“You were the one who jumped in after her. That’s what made the biggest difference. If you hadn’t moved so quickly . . .”
He shakes his head. “That was physical instinct. I wasn’t thinking at all. But you kept telling us what to do, and that’s what got her to the hospital as quickly as possible, and if she’s okay, it’s because of you. And you’ve been great since then too. You’ve made me feel better—not that I have any right to—”
“I’m not just saying stuff to make you feel better. It really isn’t your fault, Finn. You have to see that.”
There’s a pause, and then he says in a low voice, “I tried to stop her, Anna. But she wouldn’t listen to me. You saw that, right?”
“Lily never listens to anyone,” I say.
“I know. I thought that was kind of cool. . . .” He stares down at the floor. I follow his gaze, but there’s nothing to look at. Just gray-white linoleum with flecks of crimson.
The bell rings. “We’d better run,” I say, although part of me—a big part of me—wants to stay there with him. Because something’s changed. He’s definitely my friend again. Even the way he looks at me . . . it’s like he sees me. He’s not looking past me anymore, not avoiding my eyes. He sees me.
“Hold on. I wanted to show you something.” He pulls out his phone. His voice speeds up. “I saw this photo, and I thought it would be good for one of your paintings. You know how you were looking to do something a little bit different maybe? This is a little bit different. But it also fits with the other ones. It’s a landscape. It’s just not like your other landscapes.” He flicks through some photos and shows me the one he’s talking about. “It was taken near a river in Peru. How incredible are these trees?” There’s a long shot of several dense rows of some kind of low tree with crazy, curling branches of leaves—the branches curl so much and the trees are so close to one another that it’s hard to see which branches belong to which trees.
He’s right—I’ve never drawn anything like it. I tend to go for more barren landscapes. But this . . . this could be cool. I could outline the leaves in ink and use watercolors to fill them out—no, not watercolors, acrylics, because I want something dense and heavily pigmented; there’s a green I love in one of Oresco’s sets. I’d use it undiluted in any way for the darkest, shiniest leaves at the bottom, in the shade, but I’d add in a bit of yellow for the ones at the edges and then for the ones all the way at the top, I’d—
Finn’s finger shifts on the phone, and I remember where I am.
“Will you email it to me?” I say. “And the name of the website?”
“Yeah.” He puts his phone back in his pocket. He stands there a moment, looking at me.
“Thanks,” I say. I should move—we’re going to be late for our classes—but I don’t.
“Sure.” A pause. He reaches out his hand for a moment, like he’s going to touch my arm or something. But he doesn’t. He just lets it drop. Awkwardly. Then says, “Anyway. Bye.” And he heads in the opposite direction without another look back.
When school’s over, Lucy and I find Hilary and ask her if we can go see Lily.
She says, “I’ll let you know as soon as my parents say it’s okay. They’re being really strict about visitors. Finn drove all the way back to Santa Ynez to see Lily at the hospital yesterday, but Dad only let him say hi and then told him Lily needed to rest up for the ride home. But they’ve been talking and texting.”
No wonder Finn looks so tired—he’s probably been talking to Lily all night long. She’s stuck in bed, bored, no difference to her between day and night. And he’s going to make himself available whenever she wants him, because he feels guilty and sorry for her.
And maybe because he’s in love with her. Maybe for that reason too.
Although . . . I’m not as sure about that as I was a couple of weeks ago. Even before the accident, you could tell that she was getting on his nerves more and more.
But it doesn’t matter. No matter what, he has to be there for her, for as long as she wants him. Because she’s hurt and alone now, and a guy like Finn—who once showed up at school covered with scratches from a sick and hungry feral cat that he had coaxed into eating and then wrestled into a box to take to a shelter—would never abandon someone who’s hurt and alone and who needs him. And that’s part of why I like him as much as I do and why no other guy has even come close to comparing to him—not back in ninth grade and not since.
