You in Five Acts(41)

I had just washed it down when someone started banging on the door. There was no lock and I couldn’t hold it closed that time, so within a few seconds it was open and there was Dante, standing with Diego, who had the same look on his face that you’d had at your apartment that afternoon, or that Joy had had in the laundry room at the party, or that Ethan had every time I recoiled from his touch. It was a naked stare of confused disappointment. It was a deafening chorus screaming in unison, You’re not who we thought you were.

? ? ?


My exit from the party was much less gracious than my entrance.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I spat at Dante, who, with Diego, was physically removing me from the building.

“Keep your voice down,” Dante said, as we squeezed through a cluster of people in the hallway who watched me through half-lidded eyes, laughing. “You’re embarrassing me, and yourself.”

“Why’d you even bring her here, man?” Diego whispered.

“I told you, she begged me,” Dante said. Once we made it to the hallway he grabbed my arm roughly and spun me around to face him. “Listen, my supplier is here. It doesn’t look good for me to be hanging around with underage bitches who can’t handle their shit.”

The second pill was starting to lift me up, up, up by that point, so the words barely registered. “I’m sorry,” I said, blinking into the fluorescent lights. My coat and bag had magically reappeared, and Diego was helping me put them on.

“You can find a way to make it up to me,” Dante said.

“She doesn’t owe you anything, man,” Diego said. “If anything, this is your fault. Come on, Liv.” We were halfway down the stairs when Dante called after us.

“No me jodas.” Don’t f*ck with me.

Diego winced, but we kept going.

? ? ?


“Sorry I don’t have money for a cab,” he said once we got back out onto the street.

“I don’t care!” I said, and I didn’t. The air felt sharp against my face, in a good way, like pins and needles, a rush of blood into an empty limb. The street lamps had just turned on. They looked like stars caught in fishing nets. “I can get home,” I said, the words slurring together. If he had let me, I probably would have walked the whole way.

“No, I’m coming with you,” Diego said. “You look . . . tired.”

I didn’t feel tired, not in my brain, anyway, but my legs were getting heavy, so I leaned on him while we walked the four long blocks over to 5th Avenue and then five blocks north to the train. I concentrated on the sound of my heels clacking on the concrete, trying to keep time with my thundering heart.

I threw up again at the mouth of the subway, into a garbage can. I couldn’t tell if the pill came out. Maybe Dante had been right—maybe one was enough. I felt shaky and sick.

“You won’t tell Joy, will you?” I asked, when Diego emerged from the nearby convenience store with napkins and Gatorade. He guided me over to the same bench that Dante and I had sat on hours earlier—it seemed like a lifetime ago—and helped me wipe my face.

“No,” he said. “Not yet.”

“Is that a threat?” I flopped back against the bench closed my eyes, feeling the street tilt. He held the bottle up to my lips. Fruit punch. I made a gagging noise.

“No,” he said again. “I don’t know. I just know she’s worr—she thinks about you. Misses you or something.”

“Fuck her,” I groaned. “I mean, I’m sorry, I know you’re in love with her, but f*ck her. If she misses me so much why doesn’t she f*cking text me?” Diego got quiet for a long time after that.

“Does she know?” he finally asked.

“About me or you?”

“Me.”

“No,” I said. “She doesn’t notice anything that’s not part of perfect Joyland.”

He laughed.

“Well, I won’t tell if you won’t tell,” I said, slumping against him. The words came out in a slush, linked like a daisy chain.

“Let’s get you home,” he said.

I slept fitfully through the train ride—the pill must have come up, either that or it was a pretty shitty drug for narcolepsy—and the next thing I knew Diego was more or less carrying me through the lobby of my building, past Hector, and into the elevator. He couldn’t hold me up and root through my bag for keys, so he knocked, and Mom answered the door in silk pajamas, holding a glass of wine.

“It’s only 9:30,” she said, with a little smile. “I didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow.”

“Surprise!” I said, still clutching Diego for support. My eyelids felt so heavy, I could barely keep them open.

We walked—well, he walked—into the living room, where Dad was sitting on the couch. There were takeout boxes on the coffee table and an old movie was playing on the TV.

“We go back a long way,” some guy on screen was saying. “And I’m not gonna piss that away because you’re higher than a kite.” I started giggling.

“Honey,” Dad said, frowning, “I think you should go to bed.”

“Sleep it off, baby,” Mom agreed, giving me a swift, dry kiss on the cheek. “There’s aspirin in the cabinet. Diego, are you”—my eyes were just slits by then but I could hear the raised eyebrow in the tone of her voice—“staying over?”