Nice Girls(53)

And as moonlight spilled through the window, the two of us were rocking and clinging onto each other until we’d worn ourselves out. And I saw his eyes peering up at me from the pillow, watching as I rocked.

He didn’t love me, and I didn’t love him. But for those brief moments, we were enough.





25




I woke up shivering. I was curled up against the window. Dwayne’s comforter barely covered my waist. The rest of it was on top of him, his back turned to me. He was snoring as I slipped out of bed, naked.

It was still dark outside, but I could no longer see the moon. The lake and the sky seemed to blend together as one.

I found my oversized sweater on the floor and slipped it on before using the toilet.

Dwayne’s bathroom was clean, the tiles and the sink all immaculate, as if they had just been washed. Even after I flushed, the toilet reeked of mild bleach. At the sink, I rinsed out my mouth and washed my face.

In the mirror, my cheeks were still flushed from before—I looked like I was sick with a mild fever. My hair was messy around my face. But I looked alive. I looked more alive than I had back in high school, when my hair was limp and my body was doughy. Time, for the moment, had taken mercy on me.

At eighteen, I never dreamt of kissing the school football star. I never even thought that he’d look at me in that kind of way. But four years later, I had somehow done it and then some. In a way, it was poetic justice—I was making up for all those lost years in high school. I had proven them wrong.

Madison would have been proud of me. She would have understood the achievement, and she would’ve been screaming over the phone, asking me for the details. We’d cackle giddily, as if I’d just lost my virginity all over again. Then we would reminisce about the past and how those painful years had paid off.

But Madison had moved on, both from the city and me.

As I tiptoed back to bed, I heard a slight buzz. The sound was muffled on the other side of the apartment. In the dark, I saw a tiny sliver of light on the floor next to the kitchen counter. It was Dwayne’s phone, whirring in a pocket of his jeans.

Dwayne didn’t stir.

The vibrations stopped as soon as I pulled out the phone. It was abrupt, like the phone call at Littlewood Park had been.

But Dwayne had only received two texts. They were from Jayden, who was still apparently awake. His phone only showed a few snippets of each text:

69,000 days later . . . You good???





And youre dealing with shit . . .





Before I could help it, my thumb tapped on the first text. A screen came up, prompting for a four-number pass code. On a whim, I typed in “1-2-3-4.” There was a buzz as the phone denied it.

Dwayne’s heavy breathing was reassuring—he was still dead asleep.

I stared at the keypad, unable to turn away. I was still high from my night with Dwayne, and I was eager to try my luck. I was like a child who dared to hold her breath underwater—each time was a little longer, a little riskier.

Jayden said he hadn’t seen Dwayne in a while, so it seemed that Jayden’s text was important. And if it involved the leak that we’d planned, then I needed to know.

I typed in two more obvious combinations (1-1-1-1; 9-9-9-9), slid my finger down the center column (2-5-8-0), and even pressed the numbers from the corners (1-3-7-9). Each time the phone buzzed, locked. I had one attempt left before Dwayne’s phone would lock for an entire hour.

I closed my eyes, listening to Dwayne’s breathing as he slept soundly. Dwayne was smart, but he seemed like someone who would prefer a familiar pass code, something so convenient that he wouldn’t forget it.

After a few seconds, I finally typed it in: 1-9-9-3. Our birth year. The screen suddenly loaded Jayden’s two recent texts:

69,000 days later . . . You good??? You still alive??





And youre dealing with shit . . . I get it, man, I do. It’s a hard time right now with everything . . . But at least text back damn!!





I scrolled up and saw the long line of texts that had all come from Jayden recently. Dwayne hadn’t replied to any of them. Jayden’s nonstop texts had started a few days ago, around the same time that I’d met up with him and Charice.

$5 BURGER NIGHT @ SHIRLEYS DUDE LETS GO!!!





It’s been like a week, man. You doing anything?? Bored AF





Jayden’s texts soon became less playful:

What’s going on?? Are you pissed or some shit??





Dude youre on FB now but you cant send me a text? If you want space just tell me but damn this shit’s annoying





Jayden hadn’t lied about the last time he’d seen Dwayne. He said it was because of the traumatic scene at the beach, but the texts said differently—Jayden seemed to think it was a personal issue between them.

A second later, I deleted the two newest texts. I didn’t need Dwayne to find out that they’d already been opened. Jayden would send more later—I was sure of it. And his cousin had never replied back anyway.

Dwayne had a long list of texts from multiple people, nearly all of them from Goodhue Groceries. The snippets of conversations were about work—people texting in sick or taking over someone else’s shift.