I have unexpected visitors that night. Wade and Connor come knocking on our front door around nine.
“Hey,” I say when I open the door and find them standing there. “You guys!”
“Us guys!” Wade agrees cheerfully. He kisses me on the cheek—like a cousin, not like a boyfriend.
We made out at the festival, but that feels like a lifetime ago. And in a different universe.
He says, “We came to see how your friend was doing. And to make sure you’re okay. Sounds like you had a brutal couple of days.”
“It was bad. But it looks like she’s going to be fine, which is all that matters. You guys want to come in?”
“Yeah, but only if it’s a good time for you. We promise not to stay long.”
I lead them into the kitchen and offer them something to drink. Wade declines, but Connor accepts a glass of orange juice.
“Anyone else home?” Wade asks as we watch Connor drink his juice.
“Just me. I’m not sure where my dad is.” I ask them some questions about the rest of the music festival. They said it was basically like that first night: a few great bands but a lot of mediocre ones.
“It’s no Coachella,” Wade says, and I’m glad Hilary isn’t here to hear that.
We’re talking about the kid who went to the hospital with alcohol poisoning—James Baskille—and Connor says he knows him a little. “We played on the same AYSO team when we were, like, ten. I see him at parties sometimes. He’s a total animal.”
“And if you say that . . .” Wade gives me a comical raised-eyebrow look. He’s sitting on the stool next to me. He sits up straight. “Oh, hey, guess what, Anna? I just sent in my Stanford EA application.”
“Cool. Good luck.”
“Thanks. It’s kind of terrifying.” He nudges my arm lightly. “So . . . I was wondering . . . Could you do me a really big favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Ask your dad to make a call for me? To the admissions office there? Or write a letter, if that’s easier.”
I hesitate, and he says quickly, “No worries if he doesn’t want to. I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.”
“I’m honestly not sure what he’d say. He doesn’t really know you.”
“He could get to know me! Just say the word, and I’ll move right in with you. This house has lots of bedrooms, right?”
I laugh.
“And you can vouch for me, can’t you? Tell him I’m only moderately horrible?”
“Sure. I’ll do what I can.” It’s not the kind of thing my dad tends to do, but Wade is a relative. Sort of.
He swivels in the stool so he can nudge my knee with his. “Thanks.”
“Oh, right,” Connor says, looking up. There are flecks of orange pulp in the corners of his mouth. “Wade told me your dad is super-connected at Stanford. Can he help me too?”
“Ignore him,” Wade says, rolling his eyes.
Connor shoots him a look. “Hey, man, if you can stalk her because of her connections, so can I.”
“Stalk me?” I repeat.
He nods. “Yeah, Wade’s totally obsessed with finding people who can help him get into Stanford. He’s been online-stalking you and your dad for months.”
“Not true,” Wade says hastily, shaking his head emphatically. “Anna and I met by accident at a Starbucks a few weeks ago.”
Connor rolls his eyes. “But you already knew who she was. Come on, man, just admit it. You were obsessed with tracking them down. Anna doesn’t mind, right, Anna? I mean, it’s about getting into colle
ge. We’re all obsessed.”
I nod absently, because I’m thinking furiously. About how Wade occasionally goes through the motions of acting like he’s interested in me . . . but doesn’t actually seem all that interested in me. The only time he made a move was when he was stoned. Sober, he says the right things but doesn’t show any real signs of wanting to, like, touch me or anything. And when he dropped by my house that other time, he seemed more excited to spend time with my father than to be alone with me. In fact, he left once he had talked to Dad, even though we had a chance to be alone then.
So . . . what does that mean?
That he’s been using me to get to my father, I guess. And it sounds like he’s using my father to get into Stanford—or would if he could.
Suddenly I like Wade a lot less than I did a few minutes ago. And, oddly, I like Connor a lot more. He may be annoying, but at least what you see is what you get. With Wade, clearly there’s a lot that’s hidden. You might even say underhanded.
