Moving Neutral (30 page)

Casey, are you still going to Columbia? Matt asked, looking at me curiously.

Why wouldn’t I be?

I don’t know, he paused. I just thought, if you were taking over for April in the band -- you probably wouldn’t be bothering with college.

I tried not to be annoyed that Matt knew April’s name and not Sophie’s.

I’m not doing that, I said quietly, staring down at the couch cushions, wishing I could just sink through them.

Please, Matt, Madison said, rolling her eyes. If Casey were going to be the lead singer of Moving Neutral, do you think she’d be sitting around in your living room, drinking beer with a bunch of high school kids?

Matt looked disappointed, as if he’d actually thought that I was giving up college to take April’s place.

You guys have got to stop reading the tabloids, I said, trying to laugh. None of that stuff is true.

But you were really dating Blake Parker, right? The girl sitting on the couch next to me broke in for the first time, her face looking smug and curious, like she was getting some juicy bit of gossip to spread around.

Yeah, I said, I was. I wondered briefly if I should just lie -- since when did I have to worry about saying no comment at a high school party?

What happened? she pressed further, and I looked over at Madison. I felt drunk and tired and not at all in the mood to continue this conversation. Madison’s house was only a ten or fifteen minute walk from Matt’s -- and I wanted to leave.

You know, I said, trying to respond to the question without giving the girl any fodder to continue. Sometimes these things don’t work out.

I felt for a moment like I might actually cry, and I could tell that Madison noticed.

Thanks for planning this, Matt, she gave him a brief hug. I think we’re going to sleep at my house -- good luck camping, she said with only the slightest smirk.

I bit the inside of my lip and waved goodbye to everyone else, relief flooding through me as Madison opened the front door.

We can come get my car in the morning, she said, and I remembered for a second how Madison always seemed to read my mind in situations like this.

We were a block away before I stopped, feeling a tear slip down my cheek as I sat down on the freshly mowed lawn of one of Matt’s neighbors.

Mad, how am I going to handle college if I can’t even get through one stupid party?

She sat down next to me, pulling out a blade of grass and twisting it between her fingers. I don’t know, she said honestly. I think it’ll get easier as more time goes by.

Time going by was the last thing I wanted. It seemed like every day I forgot some detail, couldn’t remember what color socks Blake wore or what side of the bed he slept on. The forgetting made me feel constantly worse, and I knew that eventually those days in the bus would go too, and then the night in Chicago, and then the final night, the hurt in his eyes. And then last of all, I would forget his eyes completely, the clear blue sparkle when he was happy, how they were darker when he was serious, they’d be gone too, and then all I’d have was some flat look staring out from a poster. I thought about how I’d never even told him that I loved him, not once.

I shuddered, another tear slipping down my cheek. I want to write him a letter, I said, surprised when the words came out.

A letter, I thought. It made sense.

Madison looked at me like she felt sorry for me and was trying to conceal it. Okay, she said. A letter.

I didn’t have Blake’s email address. I had his phone number, but I didn’t want to have a conversation, and I knew I couldn’t undo the ultimatum that April had given him.

I just wanted to say all the things I hadn’t said before I left.

Feeling like there was some purpose now, we walked the rest of the way to Madison’s house, and I sat on her bed while she rummaged around for stationary.

Her mom knocked on the door, waiting for me to answer before she opened it. You guys okay? she asked, her voice sounding as if she’d just woken up.

All good, Madison called to her, the front half of her body underneath her bed, digging through some storage crate.

Night, girls, her mom said, smiling at me. It’s good to have you back, Casey.

Thanks, I said, just as Madison squealed underneath the bed.

Found it! She handed me a clear plastic box of cream-colored notecards, all of which had THANK YOU printed at the top of them in pink embossed lettering.

Madison, he didn’t send me a birthday present, I said, laughing despite myself. I can’t use these.

Picky, picky, she said, resuming the search. It’s not my fault you don’t want to send him an email like any normal person.

She went downstairs to see if her parents had anything we could use, and in the moment of quiet after she left the room, I took a plain sheet of paper off her desk and began to write.

Blake,

I know you probably don’t want

to hear from me, but I can’t leave things

the way we did. I miss you every second.

I think I loved you from the day we met.

Maybe I thought I did before, but I didn t

even know you then. You were just the

words of my favorite songs, and I loved

them, and I thought that, through them, I

knew you.

One thing April said that I can’t live

with was that all I cared about was fame,

that I’d somehow tried this with other guys.

I never cared that you were famous. I was

just scared of losing you if I told the truth.

And I hope you know this already, but it

was only you. There was never anyone

but you.

I’m so sorry it happened this way.

I miss you.

Casey

T.S. Eliot wrote that the lover must struggle for words, and looking over what I’d written to Blake, it seemed like everything I had said was wrong and right at the same time, too much and not enough. But I’d struggled my way into silence so many times -- for once, I was going to stop holding back and just tell him.

Liquid courage, I murmured under my breath, and folded the letter, putting it my purse.

Madison burst into the room. Couldn’t find anything, she said dejectedly, unless you want some of my dad’s accountant letterhead.

It’s okay, I said, feeling like I’d made the right decision. The paper doesn’t matter.

Madison asked when I woke up if I wanted to mail the letter right away, but Sophie’s dress was still at the dry cleaner’s, and I wanted to send them both together. And neither the post office or the dry cleaners would be open on a Sunday.

Tomorrow, I suggested. Then I can pick up the dress and we can mail everything together.

And I can come along so you don’t chicken out, Madison agreed, shuffling around her room for a pair of shorts.

