Page 40 of Built to Fall
Everything about her is calculated: her makeup, her words, her silences. She knows how to smile without giving anything away—how to be upset without letting a single tear fall.
It’s not that she doesn’t trust people. It’s that she doesn’t need to.
And I’ve never taken the time to question it. Maybe because it’s what makes the two of us so similar.
I run my fingers through my hair. It’s something I find myself doing often when I don’t have a precise answer. “I guess we’ll see when she gets here.”
Leaning back against the cushion of the booth, I lick at my ice cream as I continually glance out the window.
“I’ll never understand why people think ice cream is only a summer dessert,” Eden says, taking a bite out of her waffle cone.
I shake my head. “It’s truly such a tragedy. Worse than the fate of Prometheus, punished for giving fire to humanity. I couldn’t imagine not enjoying this all year round.”
It became absurdly clear within the first few weeks of the semester that Eden, Kara, and I all have a moderate ice cream addiction—one none of us are afraid to indulge in. Throughout the week, we average three or four bowls or cones.
Maybe it wasn’t intentional at the beginning, but when we came to know each other’s mutual love of the treat, it became a habit. We’re either meeting up at one of the ice cream shops in town or serving ourselves from the gallon in our freezer late at night.
This is our second time this week.
“Oh, there she is!” Eden points toward the window where Kara is passing by.
There might as well be a sign above the door that lights up saying, “Brunette bombshell has entered,”with the way she commands the room.
Kara pushes open the door with her shoulder, making the bell on the door jingle again. She’s wearing baggy light-wash jeans and a plain, light gray long sleeve. Her dark hair is in a sleek ponytail, and her usual gold, staple jewelry has been replaced with silver.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says as she slides into the booth beside Eden, placing her designer tote on the bench with a thud that feels a little too intentional. “Train was slow.”
We both wave her off. Her schedule is more packed than Eden’s and mine. There’s a higher probability of her being late. It’s simple statistics, really, and we can’t hold it against her.
“Are you getting anything?” I ask.
She hikes one of her shoulders, leaning back. “Maybe in a minute.”
It’s only then that I notice she’s not wearing makeup. Not like usual, at least. Her skin looks raw in places, like she wiped the remnants of her photoshoot off in a hurry, and there’s a dullness behind her eyes that not even concealer could fix.
Eden doesn’t bother easing into it. “So… you’ve seen it, right?”
Kara’s jaw tightens. “If you mean the charming little essay about my love life onNotes of New Haven, then yes, I’ve seen it.”
She says it like it doesn’t bother her. She says it the way Kara says everything: with practiced indifference.
I glance at Eden, unsure who should press first, but Kara answers before either of us can ask.
“It’s not true,” she says, voice low. “Not all of it. We had an argument. That part’s real. But the drama? The storming out and sobbing in the street?Please.”
Yeah, I knew that would be way too out of character for her.
Eden raises an eyebrow. “But you did leave, didn’t you?”
Kara’s smile is thin and exhausted. “Yeah, I left. Because if I stayed, I was going to say something I’d regret. I was doing the smart thing, and Jack knew it too.”
“And now?” I ask carefully.
“I don’t know. We haven’t talked since.”
“That was Saturday,” Eden says.
“I know.”
