The Standout (24 page)

“Sure. What is it?”

She looks around, over her shoulder, at the vacant room. “Come on, not here.” She grabs my arm and drags me to the dining room, where trays of pasta and wilted salad have been picked through and sitting for hours. The residue smell of garlic and ranch dressing still lingers and I realize I’m ravenous. When was the last time I ate? I can’t even remember.

Robin points to a chair. “Sit,” she says, and she takes the seat across from me. “It’s a long story and I’ll try to go fast, but bear with me, okay?”

She launches in, telling me about her botched affair and her friendship with Clara, the notes and the
Rotten Robin
website. “But it hasn’t stopped,” and she provides more detail. Somebody pushed her on the treadmill; somebody dumped water on her dress; somebody is for sure trying to sabotage her.

“And I thought I saw her on the train,” Robin exclaims. “She’s supposed to be dead or missing, but I swear it was her and I swear she saw me too.”

“Who?” I ask, confused.

“Clara! Of course, Clara!” Robin wrinkles her forehead like she’s a million miles away.

“There you are!” We both turn, startled by the bark of Gabe the camera man’s voice. His face grows red and his volume grows too. “Everyone is looking for you! Nadia got kicked out and they need you downstairs, saying goodbye and looking sad, NOW!”

Robin shoots up and rushes out, barely remembering me before she goes. “Zelda, everything we talked about is confidential, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Thank you, Zelda.” And she disappears into the dark hallway.

It hits me how tired I am. My limbs feel so heavy I don’t know how I’ll get up from this chair. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since before I was arrested and that feels like a lifetime ago. What I wouldn’t give for my flannel pajamas, my bed, and a steaming bowl of noodles. I could watch TV and try to solve my newest puzzle toy, until my head drops to my pillow and I drift off to a deep and dreamless slumber.

What if I just go home? I can refuse to take no for answer. If I yell and bang on the door and scream and cry, my mother will have to let me in, because otherwise, what would the neighbors think?

Once I’m outside, I button up my jacket and orientate myself towards the subway station. Then someone grabs me from behind. Thoughts of Robin’s sabotage story invade my head, and I scream.

“Relax! It is me.”
Relax
sounds like
velax
so I know instantly whose arms are holding me. I break away and he lets me go.

“What do you want?”

“Just to talk.” For the first time ever, I see Yuri use bad posture. His shoulders slump and he hangs his head. “I want you not to hate me, Zelda. I want for you to understand.”

“You caught me at a bad time.” I stomp away, towards the subway station, but Yuri follows and easily keeps up with me.

“Did you receive my texts?”

“I deleted them.”

“What is delete?”

“I erased them.” His face is still confused, so I sigh. “I did not read them before they were removed from my phone.” I fish for a token in my pocket and move through the subway’s turnstile, but Yuri just leaps over it. “You’re a thief for doing that,” I say. “They should arrest you, a million times over.”

“Zelda, I am not hoodlum, I promise.”

He knows
hoodlum
but not
delete
? Who is this guy?

I am walking fast enough that he has to make an effort to keep up, and as we’re dodging through a crowd of commuters, it’s difficult for him to talk. But he follows me all the way down the stairwell and onto the platform for my train, which pulls up right as we arrive. I jettison myself on, and again, Yuri follows. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” I say, as we both grasp the same bar. “But you’re not coming over to my apartment, and I’m going home.”

Yuri nods. “Then we talk here.”

The subway doors close and the train lurches forward. Many passengers adjust their footing as the floor beneath us tilts and sways, but Yuri and I have such good balance that we are unfazed. He’s like a statue, with a moving, talking head, which he lowers toward my ear. I don’t have much choice but to listen.

“Julie told the police to have us caught,” he says. “I am sure.”

I squint, grasping the bar and keeping my gaze on my shoes. “What are you talking about?”

“I see her, after I get down. She was waiting and is surprised that I am alone. But she laughs and says, ‘I underesticate you.’”

“Do you mean ‘underestimate’?’

He nods and I try to internalize this new information but it’s hard because the pieces don’t quite fit. “Are you saying that Julie followed us the other night, told the police where we were, and then waited down below while we tried to escape?”

