Then You Were Gone Part 8

"You guys, you're getting pretty big, huh?" Underground following. Weekly Smell shows. Rumor of indie label interest. Of summertime West Coast tour plans.

"We were on the verge." Julian half laughs. Of course, Christ, what's a band without their lead girl? Stupid, stupid, stupid, Adrienne. "We're not really sure what we're doing anymore."

"Sorry."

He shakes a shoulder. One careless wiggle.

"So, tonight . . ." I say, sounding inane. Where am I headed with this-Great tribute? Super moving?

"She never talked about you," Julian blurts. My neck tenses. He looks sorry he said it. "I don't mean-I mean, I knew you two were friends, like, forever ago, I just-she never talked about it."

"Oh."

"So. What happened?" He's rubbing his beard scruff. "Why'd you two stop-"

"No reason," I say, cutting him off. "Girl stuff, I guess." I s.h.i.+ft around in my seat, my thighs making puckering sounds as they pull away from the pleather. "Sam saw her."

"Sorry?"

"No, I mean-not, like, recently. I mean the weekend she . . ." I trail off, wondering what he's thinking. Why his face looks so infuriatingly blank.

"Who's Sam?"

"Oh." Jesus. "My mom's boyfriend?" I suck back more beer. Make it look like I like it. "She was outside the Echo." I watch his face for flickers of recognition. "In a Bug."

"A Bug?"

"Yeah, you know, the car?"

He nods. "Want another?"

"Still have to finish this one."

He's already at the bar buying two more. "Here." He sits back down and slides one my way. "So, she was with someone?"

Can't stop myself: "Wasn't you?"

He swallows. "Wasn't me." He's gazing intently at his beer bottle. He looks jilted. Heartsick.

I backpedal. "I don't know if it was a guy. Could've been a girl. Sam didn't see . . ."

He guzzles his drink, stares at the back of the bar, undoes the clasp on his wrist.w.a.tch.

"Here. You should hear this." I pull my cell from my bag. Dial voicemail. Punch in my pa.s.sword. Pa.s.s him the phone. Dakota's small voice-tinny and far away-seeps from the cell speaker: "Adrienne? Adrienne, it's me, remember? Call back, please?"

All the color leaks from his cheeks. "When was this?"

"A few days before."

"Can I hear it again?"

"Press four."

He does. He listens. He pa.s.ses the phone back. "Did you call back?"

"No." Shame on me. "Was she your girlfriend?" I ask, cautiously, after sixty seconds of wearisome silence. "I mean, I know you guys were involved, but . . . were you together? Like, officially?"

"That girl-" He smiles tightly. "Never really belonged to anyone."

"Sorry, you're just-" I'm grinning. "You're really right." For an instant I feel less alone. "So she wasn't . . . ? I mean, I always thought you were a couple."

"Sometimes," he says, hesitating a second. "Sometimes not." He peels the label off his bottle.

"Where were you last night?" asks Lee, his palm flat against my lower back.

I arch away, leaning into my locker. "Home." I trade my trig text for Frankenstein.

"I called you."

"I know."

"You didn't pick up."

Second bell. I lock my locker and spin on one heel, slipping past Lee and down the hall.

"Hey." He's at my side now, running to keep up. "What's your problem?"

A quick flash of guilt. "Nothing." I stop, facing him. "I'm just late for cla.s.s."

"Well, so am I."

"Okay," I say, softening. "Sorry."

"So kiss me."

I hesitate for a second, then roll up onto my tippytoes. I peck his lips.

"That's it?"

"Lee." I pull away, wiping my mouth. "I'm late."

"Fine," he says. His voice is clipped. "So go."

After lit, Murphy packs up his c.r.a.p. Kids scatter. Julian looms over my desk.

I get up, bite my pen tip, grab my bag, and together we go outside. Just like that. No talking, no sad glances-we walk quickly, side by side, off campus to the freak section. Julian sits on a slab of cement and lights two skinny cigarettes. He pa.s.ses me one. I drag deeply, looking up, batting my eyes at Kate's tall, glossy palm trees. Something brushes against my elbow. I look down. It's Julian's arm. I can't tell if he's touching me on purpose or not. I stay still. I like him there, his army jacket rubbing against my dress sleeve.

"Time's up." Second bell blares. "See ya," he says, standing, leaving me. Snuffing out his cigarette and walking away without turning back.

"Have you seen that thing he's dating?"

"That thing?" I ask, cranking the window down, hot exhaust pelting my face. "Yes, I've seen her. She's cute."

Kate accelerates, speeding through a yellow light. "Cute? She's tiny. She's like-" She makes a sour face. "Like a shrunken, emaciated doll. Who would have s.e.x with that?"

"Wyatt. Apparently."

"f.u.c.k you."

I laugh.

"No, f.u.c.k you. Why can't you be my friend and hate her with some commitment and sincerity?"

"I'm sorry."

"Are you?"

"Yes!"

"You're still laughing!"

"Yes! Yes, sorry," I say, turning up the enthusiasm. "She's a troll."

Kate eases up on the gas. "I'm better than her."

"Katie . . . hey." I rub her shoulder. "Yes. Come on, you're my favorite person." Her shoulders slump. "No one else brings me tiny, delicious snacks from the j.a.panese market or buys me books about controversial but revolutionary treatments in the fight against anorexia nervosa."

She laughs.

"And you have the prettiest red lips."

"Makeup."

"And you have the best taste in experimental jazz."

"True . . ."

"And does that girl Wyatt's with take bubble baths every single day? Does she line dry her clothes like you do?"

A modest shrug.

"You're a movie star."

My cell dings. I grab my bag, fis.h.i.+ng my phone from the side compartment and checking the ID screen. "Huh."

"What?"

"Number's blocked."

"So?" Kate makes a circular gesture with her hand. "Answer it."

"I-" I pick up. "h.e.l.lo?" Zilch. Silence. Then, again: "h.e.l.lo?" The line clicks dead.

"What? Who was it?"

"I-no one?" I roll the window up, feeling suddenly, inexplicably chilly. "I dunno. No one was there."

"I wanna know who you love best."

"You already know who I like best."

"Not like, love." Her mouth goes taut. "Seriously. Your favorite. Who's the person you love more than anyone else in the world?"

"Excluding my mother?"

"Obviously."

We both smile. "Hmm . . ." I stretch the moment. For once, making her wait for it. "You?"

So pleased: "Me?"

"Yes, you," I say, eyes rolling. "You're ridiculous."

She winks, turning back to her reflection. Then she beelines for my closet, pulling three dresses off the rack and tossing them onto my bedspread.

"Feel free . . ."

She strips down, flinging her s.h.i.+rt, shoes, shorts, and bra onto my floor. "You think I look fat?" She's just standing there. Naked, save for her striped cotton underwear.