You in Five Acts(47)

“You sure?” Joy asked. She looked over at Diego for permission, which stung a little—I guess they must have had a routine going, packing up and taking the subway together—but I couldn’t really be mad. I used to look forward all day to those ten minutes with you.

“After the next couple weeks, you’ll be sick of my face,” Diego laughed, picking up his duffel. “Get out while you can.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”

I had one pill left until I got home. I could almost feel it bouncing around inside my purse like a pea under a princess’s mattress. I wanted to see Joy, I was aching to be in a room alone with you, but if I’m being honest I was just as excited to take that f*cking pill, to plot when and where and how I would take it. That was how I planned my days. That had been all that was keeping me going.

Get out while you can.

I didn’t even hear the words.

? ? ?


Sitting across from Joy in a diner booth felt almost normal, although conversation tripped and stalled at first, both of us staring at the menu like it was a script we couldn’t find our lines on.

“What are you getting?” she asked.

“I don’t know . . . cereal, maybe? I’m not really hungry.”

“You should eat more. You look too skinny,” Joy said bluntly. “And I don’t mean that as a messed-up compliment.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Okaaay. I won’t thank you, then.”

The waiter came and took our order. Joy got a turkey wrap, and I asked for a veggie burger deluxe I didn’t even want. I gulped down my water and chewed on the straw.

“I’m sorry,” she said, once he’d left. “I’m not trying to be a bitch. I’m just freaking out right now.”

“It’s OK,” I said. “Me, too. I thought second-semester senior year was supposed to be like a big chill orgy. What happened?”

Joy laughed. “Right? The pressure is so crazy right now that if I didn’t have Diego there most days, I legitimately think I would have punched Adair.”

“Too bad she’s not busy sleeping off a hangover like Mr. Francisco,” I said. “Although the one time he showed up to a run-through he suggested Ethan recast me.”

“What?” Joy looked honestly shocked, and I loved her for it.

“Yup. He’s probably right, though. It’s such a weird vibe, the play’s going to suck unless . . .” I paused, unsure of how to finish the sentence. Luckily, or unluckily, maybe, one thing about Nuvigil was that it was great at filling awkward silences with words.

“I’m really sorry about stealing Dave at the party,” I blurted, clasping my hands together, digging the nails of one into the palm of the other methodically as I spoke. “I mean, nothing ever happened, but you were right. I liked him—I still like him—and I should have just said that. I don’t know why I tried to act like I didn’t care. I think I just didn’t want him to know I was just like everyone else, you know?”

“Whoa,” Joy said. “Slow down.” She pressed her lips together and took a deep breath. “You can’t own a person, so you can’t steal a person. He was never mine.” She looked straight at me then. “But if you had just been honest with me, I would have had your back,” she said. “Instead I felt like you made it a competition or something.”

I looked down at my hands. I’d broken the skin. “I can’t compete with you,” I said. “Trust me, I’m a hot mess.” A lump surfaced unexpectedly in my throat, and I gulped water to keep it down.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Joy asked. “Olivia,” she said—which she never said, which is how I knew it was really showing. “What is going on with you?”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me,” I said, hedging. I already knew it was a lie, because at that moment I honestly thought that if I told Joy the truth, everything would fall apart. Because back then, on the other side, “falling apart” just meant that everyone would know how far gone I was, and that people would be mad at me and I would have to drop out and go to some rehab facility where I’d sweat and heave and feel like shit for a week. That seemed like the worst possible thing in the world. I was so f*cking selfish.

I’ll tell you if you tell me. One step up from Secrets, secrets are no fun, secrets, secrets hurt someone.

“Something’s the matter with my ankle,” Joy said, looking into her water glass as she stirred and stirred, watching the ice cubes melt down to nothing. “Only Diego knows. So please don’t say anything.”

Diego knew all of our secrets, apparently.

“What is it?” I asked, before the waiter came with our food, and we did that thing of suddenly pretending we were deaf-mutes while he set down the plates and arranged the silverware.

When we were alone again, Joy shrugged and picked up a pickle. “I don’t know, I haven’t been to a doctor.”

“Why not?” A huge platter sat in front of me, my burger sitting on a lettuce raft in a sea of golden fries, but I was craving something much smaller and less filling.

“I can’t go without my parents finding out,” Joy said. “And if they found out they’d tell me to stop dancing on it.”

“Maybe you should.” I ran my dry tongue over my teeth. My ears popped.