Page 68 of Leaving the Station
Oakley drags me back to her sleeper car after that. Sometime between when I left last night and now, the attendant put away the beds so that the room is back to its two-seats-facing-each-other setup.
“Why did we have to leave the observation car for this?” I ask once we’re settled.
She worries at her necklace. “Remember how I said I had never, um,actedon anything that went against the rules of the Church?”
I nod, but she keeps staring at me. “Oh my god,” I say, realizing what she means. “Oh, fuck.” I put my head in my hands. “I’mso sorry,” I tell her. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t be,” she says, reaching out to steady my bouncing leg. “Please, don’t be. This is... It was... nice.”
“But I led you astray,” I groan.
“You didn’t ‘lead me astray,’” she says. “You’re not, like, a biblical concubine.”
I dig my fingernails into my palm. “You’re right,” I say, whining. “I’m worse.”
Oakley knew the whole time we’ve been on this train that she’d be returning to the Church when we made it to Washington. She knew and she let me kiss her.
And she liked it.
“You’re not worse,” she says after a moment. “Please, don’t think that.”
I close my eyes, hoping that when I open them, I won’t have made out with a girl who’s about to rejoin the Mormon Church.
I wonder what they would think of me in Ritzville.
But that’s not a productive thought, because they’ll never know about me. Maybe Oakley’s family will hear about me as a secondary character in the story of her cross-country train trip, but I’ll never be the main character.
I won’t be the love interest.
“What happened last night,” Oakley starts again, “it was... so good.”
It was. Itreallywas.
Oakley leans forward and puts her hand on my knee, and I close my eyes.
We stare at the flat, amber landscape for a minute, and Oakley doesn’t move her hand. When she leans back, I want to pull her toward me.
But I don’t, and she sighs.
Yesterday, I would’ve been happy to fade into the background, to be a side character in Oakley’s story. But now, the thought sends a chill down my spine that I can’t shake.
Nearly Three Months into College
Alden texted me that one of the kids from his English seminar was throwing a party. The boy was a sophomore, he said, and lived off campus. Would I be interested in going?
No.
Yes.
I didn’t know.
I’d been in college for months and had gone to only one disastrous party.
Before I could respond, Alden texted me the address, along with a heart emoji that felt like a threat. He was reaching out, and I was slipping further away.
You shouldcome, he told me.I’d love for you to be there, he said.
I’d shoved most of the clothes in which I didn’t want Alden to see me to the bottom of my drawers, but I didn’t have the energy to dress like the version of Zoe he thought he was dating, not that night and maybe not ever again.