“Yes,” Yuri answers simply. “And I did not know how to find you after, and Julie is walking with me and yelling, using angry words. I should not be with you and she will have me sent back to Russia.” He uses his free hand to run his fingers through his hair. “I am sorry I leave you behind. So, so sorry.”

I sort of want to accept the apology, just so I can leave it in its wrapping and re-gift it later. “How did Julie possibly follow us? We would have seen her on the train to Brooklyn.”

“Julie looked at my phone.” He takes it out and scrolls to a text that he shows to me. “I know other roofers and we share address of good places. Julie sees and knows where to find us.”

An idea startles me. “Are you the reason she got that scratch on her face?”

Yuri meets my eyes. “Yes. It was accident. We were walking and she was yelling, and we are still on construction site, and she uses both fists to hit me. I step away, quickly, and she loses balance and brushes against sharp beam.”

I close my eyes, trying to put everything together. So Julie had been aware of what’s been going on between Yuri and me from the beginning, but she took the time to cover her face with makeup and feign ignorance on the night she bailed me out of jail. Why? What’s her endgame? Has she just been crazy this whole time, and I refused to see?

And there’s still a flaw to Yuri’s story. “Why did you get back together with her?”

Yuri blinks rapidly, like he needs me to repeat the question and I know now that Julie was lying. The train pulls to a stop. “Never mind,” I say, “this is my stop.”

He follows me onto the platform. There is a lot of noise; a street musician belting out a bluesy song, people bustling around us, and the subtle roar of trains coming and going. But none of it compares to the rushing in my head. I don’t know my best friend anymore; maybe I never knew her at all.

“Thanks for the information,” I yell to Yuri. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

Some emotion dances across Yuri’s face but I’m too exhausted to try and read it. “I walk you home.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll be fine.”

He reaches out, but he lets his arm fall to his side before his hand touches me. “Is getting dark. I walk you home.”

“Really? You’re going to get all protective now, after everything?” I can tell he doesn’t completely understand and I shake my head. “If you walk me home, I’m not inviting you in.”

He nods and I feel we have another silent pact. We move from the noisy platform up to the much quieter street, and Yuri keeps pace with me as I navigate the Upper East Side sidewalks, towards home. My neighborhood, with its pristine streets made from old money, has to feel worlds away from his Brooklyn apartment and galaxies away from where he’s actually from, in Russia. I realize how little I know about his true home and I want to ask him, but doing so would mean I forgive him and that we’re friends.

“This is me,” I say, pointing to my building.

He laughs. “No, you are not apartment building.”

“That was a joke. I just meant—”

“Yes, I know. I joke too.” His smile is lopsided and self-deprecating. “There is only one Zelda, and she is beautiful girl, standing in front of me.” When he meets my eyes I feel an unwelcome tide of heat. Flustered, I search my bag for my keys, wanting nothing more than the safety of my bedroom, and heavenly, blissful sleep. Yuri’s fingers graze my shoulder. “Good night. I hope you hear trumpets in your dreams.” He takes my hand and presses his lips against my knuckles.

“Good night, Yuri.”

I turn to go inside and Yuri slowly backs away, but neither of us gets very far. “I’m sorry,” the doorman says, “I’ve been instructed not to let you through.”

“What?” Panic pounds inside my head.

The doorman’s face turns bright red. “I really am sorry, but your mother said that under no condition am I to let you through, and I should report you for trespassing if you try. She said. . .” he clears his throat self-consciously, “she said that you need to take this seriously, because another trespassing charge will be very, very bad for you.”

Yuri comes back and stands next to me. “Is there problem?”

I shake my head violently and swallow back my dismay. “Never mind.” I bolt down the sidewalk toward some unknown destination but Yuri catches up with me instantly.

“Zelda,” he says, “tell me what is wrong.”

I can’t keep the tears from coming. They pour down and I hiccup and sob. “My mother kicked me out. I have nowhere to go and I am so, so tired.”

I don’t resist when Yuri takes me into his arms. My face is smashed against his shoulder and he rubs my back while he makes soothing noises. “Is okay,” he says. “You stay with me.”

“I can’t.”

