“So, when does it start?” I almost choke on the next part. “When do you leave?”
“Right after graduation.”
“In June?”
“Change is all around us, Zee.” The line falls quiet—but not the comfortable quiet of years together. The air, along with our future, has shifted. “I plan to do a feature story on you discovering some insanely relevant aquatic life form someday. That is, after I spend quality time fetching coffee for the actual writers.”
“You’re going to be a rock star.” I hate the jealousy creeping in, filling the cracks carved by my growing insecurities.
“I’ll settle for being employable at the end of the internship.”
“You’ll never have to settle. You’ll see.”
When will I see? When will I know what my next years will look like? It physically hurts having this little control over the outcome of my life.
I wish I were a better friend, someone who could feel joy for Lizzie without thinking of what I want for me. But I’m not. My head clutters with this new trifecta of abandonment: Lizzie in New York, Alec going to Michigan, and Gregg bound for Boston. Quicksand tugs at my feet. I’ll be stuck in this town with no future. No friends. It will be as lonely as I am now. Or worse, and that I couldn’t stand.
We say our good-byes and my bedroom walls breathe in, shrinking. How can four years of careful planning and calculated extracurriculars result in my entire future hanging on the decision of one school’s acceptance board? How did I give over so much control?
I move to the bathroom to splash water on my face, brush my teeth. I coil toothpaste onto my brush and a hint of mint rises. It settles inside me, waking that part of me that Alec owns. The part he brought to life. Maybe I can’t control the Boston College admissions board, my friends leaving, or even what will happen with my parents, but I can affect what happens between me and Alec.
I dress precisely and slip into school after homeroom, keeping my attendance off the radar. Alec has free study first period and I find him in his usual spot in the library. He’s tucked into the overstuffed chair that is hidden on two sides by obsolete card catalogs. The toes of his Converse peek out from where they rest on the ottoman just beyond the barrier. I steel my breath, brace myself against the wooden wall of Dewey for strength.
I can’t do this. I hate eyes on me.
But then. No, I need to do this. Because I can’t imagine what my life will be like if I don’t do this.
The librarian’s desk faces the nook where Alec sits, but she has her back turned, her attention focused on her file cabinet. Then she gets up, disappears into the records office.
I pull my coat tighter around me and move into Alec’s space. He looks up, his face opening with surprise before his features withdraw into the memory of why he’s mad at me.
I stand, wordless. I raise my fingers to the top button of my peacoat, unbutton it with a twist. Then the next button and the next. My coat falls open. I tug at one side, pull it down slowly. I let my coat slip along the length of my arms, its wool weight collapsing to the floor at my feet, exposing me in an enormously tiny black dress, every curve outlined. I steady, step out of the pool of fabric, stride toward him, making sure to rub my knee against the knob of his. He swallows hard, speech humming on his lips.
“Shh,” I hush. He obeys, tucking his words into silence. I am next to him now, our thighs pressing together, the heat intoxicating. My mind fills with danger and fear, not knowing if my plan will work, or what will happen if it does. I settle slowly onto his lap. The dark hem of my dress rises over my bare thigh, an exposure he registers.
Wordlessly, he runs his hands up my thighs, raising my skirt higher until his hands cup my bottom. He yanks me closer on his lap and heat soars through me as we silently hold one another’s gaze. I squeeze my legs hard around him, lean into his ear, and whisper, “Tell me you won’t throw me off.”
“That would be impossible.”
“So then you’ll hear me out, about how sorry I am, how you’re the only guy I could ever want?”
His gaze trails the tight cloth over my hip, into the cavern where my stomach dips and then up to my cleavage. “Full disclosure?”
I nod, biting my lip.
“It’s a little hard to concentrate with you”—he waves his hand along the length of my body—“like this.”
“But I want to apologize. I need to make you see.”
His eyes widen. “All I can see is this dress.”
“Then maybe I need to take it off.” The offer stuns even me.
Alec drains of color except for a darkness that films his eyes, making him look distant and alert all at once. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”