“I mean, I remember when you signed it at breakfast that day, but that”—she nods toward the slur—“Zephyr, who did that?”
“It doesn’t matter.” It is the biggest lie I tell. I crumple the clipping and shove it deep into my coat pocket.
“You didn’t think I . . . ?”
“I had to make sure.”
“I might be envious of what you and Gregg have, but I would never.” She cups her hand to her mouth and her voice softens. “I’m so sorry this happened to you, Zephyr.”
And in that moment I’m not sure if she’s sorry “SLUT” graffitis my image or if she’s sorry for me because I’m out here on Christmas Eve searching for the person who marked me. Either way, her innocence plays with the gravity around me, shifting it so I sway, my feet liquid. Lani reaches out to steady me.
“Are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine.” Another lie.
I manage to get into my car and drive down the road before tears rise up. I pull over and squeeze them back, keeping my eyes shut, seeing Alec bent before me, lacing up my skates with such tenderness, sharing his heat under a blanket in the woods. And I see his gifts. The carnation and the cards pinned to my wall.
Pinned.
My eyes dart open.
Panic sweats my palms.
I dial Alec’s number, my hands shaking. I am too much of a coward to face him and, worse, I fear he’ll be able to soothe away all my suspicions under his touch.
“Zephyr. Happy almost Christmas. I was just thinking about you.” Alec’s voice is cheery and light, a world away.
“A-Alec?” His name breaks over a sob.
“You okay?”
“No.” Not in any sense of the word. My heart pounds too fast and too hard. My rib cage struggles to keep it all contained. I can almost see him there, at my wall. Pinning the news clipping onto my collage.
“What happened? What’s wrong? Can I help?”
“I need to ask you something.”
“Anything.”
Did you play me? Did you betray me? Is any of us real? “Remember that day you delivered my acceptance letter from Boston College?”
“Of course, Zephyr. It was one of the happiest days of my life.”
And mine. I force my words out, “Did you find it in the mailbox that day?”
Time buckles for the briefest instant. “What a weird question.”
“You didn’t get it before then; hold on to it so I’d consider Michigan?”
“Of course not. Why are you even asking me that? Tell me where you are. I’ll come meet you.”
“You can’t. I’m not home. I’m out driving. Trying to process.”
“Zephyr, you’re scaring me.”
I think of the irony. “And that press clipping. Did you write that word? Break into my house?”
“What press clipping? Why would I break into your house when I’m there all the time?” Concern builds in his voice. “Where is this even coming from?”
I hear the Alec from my arms, between my sheets, the one who promises and carries through.
“How could you ever think I could hurt you?”
“I didn’t. It was the last thing I expected until I saw you with that girl.” And there it is, in words. The hurt that has so much depth it feels bottomless.
“Zephyr, we’ve covered this. You know why I did that and I admitted I was stupid and wrong. Why are we still talking about this?” Anger reaches into the phone, frosts his words.
I still have too many questions about Katie, but that’s not what worries me in this moment. “Alec?” Time bends. Mocks me. “I never told you the press clipping hurt me. How could you know that unless . . . ?”
“Zephyr, I can obviously hear that you’re upset even if I don’t know anything about some random press clipping.”
Pieces scramble to fit together, make a whole. Alec knows where my house key is. Has always been crazy jealous of Gregg. Would have had hundreds of opportunities to take my signed photo from Gregg’s gym locker. And if he was jealous enough of me hugging Gregg at Waxman’s to orchestrate an entire scene of practically screwing a girl, what would he have felt if he’d heard Gregg’s words: Acting like I’m over you.
Oh god. “I need to go, Alec.”
“Don’t do this, Zephyr. You can’t call me all upset and then just hang up. It doesn’t work that way.”
And then a voice from deep inside, one that has been silent too long: “And you’re going to tell me how it works?”
There is a loud bang. His foot pounding a hard surface. I yank my phone from my ear but still hear him yelling, so crisp, too clear. “Why are you doing this?”