Page 111 of Fade into You
It’s the last day of school before winter break, and I’m trying to simmer in my grief when Olivia Fucking Rubens shows up at my lunch spot, hands on hips, lips puckered like an asshole. She won’t move and I finally pull off my headphones. “The fuck do you want?”
“You need to stay away from my sister, you stupid hooker.”
“I do, do I? Well, I don’t fucking see her here!”
“Do you have any idea of the damage you’ve done? It was one thing when this shit was quiet and I thought you actually had a fucking brain, but kissing her on the quad? Here? Do you even know how many people are talking about it?”
At first I think about sitting here, taking the blame, placing it in the black hole inside me and keeping Bird safe. But that’s what made this monster—lying, pretending, hiding. I pull myself up to my feet, tired of her talking down to me, shove my face close to hers, and hiss, “It wasn’t me who kissed her. Bird made that choice, and you need to fucking respect it.”
Her eyes widen for a second, then get back to an angry squint. “I don’t care who did what gross queer shit to each other, I don’t need a dyke for a sister, so stay the fuck away.”
“She’s bi, not a dyke. And I’m a lesbian, not a dyke. And you’re a goddamned hateful bitch.”
A crowd is forming, the hint of a fight alluring in the blehpre-Christmas slump. “Well, hopefully the good half of her will find a boyfriend,” she snaps, and turns on her heel, walking away.
A boyfriend. The safe choice. The smart choice.But will she love him? Can she love anyone else? I don’t think I ever will.
All the emotions, all the crap, everything I’ve been shoving down and hiding comes up and I reach out and grab that silky, perfect ponytail of hers and yank as fucking hard as I can. Her head pulls back, body following, tripping into me, and when we collide, she becomes vicious. Her hands are raking at me and I’m punching and next thing I know we’re getting pulled apart by Paige and Bri and Emmanuel and other classmates I’ve just begun to realize aren’t out to get me. I let them, and when Olivia tries to rush back at me, Paige steps between us.
“Enough, Rubens,” she says, pushing her back gently. “Walk away.”
“She’s a fucking dyke! She’s recruiting—”
“Shut the hell up, Liv,” Bri cuts in. “Enough is enough.”
Liv looks around and I do too, and I see a lot of the less popular faces, all scowling at her. All mad at her. All standing upfor me.
“Pull that shit again, I’ll let your father know about you and Garrett,” Bri murmurs. Liv looks scared. Evidently Bri has something on her. “Bathrooms have ears. Back off Jessa and stick to your own crowd.”
Olivia Fucking Rubens knows when she’s been beat, and she walks away. I look at Bri and Paige and the others, all standing around, and for once I realize I may not be as alone as I thought.
“Thanks,” I murmur, brushing dirt off my jeans and jacket.
“No prob,” Bri says.
“It’s what friends do,” Paige adds. “Let’s go grab some fries from the caf. I’m famished.”
I sit with them at an actual lunch table, and we talk about anything but Bird, who is nowhere to be found.
BIRD
All of winter break I’vebeen with Kayla, the two of us just existing alongside each other, watching talk shows and bad Christmas movies. Emmanuel has been calling her house every day of vacation, trying to convince her that he had nothing to do with the zine.
The next time the phone rings, I answer for her. “She doesn’t want to talk to you—stop calling!”
“Thanks,” Kayla mutters, and changes the channel from Jerry Springer to MTV. The phone rings again, and this time Kayla answers. “What?” she shouts. “Oh. Sorry. Yeah, Mom. She’s here. I know. I am. I will. I’m doing it right now. Yeah, I know. I know. Okay. Bye.” Then she hangs up, points the remote, and turns the volume up on the TV.
I look at the time on the VCR. It’s almost noon, so I know what her mom was calling for—to make sure I’m here. AndI’mhere to make sure Kayla’s okay. I get up and go to the kitchen, pour her a glass of water, grab a yogurt and spoon, and shake out two pills from their respective bottles. One is a prescription-strengthmultivitamin, the other a little blue pill that’s supposed to be helping with her depression, helping her want to eat and stay alive. But when I come back into the living room and hand her the water, she just rolls her eyes. It’ll take her the next two hours to finish the stupid yogurt, but she at least takes the pills without arguing.
“Are we good?” I ask her, even though I know we’re not.
She shrugs and mumbles, “Yeah.”
“I know you’re still mad at me for talking to your parents, but you know it was only because I was worried and—”
“I know,” she interrupts.
“Hey, you know, I was thinking maybe we could work on some college applications sometime this week. It’s not too late to put your art portfolio together. I thought I might even try to research some writing programs. A long shot, but—”