He pulls away, keeps both hands on my shoulders, and gives me a soulful gaze. “I sleep on floor. You sleep in my bed and get rest. Then you will feel better, and tomorrow we figure out new plan. Yes?”

I don’t think I can take another night of hardly sleeping on the couch of Ballet Institute East.

“Maybe just for one night,” I concede.

We go back and get my suitcase from my locker at Ballet Institute East and then Yuri takes me back to his cramped apartment in Brooklyn. He makes me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I use his shower, and then we watch television while his roommates come in and out. They mostly go out, which is great because by ten o’clock we have the place to ourselves. Yuri shows me to his mattress.

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor,” I tell him. “There’s plenty of room for both of us.”

“You are sure?” he asks.

“Yes.”

So we sleep side by side, and in the middle of the night I wake to find his arm draped over my stomach. I fall back asleep, warmer and safer on a mattress on a floor in Brooklyn, than I was in a bed in the Upper East Side.

I get the sleep I longed for but the peace that came with it evaporates the moment I turn on my phone. There’s a text from Julie.

I was a bitch. Can I make it up 2U? Plz TMB
.

I can count on one finger the amount of times Julie has apologized to me over the course of our friendship. I don’t even know how to respond.

Yuri turns and makes noise, letting me know he’s awake. “You want we get breakfast?” he asks. “I am hungry for pancakes.”

In the dim morning light his face is lined with sleep, but still he looks simultaneously bright and dreamy. “Pancakes sound good,” I say.

He smiles and blinks at me, unabashedly peering into my eyes. His right index finger reaches out and traces my lower lip. The fleeting moment of physical contact sends a rush of warm shivers through my entire body, so I throw common sense to the wind, lean down, and kiss him.

His response is enthusiastic. Yuri wraps both of his strong arms around my waist, pulls me down onto my back, and lowers himself onto me. The dance our mouths do together is more intricate than the ones our bodies have already done to trumpet music. I pass my hands over the warm skin of his bare shoulders, and as we kiss and strain against each other, I feel him grow hard against me.

I’m so overwhelmed that it takes me a moment to remember two things: one: he has four roommates and absolutely no privacy, and two: I have no idea what I’m doing. What if I’m really bad at sex? This is definitely not the time to find out.

“Pancakes,” I mutter, as I push him away. “I thought we were going to get pancakes.”

Yuri is breathing hard but he manages to speak softly. “Yes.” He runs a hand through his hair, and then points to the bathroom. “You wash up first?”

At breakfast I ask Yuri about his home in Russia, and he talks and talks, which is great because it means I don’t have to explain why my life has turned into a cautionary tale. Plus, listening to him really is interesting, and I pretend nothing has changed and that I’m still the only girl in New York who thinks of him as just a friend.

When we exit the cafe he says, “You call me later,” and then he pulls me close. His gentle kiss leaves the lingering taste of maple syrup. “You stay with me again tonight. Or not, but call and tell me, yes?”

I nod and pass my fingers over his finely chiseled cheekbone. Pretending we are just friends will only become more and more difficult. “I’ll call you later. And thank you, Yuri. For everything.”

One more kiss. “Last night made me happy, Zelda. I talk to you later, yes?”

“Yes.”

I travel on a cloud rather than the train, but when I get to Clarkson School of Design I’m thrust quickly back to earth. Julie is standing outside the building, smoking a cigarette, alone this time. I see her before she sees me, but her face lights up once she registers my presence. She launches her cigarette to the ground and stomps it out, and then comes barreling towards me. Before I have time to say anything, she throws her arms around my shoulders and hugs me, hard.

“I am so sorry about yesterday,” she says. “I was such a bitch. Are you okay? Have you made up with your mom yet?”

I take a step back. “I’m fine. Yuri let me stay with him last night, so I wasn’t homeless.”

Something flashes on her face. Maybe anger? Maybe concern? “Stay with me tonight, okay? You can stay for as long as you want.”

“I don’t know.”

“He’s not a nice guy.” Her nicotine breath reaches my nostrils and I wince, but she must misinterpret my reaction, because she takes on a soothing tone. “You’re so inexperienced, Zelda, that it will be hard for you to understand. You want to trust him, but trust
me
, you shouldn’t.”