to be the kind of person she’d want seeing them.

“Uh, you can use my cell,” I say, and point to where it’s charging on the desk. “But you probably don’t want to miss out on Mom’s waffles, they’re pretty stellar.”

“You don’t have to turn around,” she says, and I’m not sure if there’s a touch of wistfulness in her voice. Or is it regret? Or maybe she does actually like me. But that’s not my kind of luck. My kind of luck is by the end of the week I’m onFrontlineas the new predator du jour.

“Uh, just giving you privacy.”

She comes up behind me. I can feel the heat of her there and then her arms wrap around me, her breasts press against my back, her head leaning on my shoulder and I so want to turn around and just taste those lips one more time. Hold her close for just a minute. But regret can show up anytime, and I don’t want this toxicity to spread.

“Jessa, are you okay? ’Cause I won’t tell anyone—”

“And I won’t either, I promise.”

“I was talking about your sister, but okay… I guess. Are you all right?”

I pull out of the embrace, walk over to my wall of liner notes, pretend to inspect the Mary J. Blige pictures, pretend there’s something I want to do other than pull her back into bed, tangle myself in her, and silence all those horrible voices. Jesus, voices, I am a psycho.

“Are you all right?” I ask her instead.

“Yes,” she says in a measured tone, “but you seem off.”

“I’m cool,” I say, though I am definitely not. “Long as you’re cool.”

“I’m cool.”

“Great, then I’ll tell Mom a plain waffle and you can ring up Kayla before you come down.” Before she can say anything more, I’m headed back downstairs into another pit of anxiety, preparing myself to lie, as we always do around the breakfast table.

BIRD

I get dressed in yesterday’sclothes and try not to read too much into the way Jessa is being extra weird with me. Because, Kayla. As I replay the events that led us to the wonder of Jessa’s bed last night, I’m flooded with worry. We left her there. The last time I saw her she was up onstage dancing, random band boy hands on her body, Emmanuel looking at her like she was dessert or something… and her, not even noticing that I was being pushed around in the stupid mosh pit, not caring that she left me first.

I bring the folded Xena shirt to my face before I stow it in my bag. Jessa is the only person our age I know who has a cell phone. Mom and Daniel just got one last winter after that terrible snowstorm left everyone stranded and no one knew where Mom was for ten and a half hours. For emergencies only, but Olivia has been begging for one ever since. She’s had to settle for a pager.

It’s amazing that I’m remembering all of this, yet also worrying about Kayla, while also replaying Jessa’s anatomy in my mind, all while waiting for an answer at Kayla’s house. It rings once—Jessa’smouth and hands and the curve of her back. Twice—Jessa’s smile and the way she says my name. A third time—and Kayla’s mom is saying, “Hello?”

I clear my throat, stand up, try to focus. “Hi, is Kayla up?”

“Bird? What—what do you mean? I thought she was sleeping at your house.”

And my focus comes crashing in with sharp precision now. “Oh…”

“Did she not sleep at your house?”

Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“No, she did. She definitely did. I was just checking because she… um, ran out to get some coffee and breakfast sandwiches, um, while I was in the shower and…”

“Then why would she behere?”

“Oh, wait a second, I—I think she’s pulling up now. Yep. Yes, that’s her. Sorry, I guess I just got impatient. Okay, thanks. Bye—”

“Wait a second, Bird. I want to talk to Kayla.”

“Oh, sure, sure. I’ll let her know to call you.”

“No, put her on the—”