Exactly.

We walked back over to Matt’s house in sneakers, not bothering to ring the doorbell when we picked up the car. Pulling out of the driveway, Madison said she wanted to stop for coffee before driving me home, and I agreed.

Do you think -- the way everyone was acting last night, I said, trying to voice the concern that I’d woken up with this morning. Is that how it’s going to be at Columbia too?

Madison looked at me, her lips pursed together. I dunno, Case, she said, sounding sympathetic. I mean, you were kind of big news this summer. Enough to bring paparazzi to Rockland to camp out outside your house. I think people will probably have heard about you.

I looked straight ahead, feeling my stomach sink. I was going to be some freakish curiosity at Columbia, that freshman who everyone saw on TMZ all summer. I was going to school without knowing a single other person in my class, and everyone was going to know exactly who I was. Photographers moved onto other subjects quickly enough, but real people had real memories. And I was going to be that girl who was with Blake Parker for all of about two seconds.

I thought about the girl the night before asking me, what happened? I was going to have to learn to answer that question without bursting into tears if I wanted to make it past orientation.

It felt like I was dreading college, waiting for something to swoop in and save me the way Blake had saved me from being grounded all summer. But I was back in my real life now. Nothing was coming to get me out of this.

Monday morning was hot and muggy, one of those August days where it feels too humid to breathe, and you burn your thighs when they touch the car’s leather seats for the first time. I picked up Madison with the air conditioner on full blast, and together we drove ten minutes to the shopping center that contained both the dry cleaners and the post office.

Madison waited outside while I ran into the dry cleaners, not wanting to turn the car off and have it swelter in the sun while we picked up the dress. I grabbed the hanger and plastic garment bag and held it over my head to carry it outside, trying to keep the plastic from dragging on the ground.

I handed the dress to Madison as I got in the car. Looking through the bag at the label, she whistled. It’s Zac Posen, she said reverently. Are you sure you don’t want to keep it?

I laughed, hanging it up in the back seat. We drove to the other end of the parking lot to avoid the heat, neither of us willing to walk outside any more than we absolutely had to.

I searched for a parking spot, driving down two rows of cars before we found one. I felt in my purse for the folded letter I’d written to Blake. I hadn’t allowed myself to open it since I’d written it, worried I would second guess myself and end up changing my mind. I was determined, this time, to say everything that needed to be said.

We passed a pet supply store, the smell of kibble and cat litter wafting outside through the electric doors, combining with the heat in a way that made me want to hold my breath until we were well past the store. A jewelry shop was next, shaded by an awning that barely stopped the sun, the turquoise in the window looking dull and flat in the damp humidity.

And then I caught my breath. Because staring out from the windows of the next store, a newsstand, was Blake’s face. He was on the cover of every tabloid in the display.

And he was hugging a girl. Some petite blonde girl in a pencil skirt and high heels, her hair falling into her face so I couldn’t see who she was, but definitely not April.

I stopped dead in my tracks, not feeling the heat anymore. Madison walked a few more steps and then turned back to me, followed my gaze to the magazine covers as if seeing them for the first time.

Shit, she whispered.

Forgetting the dress and the post office for a moment, I walked into the store, taking down one of the magazines that was plastered in the window.

Hey, the guy behind the register yelled to me. There are stacks of those things in the back if you want them.

I ignored him. Flipping through the pages, I found the article on Blake. BLAKE PARKER OUT OF CONTROL, it read. A Different Girl Every Night, the article started. And then Who Is She? next to a photo of the same girl having lunch with Blake, smiling and laughing over a tiny outdoor table for two. Blake looking excited in a way that hit me like a sledgehammer, thinking about how much I’d missed that expression. How I’d almost forgotten it.

I didn’t cry this time. I think Madison expected me to, rubbing my back like I was some kid with a skinned knee, trying to offer some comfort. This time I wasn’t sad.

I was angry.

A different girl every night? I felt fury rising in me. Blake wasn’t allowed to date me, that would ruin his career, but some random girl who he probably met two seconds ago? That was okay with April?

And how could he? I’d been wallowing for a week, barely able to change out of my pajamas, and he’d been on lunch dates with some mystery girl, and that was just the one a photographer happened to catch. I thought about all the girls who he’d brushed off this summer, all the stories I’d heard about what he was like before we met. Apparently he hadn’t even waited a week to slip back into his old habits.

Maybe it’s not true, Madison said, sounding unconvinced. Tabloids print plenty of stuff that isn’t true.

In the headlines, I said. Not in the photos. Blake and I were really kissing in Chicago. I really sang onstage at the concert. Some of the conclusions were wrong, but it’s not like they made up the photos.

Madison nodded, looking down at the yellow-blonde girl sitting across from Blake, and then hugging him goodbye next to his car.

I was out of the store before I knew it, out into the blistering heat, the black asphalt of the parking lot feeling warm even through my shoes. I ran until I found a trash can, crumpling the letter up as I went, throwing it away and taking a step back. The outline of the can seemed hazy and wavering for a moment, and I thought it was the heat distorting my vision until I felt a tear slip down my cheek.

I loved you, I thought, and this time it was in the past tense for me, too.

Time passed quickly after that. I pushed Blake out of my mind in a way that I couldn’t before, and in doing that, it was easier to put on clothes in the morning, to leave the house with Madison during the day, even to go out to Jason’s barbeque the day before he went back to school. And when we got there, it wasn’t the painfully awkward silence of the first party because I wouldn’t let it be. Even when it felt like I couldn’t take another second of being smiley and cheerful, I forced it.