Gone, Gone, Gone(48)

My phone buzzes. I answer. It’s Craig.

“Hey, baby,” I say. “It’s kinda late but I still miss youuuuu.”

Shawn and Tino find two sticks and start pretending they’re Luke and Darth Vader. I can’t figure out which one is which.

He says, “Lio.” His voice is really quiet. Is he crying? That’s so sad. I don’t want him to cry when I’m not there. “I need to talk to you.”

“’Kay. Shoot.”

“I’m with Cody right now.”

Before my mouth was on fire from the Jack Daniel’s, and now it feels like I’m chewing ice. “What?”

“I’m at his school. He’s having an open house and I came to see him.”

“Why . . . why did you do that?”

“I don’t know. He’s in the bathroom right now, and I just need to . . .”

“He’s changed. Tell me that. It’s been so long. He’s gone and away and now you’re with me.”

“I’m with you. Listen to me, Lio, I’m with you. I’m just . . . I’m confused, and I didn’t think it was fair not to tell you, and he hasn’t changed, and I don’t know if I’ve changed either.”

I feel my heart rising up my chest. “I’ve changed! That’s not fair! I’ve changed! I’m talking to you! You can’t tell me nothing’s changed when here I am talking to you! Why didn’t you tell me you were going to see him?”

“Lio. Calm down.”

“Listen to me! I’m talking to you!”

Shawn and Tino are all, “Whoa, listen to Lio all noisy.”

“You’re drunk.” Craig’s voice is hard. “This doesn’t exactly count as you being really brave or something.”

“Oh, GO FUCK YOUR BOYFRIEND!” I slam the two halves of my phone together.

He left. He’s with Cody. I went away to New York for a few f*cking days, and he goes back too. To his New York. I’m not making sense. But none of this is okay. I can’t ever go back to where I was. I can’t freak out and regress. I can’t do that because there is no going back for me. I can’t use the shit that’s happened to me as an excuse to pretend I don’t have a boyfriend who gets hurt when I freak out, because I didn’t have anything when I didn’t have a boyfriend. I had this city and this city will never be the same and it’s not because of September 11th and it’s not because of the sniper, it’s because of Dad and Jasper and Craig and Craig’s parents and his goddamn brother and Jack and home.

I’m here and the towers are gone and the people are dead and there’s Craig, and he doesn’t give a f*ck, and no one he’s given a shit about has ever died, Christ, the boy has five grandparents because one of them got divorced and remarried, and what the f*ck does he know about anything, and he and Cody should probably just get together and make out because Jesus they’re both going to be around forever so what’s even the f*cking point of cancer boys like me cancer boy cancer boy cancer boy.

“Give.” I hold out my hand. I keep it out until Tino gives me the bottle, and I drink and drink and drink until Shawn pulls my arm away.

“Stop,” he says, and he hits me on the back because I guess I’m coughing. There’s Jack Daniel’s coming out my nose.

“I want to dance,” I say.

Shawn knows a guy who knows a guy who blew a guy and we’re in the club no problem. I chain-smoke until my lungs threaten to catch fire. We have Xs on our hands so we can’t buy drinks. Big deal. We don’t even have any money. And we’re already drunk. Who gives a shit? No one I know.

“Have you heard about the shooting guy?” I ask this boy who’s dancing with me. He’s tall and looks like Craig. Here I go looking for Craig in everyone. This is the beginning of the end. Kiss me kiss me kiss me. He is not a boy. He is at least twenty-five and I like every year of him.

He says, “What?”

“They’re calling him the betro sniper,” I say. “No. Betro’s not a word. Beltway sniper. Not metro. Beltway sniper.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He kisses me.

Someone somewhere is dying right now!

But it isn’t me.

Statistically . . . ugh f*ck that I thought I was over that shit.

Statistically, it could be me at any minute.

“Whoa.” I push back from the boy. I’m going to fall over, but he catches me. I thought I was closer to the floor than this. Where are Shawn and Tino? “Whoa.”

“You’re all right, kid.”

The music thrums at my ears and it feels like an attack, and I don’t want it to stop. I feel it and I know it and I anticipate every beat before it happens. This is what my fight song is for. For fending off attackers. I am tough for a reason and it is to f*cking destroy the music. I dance hard.

I don’t know this song, but I know exactly what is happening right now. I know exactly what is . . . where are Shawn and Tino?

I put my forehead against this guy’s chest. “Donttouch.”

He says, “What’s up with your hair, huh? You look like a little baby freak.”

“I have cancer.” I stand up and rub my eyes hard. “I’m from Washington, D.C. No, no, I’m not. I’m from Wheaton, Maryland!”