In My Dreams I Hold a Knife(66)

Her presence in the room felt threatening. Like a gun pressed to my temple. No wrong moves.

I snapped the laptop shut. “What?”

When she spoke, I had a sense of déjà vu. Like I’d been here before, a thousand times, and knew exactly how it would go.

“I won that fake-Fulbright thing. I just found out. Can you believe it?”

When I didn’t say anything, too choked with emotion, she rolled her eyes. “I know, I know, it’s super-nerdy. Honestly, much more up your alley than mine. I totally applied on a whim, because I was like, why not? We’re in the middle of a freaking recession, and there are no jobs, anyway. Everyone’s going to grad school to wait it out.”

“How?” I whispered. How had she done it? How had she managed to steal the thing I wanted most? Her grades were average. She wasn’t a virtuoso writer. How, how, how?

Heather flopped on her bed and shot me a look. “I’m going to choose to not be offended by that. I am smart, you know. I wouldn’t have even known about the fellowship if that professor hadn’t sought me out.”

I twisted in my chair. “What professor?”

“That famous one. You know, the one you love.” Heather snapped her fingers. “Garvey. He just came up to me after class and said I was totally gifted and should consider applying for the fellowship. He even wrote me a recommendation.”

Dr. Garvey? Suddenly it was clear. He could only have had one motivation.

I recoiled. “You went to dinner?”

Heather frowned. “What dinner?”

“With Dr. Garvey,” I said. He’d done it to both of us. I couldn’t believe it.

“Ew,” she said. “Why would I have dinner with him? He’s old. And, like, a professor.”

I froze. Dr. Garvey hadn’t made Heather have dinner with him? Hadn’t made her go back to his house, kneel on his bed?

She wasn’t looking at me anymore. She was texting on her bed, legs propped up on the wall.

Dr. Garvey had simply written her a letter because he thought she was good.

I didn’t know what was keeping me alive, now that my heart was outside my body.

“Anyway, it’s silly, I know,” Heather said, swinging her legs off her bed. “But my mom was happy, and it gives me something to do for a few years. And I needed some good news. This has been a surprisingly shitty semester. Speaking of which, Caro didn’t find a date for Sweetheart, did she? Because she is the absolute last person I want to see tonight.”

I should have asked why, or what’s going on between you guys. She paused, waiting for me to do it. But I couldn’t make my mouth move.

Heather waved her hand, as if casting away the negativity. “So the deal with this fellowship is you’re pretty much guaranteed a spot at whatever school you want. Maybe I’ll go to Haaa-vard.” She pantomimed pulling a monocle away from her eye. “With all the supersmart uptight people. I know that’s your vote—you’ve always been obsessed. Or maybe Oxford, and then I can go to the theater in London whenever I want.” She clapped. “Okay, well, I’m off to get a blow out for Sweetheart. Mom said I can do whatever I want as a reward. You want to come?”

She doesn’t know, I reminded myself. Somehow, I managed to shake my head.

“Boo. Fine. I’m sure you have some very important studying to do or whatever. Pregame in the basement tonight, don’t forget. You better be there.”

All of a sudden, Heather reached down and hugged me. I stiffened in her arms, but she didn’t seem to notice. She pulled back, squeezed my shoulders, and smiled. “I don’t know why you’re being weird, but tonight’s going to be the best night ever. We’re going to celebrate, okay? And look, I know we’re Sweetheart rivals, so—” She winked, flashing her impish smile. “May the best woman win.”

When she slammed the door, I picked up my laptop and threw it against the wall. It hit the floor hard, screen tearing free of the keyboard. Looking at it—the laptop I’d bought with a credit card I couldn’t afford—I sank to my knees and sobbed, each breath like dragging glass up my throat.

Everything had been ripped away in a single moment. Heather had beaten me, and she’d barely even tried. Like always, she’d come out on top, and I was second-best. I needed to get rid of this pain—it was going to destroy me, burn me from the inside out.

I scrambled through my desk drawer until I found the Adderall, opened the plastic bag, and shook the pills into my mouth. I chased them with the handle of whiskey Heather kept in her closet.

It wasn’t enough. I needed to really escape.

I tore through Heather’s dresser, looking for whatever else she had that could take these feelings away. In the bottom drawer, I found an orange bottle with Chinese writing that I recognized as Courtney’s diet pills. Heather was always stealing them from her, saying, we have to save her from herself. But it was pointless—Courtney’s mom just overnighted her more whenever they went missing. Evil woman, Heather would say. The depths some parents will sink to. But what did Heather know about bad parents, or the weight of expectations, or what it felt like to want more for someone, want to be more for someone? Heather’s parents did nothing but dote on her. What did she know about anything?

I popped the top off and poured the little white pills into my palm, then froze, and thought of my father. The number of times I’d witnessed him doing exactly this. Where it had led him.