She Dims the Stars (24 page)

My contact with Cline was minimal, but it was there. After all I’d done to try and set things right, I couldn't allow myself to let him go again. We mostly text, and they are brief, just check-ins to make sure everything is okay. He’s the dose of reality that I need, and I am a little more grounded each time I get a chance to talk to him.

I talk to Elliot even less, because the guilt that eats its way through my insides every time I think of him is too overwhelming for me. I don’t know how deeply he was affected by my actions, because we’ve never addressed it. There’s no easy way to bring it up, either. It doesn’t seem like something you’d text a person:
Hey, about that night you took my virginity… I didn’t try to take my life because of it. You were a good first time.

He may not even know that he was my first, though I wasn’t very convincing in my lie to September, so she could have very well told him about the conversation regarding the sheets. Either way, less than twenty-four hours after sleeping together, he was helping to save my life. I’ve probably screwed him up for all of eternity. There are no gift baskets or Hallmark cards for that kind of thing.

Three weeks after my return home, my dad went up to Brixton with a truck to pack up my belongings. It was the first time he’d left me alone, but I had a sneaking suspicion he’d given instructions for poor Cline’s mom to be on the lookout for anything weird happening in his absence. This was confirmed when I finally called my old childhood friend and asked outright if his mom was spying on me from across the street.

“Look, your dad told my mom that you were home alone for the first time since, you know … the thing.” He’s breathing heavily into the phone, and I can hear the strain in his voice.

“Do I want to know what you’re doing right now? Quick: Does it involve a toilet, September, or both?” I ask, pressing my face to the glass window pane by my front door to stare across the street while his mom is peeking through her blinds.

Cline grunts and something lands with a thud on the other end of the line. “For your information, I’m helping your dad load up your room, because I’m a fine fucking southern gentleman, thank you very much. But this bookcase you have crammed into your closet is heavy as shit.”

“Not if you take the books off first. It’s from IKEA. It legitimately weighs two pounds.”

“Oh, shut up,” he huffs into the cell, and then I can hear my books being pulled off and thrown onto the floor.

“Hey! Those are my favorites. Some of them are signed. Be careful with them.”

“Oh my god. Elliot, come take the phone away from me before I lose it.” There’s a shuffle like the cell is being passed back and forth, some muttering, and then a final “fuck!” before Elliot’s voice is on the other end of the line. It’s the first time I’ve heard it since the night he held me in his arms and helped to save my life.

“Hey,” he says, all out of breath and a little distant, awkward, unsure of what to say next.

“Hey back. You’re helping my dad, too?” A quick glance out the window reveals that Mrs. Somers has gone back into hiding, so I head into the living room and stretch out on the couch, trying to imagine Elliot, Cline, and my father all working diligently to take my things down and pack them up to bring back here.

“Of course. Like I’d leave the state of your possessions in the hands of The Hulk over here? He only had two breakfasts today, so he’s starting to get hangry. I’m afraid he’ll start throwing things in boxes just to get done faster.”

I don’t even realize that I’m smiling until I start to speak again. “I appreciate your dedication. If he’s currently causing damage to my book collection, I’m going to have to go across the street and tell his mom about that time I caught him stealing our neighbor’s Maxim subscription when we were seven.”

Elliot laughs and reiterates the threat. “He’s being very, very careful with your books now. It’s an interesting collection, I’ve gotta tell you.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know. I guess it just has more Young Adult than I pegged you for. Romance. Stuff to make you cry. Books they make movies out of. And, from the looks of it, you have a predilection for book boys with one leg.”

I close my eyes and laugh, conjuring up the best image I can of Elliot’s face before I answer. “Nah. Real life boys with two legs top that any day.”

May bleeds into June, and June fades into July. July’s warmth wavers on the roads outside, causing heat to shimmer off the asphalt. Even though we are some of the very few who have decided to stay around the college town for the summer—who are not directly involved in summer classes—there are plenty of people for us to talk to or run into when we
do
decide to wander out of our apartment. I don’t have a lot of time to do that as I prepare my presentation for Ten2One. I’ve busted my ass, spending almost every available moment I have on perfecting this game concept in hopes that it will land me the position to present the mock-up and get a chance to earn an internship with them.

If that happens, I could very well be on my way to making this game myself in just a matter of years.

