When We Were Bright and Beautiful(51)

I hold up my fingers, wriggle my toes.

“Nice.” Avery nods in approval. “Very nice.”

“You like?” I blow on my nails to make them dry faster.

“Love, Chickadee.”

In nursery school, we had baby chicks in our classroom. They were so soft and cuddly it was impossible not to squeeze them, especially for Avery, who adored animals. One morning, she was so excited, she couldn’t help herself, and squeezed too hard. It was touch and go for a minute, but the chick survived. Still, our teacher forbid Avery from touching them. Avery was inconsolable. So I smuggled one out during recess. “Look!” I opened my coat pocket. “Your chickadee.”

Avery’s hair is the same glorious gold it was back in April, when I saw her in the bodega. Her creamy skin is clear. She’s as skinny as a rail. Normally, I’d be sick with jealousy but I’m so grateful she’s talking to me, I’m thrilled for her.

“Why are you stuck in the concrete jungle?” I ask. “No beach this summer?”

“I work in PR. It’s a fucking grind. But, hey, it’s a living.”

“Another day, another dollar.”

We both laugh. Neither of us needs to work; we just like to talk that way.

“What about you?” she asks. “No family compound?” Then answers her own question. “Oh, shit. I forgot. How’s Billy?”

“Hanging in. We all are.”

“That’s good. I’m so sorry, Cassie. That girl, Diana Holly, is cuckoo-nutty. Langley knows her from Princeton. Once, she hooked up with Chase Braxton—remember him? His sister Ella was two years behind us? Chase had a girlfriend, which Diana knew, but after, she showed up at his eating club every day for, like, a week. I mean, this was a while ago, but there it is, right?” Avery is somber. “Billy will be okay. I’m sure of it.”

I study my fingers. This red is stunning, I decide. “Emma. Chase Braxton’s sister. Her name was Emma. I hadn’t heard that story. Tell Langley thanks.”

Langley is Avery’s brother. Seems odd to thank him.

There’s a long silence that neither of us knows how to fill. I have to apologize, but “I’m sorry” and “please forgive me” seem insufficient. I hate myself, I want to say. If I could, I’d go back to Miss Meredith’s class and meet you all over again. I consider telling her the truth about Marcus, which is the biggest offering I can think of. Especially if I describe how harshly he rejected me.

After our drunken night in the Bronx, Marcus cools off. Maybe Anton saw us. Maybe he didn’t. Doesn’t matter. Marcus decides it’s too risky. He doesn’t contact me for a week. Then two. I text Avery, suggest a movie. She ices me out for a day then agrees. “I’m sorry I’ve been so fucked up,” I say when we meet. “I have a crush.” Avery wants to know about him, what he’s like, where he goes to school. “He’s older” is all I say. “Doesn’t live around here.” We used to dissect every minute of every day. I know my lack of detail is hurtful, and I can feel her keeping a protective distance. But by then, losing Avery is the least of my problems. I’m also losing the rest of my life. Before Marcus, I was a superstar: straight As, Model Congress, Model UN. After Marcus, I hit the earth at full tilt. Unable to stop myself, I text him over and over and over and over: Please, I need you

Finally, a reply: Tuesday afternoon. Riverside. By the ducks.

My heart seizes. I text back:

They’re drakes

He doesn’t respond. And then:

Xoxo

I’m overwhelmed with relief. Which is why, in the park, when I lunge toward him, his refusal is so shattering. “No.” His voice is sharp, angry. “Stop it.”

“Stop? Why?”

“We can’t see each other anymore.”

“But you told me to meet you.”

“I made a mistake. I’m sorry.”

Marcus walks off. I’m left alone on the bench, with the ducks. Alone and exposed, alone and unloved, alone and unwanted. It’s not over, I decide. He’ll come back. I’ll just wait.

Months pass. I wait. I wait out his shitty business deals. I wait out his conference calls. I wait out his sad, sexless marriage. I wait out his cold, brittle wife. I wait out his porn and his hookers. I wait and I watch. I measure everything. I am hyperaware of any change, on guard for a sign. I learn patience, I learn endurance. I learn no one can wait this long. No one, not even me, the strongest girl in the world. I call him. I beg. “We love each other. Please don’t leave me.”

“This is over, Cassie. You have to stop.”

He’s still angry. This is my fault. Why did I come on so strong? Why did I force him to go to a bar? My shame and self-loathing curdle in my stomach. I wield them with gusto. I self-destruct. Drink too much. Smoke too much. Lash out for no reason. I call Avery an idiot, make plans and blow her off. Do it again. Then a third time. We’ve been best friends for most of my life, but I can’t stand one second in her presence.

Finally, she’s had enough. “I’m sick of your shit. You’re a selfish bitch.” I know she’s right. I break down in tears. But Avery is a teenage girl too. She, like me, is an ambush predator. She wants me to hurt as much as she does. Next thing I know, the rumors sweep through Spence like wildfire. Every day, a new one circulates: Cassie Quinn cheated in AP History. Cassie Quinn fucked Powell Porter. Cassie Quinn is hooked on Adderall.