Everything You Want Me to Be(65)

“I don’t know. Probably. It doesn’t matter who I am. It’s about you, who you are. I still don’t even know what to call you. All your names. All your identities.”

“It’s just acting, Peter.”

“No, it’s not. A person’s actions dictate who they are. You can’t be a Democrat if you vote Republican. You can’t call yourself a vegetarian if you eat steak. And your actions, they don’t add up to one single person. I watch you, Hattie. You gossip with Portia before class, egging on all her ridiculous ideas, feeding her one bullshit line after another. You let Tommy paw you in the middle of the cafeteria while you blush and giggle. You play teacher’s pet with every single staff member I’ve talked with and they all think you’re going to major in their field. And I can’t find one hint that any of it bothers you. You say you’re just acting, but you’re fracturing yourself into a thousand pieces, and every time I see another piece, you’re gone again. You turn into someone else, a crowd of someone elses, and it makes me wonder if there’s any such thing as Hattie Hoffman. I could have hallucinated this whole affair.”

He laughed bitterly. With my eyes still closed, I reached a hand up and drew my finger along the inseam of his pants until I reached the center.

“Do you think you’re hallucinating right now?” I brushed my fingers back and forth until I felt his body respond.

“Hattie . . .” His voice sounded strangled.

“Would you like to hallucinate some more?” I reached for his pants buttons, and he grabbed my hand.

“Stop it.”

I sat up, annoyed. If I had done that to Tommy, he would have forgotten his own name, let alone any question he might have had about mine.

“What’s your problem, Peter? Why did you even want to see me today?” I demanded.

“You like it, don’t you? You like manipulating people. Does it make you happy to have Tommy panting after you? To have Portia mimicking you like some brainless clone?”

“No. That’s not how it is.”

“The first time I met you, you told me you drop an alias whenever it stops being fun. Do you have fun knowing what you’ve turned me into? I loathe myself every time I think about us.”

“I don’t want you to feel that way.”

“Said the actress.”

“I don’t like it, okay?” I shouted, then dropped my head and breathed for a second. “I used to. I used to love it, but now I just feel trapped. There’s no person, no character I can put on that takes away this empty feeling in my gut when I’m not with you. I hate it. I hate that I can’t escape it, I can’t act it away. And I go through every day miserable because all I really want is . . .”

I faltered. It wasn’t time to tell him yet.

“What? What do you want?”

“Nothing.”

“Stop lying to me.”

“God, you’re such a teacher.” I turned away from him, unbelievably frustrated. Today wasn’t going at all how I imagined. We should have been wrapped up in this quilt together, laughing, kissing, enjoying every stolen moment. Psychoanalysis should have been the last thing on his mind.

“You want to name everything, to analyze it and shove it into a little box in your head next to a million other boxes just like it. Labels and dates and a neat little synopsis for each one. Fine. I’ve got a synopsis for you. You want to know who I am? You want me to tell you something else that’s true?”

My heart was racing all of a sudden. This wasn’t the plan, but I could feel the words bubbling up in my throat. I couldn’t hide it anymore. I spun back around and gripped his hand, clinging to it, hoping and dreading what was going to happen next.

“I’m Hattie Hoffman, actress, CVS clerk, and Pine Valley high school senior. I’m in love with Peter Lund and I want him to move to New York with me.”

His face froze. He stared at me for what felt like forever and I didn’t know if he was going to hug me or yell at me. We’d never talked about the future. My future, yes, but not his. Not ours. This relationship existed outside of our lives; it had no sense of time or progress.

Suddenly Peter yanked his hand away, stood up, and walked to the edge of the branches hanging over us. I followed him.

“Peter? Say something.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Say yes.”

He laughed again, but it was a hard sound now. It made my stomach clench.

“Oh, okay. I’ll just go to New York with you. That sounds simple.”

“It is. It can be.”

“Where will we live?”

“We can sublet a room somewhere. There’s a million listings on Pulse.”

“And how will we pay for that room?”

“I have over two thousand in savings. And I’ll transfer to one of the pharmacies there.” I rattled off a few of the CVS locations I’d memorized from their website, touching his shoulder, but he pulled away.

“And you can teach,” I added.

“Do you even know what the licensing requirements are in New York?”

“Licensing?”

He laughed that awful laugh again. The conversation was turning on me. This wasn’t supposed to happen. If I had taken more time and researched things, I could have answered him. I could have shot down his every objection. But no—he demanded I be honest and like an idiot I was. Now he wouldn’t even look at me. I felt the desperation in my throat, closing it off like stage fright, and it made me bounce on my toes, quick bounces to try to shake it off.