Or slimy.
I feel stupid and a little bruised around the ego. For all he knew, I could have been falling in love with him. The fact that I wasn’t . . . well, if I’m being honest, it’s because I’ve had Finn around to compare him to. And Wade doesn’t come close. I mean, he didn’t come close even before I knew he was manipulative and dishonest. Now he’s miles away.
But I guess Wade and I are even in one respect: I was also just going through the motions of being romantically interested. The truth was that I liked the idea of getting swept away by someone, since Finn and Lily were becoming a couple—which is probably why I ended up kissing Wade right after the two of them started making out in front of me. And maybe that’s not as self-serving as wanting a letter of recommendation for college, but it still wasn’t entirely sincere, and I’m not convinced I have a strong moral upper hand here. So there’s no point in getting angry.
Well, maybe there’s a little point.
And maybe there’s also a little point in stringing Wade on for a while. I mean, it’s kind of funny that he’s been trying to charm a letter of recommendation out of me. Why not let him keep trying? He’s not getting one, not now that I realize what’s been going on—but he doesn’t know that.
“There is so much freakin’ pulp in here,” Connor says now, squinting at his juice, oblivious to the sudden tension in the room. “Do you have any that’s pulp-free? This is like drinking something that’s”—he searches for the right phrase and lands on—“that’s not a real liquid.”
“We’re out of here,” Wade says, rising to his feet abruptly. “Crazy amounts of homework.” He’s assessing me out of the corner of his eye. I assume he’s trying to gauge whether or not I completely absorbed what Connor was saying and what it means about our friendship.
I give him a big, fake smile. “Yeah, me too.”
At the door he says, “So you’ll ask your father? About the Stanford thing?” He just can’t let go of that.
My smile broadens. “Why wouldn’t I?”
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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twenty-two
Hilary invites Lucy and me to visit Lily on Thursday night. She won’t be back in school until Monday, but her parents are finally willing to let her have a quick visit from her closest friends.
When Lorena leads us into the family room, Hilary’s already in there with Lily, who’s sharing the sofa with a strange guy about our age. He’s sitting at one end, and she’s reclining full-length like an old-fashioned consumptive heroine—although her tight Lululemon workout pants and matching tank top ruin the effect a little. She’s not wearing makeup, and she looks pale and there are dark circles under her eyes, but she smiles happily as we enter and holds her arms out to us. Lucy and I run over and hug her.
“You scared us,” I whisper as I press my cheek against hers. “Don’t ever do anything like that again.”
“I won’t,” she promises. As we step back, she gestures to the kid sitting at the other end of the sofa. “Do you guys know James?”
He raises his hand in greeting. He’s got longish hair and eyebrows that are shaped like steep hills, and he’s small and slim. Basically he looks like an elf.
“James and I were in the hospital together,” Lily says. “We bonded over the horrible food and the crazy nurses.”
“And the fact we had both done really stupid things to get there,” he adds.
“Especially that.” They smile at each other. A private smile that excludes the rest of us.
“I don’t actually remember much about that night.” She turns back to us as Lucy and I both perch on the arms of the big upholstered chair near her. “Isn’t that weird? I remember getting to the hotel and going to the music festival, but then it all gets fuzzy. You ran into a friend, right, Anna? A guy? With red hair?”
“There was a redheaded guy,” I say. “But the one who was my friend has dark hair. He’s my cousin, remember?”
She shakes her head with a rueful smile. “It’s so weird. I get freaked out when I try to remember and can’t, so I try not to think about that night too much.”
I wonder if she remembers making out with Finn. Weird to think she might not. Even weirder for him. I wonder why he’s not here tonight—and that other guy is.
“Hil’s filled me in on what I’ve forgotten,” she says. “Or at least whatever she was there for—I guess we split up for a while?” Lucy and I glance at each other but just nod silently. “I know I dove into the . . . um . . . you know—the—not the hot tub—the—” She looks at James.
