Page 35 of Next Time Will Be Our Turn
I snapped to attention. “Yeah. Where are you going?” For one incredibly stupid moment, I thought she was going to say Berkeley.
“Um, well. London.”
Again, my brain refused to comprehend the words, mangling them beyond recognition. “Which UC is that?” I said in a small voice.
“Tulip.” She reached out and squeezed my arm before putting her hand back on the wheel. “It’s not a UC. It’s in England.”
“What?”
“I got into London Metropolitan University. In England. And I accepted the offer.”
“But Irvine was your top choice.” My voice came from so far away.
“It was. But I think LMU will be better for me. They’re known for their writing program, and it’s England! I’ve never been, but where else to major in English lit but in England, right?”
I couldn’t bring myself to look at her, but I knew she was smiling, trying to lighten the moment. And for the first time since we became friends, I wasn’t going to let that happen. “You never even told me you applied there. I thought we were only applying to the UCs.”
“I’m sorry. I just—I applied on a whim, honestly. I never thought I’d actually get accepted.”
“We did our college apps together, and you never told me.”
“Tulip…”
“Just like you never told me you and Trish broke up.”
There it was, then. The anger, slicing through the deep and breaking through the surface, ugly and raw and hungry. I fed it, slipping slivers of memories into its gaping, jagged-toothed mouth. The two of us curled up on her futon bed, reading, napping. Me counting her eyelashes and watching the way her chest moved as she slept. Me carrying a small basket as Ellery harvested vegetables from her little garden. Ellery chopping veggies up, me stirring, Ellery and I walking under the shifting skies, her arm around me for the barest of seconds, my hand catching her sleeve so she’d slow down, so I could catch up. When it came to Ellery, I was forever playing catch-up.
Well, not anymore.
“Stop the car.”
“What?”
“Stop the car!” The words came out with so much vehemence that they shocked even me.
Ellery did as I said. She slowed to a stop and turned on her hazard lights. Then she turned to me. “Tulip, come on, let’s talk about this.”
“Okay. Let’s talk about it the way you’ve talked about everything else, which is to say, not at all.” I took off my seat belt and grabbed my bag.
“Tulip, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“Which part?” I glared at her, my fury out in full force, and she winced. “Because it turns out there’s a lot of stuff that you didn’t tell me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are we even friends?”
“Don’t be dumb, of course we are. You’re my best buddy.”
“Yeah, except friends tell each other things. Things like breaking up with a girlfriend or applying to a school on the other side of the fucking world!” I wrenched the door open and got out.
Ellery climbed out too, hurrying around the car and standing in front of me. I hated her height then, hated how it forced me to look up at her. “I’m sorry, I know I fucked up. I know I should’ve told you.”
A million questions fought for space in my mouth, but I swallowed them all. I could feel the tears working their way out, and I didn’t want to let Ellery see me cry. I didn’t want her to feel like she had to comfort me, not when it was obvious that our friendship meant nothing to her. I wanted to hurt her as much as she had hurt me. So I said, “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re not staying.”
Ellery looked like I’d just taken a knife to her throat, but I wasn’t done with her yet. I’d lived with Iris, I’d absorbed every cutting word, every slash she’d carved into my flesh. I knew exactly how to hurt others. “I’m relieved, actually. Because I think it’s weird how much time we spend together. Why don’t you hang out with people your own age?”
“Tulip, please.”
