White Rabbit(2)
And the line went dead.
*
I recount this for Sebastian in broad strokes, not really wanting to share, but too upset not to. We’re standing in front of his car, amber streetlights casting his stupidly gorgeous face in sepia tones, and the heavy, still air that settles around us is redolent of gunpowder. A block away, my best friend, Lucy Kim, is hosting her Fourth of July rager; it’s our pathetic attempt at living up to all those iconic Hollywood teen movies, where no parents and lots of beer is the only formula necessary to create one perfect, life-changing night for a handful of feisty, lovable underdogs—but so far we’ve only succeeded in creating buckets of puke and a few scorch marks on the back of a couch, which Lucy’s going to have a hell of a time explaining to Mr. and Mrs. Kim when they return from Boston on the sixth.
“What are you gonna do?” Sebastian asks worriedly. He moves closer, like he’s going to touch me, and I step back. He registers the rebuff and stops, but his eyes stay on mine, his gaze soulful enough to stir a feeling to life inside me that I long ago drove to its grave with a stake through the heart.
“I don’t know,” I mutter, glancing up toward Lucy’s place to avoid his gaze. I can hear shouts, music, and laughter, fireworks still cracking and booming intermittently from somewhere along the lake. It’s nearly ten … Would anyone at the party even be sober? “I don’t— Maybe I should call Peter.”
“Your dad?” This statement confuses him even more than April’s request for my help. “Is that a good idea?”
“No,” I admit, feeling my face color. “But what else can I do? I don’t have a car, all my friends are shit-faced, and I don’t even know where April is! ‘Fox’s parents’ cottage,’ I mean, where the fuck is that? It could be anywhere!”
“South Hero Island,” Sebastian responds promptly, because of course he knows. “I’ve been there a couple times. It’s only like thirty minutes from here—I’ll drive.”
“No, thanks,” I say in a cold voice, summoning up as much dignity as I can, even though it’s obvious that I’m just cutting off my nose to spite my face—a tacit and embarrassing confession that I’m still hurting. That I still care.
“How’re you gonna get there, then?”
“I’ll figure something out.”
“Yeah?” he challenges, a small spark of irritation at last flickering to life beneath his perennially cool facade. “You gonna walk out to the island? Knock on every cottage door you see until you find her?” He takes a step back and gestures to his Jeep, four feet away. “My car’s right here, and I know exactly where we’re going. You want to yell at me, I can tell, so do it on the way and kill two birds with one stone.”
He concludes his proposition with a rakish grin—the smirky, vulpine look that melts underwear across all four grades at Ethan Allen High—and I will the ice to thicken over my heart against its fearsome power. Even so, with an anxious glance at my phone’s display, I can see that time is already slipping past; I don’t actually know what kind of help April needs, how serious a situation she’s in, and I can’t be sure I have the time it’ll take to go back to Lucy’s and search the party for somebody still clearheaded enough to take me on a half-hour excursion to the middle of Lake Champlain.
Plus, despite my antipathy toward Sebastian Williams, having him along might end up being a good thing. April’s crowd is his crowd, too, and if this does turn out to be some kind of trap, his presence might fuck up their plans a little. Maybe.
Feeling shakier than I care to show, beginning to grow truly worried about my sister in spite of all my misgivings, I give a curt nod and wordlessly start for the passenger-side door. Sebastian’s smile broadens as he blips his locks open, but I pretend not to notice, busying myself with an explanatory text to Lucy. I’ve been out of the house for less than ten minutes, but she’s already written me a (very drunk) message inquiring after my absence: WHERE ARE YOU, RUFUS HOLT?? IT IS TIME FOR TEQUILA SHOTS AND I NEED MY BESTIE!!!
Three years earlier, when I was suffering the slings and arrows of a really shitty coming-out process, Lucy Kim was the first friend to rally to my side, communicating her allegiance via a series of effusive texts. First: JUST FOUND OUT MY BFF IS GAY OMFG SUPERCOOL WOW LET’S GO BUY SHOES! Followed by: jkjkjk u know I love you to death Rufus and I am in your corner 110% no matter what mwah xoxo. And: I will fight a bitch for you if I have to just say the word. Then, finally: Srsly tho I really do need new shoes so how about it?
Lucy is high-energy, high-maintenance, and often just plain high, but I love her to death. As I clamber into Sebastian’s Jeep, I use my thumbs to hammer out, Had to leave. Something’s up with April?!? Call you tomorrow bae. I’ll get at least seventy more messages from her before the night is over.
*
The streets of Burlington sweep by in a leafy, starlit blur as we speed north toward Winooski and Malletts Bay, heading eventually for the narrow causeway that connects the shore to the chain of islands in the middle of the serpentine lake separating Vermont and New York. Sebastian was absolutely correct—I really did want to yell at him—but I’m too preoccupied with April’s summons to shift my mental gears back to the recriminations I’ve been stockpiling for the guy who so readily volunteered to be my chauffeur. The guy who, not so long ago, was also my first boyfriend.