“The pool,” he says gently.
She nods. “Right. The pool.” She sees the expressions on our faces and laughs a little. “Don’t worry, guys. I do this all the time. It’s a retrieval thing—the doctor says it’ll get better soon. Anyway, I know I dove in after you guys told me not to. And sometimes I almost remember doing it, but I think it’s a . . . you know . . . false memory. I only remember because people have told me about it.” There’s something different about how she talks. She’s not as rapid-fire, not as confident. She stops between every few words, searching for what she wants to say next. It’s her voice but with someone else’s rhythm.
“What about you?” Lucy asks James. “Why were you in the hospital?”
“Someone dared me to drink a bottle of whiskey in five minutes.” He smiles weakly. “I’m sure you’ll all be happy to know I succeeded.”
“And almost died of alcohol poisoning,” Lily says.
“But didn’t.”
“Which is a very good thing.” Because she’s lying on the sofa and he’s sitting at the end, her bare feet are near his leg. She flexes her right foot so her toes lightly brush against the outside of his thigh.
I stare at her foot. What’s that about?
“We both hit bottom,” Lily says. “I mean, I literally hit bottom with the pool, but metaphorically too. James and I kept talking in the hospital about how we felt like we’d both been on this path, and then suddenly we were thrown off of it and could see how stupid it was.”
“Is this, like, a sobriety thing?” Lucy asks, her forehead wrinkled.
Lily shakes her head. “Nothing that obvious or clichéd. I don’t even know how to describe it. . . .” She looks over at James.
He puts his hand on her ankle, gently squeezing it. “We both realized we’d been pushing ourselves to do crazier and crazier things because we thought that would make life more intense and interesting. But if you don’t let yourself feel what’s actually going on at any given moment—if you’re always looking for the next rush—you get numb and stop feeling anything. And that just makes you look for the next excitement in the hope it will break through the numbness. You get on this bad spiral.” His eyes burn with intensity as he gazes at Lily. “What we both went through—it was like a reminder to stop. To slow down. To take each moment as it comes. I know it sounds l
ike new-age crap when I try to put it into words, but it feels true to me.”
“To me too,” Lily says softly. And her toes brush his thigh again.
Hilary’s mom buzzes down on the intercom. “Time to say good-bye, girls,” says her disembodied voice. “Lily needs to save her strength for school.”
Lucy and I say our good-byes and stand up, but James stays where he is. He and Lily are talking in voices too low for us to hear as we walk out of the room.
“Well, the good news is Lily finally has something to write her college essay about,” I whisper to Lucy.
“No joke,” she says. “I bet it really will be about how the accident changed her life.”
Hilary follows us to the door. I shake the car key invitingly and say, “Boba run, guys?”
“Definitely,” says Hilary. “I’ve got to get out of here. My parents aren’t talking to each other, and Lily’s either with James or talking to him.”
“Sounds good to me,” says Lucy. “But we can’t take too long. I have a ton of homework.”
“So what’s the story with this guy?” I ask, once we’re settled in my car. I’m driving, Lucy’s riding shotgun, and Hilary’s in the back. “He and Lily seemed awfully cozy.”
“Yeah, I was wondering about that too,” Lucy says.
“Okay, so it’s not just me,” Hilary says. “They feel like more than friends, right?”
“What about Finn?” Lucy asks.
“Yeah,” I say, wondering if I sound too eager. “What about Finn?”
Hilary leans forward and rests her elbows on the edge of our seat backs. “Good question. My parents finally agreed to let him come over last night, but Lily invited James too, so they were both there. And Lily and James kept talking about the hospital and how different they feel now—and Finn just sat there. And then left. James stayed much later.”
“Poor Finn,” Lucy says. “After that make-out session—”
“Wait, what?” Hilary says. “What make-out session?”
“Oh, right. You weren’t there. She wasn’t there,” Lucy says to me.