Cline insists that I take some time out to watch the fireworks from our building on the Fourth of July, and I do, but my head is in a different place, thinking about Audrey four hours away, in the same state, wondering what she’s doing at this exact same moment.

She’d laugh at thoughts like this. Me sitting here wondering what kind of fireworks she’s looking at. Or with whom.

These thoughts creep their way in, though, and I imagine her at the lake house with someone. I envision them watching purple and yellow explosions in the sky, and I can see her face clearly, imagining the way the embers fall and reflect in her eyes. When I blink, the person that she’s with is me.

It’s exactly the way I want it.

Cline is sitting at our little bar, eating cereal, when I walk through the door, holding my portfolio in one hand and a wilting black tie in the other. He barely looks up before shoveling another spoonful of sugary rainbow-colored mess into his mouth.

“How’d it go?” He asks, milk dribbling down his chin.

“Killed it.” I throw my portfolio onto the counter and slide onto the stool next to him, exhausted. I’ve never been under so much pressure in my entire life, but standing in front of that room full of guys—people who I want to one day call my colleagues, my equals—I was assertive and at ease. I was knowledgeable and confident like that first time I took a bite of Audrey’s Popsicle.

I swear, if God
made
people to make video games, then He had that in mind when he was putting me together in my ma’s womb.

“They want me to start the internship halfway through the semester. It’s going to kill me, but I have to make it work.”

“You will.” Cline tips the bowl back, chugs the remainder of the milk and then lets out a heinous burp. “You’re almost a genius. Like, right under genius. Just a few points away. You can make this work. Plus, it’s your dream job. And let’s face it, what else are you going to do?”

“Yeah, you’re right.” My mom had told me to focus on school this year, and if I got the internship, I wouldn’t have to get a job, which was the plan for this semester. I hate to put her in this position, but something like this could legitimately get me a job immediately after graduation.

“We should celebrate. Sep’s coming up this weekend. Let’s go get drinks … get rowdy. School starts soon, man, and you’ve been locked up in your room like some sort of hermit for the last month.” He’s hovering by the refrigerator, his hand resting on the handle. We’re both quiet for about a minute before he speaks again, this time a little quieter than before. “Do you think Audrey’s going to come back to school like her dad said she was?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. She talks to you more than she does to me. I don’t even know if I should text her to tell her about today.”

“You should. She’ll want to know. Maybe you can slip in a question about when she’ll be back. Ask if she needs help moving. That’s smooth.”

“Let’s think about this logically. She already signed up for classes. She has to be coming back. It’s just a matter of where she’ll be staying …” I’m staring at him, and I swear we both have the same look on our faces, because we’re both hoping that she’ll come back, but neither of us know for sure. Nothing with her is guaranteed.

An idea begins to take form in my mind, and I move to my bedroom to change clothes and grab a notepad and join Cline in the living room. Before he can turn the TV on, I snatch the remote and throw it across the room.

“A simple, ‘I’m not in the mood’ would have sufficed,” he says with a look of shock.

I lean back on our less foul-smelling sofa and prop my feet up on our coffee table, sending some bottles rattling as they move backward. “Tell me some stories about Audrey when you guys were younger. Don’t leave anything out.”

As soon as he opens his mouth, I begin to write.

The semester is about to begin, and suddenly the campus is crawling with people again. It’s unsettling how easily these students, new and old, are moving in and going about their business like nothing life changing happened over the summer. And I guess it hadn’t. Not for them, at least.

They didn’t meet Audrey and come to know her the way that I did. They didn’t spend days and nights in cars and beaches, hotel rooms and houses with her. They didn’t watch her spiral down to the rock bottom and get left behind after all was said and done. They probably went to Florida, got drunk, laid, and tan.

Last weekend, I traveled home to see my mom, and the first thing she asked about was Audrey. I told her everything, and she listened with wide eyes, and a hand over her heart. She held me afterward, as if she was afraid I was going to break or something. As if I had already experienced too much loss in my life, and what happened a couple months prior would only exacerbate that. From my perspective, it made me stronger.
I looked death in the face.
It only served to make me see things more clearly.

I told her the truth. “I lied to you about the game I’m making. The one I got the internship for is a war game based on those letters Dad wrote to you when he was deployed.” My explanation was as detailed as I could make it without getting too far in and over her head. When I mentioned that the main character was based off of him, she brushed her curls away from her face and took a deep breath, extending her palm.