The Other Side(36)

When she stands, there’s a small smile playing at her lips.

It matches mine. Yes, I’m smiling.

“Tomorrow,” she echoes, followed by, “Good night, Toby.” And then louder, “Good night, Cliff.”

When I climb up the ladder, Cliff looks dumbfounded that a pretty girl is talking to him, so I say, “Don’t be rude—say something.” I’m never one to prompt manners, but I don’t like Alice going unanswered anymore.

“Good night,” he hurriedly fumbles.

Alice raises her hand to wave as she disappears into her apartment.

“She’s hot,” Cliff says as he opens the door into our kitchen.

I don’t acknowledge the comment because I’m not discussing this with Cliff. But yes, she is. The fact that I have to adjust myself in my pants behind my sweatshirt when Cliff’s back is to me as we walk into the apartment is glaring proof of that.





Chapter Eighteen





Present, March 1987

Toby



Alice beat me to English this morning. I stop at her table and say hello—that’s a first at school. I don’t think I’ve ever uttered the word within this building.

She asks me to sit with her. When I hesitate, she knows I’m trying to shield her from my reputation, and insists, “I’m the blind girl they’re all ignoring because they don’t know what else to do with me. Nobody cares who I sit with…asshole.” She says asshole in such a mocking way, throwing my own label back at me, that it almost makes me laugh and I can’t resist taking a seat.

“You’ve just blacklisted yourself,” I whisper.

A smile breaks out, broadcasting that she likes the idea. “I guess it’s a good thing I don’t care what they think then, huh?”

Alice is Alice—confident.

And I am still Toby—catastrophic.

How did it come to this?

I have a friend.

A friend.

And instead of making me happy, it makes me anxious.

I don’t know how to do this.

I shouldn’t do this.

You’re nothing. You’re nothing. You’re nothing, the reminder demands to be felt.

Just let me have this, I beg.

No, it answers authoritatively.

I pretend to ignore the answer, my reality. We’ll see how long this lasts until the guilt wins.

Because it always wins.





Chapter Nineteen





Present, April 1987

Toby



“I think Bonnie is lying.” A thick curtain of REM sleep separates me from the words drifting in from the periphery of wakefulness.

“That’s nice,” I mumble into my pillow, not wanting to give in to the pull.

The intruder repeats the message.

I don’t want to engage. My subconscious attempts to appease with a mollifying, “Everyone lies.” This voice needs to go away and leave me alone. I’m sleeping. And tonight it’s not beating me up, it’s cooperating, and the nightmares are unexpectedly being kept at bay.

Go away.

“Toby, are you awake?”

I am now. Thanks, Cliff. “Yeah,” I answer.

When he repeats the message for a third time “Bonnie” turns into “Johnny” and “lying” turns into “dying.”

My eyes open and fix on the red numbers glowing on my left and I squint to read them, ten minutes past four. “What?” I ask to confirm.

“I think Johnny is dying,” he repeats.

Cliff is standing in my open doorway and points to the bathroom. “I couldn’t sleep and needed to take a leak and found this.” He tosses me an envelope, only instead of pitching it underhand, he holds it like a paper airplane and it nosedives into my lap. My name is written on it in all caps.

Rubbing my eyes, partially to rouse them and partially to shield them from the assaulting light of the kitchen outside my door, I pick up the envelope. That’s already been opened. “Didn’t realize T-O-B-Y spelled Cliff,” I say under my breath as I rise to a sitting position.

Cliff shrugs to rebuff the invasion of privacy allusion while I unfold the letter and begin to read it. Cliff is usually sloth-like, but he’s almost tap dancing in place and it’s driving me nuts.

Toby,

I’ll be gone for a few days, maybe a week. There’s some shit that needs to be dealt with. Should’ve done it a long time ago.

Keep an eye on Cliff and make sure he doesn’t get himself killed or thrown in juvie while I’m gone.

Johnny





I read it twice, because I don’t trust my foggy brain with only one pass. I’m not sure what to make of the vague message other than to take it at its word. It’s not my job to analyze Johnny, it’s my job to make sure this building doesn’t fall down around us.

Cliff is eyeing me when I refold the letter and stuff it back in the envelope. “What does it mean?”

“I think it means he’s going to be gone for a few days,” I say dryly. “And that you shouldn’t do anything dumb or reckless while he’s away,” I add to paraphrase and remind.

Cliff sinks to his knees on my sleeping bag, narrowly misses crushing my feet in the process, and rolls his eyes with all the flair of someone truly scorned.