This Is Where the World Ends(46)

One wing is perfect, covered with fairy tales. The other unravels. It collapses.

It’s dark when I finally leave. Not dark enough to mean that the football game is starting soon, but dark enough that little girls really shouldn’t be wandering around alone. Why, that’s just asking for it. Duh.

“Janie?”

I think we’ve established by now that Ander Cameron is a very good wrestler. But on that night, I don’t think it mattered so much. I don’t think it was that he was strong. I think it was that I was completely paralyzed. I can’t breathe. I can’t, I can’t do it.

I thought it was the vodka, but I’m sober right now, and my bones and blood and marrow are still too heavy to react. My lungs are still broken.

Run? Hide? Fight? What do I do what do I do what do I do? I can’t run, because I can’t move. There’s nothing to hide behind in this hall. Fight? Ha ha. I could curl up and tie myself in knots until he leaves. Turn and kick his balls off his body. Walk, keep walking, and maybe he’ll think he’s wrong, that it’s not me at all, and why not? Who is Janie Vivian?

“Aw, Janie, come on. Wait. Wait, let’s talk, okay? Can we please talk?”

His hand. It’s on my shoulder. He’s touching me.

He pulls me around so we can look at each other. So I can see his pretty, pretty face.

“Hey,” says Ander.

Hey, he says.

He bites his lip when I don’t say anything, perfect lip and perfect teeth, his eyelashes fluttering like he’s worried. And my eyes— No, don’t, eyes. Look. Look at him.

“Listen,” he says. He clears his throat, and then he does it again. A big, manly throat clear. “Look, Janie. I just—I just wanted to say . . . um. Look. I’m sorry, okay?”

He’s just standing there. Look at that, legs. He’s just standing there. If you would just do your freaking job, you could kick him sof*ckinghard in the balls that he would never stand up again. If you’d just walk that distance, get a little closer, you could make it so he doesn’t hurt anyone again, ever.

But I’m pretty useless, honestly. Someone stole my spine.

“Get away from me,” I finally whisper. Getawaygetawaygetaway.

“Oh, come on, Janie. I’m trying to apologize here, okay? I just—Janie, look, I get it, I was kind of an *. But let’s face it, you’ve been a bitch. So let’s just call it even? I mean. Look, I already talked to Piper, she won’t say anything. We can pretend like it never happened if you want. Janie, come on. I miss you, okay?”

Oh, that’s nice. That’s—

That’s when I kick him in the crotch. As hard as I can, and it’s still not enough.

He’s on the ground, his hands cupped around his balls, panting, but he’s still looking at me, and he— He grins.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Aw, Janie. Okay, I guess I deserve that. We good now?”

I stare at him. Really, that was what I needed. I just needed to know what I was worth. A kick to the crotch, and he thinks we’re even.

We fall asleep to fairy tales, and the world rotates and revolves and time passes and we grow up and we understand that they are false. There are not heroes and princesses and villains. It’s not that easy.

But I think I unlearned that too well. There are no wicked queens or vengeful sorcerers, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t bad people. There are. There are some truly, truly shitty people out there.

And in here. Right in front of me.

That’s when I figure it out.

No one is going to believe me.

No one is going to help because no one is going to listen, because Ander told his story first and he told it better.

No one is going to save me or screw him over.

I get it. That’s the important part. I understand, so I can go forward.

“I was really drunk that night,” I hear myself say.

He’s still grinning. “Yeah,” he says, and his voice is like it used to be when he talks to me: patient, teasing, playful, like I’m made of bird bones except when he’s on top of me. “You really are a lightweight.”

“I guess I am.”

“So we’re good?”

He almost looks sweet as he pushes himself upright, wincing. Almost hopeful.

“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

Walk, I order myself. I walk to him and slide down against the wall, slowly, next to him, leaving just enough space between our hands so that he knows I’m hesitant but here. Staying.

There is just one thing. “The notes,” I say.

He laughs. No, but really. He actually f*cking laughs. “Yeah,” he says, awkward, aiming for adorable, bashful. “Sorry. I was—you know, frustrated. I missed you. Wes and I were talking, he told the guys . . . it got out of control. I’ll talk to them. Don’t worry.”

Don’t worry. Wouldn’t that be so easy? Wouldn’t that be so much nicer?

His fingers find mine.

His hands begin to roam.

“Are we still going to the dance?” he murmurs, leaning in. His breath is hot against my neck, and I really can smell him now. Everywhere.

“I can’t,” I say, and clear my throat a few times to get my voice back to normal. “I can’t, my parents, it’s just bad timing.” Vague, vague. Lies don’t have detail. “But they’re leaving right after the dance.” Dad’s had this conference planned for months—he goes every year, and of course Mom will go with him this time. “Maybe you could come over?”