Page 63 of Here for a Good Time
But we can’t.
The glass has shattered.
“At least I’ve done something with my life,” I spit out, not reacting in the slightest when he recoils. We’re throwing barbs, aiming at each other’s weakest, most tender spots. “At least I’ve become an author. How dare you stand there and act likeyoulove doing the same thing you did when you were a teenager and running your parents’ bookstore, when the truth is that you don’t have the guts to pursue whatyouwant to do and change terrifies you. You’re a coward, Zwe. You stick to what you know and you’re scared to go out on a limb for anything or tell people how you actually feel, whether that’s doing a PhD or moving in with the love of your life. If this trip sounded like such a bad idea from the start, why didn’t you say no? And if I’ve been a terrible friend for so long, then why didn’t you tell me earlier? Whydidyou just keep living in the same apartment as me?”
“Why do you think I’ve been talking to Julia again?”
“Good!” I jump to my feet. “I hope you and Julia will be very happy in your new home where everything is perfect and nothing ever changes and the taxes always get filed on time.”
“Where the hell are you going?” he sighs.
“Away,” I reply, tugging my damp socks back on.
“You can’t—”
“I’m not staying here with you. Clearly, you don’t need me.” I fling an arm in the direction of Leila, who is sitting so still I had forgotten that she was present. “You have your island girlfriend inthe meantime before you can go back to Julia.Inever want to see you again.”
“I get that you’re mad at me, but you can’t leave now,” Zwe’s saying, but I’m using more concentration than an adult should as I try to tie my shoelaces. My fingers are too shaky, so I settle for scrunching the laces together into misshapen knots.
“Watch me,” I say, marching over to the stairs. The wind has picked up, and even though it’s not the smartest idea right now, I grab the rail and get ready to storm off.
“Poe, if you leave,” Zwe says, following me, “you know I’m going to have to come after you.”
“Actually, Zwe—” I stop on the second-to-last step before the first landing, although I regret it because when I whirl around, I come face-to-face with Zwe and Leila’s feet. I look up at them, endeavoring to look as wrathful as possible from five feet down. Leila’s also stood up and comes closer, although she’s still leaving enough space between her and Zwe, like we’re two feral lions who might pounce on each other at any moment. “If you want to show me how to be a good friend, since clearly I have no clue myself, then why don’t you start by demonstrating the importance of giving your friend space when they ask for it?”
I hear Zwe’s frustrated sigh, but if he says anything else, it’s a whisper into the ether because all of my senses have zoomed in on something else, something that makes everything around me fade to black.
If I had blinked just two milliseconds later, I would’ve missed it. It’s low down on the inside of her bare right ankle, low enough that it was covered by her sock.
Opaque black. A blob. Permanent ink.
“Zwe—” I say, my grip on the rail tightening.
“Look, come back here and we’ll talk it out, okay?” Zwe takes two cautious steps forward. “I’m sorry I—”
I miss the rest ofthissentence as well. I should be fleeing, but instead I’m… freezing. Ican’tflee. I can’t leave Zwe behind.
“How about we… talk in private?” I say, willing the corners of my mouth to turn upward.
Zwe’s expression morphs, confused by my sudden 180. “What?” he asks, sounding suspicious.
“Yeah, look, why don’t we go for a short walk and talk?” I lean sideways and force my smile wider at Leila. “No offense, I think some privacy would be good for us.”
She doesn’t smile back.
“I think we should stay up here,” Zwe says.
“I agree,” Leila says, and I can’t tell if I’m imagining a new, sinister undertone to her voice, or if it’s always been there.
“No, I think a walk will be good,” I insist, trying not to make any sudden movements. “Endorphins and all that.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Leila says. She moves forward, and that’s when I make the error. I look down at her foot, and when my eyes dart back upward, she’s staring at me. I know. She knows. The only one who doesn’t know is—
“Zwe—” I start.
“Oh my god, Zwe!” At her cry, Zwe turns around before I can say anything or yank him toward me. She gives a short shrug. “Sorry.” Before he can even open his mouth, she knocks him over the head with one of the stools, and he topples over.
My instinct to not leave Zwe overpowers my instinct to run—and Leila knows it, too. “Come up here,” she says, nothing subtle about the malice in her voice now. She beckons me with one fingerlike an adult calling a kid over to dole out punishment. Zwe’s unconscious body is limp on the floor, and when I hesitate, she nudges his shoulder with one foot. “Come here, or I will hurt him in ways evenyoucouldn’t make up in one of your little books.”
